#feat. cassandra pentaghast

[callahanisms]

inquisition companions react to the inquisitor missing half their arm

because bioware didn’t wanna give it to us, i decided i’d just do it myself. (insert thanos meme) even though i am like years late to the hype.

the game is like 9 years old at this point, but spoilers ahead.

do keep in mind this is my own personal interpretation of each character. it may not be accurate to your own interpretations. (also i know leliana is technically not a companion in inquisition but i included her anyways)

cassandra pentaghast

if cassandra could plunge a knife into the heart of solas, she would. she would not let him get away with betraying you and taking the anchor along with your arm. you had basically fallen into her arms when you emerged from the portal and she had to carry you back to halamshiral. for the days you were unconscious, cassandra was anxious and extra prickly. there were many times where cullen would have to talk her down from her anger. even varric did too.

dorian pavus

the first thing he did was crack a joke. the atmosphere was tense and it just slipped out. “i asked you to come back in one piece, not missing one.” safe to say, the other companions did not approve of his joke. dorian was set to return to tevinter after being notified of his new position as a magister, but he delayed the return to his homeland for you. he sat in your room as you lied unconscious, barely breathing, leg anxious bouncing up and down. when you awoke, you were immediately met with a large and tight hug from him. he knocked the air out of your lungs from that.

blackwall

blackwall admires you. in fact, everyone would go so far as to say he adores you. he thinks of you as strong, capable, almost infallible. you closed rifts, you closed the big green tear in the sky, and you defeated corypheus! what couldn’t you do? all your feats proved to him that you were the strongest leader he could ever know. and yet, you were still mortal. you left the eluvians mortally wounded and exhausted beyond belief, your eyelids so heavy and ready to close so you may drift off into the black void of sleep. blackwall would not let you, not until you were taken away to be cared for. you found him sitting besides you, awake and on guard. your mortality was his reminder that you and him were the same, even if your lives appeared to be completely different. and he understood that the world would need a leader like you and that is dangerous.

iron bull

the bull could feel a stronger kinship with you that day. it appears that the both of you lost something. he betrayed the qun for the inquisition, thus losing a part of himself, his people. you lost a literal part of yourself, something you had to come to terms with after having the anchor for two years. to say iron bull was shaken up would be an understatement. he was getting cassandra to hit him with sticks for days on end while you lied unconscious. he wondered what would’ve happened if he was with you, if maybe...he could’ve stopped solas. but reminiscing never did anyone any good.

cole

as much as he wanted to help you, cole couldn’t. he also understood that you wouldn’t accept his help, no matter how much he insisted. so instead, he did the best thing he could do: help tend to your injuries. what was curious was that he could feel very little of your pain. when he felt your pain two years ago after forming the inquisition, it was concentrated in your hand and forearm. with it gone, you felt at peace. the primary source of pain for you had been washed away. perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, he thought.

sera

sera’s immediate reaction is, like dorian, to crack a joke. everyone is used to her eccentricity. but it felt different this time around. while you laid unconscious, recovering from the long battle, she occupied herself. she had to busy her hands and her legs, keep moving, keep her mind busy. because if she sat too still for even a second, then her mind would think about the worst outcome. she would get images of you, dead, because solas had betrayed you, betrayed her, betrayed the inquisition. hell, he betrayed the world! that knob! thinking he knew what was best! sera’s all the more relieved when it’s revealed you survived. she bursts through the door to see you and hug you tightly, complaining about how much you scared her.

varric tethras

in all honesty, varric should’ve been more prepared to expect...well, the unexpected. he had expectations of you coming out unharmed, untouched. obviously, that was not what happened. and he wondered if he was responsible for this. he had been one of the many people to support you as the inquisitor two years ago, suggesting it. he wondered if he made the wrong decision. but also, part of varric was relieved. he lost someone close to him two years ago. he didn’t know if he could handle losing you too.

vivienne de fer

the court would devour tales of the eluvians and how you managed to survive. that was vivienne’s first thought. people would be talking about you for centuries to come, certainly. and yet, she knew in her soul that was not what you would want. she does her best to minimize what rumors spread when you first emerge from the eluvians and help give you privacy. behind closed doors, vivienne checks on your injuries. part of her is amazed that the anchor was removed so cleanly.

josephine montilyet

josephine has seen many things ranging from serious to just plain absurd. when she was alerted that you had returned with many serious injuries, including the loss of half your arm, she sent messages to get the best possible doctors in all of orlais to help attend to you. the woman was definitely stressed beyond belief. but when she wasn’t trying to get everyone from backing off from you or getting people to look at you, josephine was attending to you herself. you awoke to find her wiping some sweat off your face and when she noticed, she muttered about how great andraste was and embraced you tightly.

cullen rutherford

your knight-commander appeared to take the news very well, much to the disapproval of cassandra. but the moment cullen was alone, in private, he flipped a table, causing everything to crash. all he could feel running throughout his body was regret, guilt, and anger. regret and guilt for not having gone with you. he should’ve. because if he did, maybe you would have came back alright. anger directed towards solas because the apostate had betrayed you, the inquisition. and everything you and him had worked towards was going to crumble. all of his hard work, leliana’s, cassandra’s, josephine’s, it’d all be for naught. cullen ends up spending a lot of time alone while you’re unconscious. he prays to andraste and the maker to distract himself from any wandering thoughts going towards lyrium. certainly the new mabari hound he decided to adopt on a whim helps with distractions at least.

leliana

the woman has seen many things in her lifetime, having experienced the fifth blight itself and been part of that fight against the archdemon. still, things aren’t easy when you come back from the eluvians missing half of your arm. even if it goes against all her duties, leliana stays with you until you wake up to make sure you’re alright. you’re the inquisitor after all and it’s vital that you’re still alive.

solas

he’s the one who took it. you think he cares?

in all seriousness, it gave him no pleasure to remove your arm for the anchor. even if his plan was...well, shoddy we should say, the anchor was going to kill you. he had no choice. carrying your hand and forearm around felt heavy. he could carry it just fine but what made it heavy was the burden that came with his plan to tear down the veil and bring doom upon the world in a desperate attempt to bring it back to what it once was. and also, the burden of having harmed you.

