#circles in tevinter

[undragoning-the-ages]

Extended Tevinter power structure chart ( expanded canon)

The Archon: Supreme executive position. Usually inherited -- can be elected by the Magisterium if they have no appointed heir (WoT I, p. 76). However, an Archon mustn't be a member of Magisterium or the Chantry (also based on WoT I). So, the choice between Maevaris and Dorian in DATV technically shouldn't have been permitted...

The Imperial Divine: Head of the Imperial Chantry, also holding the position of Imperial Grand Enchanter, elected among Grand Clerics. Has a seat in the Magisterium.

The Chanty and the College: not all enchanters in the Circles of Magi need to be Chantry clergy and vice versa, but all Chantry positions from Revered Mother/ Father upward require membership in a Circle (WoT I, p. 125). The Grand Clerics of the Imperial Chantry automatically take seats in the Magisterium.

(*Not canon compliant) The Imperial Chantry serves as the state religion, the Imperium's main moral authority, the main judicial and advisory body to the Magisterium. It provides checks and balances to the regular resurgences of the Old God cults and attempts to revert Hessarian's Transfiguration of the Imperium.

(*Canon Friendly): The Circles of Magi are the public academies, responsible for education, research and development of new thaumaturgic technologies that serve the public good.

The Magisterium: the main legislative body of the Imperium. Each of the Circles also appoints a representative, though the First Enchanters are not eligible (WoT I, p. 76). Other positions in the Magisterium are inherited. The Laetans class has an entirety of three Magisterium seats (WoT II, p.38). The Archon has the right to appoint magisters directly.

(*Canon friendly) A single person only holds one Magisterium seat. If a legacy Magister becomes a Grand Cleric, they hold their seat in the Magisterium as a Grand Cleric; the legacy seat is then freed to be filled in by the Archon's decree. The Archon holds a waitlist of Magisterium candidates who can "jump in" following emergencies and power shuffles.

The Publicanium (*not canon compliant): a secondary body to the Magisterium that serves as a lesser legislative body, and the main administrative body, that mostly operates on the provincial level. It includes both the central administration (e.g. the Treasury and the Imperial Highways department) and local governments.

If you want to picture how a single person can consolidate power by advancing in particular institutions, look no further than Magister Rezaren Ammosine from Absolution. Rezaren is a magister by inheritance and a Chantry Brother with realistic prospects of promotion within the Chantry, which also requires him to be a Circle Enchanter.

Conversely, Dorian Pavus has held an Enchanter position in a Circle when he aided Magister Gereon Alexius in his research, but he never joined the Chantry. From his example, we learn that a "fully fledged Enchanter" must graduate a Circle at a respectable level at least, and likely also pursue some academic work later.

[lavellaned]

A lot of the pro-veilguard arguments I see include a very specific way of viewing what “dark fantasy” is which misses the entire point as to why there are criticisms about the overall tone of the game.

Dark fantasy is not just “how much murder rape bigotry and overall suffering can we put in a story for the sake of doing so”.

It’s about having events and themes based off of the darker parts of reality and then, as the player, being able to do something about it. The general appeal is the catharsis. It’s about seeing these stories reflected through an interactive story in a meaningful, respectful, purposeful way.

Is dragon age the poster child for handling its complicated, real-life-inspired politics well? No. But veilguard was somehow worse. The bar was in hell and it still tripped flat on its face.

Veilguard’s lackadaisical, chronically ironic “well THAT just happened”, neutered writing and theme is not a good argument as to why this is a good dragon age game, and you can’t blame the dark fantasy genre for it.

[vigilskept]

i don’t even know if i have the energy to get into it but it truly does fucking grind my gears that criticism over how characters/worldstates were handled gets conflated with criticism of how genuinely fucking atrocious the politics of this game are.

like yeah ok. the dev cycle was a fucking nightmare. no one’s really happy with the game they put out. sure, we can extend empathy to those involved. and yeah, there are labour issues within the gaming industry at play here.

the labour issues are not what made this game deeply fucking racist.

[timethehobo]

Another what-if pair up. They’d look so cute enjoying tea together. And have intellectual conversations probably.

