#but if arle has only been doing this a few years that increases her chances

[almonddirge]

Some interesting hidden dialogue in Ritou of all places, after a quest I never would’ve realized existed without the wiki.

Do you think Arlecchino also inherited her Commedia name from him, which is why it’s masculine? Did she also inherit her position in terms of numbers?

[allisondraste]

Temperance 35/42

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/ Female, Non-HoF Cousland

Story Summary: Nathaniel and Elissa were childhood friends, but time and distance tore them apart. In the aftermath of the Fifth Blight, and Ferelden’s Civil War, both Elissa and Nathaniel must attempt reconstruct their tattered lives. As a series of events lead them to be reunited, both are reminded of so many years ago when things were much simpler.

Chapter Summary:    Liss prepares for the Joining, and Nathaniel finally has a chance to talk to her. 

Author Note:  I KNOW, I know. It’s only been three days, but nobody has waited longer for this particular chapter than I have.  It’s basically been written for a few months shy of a year now, so... it just poured out.  Sorry. ‘‘‘:)

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

[AO3 LINK]

Vigils Keep, 9:31 Dragon

“Lady Cousland?”

It was a man’s voice, and an unfamiliar one at that, which drew Liss from the ruminative daze into which she had fallen when Lucia led her out of the main hall and into a study. The room must have once belonged to the late Arl, considering  its size and the number of portraits of the man that still leaned against the walls. One painting in particular had caught her attention, a large oil piece of two young men, set aside from the others. One of the men looked remarkably like Nathaniel, but more gaunt, with thin lips, and an icy expression Nate couldn’t manage if he tried.  The other man, rosy cheeked and grinning from ear to ear, was her father.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, but unwilling to look away from the portrait, she answered absentmindedly. “Hmm?”

“Is everything all righ—“ the man she knew to be Seneschal Garavel stopped as he moved closer and realized what had captured her attention— “Oh.”

“I very distinctly remember asking that those paintings be destroyed.” Lucia, who had been rummaging through a large, griffon-adorned chest in the back, remarked from behind them. “Then again, nobody listens to me around here.”

Garavel chuckled.  “That is uncharacteristically dramatic.”

“I am in a mood,” she answered, allowing the chest to fall closed as she found what she was searching for.  Setting a small leather satchel down on the desk, she walked around to stand between Liss and Garavel, studying the painting beneath dark brows. “Garavel, why are they still here?”

“Perhaps that is a question for Nathaniel.” He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Apparently, not too long before you two left for Denerim he saw one of the guards carrying some paintings out, and stopped him.”

“Odd, considering that he’s the one who keeps complaining about them,” Lucia said with a frown.  “Did he give a reason?”

“Hardly. Just said ‘Not that one,’” he explained, pointing toward the painting of the two men. “After that, I figured we should make certain he did not wish to keep any of the others.”

Liss struggled against the urge to weep.  When Howe’s forces ambushed her home, they’d set fire to it, ravaged it entirely. She didn’t know if any paintings of her father still existed. She didn’t mind overlooking the other man in the picture, just to see papa’s smile again. Nate.  She wished she weren’t so angry with him.

Shaking her head and takingas deep breath to steady herself, she turned to face Lucia. “I apologize for my distraction.  You wanted to speak to me about something?”

“Yes.” The other woman smiled slightly, an acknowledgment of Liss’ choice to change the subject, and moved back toward the desk, opening the satchel and removing three vials, setting each down with a quiet clank.

“What are those,” Liss asked, stepping forward to examine the containers more closely.  Two of the glass vials each contained a deep red substance, one substantially smaller than the other.  The third vial held a sparkling blue powder.  

“The First Warden would not like me telling you this prior to the Joining, but you were not conscripted. You volunteered, and you deserve to know how this works before you go through with it.” Lucia moved to lean against the desk.  “To become a Grey Warden, you have to drink a mixture of darkspawn blood, blood from the last slain archdemon, and lyrium powder.”  

She held up the vials in order as she spoke and Liss’ stomach turned.  Of course it wouldn’t be as simple as saying some sort of magical words that granted one Warden abilities.  No, she would have to ingest something so vile that the potions Nan used to give her for a cold actually sounded appetizing.  Still, she wouldn’t be turned away by a bad taste in her mouth.

“Right.” She nodded. “Drink the magic blood. No problem.”

“That is the easy part,” Lucia stated matter-of-factly.  “The ritual is a form of blood magic, one the Chantry and everyone else are happy to overlook because Wardens are useful.  Drinking alters your blood, taints it. Those who do not have the willpower to control the corruption die instantly. Those who do have about thirty years before they lose their grip.”

“That’s what Nathaniel said,” Liss added absently.

“He told you?”

“Not about the blood magic or anything,” Liss corrected, “Just about the thirty years.”