[planckstorytime]

Your Journey Ends: A Parting Retrospective on Dragon Age (Part Seven)

VII. A Higher Power

Dragon Age: Inquisition’s core tension lies in the aperture between faith and falsehood – or alternatively, authenticity vs artificiality. Throughout the story, the newly formed Inquisition manipulates the populace’s faith for its own ends. Josephine and Leliana both allow rumors to grow about the so-called Herald of Andraste’s divine ordainment in order to garner support. With the religious establishment in shambles and the southern countries too tied up in their own conflicts (like the Mage-Templar War or the Orlesian Civil War) to respond to the threat of the Breach, people start looking for hope wherever they can find it. Early on, the player can discover a small cult that’s begun worshiping the Breach out in the Hinterlands. In sealing a nearby Fade rift, the Inquisition can absorb this cult into their own power structure. A similar feat in the Fallow Mire convinces an Avvar Sky Watcher that the Herald was sent by their own deity, the Lady of the Skies, and earns his loyalty. From the beginning, Inquisition emphasizes the persuasive effects of faith and how it’s used to magnify power. As it goes along, further questions arise from this. Do noble goals justify the manipulation of faith, or will people naturally see what they want to see anyway? Can a historically oppressive power be transformed into something revolutionary, as mage or elven Inquisitors might try to do with their Chantry-based Inquisition? Is this power, founded on dubious grounds, legitimate in representing the people’s best interest, or is it doomed to become corrupt and seed new injustices? The later sections of Inquisition interrogate these questions.

Crises of faith summoned by questions of authenticity permeate the personal stories of most of the cast. Cassandra Pentaghast is a “Seeker of Truth” for the Chantry, and she lives up to her title. One of the most pious characters, her faith is challenged repeatedly – first by the corruption of the Templar Order, then through her interactions with the benevolent “demon” Cole, then her discovery of the Seekers’ methods to reverse the Rite of Tranquility, and then the dilemma of how to properly reform the Chantry to make it more tolerant and welcoming to disenfranchised people. By her own admission, she wants to rectify past grievances, not avenge them. She holds firm in her belief in the Chant of Light and the Maker, but must make accommodations to account for all the truths that she uncovers. Her faith is even challenged by an apparition of Divine Justinia, which the game calls into question as to whether or not it’s truly the Divine’s soul or a spirit basing itself on her persona (and whether or not this simulacrum makes a substantive difference). In her steadfast commitment to justice and her struggle to confront her doubts, Cassandra mirrors many of the ordeals the protagonist undergoes, and she emerges as one of my favorite characters in the series.

The crisis of authenticity often connects to an obfuscation of identity – either through unconscious confusion or willful deceit. Preeminent among the confused is Cole, a spirit emulating the form of and identity of a dead young man. The Cole that the player interacts with is originally a spirit of Compassion who came to comfort a prisoner as he starved to death, then unintentionally assumed a physical form based upon this man. He even absorbs some of his memories. Recalling the apparition of Divine Justinia, the game leaves it open to interpretation whether or not the new entity is an extension of the old, an illusory mimic from the spirit world, or, in Cole’s special case, a whole new person entirely. While his persona is based on the original Cole, it’s an idealized one – one where he was never born a mage and thus never would’ve suffered imprisonment and starvation. Nevertheless, his roots still intermingle with those of the original, and his anger boils over upon discovering the templar who killed “him.” Does this rage truly belong to Cole, or is his true place in the world that of a healing spirit, as dictated by his original nature? Varric and Solas represent these two respective sides of the argument, with both of them interacting with Cole as surrogate father figures throughout the game. This argument over the essence of existence brilliantly embodies both characters’ philosophies and sheds light on their interior struggles and fixations. Inquisition gives both interpretations of Cole equal weight, since they are, in essence, both true. While the game concerns itself with the dichotomy of truth and falsehood, it also keenly acknowledges that reality is often paradoxical. Cole foregrounds that deconstruction.

He’s far from the only one who doesn’t understand his true nature, though. Sera is a self-styled rebel without a cause who delights in nothing more than subverting the rich and powerful. You might think she’d therefore champion progressive causes and want to liberate Thedas’s oppressed minorities, but you’d be wrong. Sera draws a distinction between “normal” people and mages, elves, etc. She views all forms of magic with suspicion and disgust, and considers elves (other than herself) self-righteous blowhards with victim complexes. Sera’s bigotry stems from her (s)elf-loathing. Early childhood experiences with her human foster mother conditioned her to be ashamed of her elven lineage. She also demonstrates latent magical abilities, as well as some unexplained sense of precognition. Beyond her magic potential, a convincing fan theory suggests she might be a descendant or reincarnation of the elven goddess Andruil – ironic, considering Sera despises the culture and considers the pantheon to be no more than a pack of demons. In any case, she remains uninterested in replacing broken systems with something new and just, instead focusing on humbling whoever is in power. Sera’s revolutionary attitude isn’t backed up by any ideology – she’s fighting for a perpetual status quo, and that includes a nobility for her to target. She’s willing to disenfranchise other people like herself because she denies those parts of herself. Rhetorically, this serves to drive a sympathetic player further toward Solas’s side in their disputes, priming his eventual betrayal to sting all the more. Sera’s psychology fascinates me, but I think she’s one of the weaker characters simply because we don’t see a true conclusion to her story – neither an explanation to the mysteries about her abilities, nor a resolution to her immature avoidance complex. Her absence from The Veilguard’s remains one of that game’s biggest missed opportunities.