[hoboblaidd]

People in the Inquisition would not have known Solas = Fen'harel, but there are so many cracks in his disguise that they can reasonably conclude "this elf is purposefully hiding his past." It's not even his magic/the Fade - Solas as a person doesn't quite add up.

He claims he's a random apostate elf from some nowhere village up North. He studies the Fade so extensively that he knows it better than anyone the Inquisition can find. So far, so good tbh - he's "self-taught", and the Fade is something any mage can readily access. Even being a Dreamer isn't a stretch to believe. That's something that comes to some people naturally, and with no Circle or clan to warn him off of it, it's a logical thing for a mage to develop. His aptitude with spirits is another thing that makes sense - he knows how to keep the more dangerous ones at bay so benefits from the knowledge and friendship of the kinder spirits.

His scars and fighting style are also not problematic. Everyone in Thedas has scars, and anyone outside of the nobility could be involved in a fight, especially living in the wilds. Solas appears to be in his 40s. That's a long time living on your own, and on the run from Templars and bigots. Even the sophistication of his magic isn't a problem. Bull's right to notice it doesn't "clunk", but it's not unrealistic for a disciplined self-taught mage to get good enough at the same menu of spells over the course of around ~40 years.

The main problem is everything else. He maintains he was always alone, but has no problem navigating any kind of social circle with an easy charisma. He lived in the wilds all his life, yet has a breadth of knowledge that suggests academia. He has Josie get him books from all cultures, both translated and not, that cross several Ages. He claims that he belonged to no organization, yet has sophisticated insights into politics and diplomacy. He paints in an intricate, difficult style of art with a talent that is perfected, but where would an apostate living in the woods be able to practice fresco painting? He is incredibly passionate about things he'd reasonably have no experience with - slavery, the Qun, the plight of mages, and while yes, it's a moral standpoint anyone could take, he talks about it like he knows it and admits he's taken up his fair share of causes. And then there's General Solas, who slips out occasionally to give sound, on-the-ground tactical advice and admits he's fought in an "elven skirmish."

The disguise is helped by his reticence and ready admission that he doesn't want to give anything away about himself. That's logical for an apostate in a Chantry institution. But even without his knowledge of ancient elves, Solas knows too much about too much.

[crypticcanidae]

veilguard's kinda like. the monkey's paw of videogames i think.

[skyheld]

vg being like 'this isn't the south we don't have circles' you can't fool me game i remember. the circles started in nevarra.

[hellamorte]

are there any alienages in antiva and nevarra??? i looked here and there but found nothing. both are under orlesian chantry but obviously influenced by tevinter. any thoughts? 🤔

[kirkwallguy]

still can't stop thinking about the fact that they have demigenders in tevinter but if you're in ferelden you're still using medieval euphemisms for being gay. there are some extremely funny situations to put several characters in

[nirikeehan]

For Meira x Lucanis: [ BLADE ] : Character A, having been enemies with Character B, places a knife to their throat, but does nothing else. and A Crow’s dagger, sticky with drying blood

WELP YOU AND @monocytogenes SURE CREATED A MONSTER. Looks like I'm taking Tevinter Nights era Lucanis and bringing him to his weirdest logistical conclusion. Jailbreak scene incoming.

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 2312

---

She peeked in every door she passed. Some cells were empty; others contained huddled husks deep in shadowed corners. She turned a corner, kept looking — and at the end of the hall a door stood open, spilling light from the circular room therein. 

Meira halted in the doorway. At the center of the rotunda was a man, stripped to the waist and barefoot. He hung spread eagle from his wrists, a curtain of jet black hair obscuring his face. His arms and torso were covered in bruises, cuts and dried blood. 

“Sweet Andraste.” Meira rushed to his side. She pressed two fingers to his neck, searching for a pulse — that’s what they’d taught her in the field healer course. “Lucanis? Is that you? Can you hear me?” 

The man roused, letting out a weak cough. Reddened, feverish eyes rose to meet hers through the tangle of hair. He had a coarse beard along a narrow jaw, slightly crooked aquiline nose, chapped lips. 

“I can hear you,” he said faintly. His words were flavored with the lilt of the Antivan tongue.

Breathless, Meira asked, “Lucanis Dellamorte?”