Lucia didn’t seem appeased by the clarification. “He’s desperate to talk you out of this.” She shook her head.

Liss laughed bitterly.  “I do not need his approval.”

Frowning, Lucia straightened up from her leaning against the desk and brought her eyes to meet Liss’. “No, you don’t, but he is not without his reasons.”

“You mean his need to ‘protect’ me? I do not fear my own death as much as he does.”  Liss hated the belligerence in her own voice. She sounded like an impudent child. Why was she so angry that Nathaniel cared about her? It’s what she wanted all along.  It made no sense that she should resent him for it now.

“I don’t think it’s the death that he really wants to protect you from,” Lucia explained, “It’s the life.  Once you are Joined, you will change.

“How?” She crossed her arms, but made an attempt to soften her tone, remembering that Garavel was still in the room, and she was supposed to be a dignified lady.

“Immediately, most Wardens experience an increase in stamina and appetite, restlessness, insomnia.  Nothing you eat will taste good either.”

“That doesn’t sound—“

“If you do not have nightmares, you will.” Lucia interrupted her, face as calm as ever, though Liss could sense her irritation.  A sensitive subject, no doubt. “If you already have nightmares, then they will become worse, at least initially.”

Liss thought of every nightmare she’d survived since the attack. It was difficult to fathom how they could possibly be worse.  She pressed her lips together and nodded, intent on just listening to the woman.

“Wardens are typically unable to have children as well,” Lucia sighed, “Especially not with another Warden.”

“I wasn’t aware.”

“Of course not.” The words were pointed, but not at Liss.   “The Wardens aren’t keen on those things being common knowledge, lest people be dissuaded from joining.”

Lucia paused and began to return the vials to the pouch, the room falling silent with the exception of glass hitting glass.  She then continued. “I do not care what you decide, but whatever your choice, I want you to be certain it is what you want, that you are comfortable with the sacrifices you are making.”

“Do you give this lesson to all of your recruits, Commander,” Liss joked, regretting it instantly when Lucia snapped her eyes up in a scowl.

“No. I don’t.”

“Why me, then?”

“Because I think Nathaniel is right,” Lucia remarked, voice clipped.  “I envy your ability to choose this. I certainly didn’t get to.”

“I—“

“If you still wish to become a Grey Warden, I welcome you.  You will make an excellent member of the order.” Lucia’s expression softened.  “I just thought you deserved the truth.”

“I haven’t changed my mind,” Liss stated adamantly, though her voice trembled.  She wasn’t accustomed to reproach. It was so easy to forget that she had more freedom than most, freedom that terrified her in its vastness and uncertainty.  As much as she railed against rules and order, she thrived in their existence, and in the comfort of knowing where her boundaries lay, where her support was. She had none of that for a year, under the open skies of the Fereldan countryside, alone and lost, praying for someone to tell her what to do.

“Very well,” Lucia said with a nod, grasping the pouch of Joining ingredients more tightly in her hands before handing it to Garavel. “See to it that everything is prepared.  I am told that there are two other recruits?”

“Yes Commander.”

“Have someone send for them when it is time,” Garavel nodded and bowed slightly before exiting the room.  Lucia turned back to Liss and continued, “I will show you to your room.”

Liss followed her out of the room, down the corridor and up a flight of stairs.  There was a long hallway that seemed to have once been the guest wing of Vigil’s Keep, now serving as Warden quarters.  As they walked, Lucia explained that the non-warden soldiers, those from Amaranthine who were out of employment when the lands were taken from the Howe family, stayed in barracks on a different wing.  Wardens, both recruits, and fully-joined members stayed in private rooms. The luxury of living with tainted blood, Liss presumed.  

Lucia slowed as they approached one of the last few doors in the hall,  pushing it open and gesturing inside. “This one’s you.”

"Thank you.”

“You are welcome.  You should try to rest. Eat something if you are able.”  Lucia’s tone was direct, but not harsh. “I will send Alistair to retrieve you when the preparations are complete.”

Liss nodded in response, and the other woman left the room, closing the door gently behind her.   The room was similar in size to that which she stayed in at Denerim, though far less elaborately decorated. Muted, earthy tones covered the bed and chairs.  A silver griffon perched upon a sea blue banner that hung from the far wall. The Wardens were no decorators, but it was charming nonetheless.  

Vibrating with a feeling she couldn’t quite place—nervousness, excitement, some indescribable mix of the two— Liss tried making herself comfortable in each of the chairs in the room, only to stand up shortly after, body pressuring her to move.  She opened and closed every drawer on the desk, examined the spines of the books on the shelf, tested out the mattress, and still she could not seem to ease her nerves. Just as she was about to follow Lucia’s recommendation, to set out in search of something to eat despite her stomach’s anxious protests, there was a knock at the door.