A more fulfilled character arc can be found in the Iron Bull. Known among his Ben-Hassrath cohorts as “Hissrad” (“liar”), Bull works as a spy for the Qun under the front of leading a mercenary company. The player is always meant to question how much of Bull’s boisterous bravado is genuine, and how much is a calculated part of his act. Where does the fun-loving mercenary end and the government spy begin? He’s slid into a role, but it’s a role that fits him, and one where he’s happy. From this situation arises Bull’s identity crisis: he thinks that he’s the king of subterfuge, but in actuality, he might already be a Tal-Vashoth (Qun deserter) deep down, still wearing the mask of a loyal agent. Bull judges Tal-Vashoth as savages with uncontrollable impulses and rage, and thus relies on the Qun’s teachings for security. But he finds that comfort and security among his boys in the Bull’s Chargers, especially Krem. Krem, a transgender man, prompts Bull to explain the concept of “aqun-athlok” to justify the apparent inconsistency between Bull’s acceptance of a trans identities and the rigid gender roles of the Qun, as defined in Origins. According to Bull, because Krem fights as a soldier, which is a man’s job, that makes him a man. I personally believe this works better not as hard canon for standard qunari treatment of transgender people (though The Veilguard would codify it as so regardless), and instead prefer to view it as Bull trying to reconcile his two identities. I don’t believe the Qun’s regressive gender politics need to be rehabilitated (they are, after all, a totalitarian government), and I think this reading emphasizes Bull’s love and respect for Krem, as well as his gravitation away from his role as a Ben-Hassrath tool. Bull’s own story can be interpreted through the lens of a queer reading. Should the player choose to save Bull’s Chargers, thereby betraying the qunari alliance and branding Bull a Tal-Vashoth, the Inquisitor can insist that his name is no longer “Hissrad” and affirms that he is “the Iron Bull.” On this path, Bull rejects the identity his society assigned him during his youth and strikes out on a new path – with a name of his choosing. In doing so, he comes to terms with the fact that he’s been Tal-Vashoth for a while now: the authentic Bull was always the mercenary captain, not the spy pretending to be one. The alternative path, where Bull remains loyal to the Qun, sees him betray the Inquisitor and die during the events of the “Trespasser” expansion. Resolving his identity crisis is literally a mortal ultimatum.

Leliana returns in Inquisition, and she teeters on the edge between two selves, as she did in Origins. Will she be the pious, compassionate soul that Divine Justinia wanted her to be, or will she fall to her darker nature as the calculating spymaster who revels in espionage and assassination? Again, the player can influence how she ends up (and if she inherits the office of Divine) based on a number of decisions throughout the game. Inquisition even sees fit to address her mysterious survival in World States where she should be dead, implying that we might not be dealing with the original Leliana, but an imposter lyrium golem, somewhat akin to Cole. The full truth eludes us, but like so many other characters, she doesn’t seem to know her true self either.

This trend applies to the main villain as well. While I think Corypheus fails to be imposing after his admittedly impressive premiere in siege of Haven (mostly because he suffers defeat after defeat for the rest of the game), he’s effective in another way: as a fool, unwittingly playing the role of the fake devil to the Inquisitor’s fake messiah. Like Solas (the man who sets him up for failure), he’s hopelessly stuck in the past, yearning for bygone days and stuck on a vision of how the world “should be.” His delusions of grandeur are a means of coping with that, hoping to restore the glory of the Tevinter Imperium to what it was back in his era. In reality, he’s no contender for godhood, but a huge theatre kid. He dramatically sacrifices Divine Justinia in a blood magic ritual seemingly for symbolic reasons – establishing himself above the Maker in terms of divinity. Furthermore, he constructs an artificial Archdemon to represent his dominance over his old masters.2

“The Old Gods are no more. The Maker never was.”

Yet as he falls before the might of the Inquisitor, Corypheus cries out for Dumat and the Old Gods to save him. Corypheus – or rather, Sethius Amladaris – was a fraud all along, never boasting the authority of the divine. He merely convinces himself that he is something more through his arrogance and inability to accept change.

Other characters embody duplicitous identities more consciously. Vivienne de Fer deftly navigates the theatrical politics of the Orlesian imperial court, never fully revealing her intentions or betraying her feelings. Like the rest of the nobility, she wears a mask – if not over her face, then over her heart. Is her love for Duke Bastien genuine, or is he part of another power play for her? Fearing irrelevance, Vivienne is determined to climb the social ladder. She wields a Machiavellian shrewdness that eschews sentiment in favor of practicality and control.

Duplicity can also be invoked as a product of guilt. The Grey Warden we know as “Blackwall” is actually Thom Rainier, a wanted war criminal living with the burden of his past misdeeds. Rainier took the opportunity to assume a new identity after the real Warden Blackwall died in a darkspawn attack. He thought it best not to deprive the world of a good man, and sought to make amends by continuing that man’s legacy. Like Cole, he’s taken up the mantle of a dead man. For “Blackwall”, the most terrifying thing is… Thom Rainier. He’s not just afraid of having his stolen valor discovered, but afraid of being that person. He assumes that Rainier is tarnished, broken, unforgivable. Living as Blackwall is the only opportunity he has to lead a virtuous life, to be a person Rainier could never become. Yet it’s all based on a lie, and that eats at him throughout the game, especially as the phony Warden charade gets harder to maintain. If discovered and forgiven, he opts to retain the Blackwall name as an honorary title for a time, before accepting his capacity for change and reclaiming his old name in “Trespasser.” Truth and authenticity are essential for living with himself.