A small nod. 

“Thank the Maker!” Relief made her knees wobble. “Am I glad to see you. My name is Meira Van Morovich; I’m here to rescue you. I was so worried you were dead, or worse.” 

He stared at her as she babbled. “Little help?” 

“Right, yes.”

Meira grabbed for the shackles, which chafed against his raw wrists. Lucanis hissed in pain. 

“Shite, sorry! Sorry.” She stepped back, cringing. She watched him dangle there. His arms strained, and his chest heaved with deep wheezes. She felt horrible. “Um. Okay. Any idea how to get these off?” There was no keyhole. 

“Some sort of rune.” Lucanis nudged his head toward the nearby wall. “Magic, I think.” 

“Magical Tevinter locks, of course.” Meira bit back a wave of hysterical laughter. “Hold on one second.” 

Meira ran over to the wall, where a glowing rune was inlaid in the masonry. She’d seen Colette fiddle with something similar, shortly before her demise. It had to do with attunement to a resonance of Fade-based energy — which was all fine and good, if you understood anything about the Fade and how it fed its powers to those with the gift. She did not. 

Trying not to cry, Meira raised her palms and held them in front of the rune. She felt a strange heat — not on her skin, but inside her hands, radiating up her arms. She let out a nervous breath, closed her eyes, and tried to let the magic tell her what to do. It took a few tries, and she had to resist pulling away when she thought she might overload the ward and explode her own face, but finally, something gave. 

“Got it!” The rune’s glow faded out. There was a clink of metal unclasping, and the sound of a body falling limp. 

“Fantastic, now we’ve got to get—” 

Meira turned, only to be slammed against the wall. Gasping, she recoiled, but there was nowhere to go. Lucanis had her shoulder pinned with one hand. In the other glinted a piece of jagged metal. It looked homemade. For someone who seemed so emaciated, he was unbelievably strong. 

His long hair cast a pall over his features, contorted with rage. He pressed closer, so that their noses nearly touched. “Who sent you?”

The blade was cold, edged against the soft flesh below her jaw. Great way to slash someone’s throat and watch them bleed out — she’d heard that in training. Meira instantly forgot everything else she’d never learned. “The— the Inquisition!” 

“The Inquisition disbanded six years ago.” The shiv pushed harder. “Try again.” 

Who else was there? Divine Victoria’s secret agents didn’t have the same name recognition. Varric? No, he couldn’t know Varric, could he? No no no, Lucanis was nobility or something close— important Antivans wanted him home. “Your grandmother! Caterina.” 

“Everyone knows who my grandmother is,” Lucanis spat. 

Shit. Shit shit shit shit.

“Y-your—” She couldn’t remember the name of his cousin for the life of her, couldn’t remember much about him at all, except that they did look a little alike. The man was suave and well-kept but carried himself with a deep sadness. Lucanis was a harder, rearranged version: all angles and dark, soulless eyes, breath foul from too many nights in this godless place. “Cousin.” 

The words came from between gritted teeth. “I have many cousins, little girl.” 

Maker, he was going to kill her, wasn’t he? Because she couldn’t remember his stupid cousin’s name. Even though said cousin stood in the briefing room and spoke for half an hour. stressing the importance of bringing this monster back alive, voice tinged with dismal hope. Meira could see him, the black doublet accented in scarlet, speaking bits of praise for his long-lost relative. Highly skilled, was one. Deadly precise was another. Not easily deceived yet a third. Perhaps prone to overzealous self-protection. Paranoid? Had he been saying Lucanis was paranoid? Maybe likely to slice any would-be rescuer to ribbons? So if you still need to convince him to trust you, just tell him—

“Wyvern’s tooth!” Meira shrieked. 

A code phrase. She’d thought it silly at the time. 

Lucanis blinked once, then several more times. The hard edge of the blade eased, and he stood back, lowering his arms. 

“Illario sent you,” he said softly. 

“Yes! Illario! That is definitely his name!” 

“Illario sent you?” He sounded incredulous now, but the kind of incredulous that struck someone when the wild truth in front of them was yet undeniable. 