“Alistair,” she asked, swinging open the door, eyes widening and heat rushing to her face when she saw dark hair and blue eyes. “Nate.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” he said so dryly she could not tell if he was serious

“Not disappointing,” she blurted, unable to keep the words from tumbling out of her mouth. She was supposed to be cross with him, damn it.  “Just unexpected. Lucia told me Alistair would come to get me for the... you know.”

“Right.” He frowned, and tensed as if it were painful to speak to her.  That was new. “I believe that is still the plan. I just came to talk. That is, if you aren’t opposed.”

“Depends.” She smirked and crossed her arms.  “Are you going to yell at me again? I was not fond of the yelling.”

“My voice will remain at an appropriate volume, my lady,” he assured her, a grin twitching at the corners of his mouth.  She glared at him briefly, hoping to impress upon him that she was, in fact, still angry, and that her choice to allow him into her room did not mean that she had forgiven him.

“I am going to hold you to that, you know,” she answered, moving out of the way.  It wasn’t until he entered that she noticed he held a small, parchment parcel tied together with string, an empty cup, and a carafe of a white liquid that appeared to be milk.  Curiosity getting the better of her, she asked, “What’s that?”

“You need to eat something before the ritual,” Nate answered with a smile, but didn’t answer her question, continuing instead to the desk where he sat the items down, and busied himself with untying the string.  Liss scowled and closed the door, rushing over to stand beside him.

“That’s what Lucia said. Why?”

“You’ll be starving when you wake up,” he explained, “But you won’t want to eat.  Having something right before helps, and you should eat something that you like. It will never taste the same again.”

“And so you’ve brought me something I like?”  She eyed him curiously, uncertain what exactly he hoped to accomplish.

“I think so,” Nate said with a shrug, opening up the parchment to reveal several, small yellow cookies with red centers.  “I remember we used to sneak these from the kitchen when Nan wasn’t looking.”

Liss’ eyes welled up with unwelcome, ridiculous tears. “Shortbread cookies with raspberry jam?” They were her favorites, and she hadn’t had them in years.

“Yes, though I don’t know that they’ll compare to Nan’s.” He laughed again. “There also may be a cook downstairs who is very angry that her cookies are missing.”

“Just like old times, then.” Liss laughed and cried at the same time, sitting down in the desk chair, and pouring some milk into the glass.  She took a cookie and then offered one up to Nate, who stood leaned against the wall, staring off at nothing.

“You should eat them all,” he answered, shaking his head, “I am serious when I say that you will be starving.”

“If I must.” She feigned annoyance, and began nibbling at the cookie in her hand, very aware that Nate still looked uncomfortable. After several minutes had passed, she could take it no longer. “I accept your peace offering. Now, would you please sit down?”

Liss pointed to a stool that sat just a few feet away and Nate obliged, inhaling deeply, and finally speaking as he sat.  “I know I was an arse before.”

“Really,” Liss teased, mouth full of the second cookie, “Hadn’t noticed.”

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and wringing his hands. “I may have made some unfair assumptions about why you wished to become a Warden.  It made me angry to think that you might throw your life away for the sake of some romanticized adventure. I should have known better, and I apologize.”

“I wish that’s why I was doing this,” she admitted, dusting crumbs from her hands, and turning to face him. “I’ve lost everything, Nate, including my sense of security in the world.  I didn’t realize how lonely freedom was. I will gladly corrupt myself to never feel that way again.”

“You don’t have to feel that way,” he remarked abruptly, and flinched, no doubt regretting the words.

“Oh? I don’t.” She laughed sarcastically. “Well, that’s a relief!  I’ll just stop feeling that way, then. I’ll just ignore the fact that my family is dead and the other people in my life are all moving on and have no use for me anymore.”

“That’s not true.” Nate clenched his fists but his voice remained calm, true to his word.  “I’ll always be there for you.”

“You mean, like you’ve been there for me for the past nine years?” With that, Liss shoved the remaining cookies away, appetite lost entirely as anger burned in her blood.  The only reason she had ever truly been angry with him, presenting itself at her feet, too large and potent to be buried under affection. She pushed out her chair and stood abruptly causing Nate to flinch.

He stood as well, pained expression consuming his face.  “Liss, I-”

“No,” she shouted, “ You don’t just get to swoop in and tell me you’ll be there for me when you have done nothing but show me otherwise.  You couldn’t even write me a bloody letter.”

She threw her arms up in exasperation, but Nathaniel remained still, jaw set.  “I know I haven’t been there for you, but I am trying to be there for you now.  I want to fix this.”

“All you had to do was write to me, Nate, just once.”

“It hurt too much, Liss.”

“You should have told me, then.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I would have understood.  I’d have hated it, but I would have understood because Maker knows I was hurting, too.”