There are a few more instances of fake or fraudulent characters, such as the Envy Demon that masquerades as Lord Seeker Lucius and attempts to steal the Herald’s identity. However, none of their lies compare in magnitude or complexity to that of Solas, a.k.a. Fen’Harel, a.k.a. the Dread Wolf, a.k.a. my favorite character in the franchise.

While first presenting himself as a humble apostate mage with a passion for dreaming and philosophizing, Solas is actually a millenia-old quasi-deity responsible for everything that goes wrong in Inquisition. His dialogue wonderfully foreshadows his true nature without ever making it too obvious for first-time players, and the twist reveal of his true identity is genuinely shocking. In addition to obfuscating his past from the party, his personal dilemma likewise involves a crisis of what’s “real.” At first, he doesn’t view the people of this era as real, thinking, autonomous entities. Having come from a world where magic flowed freely, where people’s minds and imaginations were connected more closely with the ethereal Fade, he likens modernity to “walking through a world of Tranquil.” He cannot reconcile the difference between how the world once was with how it is now. Knowing that he catalyzed this change thousands of years ago by creating the Veil to quarter off the Fade fills him with guilt, regret, and a desire to correct his mistake. He wistfully yearns for a forgotten past, the restoration of which would require sacrificing the world that exists now. He simply cannot live in the present, because nobody feels or understands things the way he does.

Despite his personal deception, Solas overly concerns himself with validating authenticity (even though he recognizes it’s often subjective, especially with matters of the Fade) and opposing falsehood, specifically as it pertains to elven history and legend. This is best illustrated in the scene where he tells a romanced Inquisitor that the vallaslin tattoos that Dalish elves wear actually originate as slave markings. Solas proves unable to fully separate these markings’ original meaning from their new, reclaimed meaning. For all of his introspection, he’s shown to be rigid and restrictive in his worldview, such as his reluctance to acknowledge Cole as a person, rather than a spirit.3 Like Sera, this ancient god of rebellion is paradoxically conservative (ironic, considering their mutual animosity). Though he may support mage liberation and oppose slavery, he claims no kinship with the modern elves, due to the aforementioned cultural differences. He also considers dwarves as pitiful fragments of what they once were, and qunari as mindless savages. He tends to view the bygone days of the pre-Veil world as an ideal to which Thedas should return. And above all, he’s scared that nobody will see things his way, or understand how he feels. He fears, more than anything, dying alone.

Revealing that the elven gods were in actuality just powerful tyrants rather than benevolent primordial creators, Solas expresses remorse at how much he altered the world to seal them away. As such, he admonishes the Inquisitor against hasty decision-making, abusing power, or making choices they’d be unable to live with – like him. His ambition to merge the world with the Fade and restore people to how they were in his memories is unknowingly validated by the protagonist during the quest “In Hushed Whispers.” In this quest, the protagonist and Dorian wind up in a dismal alternate future, where Corypheus rules and the Breach threatens to consume the world. To rectify this, they aim to return to their time and prevent this from ever transpiring. A future iteration of Leliana, however, insists that this world is as real as theirs. Erasing it from existence is no different from destroying it – yet the Inquisitor and Dorian follow through with their plan for the sake of their own time. Future Leliana acquiesces, since little hope remains for her world anyway. So as the Inquisitor pleads with Solas in the finale of “Trespasser” not to delete the world that everyone lives in, we are invited to sympathize with Solas’s reasoning that, from his perspective, none of this is “real”, and comes at the expense of an idealized potential future. It’s a clever narrative trick that I appreciate.4

Which leads us, at last, to the Inquisitor themselves. Our protagonist, the so-called “Herald of Andraste”, personifies both ends of the authentic-artificial spectrum as both subject and object. They are, at once, a hapless bystander who fumbles into their “chosen one” status and a calculating commander of a religious paramilitary organization. They might not even subscribe to the Andrastian faith on which the Inquisition is founded. Though they use the myth surrounding them to establish their initial base, the Inquisitor’s power comes not from the Andrastian Maker, but from touching Solas’s magical orb. Nevertheless, the Inquisition becomes a force to be reckoned with on a theocratic level, with even the Chantry looking to its members to find a replacement for their own Divine. Regardless of whether or not the “Herald” believes in their own divinity, they take advantage of faith and convert it into power, and then use that power to resolve the crises of the Breach and Corypheus. Until it comes crashing down, of course. Female elven Inquisitors can earn an extra twist of the knife if they happened to romance Solas. In this case, they really do replicate Andraste’s story, but not in the way that anyone wanted – a powerful woman, brought low by the scheming of others, pleading with her god-lover not to condemn the world to death. Playing the role of heir to her oppressing culture’s prophetess for power, only to be forced to relive that woman’s traumas – it all makes for deliciously cruel irony.

But their story extends beyond this. They’re making history. But the crisis of authenticity infects history itself, with power expanded and co-opted through both faith and force. Religious and cultural meaning frequently derives from misrepresentation, conscious or otherwise. We witness this in the aforementioned vallaslin scene, where the misunderstood history of the tattoos imbues them with new, reclaimed cultural value, separate from their initial gruesome intent. This case positions faith in opposition to authenticity – or rather, faith transforms the artificial into the authentic. Other such examples of religious appropriation litter the open world segments. It’s a shame that Inquisition’s exploration often feels bloated and lacking direction, because skipping it will cause players to miss out on things like the astrariums, which reveal how Tevinter built its religion on the bones of the elven pantheon (which contains its own fabric of half-truths and lies).