The alarm bells were still ringing, louder and more omnipresent than she thought possible. Some bizarre Tevinter magic, no doubt. Lucanis looked to the door, raking a hand through his disheveled hair. “We need to go.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been—” 

Lucanis stepped through the door and into the hallway without waiting for her. 

“—Trying to tell you,” Meira muttered under her breath, hurrying after. 

He was at least a full head taller than her, and she had to run to catch up to his swift, sure strides. “Who else did Illario send?” 

“Er, well, there was a whole team, but then some things happened, and now it’s just me and a Templar.” She was about eye level with his shoulder blades. Pale, raised scars criss-crossed the whole of his muscular back. Repulsed, Meira wondered what exactly they’d been subjecting him to at the Arx Silentium. But some seemed quite old, and only a few were recently scabbed over, not like the various bruises and dried blood that covered his arms and—

“Templar?” Lucanis’s eyes caught hers over his bare shoulder. 

His gaze was unsettling, and Meira sound herself stumbling over her words. “Maybe a former Templar, actually? Not Tevinter. All I know is he drank some lyrium and was able to stop the spells the guards were using.” 

Lucanis nodded. “Good. That means we have a chance of getting out of this alive.” 

They rounded a corner and were greeted by Vernon’s slumped form, propped up against the doorframe. The bodies of guards surrounded him, but his sword lie abandoned at his side, his head lolled forward. 

“Oh fuck.” Meira fell to her knees in front of the grizzled former Templar. The entire front of his tunic was slick with blood. “Vernon? H-hold on, we’re going to get you—”

“No use.” Lucanis loomed above her, blocking the torchlight. “He’s dead.” 

“How do you know?” Meira snarled. She searched his neck, feeling for the same pulse she’d found so fast on Lucanis. 

“I know.” He crouched down, snatched Vernon’s sword, and kept moving, down the hall and into the guard’s station. His voice carried back: “And we’ll join him soon if we aren’t smart.” 

Meira blinked hard against the hot tears welling, because try as she might, she couldn’t find the heartbeat in Vernon’s neck. His eyes were glassy and still, blood crusted in the corner of his mouth. She hadn’t known him long, but he’d believed in her. 

“Don’t leave,” she whispered miserably. “Don’t leave me alone with him. Please.” 

Vernon didn’t stir. Meira clenched her fists against his chest. The alarms continued to blare. Forcing back a sob, she launched herself to her feet and ran after Lucanis. 

He stood in the corner by the storage lockers, raiding the various shelves. He’d already donned a pair of black boots. He held up one tunic, threw it back, picked up another that seemed closer to his size. He didn’t look up. “Don’t suppose your cavalry had a grand plan to get out again.” 

“Vernon did.” Meira wiped at her face. “There’s a small cove under the cliffs. We sailed in.” 

“In those waters? There’s rocks everywhere.” 

She couldn’t tell if he was impressed or accusing her of lying. 

“Yeah. I sailed around them.” 

“You’re the navigator, then?” 

“Yes.”

He threw a black tunic over his head, pulled it down over his torso, and raked back his hair with one hand. “Boat still there?” 

Meira nodded. “If they haven’t found it.” 

“We’ll just have to hope, then. Where did Illario say he’ll meet us?” Lucanis looked up finally, with a curiosity that clashed with his general cold demeanor. 

Meira frowned. “It’s, um. He’s on a ship. An Orlesian naval vessel.” 

Lucanis let out a low whistle. “He spared no expense, eh?” 

“Well, it’s a long story,” Meira said. “I really do work for the Inquisition. Or its successor, anyway. Divine Victoria’s involved.” 

“You can explain later,” Lucanis said, back to a stoic deadpan. He clipped on a sword belt and slid Vernon’s sword into the sheath. “You’re the navigator. Can you get us back to the ship?” 

Meira bit back a laugh. It was like asking if she could count on her fingers. “If you get me back there, I can get us to Illario, no problem.” 

“Seems fair.” Lucanis went back to rifling through the various trunks, filled with random knickknacks — the forfeited belongings of other prisoners, it looked like. 

When he didn’t let up, she tried to get in his way. “Isn’t — er — time sorta of the essence right now?” 

With minimal effort, he took her by the shoulders and moved her out of the way. “First, I need back two things they stole from me: my prayer rope and my artisanal coffee blend.”