Shaking his head, he moved to stand more closely in front of her.  “I was a foolish, stubborn boy who believed that if I ignored you long enough, you’d finally see me for the pathetic piece of shit I thought I was, and realize you were happier without me in your life.”

“Nate, you were my favorite person in the world,” she said, voice cracking, “The only thing you did was make me think that I was the worthless piece of shit.  I truly believed that you were happy in Starkhaven, living it up without me and not even caring.”

“I tried,” Nate admitted, laughing humorlessly, “I tried so damn hard to convince myself that my feelings would go away if I told myself I didn’t feel them enough times.  We see where that got me. It’s nine years later, I’m still hopelessly in love with you, and miserable because I keep messing up.”

Liss froze, blinking a few times to make sure she heard him properly, replaying his words over and over in her head until she was certain.  He said it. The one thing she’d wanted to hear since she was eleven years old and writing about him in her journal. The thing she’d prayed for since she’d desperately confessed her feelings to him in a letter the year after he left.  He loved her, and she should have been elated because it was about bloody time, was it not? She should have wanted to say that she loved him too because she certainly did, but anger was all she could manage in the moment.

“And you thought now would be the appropriate time to have this conversation? Right before a dangerous, life-altering ceremony?”  She shook her head. “I can’t believe you.”

“”I thought that it might be the last chance to have it,” he said dejectedly.

“The last —” she eyed him with complete disbelief — “Will you stop acting as if it is my funeral for Andraste’s sake?  I’d ask you to have some faith in me, but I know that is a lost cause.”

He lifted his hand as if to reach for her but dropped it and sighed.  “I have more faith in you than I’ve ever had in anyone.”

Blinking away the tears in her eyes, she turned away from him. “I can’t do this right now, Nate.  I just can’t. I have to —”

There was a knock at the door. “Liss? It’s Alistair.  It’s time.”

“ —go.”  She held Nate’s gaze as she finished the thought, but then broke eye contact as she walked past him, opened the door, and walked out, closing it behind her without another word. She knew it was unfair, and immediately wanted to rush back inside and smooth things over, but it was too late.  The damage had been done.

“Sooo,” Alistair said as they walked down the hall, “I noticed that you’re crying.  Everything alright?”

“No,” she whimpered unattractively.

Alistair moved in front of her and stopped, blocking her path.  He spread out his arms and tilted his head, an offer for a hug, which she happily accepted.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” He released her from the embrace and looked down at her.  

“Mhmm.”

“Fine, but you have to promise me two things.” He held out two fingers for emphasis.

“What,” she asked, laughing.

“One. Don’t even think about dying.  It isn’t allowed.”

“Understood.” “Two.  When you get done not dying, you have to get whatever that was —” he pointed back toward her room — “sorted out.”

Liss sighed. “I suppose I probably should.”

“Swear?”  Alistair held out his pinky finger and she couldn’t help but be amused at this very large man intending to make her pinky promise.

Locking her pinky with his she smiled. “I swear.”

“Great,” he said turning and beginning to walk again, “Now that we’ve got one sacred oath out of the way… ready for another?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she answered, shaky voice betraying the apprehension in her gut.

When they arrived in the main hall, the room was filled with the other Wardens in Amaranthine as well as common soldiers who attended to bear witness.  Lucia and the seneschal stood at the center near the fire pit, the seneschal holding a chalice in his hand. Before them stood two other recruits, both soldiers, and both trembling beneath their suits of armor.  Alistair motioned for Liss to stand by the two men, and she did so.  

Once she was in her place, those in the room began reciting some sort of oath, a  chilling invocation performed in unison that Liss could have done without. As the room chanted, Liss searched it apprehensively for familiar faces.  Lucia. Garavel. Alistair. The other Wardens whose names she couldn’t recall in all of the chaos. As the first recruit was called forward to drink from the chalice, Liss’ pulse jumped.  She watched as he took a slight sip, closed her eyes as he began to choke, and pretended not to hear as he breathed his last breath.  

When the second man was called forth, she began to search the crowd again, desperately looking for Nathaniel.  She shouldn’t have expected him to be there, considering the way she had walked out on him just moments before.  She hadn’t even told him she loved him too, and as the second recruit strangled and died right next to her, all that she could think about is how she might never get to.  

Lucia called her name and told her to step forward, brows furrowed in a silent apology.  Liss took the chalice in her hands, examining the dark liquid that she could already feel sliding it’s way down her throat before she even drank.  Taking a steadying breath, she brought the rim to her lips, and as she looked up Nate was there, several feet behind Lucia. Worry knitted his brows, but he offered her a reassuring smile nonetheless.  She nodded at him and drank.