Historical revisionism stares down the protagonist when they discover the previous Inquisitor, Ameridan, during the “Jaws of Hakkon” expansion. Contrary to Chantry records, Ameridan is revealed to be both an elf and a mage. After fighting to bring order to the world and establish the Andrastian faith’s power, the church nonetheless erased his identity and oppressed people like him – first by locking up mages, then by displacing the elves from the Dales. Coming face to face with Ameridan is an important component of the Inquisitor’s journey, as it prompts them to reflect on what their own legacy will be – and if they’ll be the one to control it.

All of this comes to a head in “Trespasser”, which is, in my opinion, the pinnacle of the Dragon Age franchise. Everything escalates perfectly as the material and thematic conflicts of the game reach a boiling point. As outside forces work to dismantle the Inquisition, citing the player’s unlawful occupation of forts throughout Fereldan and Orlais, internal sabotage and abuse likewise becomes apparent. If the organization isn’t already corrupt, it soon will be. The Inquisition might survive as yet another arm of the Chantry, but considering all we’ve seen about how power and history are co-opted and abused, is that a worthwhile compromise? This is compounded by the other revelations made in the expansion. Will the Inquisitor be a tyrant (or an enabler of one) remembered fondly, like the elven gods, or a liberator treated like a devil, like the Dread Wolf? Power, it seems, is ultimately unstable, illustrated beautifully – albeit unsubtly – by the Inquisitor’s magical Anchor melting down. As it grows exponentially more powerful, it comes closer to consuming and killing them. This makes for a thrilling finale, fulfilling the climactic power fantasy as the player destroys enemies en masse, all the while carrying meaningful dramatic weight. Ultimately, the only way to survive is to dissolve power, to relinquish the Anchor and abandon this version of the Inquisition before it morphs into something monstrous.

The finale is meant to leave us beset by uncertainty, skeptical of the righteousness of our actions. Was there meaning in the madness? Before discussing Inquisition’s answer to that, I would like to share how the game influenced my own search for meaning.

2. The Veilguard would later establish that his contrivance is how all Archdemons are made, including the Old God pantheon. Thus, the idea of it being “false” is complicated, since all Archdemons are canoncially conduits for the Evanuris’ immortality, just as Corypheus’s was for him. However, I maintain that his mimicry of the Old Gods’ form was still meaningful and suggestive of his alleged supremacy over them. Additionally, his false Archdemon’s artificiality as a being separate from the true pantheon classifies it as another example of Inquisition’s focus on illusory or deceitful identities. ↩︎

3. This could also be due to the fact that Solas, himself, was a spirit at one point, and regrets taking on a physical form. He wants to spare Cole that agony. In either case, he’s clinging to an inherent, essentialist worldview to rationalize his insecurities. ↩︎

4. Once again, The Veilguard complicates this interpretation. The fourth game states that Solas’s ritual to combine the two worlds would unleash an army of demons that would kill “thousands”, not unlike the Breach in Inquisition. However, I don’t think this is what was implied in “Trespasser.” In fact, I think Solas’s references to “raw chaos” and “recreating” his time implies something akin to overwriting the existing universe to replace it with his desired one. Concept art for “Joplin” also implies this. ↩︎

Full article: https://planckstorytime.wordpress.com/2025/03/29/your-journey-ends-a-parting-retrospective-on-dragon-age/

[musetta3]

Happy friday!! Might I spring a "Varric x Cassandra Modern AU" on you?

Happy Friday, Platoon! I give to you, for @dadrunkwriting , a coffee date.

Rating: PG

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1539

0o0oo0

This was not a date.

No matter how many times her friend at the office, Josie, said otherwise, this wasn’t a date. Cassandra and Xbow_lvr had been online friends for years; just because they were finally meeting in person didn’t mean they were ‘dating,’ right?

Right?

She bit her lip, scanning the tables at the local coffee house, the Herald’s Rest. This was not a date. Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast was a reporter, a seeker of truth and justice: she had no time for romance, no matter how much of a hopeless romantic she was—

She referenced the text again on her phone. ‘Red shirt, gold quill pin, blond hair.’ No one seemed to match that description; did she have the wrong coffee house? How many ‘Herald’s Rests’ were there here in Haven? 

“Ahem.”

She jumped, whirling on her heel. There was no one behind her, yet the sound—

“Down here,” a gravelly voice said. It was warm, burnished like smooth Antivan whiskey. Cassandra did as she was told; a neatly dressed, bespectacled dwarf looked up at her through his polished tortoiseshell frames, bearing a tray of coffee and pastries. His ensemble—a smart crimson shirt paired with a rich brown suit jacket and jeans—spoke of casual elegance. Her eyes widened: there was only one dwarf whose smirk was so roguishly charming; she had admired in the author’s portrait on the back of her favorite romance novel: 

Varric Tethras. 

Cassandra stared. That was impossible, she told herself; why would a celebrity ever meet her at a coffee shop? She was no one special, just a reporter: the man before her bore an uncanny resemblance to the portrait, it was true, but surely she must be mistaken—

 A gold feather pin glittered from his lapel, and Cassandra’s face went hot. 

“C-Crossbow?” She blurted. The man chuckled, his laugh reminding her of summer sunshine. 

“Seeker,” he replied, “we meet at last. Come on, I have a table.” Her friend led the way to a quiet, sunny booth near the window. Cassandra followed, making last minute adjustments to her toilette. 

“Of all the days to wear heels,” she whispered, peeking at the pointed-toe pumps Josie had insisted she wear. “He must think me a giant—” Her ankle turned, unused to the Antivan stilettos her friend had lent her. Cassandra wobbled, catching herself before it was too noticeable.