Meira stared. “Are you kidding?” 

“I am not.” 

“You can get those things anywhere!” she cried. 

“This is patently untrue. The prayer rope is an heirloom, and the blend came from the finest coffee house in Vyrantium.” 

Lucanis showed no sign of stopping. She worried what might happened if she protested too much, so she slid in beside him and tried not to scream. “What’s the prayer rope look like?”

“The usual sort.” He paused, casting a sidelong glance at her. “In Antiva. Black, short, four beads for each Canticle, ten knots in between, with a red tassel at the end for the flame of Andras—”

“I know what an Antivan prayer rope is,” Meira cut in, grinding her teeth. 

Lucanis narrowed his eyes, as if finally realizing she was there. He turned back to the trunk he was searching. “You don’t sound Antivan.” 

“I’m not. I’ve just been there a few times, is all.” The locker in front of her had a stuck door, and she had to throw her weight against it to get it to open. “You can buy a prayer rope like that in any of their ports, by the way.” 

“I told you, this one is—” 

“An heirloom. Got it.” She scoured one shelf, then the next. Old clothes, some cheap jewelry, a few coins stamped with an old Tevinter Archon’s face. “So if we die before you can find it...” 

“We won’t. Have a little faith in the Maker’s Bride.” 

She couldn’t decide if he was joking. 

“Ah. The coffee.” Lucanis reached in and pulled out a small burlap sack fastened with a small leather tie. He put it under his nose, took a deep inhale, and held it out to her. “Would you like a sniff?”

“No thanks.” So he wasn’t only dangerous, but insane as well. Meira chewed the inside of her mouth. Her first mission might now very well be her last. 

“Your loss.” He tucked it away inside his tunic. 

The one locker yielded nothing, and Meira moved onto the next. Finally, she shoved aside what looked like an unraveling coin purse and saw it: the black Antivan prayer rope, just as described. She grabbed it and waved it around. “Is this it?” 

Lucanis’s eyes alighted. “Yes, that’s it.” He reached out, then halted. “What did you say your name was? Meira?” 

His accent clung oddly to her name: a slight roll of the r that made her pause, look at him again, past all the matted hair and grime and dried blood. The narrow planes of his face — younger than she’d thought at first glance — and the intensity in his dark eyes were not all-together unhandsome. 

“Yeah?” she asked softly. 

“You ought to duck,” Lucanis said. 

 “What?” She frowned.

“Duck.” 

Meira ducked. Over her head, Lucanis threw half a dozen irregular metal blades from one hand. Behind her came a chorus of shouts and gargles. She turned; four guards crowded in the doorway, grabbing at their necks as blood spurted from between their fingers. 

Meira let out a small scream as they fell. Lucanis grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her to her feet. He pried the prayer rope from her hand and slipped it onto his wrist. “I think it is time we left.” 

“Y-you—” Meira had a hard time getting words out between her chattering teeth. “Wha— where do you keep getting those?” 

“It is very boring alone in a cell,” Lucanis said, as if that explained anything. 

[mercars-musings]

Hey! Rook Codex Writing Prompts ask: 13 ,16 and 25?

Omg Hi!! Tysm for asking :3 Sorry for the delay {IRL has been BUSY this week} {Answers Under the Cut} So, I already answered 13 & 16 which is posted Here !

25 is such an interesting idea, I know Az's younger backstory but haven't had a chance to write it yet so this was a super awesome chance to start that process with some of Az's journal entries! {1 is from when he was 12 and the 2nd from when he's 15} 25. Notes taken by Rook when they were young/in training!