For a brief instant, it burned like fire, trailing its way down her throat, then she became suddenly cold, as if her blood had frozen entirely.  An overwhelming, sickening sense of dread washed over her, but she fought it, refusing to let it take her. She wasn’t choking. As her vision faded to black and she began to fall to the ground,  the last thing she remembered she heard was Nathaniel’s voice calling her name and the warmth of his arms as he caught her. She was safe.

[laurelsofhighever]

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 19 - Shadows on the Mind

It is the spring of 9:32 Dragon, and Ferelden is gripped in the midst of a bloody civil war. Driven by fear of an old enemy, the traitorous Loghain Mac Tir has stirred the people against the king, and every day new factions vie for power, waiting to take advantage of the chaos now that it is certain a new peace can only be won with swords.

In the north, Arl Howe of Amaranthine has seized control of Highever, and only Rosslyn Cousland, last scion of a slaughtered noble house, stands in the way of his greed. Aided by King Cailan’s uncle and his bastard half-brother, Alistair, she is determined to seek justice for her family’s murder and right the wrongs done to her people.

But politics is a complicated game. War has a cost; nobility comes with obligation; and beneath the machinations on both sides of the conflict, an even deeper threat stirs, biding its time to come into the light and bring Ferelden to its knees.

Words: 2837

Chapter summary: His plans outmatched for the time being, Loghain plots his next move in Denerim.

CW: violent death (no gore)

Chapter 1 on AO3 This chapter on AO3 Masterpost here

Twenty-seventh day of Drakonis, 9:32 Dragon

The large window in the king’s study had been installed during the rebuilding of Denerim, as the last black marks of the Occupation were being washed away. It offered an unparalleled view of the city, which Maric said was the point. He had once asked, rhetorically, what kind of king he would be if all he did was sit behind a desk making writs without seeing how they affected his people. The fact that many of these writs had been delayed over the years because of His Majesty’s tendency to be distracted by the goings-on in the streets below had been an endless source of frustration for his advisors.

Despite the tendency to let his mind wander, Maric’s dedication to his people could not be denied. In the years following the Orlesian retreat, trade deals with the Free Marches and Antiva had swelled the size of the capital’s harbour district, bringing in exotic goods, raw materials, and investment, and now the deep water port could accommodate even a Qunari dreadnought, should one ever deign to come so far south. With the increased shipping came the markets and the merchants and the bustle of dockworkers making their daily living. On an ordinary day, the streets would be busy with fishermen and hawkers lauding the goods they had for sale, and with them, sailors waiting for the tide to turn, and sometimes the more brazen madams trying to win their coin and their attention for an hour or two.

Loghain could see no loiterers today. He scowled out at the drizzle, one hand clutched reflexively at the heavy pendant hanging around his neck, stroking it with his thumb. The curious green crystal at its centre caught the light and made for an annoying reflection in the glass, but he barely noticed it. The last of his ships were making port, unscathed by the winter storms. In addition to the troops he had originally meant as a reserve, the three-masted vessels carried much needed supplies and equipment from the winter stores in Gwaren, and their addition to his rations would greatly ease the strain on the soldiers and on the general populace, who had so far taken to his presence with the equanimity to be expected of commoners. So long as they were left alone without privation, they would be unlikely to cause trouble.

Still, no need to be complacent. Even though he had outed Cailan as a traitor to his people, there were still those among the guard and the nobility whose loyalty remained steadfast to their monarch. An admirable quality, to be sure, but a dangerous one for a man whose success depended on his enemy not knowing his next move. Even now, the gates to the city were shut to all those without official business, and the massive netted chain that guarded the harbour against piracy was drawn in so that not even the smallest boat could pass and send word to the loyalists.

The sight ought to be easing his mind. Setting sail from Gwaren in the middle of winter with all of Cailan’s forces blocking the Brecilian Passage was a gamble a lesser man wouldn’t have risked, but he had seen the opportunity for a swift end to the conflict, and had taken his chance when the Southron Hills became clogged with snow. He had left port ahead of the storm, satisfied in the knowledge that Arl Leonas and others of his ilk would rest on their certainty, think him trapped by the southern winter. While they had hung their cloaks and settled by their fires to wait for the thaw, he had rounded the peninsular unmolested, with his soldiers safe from every enemy but the sea.

And yet, when he had pulled into port on that overcast, blustery morning a week ago, it was only to find his ultimate prize had slipped his grasp.

I underestimated him.

The capital hadn’t so much fallen to him as noticed the new pennants on the city gates, then shrugged and resumed its winter torpor. Loghain had the palace, and the royal guard, and control of shipping all along the northern coast, but without Cailan, the victory was a hollow one. The plan had been to curtail the king’s movements, to make him see reason or act for the greater good if he did not, and either way to end the war before the toll of innocent lives became too great. Instead, he had escaped, and taken his legitimacy with him. Although untested in open battle, the young man was skilled with a blade, and worse, he was likeable, sure to rouse support among banns easily swayed by pretty words. The loyalty Loghain himself had to fight for with threats and grim debate, Cailan managed with an easy smile and a witticism or two. No doubt it was such radiant charm that had ensnared Anora’s feelings, too – and those of that thrice-damned Orlesian harpy eager to supplant her.