Or so she thought… 

“I’m surprised, Seeker,” Crossbow said, setting the table. “You never came off as a stiletto girl, to me.”

She slid into the booth, face no doubt as red as the foolish red lipstick Josie had helped her buy in preparation for this meeting. “I’m not. My…friend lent them.” He nodded sagely, offering a tall cup. Warm spices wafted up to her.

“I remembered you said you like Rivaini spice tea in the writing server,” he supplied, “ ‘extra cream, and a half—’”

“‘Half a packet of sugar,’” they finished together. Cassandra scoffed a laugh, “you remembered that?”

He shrugged, “when it comes to you, Seeker, I remember everything.” Was that a slight…blush creeping into his cheeks? Crossbow took a swig of coffee—an admirable feat, considering Herald’s Rest was notorious for their lava-hot beverages—no doubt to disguise his fluster. Cassandra smirked into her cup, savoring her tea; it really was just how she liked it. No one at the office—not even Josie—could make it according to her preference. And yet here was Crossbow, making it perfectly the first time they met. Its significance wasn’t lost on her…

“How is your latest article going?” Crossbow was asking. “You mentioned on chat it was giving you trouble.” 

She sighed, “Ugh, that disaster. I envy you and your novels: reporting on Orlesian politics is nowhere as interesting. Gaspard and Celene are still at each other’s throats, even so close to the Winter Palace gala. Tweeter is on fire with their insults: apparently Gaspard’s mother is a nug, and his father smells of gooseberries.” 

He chuckled, “it’s ‘Twitter,’ Seeker. A ‘Tweeter’ is someone who uses the app.” He cut a pastry in half, “you have Orlesian nobles, and I have the Champion butting heads with the Viscount. External forces of conflict abound this week, it seems!”

She perked up at the mention of his newest work. “The Champion will go up against the Viscount of Kirkwall? Tell me more!” 

The way Crossbow lit up when explaining the plot was…Cassandra found herself captivated by his passion. She understood his almost boyish enthusiasm; wordsmithing and writing, even all these years later, still made her heart smile. A good poem or turn of sentence made her giddy like a schoolgirl. The fact that Crossbow also found them thus was delightful…and very sexy of him, she had to admit. 

“I’m planning a twist at the end,” he was saying. “Anders asks Hawke to help him find ingredients for a potion, but it’s actually—”

“No spoilers!” She interrupted. “I want to read it myself!”

Crossbow smirked, “signing up for beta-reading, are we? I’m honored.”

Cassandra felt her face go hot. “I-I must ensure you don’t ruin my favorite character,” she replied. “Hawke deserves a happy ending with Ferris—”

He stifled a laugh. “Fenris, Seeker.”

“But just think: two warriors standing side by side at the end of the world, sharing one last kiss before fighting their way out: how romantic!” She sighed happily, “I can just hear Fenris now: ‘don’t die, Hawke: I couldn’t bear to lose you. nothing could be worse than living without you.’ And then he’d sweep her off her feet and—what are you doing?” 

Crossbow was typing furiously on his phone, “go on: this is good stuff,” he said, encouraging her. “Then what?” They always bounced ideas off each other online like this; it was one of the best parts of being friends… 

Except the warmth blooming in her chest reminded Cassandra that she wasn’t entirely satisfied with them being ‘just friends,’ and that realization was simultaneously exhilarating and frightening.

She bit her lip in thought,  “then… he sweeps her off her feet—”

“She’s too tall for sweeping; she’s taller than him,” he pointed out. 

“Oh. Then have them kiss… passionately, Crossbow. We want drama; up the stakes.”

He grinned, his thumbs barely keeping up with her words. “But of course, my lady: all the more to devastate our readers with once Hawke takes an arrow—”

She almost choked on her tea. “She what?! Crossbow!”

 He chuckled, a mischievous gleam danced in his eyes, “but angst sells, Seeker!” A cheerful ringtone interrupted them. 

“Shit, it’s my agent. I have to take this, sorry. One sec,” he said, swiping the screen. “Tethras speaking—”

She almost aspirated her tea. Tethras? As in…her eyes went wide. Varric Tethras. The Varric Tethras was right in front of her, laughing and chatting with her, brainstorming plot points for his new novel, meeting her for a coffee date—

Oh, Maker. Ohhhh, Maker save her, Josie wouldn’t believe this! Cassandra reached for a pastry in a futile attempt to hide her fluster, freezing when a strong hand closed around hers.

Crossbow—no, his name was Varric, she reminded herself—momentarily went speechless, surprise clear on his features. “C-Can I call you back? We’re at a vital plot point in our friends-to-lovers character arc...” He hung up before his agent could reply, gaze softening when it met hers. Cassandra blushed. 

“…There’s a gala dinner next week—” she began. 

“Yes.”

She blinked, “b-but I didn’t say what it was for.”

“Don’t care: it’s more time with you; I’m always down for that… unless it’s the Dwarven Merchant Guild. Then you’re on your own, Seeker.” 

She couldn’t help the smile, “it’s an Imperial soiree at Halamshiral: Celene and Gaspard will be there. I’m covering it for my article.” He nodded sagely.

“Real-life inspiration for the De Launcet’s Hightown soiree in chapter 12. Nice.”

“Y-You shouldn’t feel obliged: it’ll be crawling with Orlesians…” She couldn’t help frowning at the thought of how insufferably fussy and pretentious the evening would be.