12, Cassus, 9.38 Dragon: So, I'm not allowed to mix the potions together for a while again. We'd got off to a good start this time too, mum was telling me all about the herbs we needed and why. She said that she thought if she explained it to me slower that I would start to get it, and I did!!! But when everything was mixed she told me to get another potion off the shelf so we could mix them because, I guess doing that makes this one stronger, or something? Anyway, I did, but then the pot boiled over and the stuff all over the floor, and a bit on her I think. She said I picked the wrong bottle but I was SURE I got the right one! Now I'm not allowed to mix potions for a fortnight! I'm only allowed to help her with gardening stuff again. It's not fair! I know I got it right, I'm gonna check tonight when shes asleep so I can prove it to her. Update: Why do all the potions have such weird spelt names? It's not my fault that two of them have like all the same letters! 1, Parvulis, 9.41 Dragon: Today was my first day at the circle, it's… weird. Dad said it would probably not be nice here y'know with the horns n stuff - but I thought he was probably just being dramatic like he always is. I think he might have been right though… I've tried saying hello, like mum said I should but… everyone just stares at me. I'm around other people for the first time in like ever? But, it still feels as lonely as my bedroom, but like worse? At least my bedroom was my own, and I didn't have every Altus asshole acting like I wasn't welcome here. I'm a mage just like them! I'm Tevene! So why does it feel like this is about to be the longest 6 months of my life? At least I get to go home for a week in Pluitanis I guess. ~ Tysm again for the question! Sorry it took so long, it's been and continues to be a busy week IRL for me so I've not been able to post half as much as I wanted to this week!! D:

If anyone wants to find out more about Az please feel free to ask me anything from this ask game!

[sunlight-shunlight]

the veilguard cursed boba tea weapons are really making me laugh for some reason. why did anyone make those... they're SO ugly, i'm sorry. i want to see their pinterest reference board bc i am so curious about what the deal is. why the Orbs?? why do the swords not even look SHARP? like what was the intent? it does NOT look spooky except if you're directly trying to activate someone's trypophobia, it just looks vaguely gross and impractical 😭

[teine-mallaichte]

Secret messages/codes from the secret/hidden list, for whoever you like.

I;ve been wanting to use this codex for a while. And I really like the idea of Fenris & Orana bonding over their pasts.

So let's explore the secret slave pictograms of Teviter with Fenris and Orana for @dadrunkwriting . (With implied FenHawke if you squint.)

Hawke wasn’t here. That was unsurprising. These days, he was always out chasing one job or another, leaving the estate quieter than it used to be. He understood why he’d been called on less frequently - after what had happened between them, the distance was inevitable.

It didn’t lessen the sting, but he couldn’t say it wasn’t deserved.

Bodahn had let him in without hesitation, as polite and cheerful as ever. If the dwarf held any resentment over how Fenris had treated Hawke, he didn’t show it. He'd had even offered a more comfortable spot to wait, an offfer he had declined. Remaining in the hall standing stiffly by the wall, felt proper - atonement, in its small way.

He had intended to remain there, arms crossed, head bowed, waiting in silence. But the faint, curious sounds drifting from the adjacent room gnawed at him - familiar sounds, though he couldn’t immediately place why. It wasn’t his business. Whatever it was, it didn’t concern him. And yet, the longer he listened, the more his curiosity grew.

At last, it got the better of him.

Peering through the slightly ajar door, his eyes narrowed. Crouched in the corner of the room was the elf who had once been Hadriana’s slave - Orana if he remembered correctly.

Hawke had taken her in, offering her a job with wages, freedom, and dignity - a chance at a life she’d likely never dared dream of. Yet here she was, running her fingers along the edge of a doorframe with deliberate, almost reverent care. Her touch was silent, her movements precise, the actions of someone who knew exactly what she was searching for.

His chest tightened. He knew what she was searching for.

He’d done it himself countless times, in dark places and strange corners, desperate for reassurance or warnings. The hidden language of slaves: crude pictograms. Lines and symbols that whispered secrets to those who knew the code. They were messages carved in shadows, passed from one generation of slaves to the next.

Castellum Tenebris had been littered with the marks. A clenched fist etched into stone to warn of a master prone to fatal rages. Arrows carved discreetly pointed the way to safe spaces - or even caches - depending on the mark’s age. And the single broken line, denoting the cruelty of the master, the punishments that awaited any slave know did not know their place.

Whispers of lives that had passed through before him, a silent chain of survival bound together by fear and necessity.

Even in Kirkwall, he’d often found himself scanning doorframes, table legs, walls. His eyes grown trained to spot the markings of others, to read the signs of the oppressed. It was irrational, he knew that. But the habit lingered, deeply ingrained.

Orana’s hands moved again, now tracing the edge of a small table.