A movement in the courtyard below caught Loghain’s eye. It was the wind, brushing against the limp body swinging by the neck in the courtyard, purpled and starting to swell from exposure. The sight calmed him. When he had led his troops onto the dock to find only the wizened Arl of Denerim waiting for him, in the depth of his anger he knew he had been betrayed, because how else would Cailan have known to flee? The purge of his ranks had been swift, the punishment meted out to the conspirators harsh but necessary.

The wind tugged again, and the dead soldier twisted on the end of his rope, so that the empty face turned upwards to the king’s window, staring at Loghain from dark eye sockets, tongue blue and bloated where it poked between his teeth.

Yes. A necessary sacrifice. A traitor. It was always I who made the harsh decisions to ensure victory. Maric, at least, understood that.

Loghain turned his attention back to the ships. The question before him was what to do now. Summer was swiftly on the march, and with it, the long, hot days traditionally given over to campaigning; the forces currently held at bay by freak snowstorms and boggy roads would soon be on the move, and without a clear advantage of numbers, open warfare would be risky.

And then there was the Cousland girl, this ‘Falcon of Highever’ as she styled herself. He should have known better than to trust Howe to take care of the teyrn and his family. The man’s avarice was outstripped only by his hubris, and the combination had allowed the chit to escape and raise a war across the North. Twice now he had read reports of her victories, and just last week a snivelling message from Howe saying his forces had been driven back by raids from ambush soldiers wearing the blazon of the Laurels. She had the makings of a formidable opponent – in some ways, one more dangerous to his plans than Cailan. Her style was reckless, her limited experience compensated for by the spur of revenge, the same knowledge of righteousness against cruelty that had pressed all the old guard to victory during the Occupation. Loghain knew that feeling well; he might have admired her in different circumstances.

Yes, it had been a mistake to let Howe have the Couslands. Bryce had been an honourable man, a fellow warrior, and a veteran of the Rebellion, always a level head in the Landsmeet unlikely to fall for rhetoric. In truth, he was one of the few who could be called noble without any sense of irony, but the loyalty commanded in Highever had made it necessary to remove him from the field before Cailan’s quarrel led to open war. If there had been time, he would have tried harder to persuade the teyrn to part ways with the king, even knowing it would never have worked. The Couslands were too loyal, too traditional, and proud to a fault. Loghain’s lip curled in a faint sneer at this thought, wondering if Bryce would have been so quick to dismiss this new threat from Orlais if it had been his daughter set up as the laughingstock of Ferelden.

And now she’s running loose, garnering sympathy and likely making eyes at that fool boy, looking to usurp my daughter’s place as Queen.

Behind him on the other side of the king’s desk, the members of his senior staff shifted nervously as his mumblings took on the timbre of a growl. He had always been a strict commander, demanding the best from those who served him, and their loyalty was rewarded in kind – as was disloyalty. The stresses of the past few weeks seemed to finally be catching up to the old general, however. He suffered from headaches, and this in turn made him more taciturn, less predictable, and catching his ire these days was dangerous. More than one mind veered to the body slowly turning in the courtyard. Loyalty held sway, but their respect was now edged by a creeping sense of dread.

Only the tall young woman stood at the centre of the knot of advisors seemed eager to draw Loghain’s attention rather than deflect it. Ser Cauthrien stood polished in full armour, clunky layers of plate and mail that were not quite padded enough to hide her narrow frame, her hands held stiff at her sides, a rapt expression on her thin face. Her shoulders ached from the strain of keeping her spine straight, her feet were numb, and a wisp of mud-dark hair fell into her eyes, but she made no move to brush it away. Since losing King Cailan, the worsening news about the rebellions in the north and west meant the way forward was now unclear, and there was much to consider before deciding on the best course. Would it be more reassuring to have a commander who made snap decisions without thinking through every eventuality caused by his actions? She felt a spike of contempt for those who shrank away from her master. After all, he had brought them all safe across the winter sea, caused the king himself to flee in fear, and now stood in Denerim’s palace, having won the city with minimal losses. She could not judge his actions executing the supposed traitor. The decision had been swift, for sure, and shocking to all those who had witnessed the man’s final pleas as he stood on the scaffold, but Loghain’s face had been grim as he passed the sentence, and in all her years of service, Cauthrien had never known him to be unnecessarily cruel. And what other reason could there be for the king’s conveniently-timed escape?

She licked chapped lips and waited.