He chuckled, “no way in Thedas I’d miss it: the sight of you glowering stinky Orlesian cheeses into submission will be worth the price of admission alone. Text me the details—” 

His phone’s notifications pinged several times, announcing the arrival of several text messages from ‘Royal Pain the Arse;’ Cassandra stifled a laugh.

Varric rolled his eyes, “that damned Bran. I told him I was on a date; he can’t wait for an hour?” Apparently Bran couldn’t; he sent three more texts in succession, demanding Varric’s assistance. Varric heaved a sigh, adjusting his spectacles.

“Seems the Kirkwaller office will implode if I don’t handle this. See you later tonight on voice chat…” He took up her hand and brought it to his lips, winking before he departed. 

The words momentarily flew out of her head in the face of such gallantry. Cassandra watched him go, falling back against the booth in disbelief when he was out of sight. A text notification pinged from her phone.

‘Stop what you’re doing right now and tell me everything.

-Josie xxoo’  

The phone rang immediately after; Cassandra smiled to herself, feeling quite like a heroine from her favorite romance novel as she picked up the call and obliged her friend’s request for juicy gossip.

[creamecream]

A gaggle of children all together!

Left to right

Cedrych Cousland-Arainai (Zevran Arainai/Roxanna Cousland)

Kamilla Lavellan (The Iron Bull/Alvara Lavellan)

Adiya (Isabela/Carver Hawke) feat. Alias (Zevran Arainai/Zena Alto)

Khaalida (Fenris/Merrill)

Elizabeth Vael-Hawke (Sebatian Vael/Alyssa Hawke)

Percy Lavellan (Kalia Lavellan/Cassandra Pentaghast)

Marci (Velanna/Sigrun)

Thane Montilyet (Cullen Ruthford/Josephine Montilyet)

Alias belongs to @abyssnighthawk

[tejaswrites]

Pure Poetry

Prompt is Blushing for @14daysdalovers

Pairing: Persephone Hawke x Knight-Captain Rylen Summary: Western Approach, 9:42 After weeks of travel, Persephone finally receives a letter from Rylen. Rating: Teen / Word count: 1134 Also available on AO3

---

The Western Approach was worse than she’d expected. Their first several days had been swallowed by a sandstorm and in the aftermath, she’d already wasted half the morning de-sanding her belongings.

At least Loghain had taken the young Inquisitor out to work on his sword skills so she could de-sand in peace.

She was arranging her tent when a gentle cough came from outside. “Hawke?”

“Yes?” She rose to her feet and ducked out to find Cassandra Pentaghast outside, book in hand and a blanket thrown over her arm.

She held out a letter, at least a couple pages judging by how thick it was folded. “This arrived for you.”

“Thank you.” Her surname was written across the front in Rylen’s strong hand and she ran her fingers over it with a smile. The weeks they’d been apart were already too long. She missed him desperately.

She slid a finger under the flap to break the seal, when Cassandra stopped her. “Before you do that...that tree has the right amount of shade for a reading break.” Cassandra nodded at one of the trees near the small pond of water that sparkled prettily in the morning sun. She lifted her book as she added, “Join me?”

Persephone nodded, and the two women travelled the short distance from camp to the shade of the tree. Her fingers idly played with the letter as they walked, running along its folded edges and picking at the flap. It was the first letter she’d gotten since they’d left Val Firmin and that had been weeks ago now.

The few others she’d received before that had been short: a brief update and a poem scrawled at the bottom of one of Cullen’s letters. She could almost see the exasperation in Cullen’s writing as he noted that Rylen would be adding a postscript of his own.

Of course, she understood why personal notes had to be tucked into what available space he could find. The Inquisition used a lot of paper in its correspondences across Thedas and it wasn’t cheap.

There was little to spare for messages of more personal nature, which is why this one was all the more valuable.

Cassandra spread her blanket over the sand and spread out on it, laying her book on the ground in front of her. She rested her chin on her hand as she opened it, quickly losing herself in the story.

Not having the foresight to bring her own blanket—not that she would have given how recently she’d finally gotten all the sand out—Persephone settled down with her back against the tree and knees pulled up to her chest.

She gazed at the letter, enjoying the brief moment of delight before she once more slipped her finger under the edge and broke the wax seal.

Her heart skipped a beat as she unfolded it to an entire page of text, tightly written across every open space. A quick flip of the page confirmed the back and the front of the next page were equally as packed. Relief washed over her, ridding her of the stress of the past few days. The past few weeks, truly, as traveling with the young Inquisitor was no easy feat in the best of times.

At least this time she had Loghain to distract him. And speaking of Maxton, she wouldn’t have much time until he found his way back to camp.

Persephone flipped back to the beginning of the letter, and began to read.

A leannan,

Whatever trouble I end up in for pilfering so much paper, it was worthwhile. These weeks at Skyhold have been lonelier than I knew they could be. I missed you the last time, terribly as you know. But now I don’t know when I’ll see you next, and that made the longing painful.

I’m not the only one who misses you, as you could have guessed. Cerberus thinks he’s keeping me company, but I know it’s me keeping him. Or at least, he lets me believe that. I told him what you said in your last note and it helped, I think. He’s been calmer since.

Skyhold is as it always is when the Inquisitor is away. I moved from the barracks to the camp, since I spend most of my days down there anyway now. It’s easier now that the weather turned and the snow has mostly melted.

I am glad to know you made it to the Western Approach without a problem. I pray it stays that way. Reports tell me whatever you’ll find out there can’t be good. I know you feel responsible for what’s happened with the Wardens, but you can’t take them on alone. Reinforcements will be dispatched as soon as we get the word. I beg of you, do not do anything reckless.

“I’m never reckless,” she muttered at the page.

Cassandra glanced up. “What?”

“Nothing,” Persephone told her, quickly returning to the letter in her hand.