Silently he stepped into the room, letting his shadow stretch across the floor toward her. She froze instantly. Head snapping up, eyes filled with fear. The expression was fleeting, but it made his stomach turn. He knew it too well - the reflexive dread of someone expecting punishment.

He hated that look.

Hated that it was directed at him.

"Ser! I... I didn’t hear you come in,” she stammered, her voice wavering. She scrambled upright, her hands clasped tightly in front, eyes cast downwards.

Fenris crossed his arms, forcing himself to remain still. The reflexive use of “ser” grated on him, but he bit back the correction. He had no right to insist she drop the title. Not yet. Even if he hated seeing her like this, hated the way he saw a reflection of his past, of his own instincts.

"You won’t find any marks," he stated as calmly as he could, "Not here.”

Her brows furrowed. Briefly raising her eyes to meet his before averting them once more, “I wasn’t…” She trailed off, her fingers curling into her palms. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong?”

“You were not,” he agreed, unsure if her words had been a question or a statement. “But there are no markings to find. No warnings left behind. Hawke is… not that kind of master.”

The word hung in the air between them. He regretted it the moment it was uttered. Hawke was no one’s master. The were not in Tevinter. Orana was Hawke's employee, not his property. And Fenris himself… he wasn’t sure what he was to Hawke anymore.

“Hawke would never take slaves,” Fenris added, the words deliberate, "Any who came before you... were not bound - they were… friends, family. Free.”

Her eyes darted to his face, searching for something in his expression. And for the first time, she held his gaze, even if only for a moment. He recognised that look too. Assessing for danger, for manipulation, tricks. Analyzing moods in a desperate attempt to appease - to remain safe.

“I don’t… I mean…” She faltered, struggling to find the words, "I did not mean to offend, Ser."

Fenris sighed. He hated this - hated the way she spoke to him like that, like she was about to be punished. Like he was the same as the others who had made her feel this way. "Do not call me 'ser,'" he muttered, the words feeling bitter on his tongue.

She hesitated, eyes lowered, lips pressing into a thin line as though weighing the cost of speaking. Finally, she nodded, the barest movement, but it was enough.

She was trying.

For a long moment, there was only silence between them.

Then, without thinking, almost as though it were a reflex, he stepped forward and crouched down. His gauntlets were sharp enough, he knew from experience. And Hawke would understand - maybe. He would accept it, at any rate. As humiliating as it would be too explain.

Carefully he shifted under the table, reaching out to scratch the tip of his gauntlet against the wood. A faint scrape filling the room as he drew. A small circle, followed by three diagonal lines.

It was ridiculous. Illogical. Unnecessary. He knew that. But the marks were familiar, a small gesture he could offer. Something tangible.- something he’d looked for countless times himself. Something he understood Oranas need for. Even if it would make no sense to anyone else.

The marks were imperfect, crude, but they carried meaning, and they carried safety. At least, that was what he hoped.

As he clambered out from under the table, climbing to his feet he regarded Orana once more. She hadn’t moved, eyes still fixed on him. Hesitantly, she crouched down. Climbing under the table with a worrying amount of ease before squinting at the marks he'd left.

"The circle… safety," she murmured. "The lines… a good master?"

Fenris nodded, though the discomfort in his chest tightened. "A good... person," he corrected quietly, the words feeling heavy on his tongue. He wasn’t sure why he had left the marks. Perhaps he wanted reassurance for himself as much as for her.

She remained silent for a long moment, still kneeling there, her fingers brushing the marks with a sense of reverence, as though she were deciphering a riddle. Finally, she looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for something - answers, perhaps.

"I..." She paused, and slowly stood. "Thank you."

Fenris simply nodded, the uncomfortable knot in his chest not loosening as he turned to return to the hallway. To continue to wait in silence, and pretend the interaction had never occured.

[shadowglens]

sorry to keep yapping about this, but i feel like a lot of the meat of the dragon age world building has either been retconned, watered down or just … ignored?

[martyrmarked]

sidri becomes aware all but immediately after the start of inquisition how little she knows of a vast, intricate world and while she may not always get the words quite right, or at least as precise as she urgently wishes them to be, she's always sincere and respectful and that does come across.