“We cannot allow ourselves to grow careless,” Loghain said eventually. He still faced the window, and it was unclear whether or not he was speaking to the other people in the room.

“The weather is already improving,” Cauthrien offered. “We can be on the road in two days, if you wish it.”

He turned, his thick brows drawn down over his eyes in a dark scowl. “My wish is to see the people of Ferelden free of those who enslaved us for a century, and of those who would hand this country back to Orlais like a trussed boar on a platter.”

He stroked his thumb over the green jewelled pendant as he spoke, distracted. She tried to suppress the tiny shiver that trailed up her spine when his eyes locked on hers – it was the weight of expectation she saw in them, that was all.

“What is your command, You Lordship?” she asked.

“Everything I have done has been to secure Ferelden’s independence, and I will not see my efforts go to waste because of Cailan’s vanity and his foolish refusal to listen to reason. Rendon Howe’s ineptitude has cost us support, and I do not trust his loyalty to our cause. He will be dealt with, but not while his actions provide a distraction for our enemy.” He sighed, the corners of his mouth pulling down in a grimace. “So now I look to you, Ser Cauthrien. The nobility must be brought into line so that we may stand united against the Orlesian threat.”

“I will see it done, Your Lordship,” she answered.

Loghain nodded. “Our scouts report that the king’s army suffered heavy losses at West Roth, and because of that were unable to press north and retake Highever. Instead, they have retreated. If his commanders have any sense, they’ll go to Redcliffe to try and rebuild their forces in safety, but Cailan himself is reckless. His designs on Empress Celene are proof enough of that. Now is the time to strike.”

A ripple of anticipation wove through the officers behind Cauthrien.

“You will lead our forces south, and cut him off from his sanctuary at Redcliffe with whatever force you deem necessary,” Loghain continued. “Defeat his army, kill this upstart scion of Highever.”

“And the king himself?”

“Bring him back alive, if you can. I am not yet such a villain to want him dead, and I would spare my daughter more pain.”

“I understand, your lordship.” She bowed and turned to leave, but his voice called her back.

“You have come a long way, Cauthrien, and I trust your judgement in the field.” His eyes met hers again, pale and uncanny in the backlight from the window as he reached forward and offered her a packet sealed with the embossed image of the Drake in black wax. “Do not disappoint me.”

She nodded again and swallowed back the dread that chilled her bones as she took her orders. It wasn’t fear of him that made her pause – it wasn’t – it was fear of failure. If not for his generosity, she would be nothing more than another browbeaten farmwife with a clutch of bawling infants at her hip and no chance to better herself, to make a name based on her merit as a warrior. The other captains parted for her, scuttling back out of reach with envious looks.

When the door slammed closed, they shuffled forward, passing glances between each other, as if seeing who would dare to break the silence first. Loghain had turned back to the window.

“Well?” he demanded, when the silence stretched. “What have you to say – or are you all content to stand about like partlets waiting for wheat to rain from the sky?”

“Your Lordship,” said one, the oldest and most confident of the four. “I have reports here on the garrison, and on your proposal to –”

“Leave it here,” Loghain snapped. “I will read it later.”

“Yes, Your Lordship.”

“There was one matter that requires discussion,” interrupted another, who bore the rank insignia of a guard-captain. “It’s an issue of some delicacy.” He paused, trying to frame his words. “It has been wondered by some what your intentions are regarding the… the queen.”

Loghain turned at that, his eyes softening for a moment. “Anora is safe in Gwaren, where she will stay,” he said. “Did you think I would risk her in this venture?”

“Uh, no, Your Lordship,” the young man replied. “But the concern among some of the men is more that she…”

“Spit it out.”

The officer gulped. “There is nobody to watch over her in Gwaren, save her women. The worry is she may do something rash, may warn the king about –”

“You dare suggest my own daughter would betray me?”

“W-well, I…”

“Anora is loyal to me!” Loghain thundered, his lips peeling back from his teeth. “I would sooner trust her than any of you. Is that clear? If I so much as hear a whisper about this matter after today, the consequences for the one uttering them will be severe.”

The captains looked at each other, quailed, and mumbled their assent. A knock on the door disturbed the fraught atmosphere of the study, drawing Loghain’s scowl away from the faces of his officers.

“Come!”

“Good day, Your Lordship,” the messenger said as she poked her head around the door. “You told me to inform you when that magister arrived. He’s waiting out in the corridor, Ser. There’s another one with ‘im. Name of Erimond.”

“Very good,” Loghain replied. “The rest of you are dismissed. Send him in,” he added to the messenger, who nodded and retreated to carry out her duty. He glanced at the garrison report left on the very edge of his desk, but did not reach for it. Instead, he waited for the magisters. The chaos in Highever had forced his hand. Doing business with the Imperium was something Maric had always baulked at – a price costed too high, he said – but then Maric had never faced a threat quite like this one, and to lose his advantage now would be to lose the whole of Ferelden to its oldest enemy.

He would not let that happen.

[wieldbalance]

OVERVIEW

      This verse is set in the world of the DRAGON AGE video game series. It is OPEN to plotting with any mutual followers who are interested, at any point on the main Dragon Age timeline (Origins, Awakening, DA2, and Inquisition). The following info is all subject to tweaking as I continue exploring Rey’s character in this universe. 

BASICS

Race: Elfblooded (half-elven, half-human)  Class: Apostate Mage  Spell School(s): Arcane  Specialization(s): Force Magic, Arcane Warrior Unusual Traits: Dreamer/Somniari  Affiliation: Grey Wardens (Post-Fifth Blight) 

BACKGROUND

        Rey does not remember much before watching the ship leave Amaranthine with her family aboard. She was left behind—purposely, as she later discovered—in the custody of a human man named Agnar, who wasted no time in using her to further increase his profits as a seller of rare artifacts and hard-to-find resources. It turned out she was small enough to slip through gaps in ruined places that Agnar’s men could not.         Over time, Rey was allowed more independence in scavenging, so long as she brought the best materials to Agnar. Anytime her interest strayed, he would remind her that she owed him for feeding and clothing her, and that he was the only one with information about her family. Ten years passed as Rey grew increasingly resteless, until the day Agnar made her an offer: If she could retrieve one final artifact for him, he would give her the information she wanted so badly, and finally release her from his service.          But something went wrong as soon as Rey touched it. An explosion of energy that shook the room around her and caused the walls to crumble, knocking Rey unconscious and trapping her at the same time. When she woke, her cries for help went unanswered. Agnar and his men had abandoned Rey for dead, and she would have to find her own way out. She gathered what valuables she could find and, after debating it for some time, took the coveted artifact (carefully wrapped in a cloth so as to avoid touching it again).         After she escaped, Rey returned to Agnar’s shop. Her intention was to trade what she’d found for the information she’d been promised, but she knew better than to bring the artifact he’d wanted most. She hid it elsewhere and showed Agnar only enough that he’d believe she had it, and told him he could have the location of the hiding place after he gave her the clue to her parentage that she sought. Angry that she’d play any sort of game with him, Agnar let loose with a laugh before revealing that the information—the lead he’d held over her head for ten years—was…nothing. He’d been lying to keep her under his thumb, and she’d been foolish enough to believe it.          Perhaps his intention was to throw off Rey’s balance enough to take her by surprise, overpower her and find a way to make her tell him where the artifact was. He never got the chance to try. There was another burst of energy, this time from Rey herself. Magic had awakened inside her, and it threw Agnar clear across the room and overturned a few shelves. Rey seized her chance to grab as many useful resources she could find, and left Amaranthine after a short stop to retrieve artifact. She’s been traveling ever since. 

SUBVERSES

HERE LIES THE ABYSS.  Taking place during the Fifth Blight, Rey has been recruited to assist the Warden. As a companion, she is a formidable melee fighter with her staff, and becomes better as she learns to control her magic. She has been stricken with the Blight sickness and does her best to hide it. The Warden can save her with the Joining after the Landsmeet, in which case she joins the ranks of the Grey Wardens going forward. 

FROM THE ASHES.  In which the Warden accepted Morrigan’s offer of a dark but lifesaving ritual. The Archdemon is slain and all is well for a time. Despite her bad memories of the arling, Rey joins the Warden at Vigil’s Keep in Amaranthine. After the events of Awakening, she travels surreptitiously on Warden business, which eventually brings her to Kirkwall. (Timeline arcs tba.) 

WHAT PRIDE HAD WROUGHT.  After witnessing the veil tearing open in the sky, Rey sought out the source, and eventually offered her assistance to the Inquisition—keeping her status as a Grey Warden primarily to herself. At least, until the Order’s unsavory deals begin to be uncovered, at which point her investment in the Inquisition becomes twofold. 

* IN UTHENERA NA REVAS.  In which the Warden did not accept Morrigan’s offer, deciding instead to take their chances against the Archdemon. With a suddenly renewed sense of purpose, Rey prevented the Warden from dealing the final blow, and sacrificed her own life in their place. However, due to quite a few magical traits all converging in her, Rey instead fell into something remarkably similar to the Elvish Uthenera, the Waking Sleep, and found herself wandering the Fade. It wasn’t until Coripheus tore a a giant hole in the veil that Rey was able to find her way back—and now, she’s got things to do. 

* Threads in this verse will be mainly by request/with plotting, as it is a self-indulgent version of events that I don’t plan to force on anyone unless they’re into the idea of losing Rey and then finding her again in like, ten years.