I have it on good authority that you’ll insist you’re never reckless, but Cullen assures me you are.

Of course Cullen would say that. If doing what needed to be done when no one else would was considered reckless, so be it. She’d certainly been called worse than that.

The letter continued, giving her updates on life at Skyhold without her. With the military preparations in progress, he’d had to cancel the weekly card game. As disappointed as she was for him, she was glad that she might have a chance to get to his level. If Varric wondered why Persephone cared now, after all the years she’d refused in Kirkwall, he never let on. They’d been playing most nights on the road.

She’d happily gamble what remained of her portion of the Amell estate away if it meant she got to see the look on Rylen’s face when she beat him.

There were more notes on the military through the bottom of the page. It shouldn’t surprise her, he was Cullen’s second-in-command after all, but to waste such precious space with that seemed a rather odd choice.

When she flipped the page over, she understood why.

She inhaled sharply before she quickly folded the page in half and looked up to see if anyone had noticed. Cassandra was still focused on her book, idly flipping a page when Persephone glanced at her, and any others still at camp were too far to see the bright pink tinge that was sure to be showing on her heated cheeks.

Her tent might be a better place to finish reading, but then she may draw attention to herself and then Cassandra would know exactly what content the letter held.

She couldn’t have that.

Instead, she carefully unfolded it once more and flipped to the backside. Her heart thudded in her chest as she read. It might not have been a poem, but Rylen’s descriptions were pure poetry on the page. Line after line of everything from descriptions of her body in moonlight to some of the more...specific plans when they were finally together again.

It had heat in more than just cheeks by the time she was finished with the page.

“Hawke?”

She dropped the letter of her lap as she snapped her eyes up to Cassandra. “Yes?” she asked a little too quickly.

“Are you...blushing?”

“Am I?” Persephone patted her cheeks in an attempt at surprise.

“That must be quite the letter.” Persephone’s face burned even hotter knowing she’d been caught out, but Cassandra didn’t dwell on it. She reached down to pull Persephone off the ground, “Come. You should return to your tent and finish reading it before the Inquisitor gets back.”

Persephone gave Cassandra her most grateful look. “Thank you.”

Cassandra nodded at her. “You are happy.”

“I am,” Persephone said as she tucked the letter away. “The happiest.”

And it was true. She was the happiest she’d ever been with him. He loved her, and she loved him, and that was everything.

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [1031]

Ellana Lavellan defeats the dragon, and that feat — while not an official request through any guild or alliance board — is more than enough to push her ranking from B to A. Bull hears about this from the Redcliffe Branch. She’s been summoned back to the Inquisition Headquarters to get an updated tag and to speak with the Inquisition’s high table regarding the incident.

It might sound callous and cold, but a high dragon — with a clutch — appearing out of nowhere and killing only a handful of low ranked adventurers is something to be thankful for. Especially when there’s two major settlements right next to its lair. That less than ten lives were lost is truly fortunate.

Obviously it’s fucked up for the one guy who did survive that calamity.

But Redcliffe’s escaped true disaster. They haven’t fully recovered from the Blight a decade ago. It’s possible that they might never truly recover from the Blight. They’re also still recovering from a heavy demonic incursion. Redcliffe is truly a city of siege. If there is ever a time that city is at peace it’ll be because everyone’s abandoned it to flee for better pastures.

Ellana didn’t defeat the dragon alone. That’s not something even Cassandra Pentaghast is capable of, though most would argue it’s something she’s already done. Pentaghast herself has loudly and strongly disagreed with those people on several occasions. She makes sure to credit all the archers and spellcasters who’d helped her from afar. It’s very nice of her. Humble.

She’s a good guild master.

Ellana had a party of, including herself, eight. Most of them were fellow B rank adventurers, with the except of one A rank fighter and one D rank archer. He expects all of them are going to be ranked up, except for that A rank fighter.

Congratulations and celebrations for this narrow escape as well as the ranking promotions for several adventurers at once in a truly startling chain of events — there’s one other thing that weights on his mind.

The third quest he’d put forward; the one that’s never been completed or even attempted; the one everyone gives up on as soon as they see it; the one he’d purposefully designed so it would drive people away; the third quest in this series of jokes that weren’t ever meant to be taken seriously; is to say a high dragon and bring back one of its teeth.

High dragons are supposed to be rare. They exist, sure, but usually they’re asleep. Or off in some distant less populated wilderness bothering the wild animals and other beasts, cannibalizing their own young, and such. You’d have to go looking for one, if you wanted to kill one of them. You don’t just stumble upon them conveniently.

The rest of the Chargers are on pins and needles. They’re anxious for the outcome of this too.

Will Ellana Lavellan come back to their branch of the Herald’s Rest? But the quest is two fold. It’s not enough to just kill the dragon, she needs to bring one of its teeth back. Does Ellana know about that part? She didn’t know about the rest of the quests until after. But did she actually do it?

The questions and the suspense burble like a pot of water that’s just barely being kept back from overflowing in the back of his head as he moves through the days. He writes a few subtle inquiries about the situation to Skyhold and gets vague responses. He supposes they’re still sorting it out. Josephine writes back that they may be sending out notices for S rank missions to all the branches soon. Dragon hunts. The guild masters may be petitioned to personally move and take them, themselves. No skin off Bull’s back. Everyone knows he’s a fan of dragons.

He’s had the pleasure of fighting one. But it was a long time ago, when he was a different man. He imagines that if he were to fight a dragon now, with the people he’s met and come to know, he’d have a lot more fun. As long as it isn’t Pavus. The man has a stupid and uncanny knack for ruining a good time. Specifically Bull’s good time.

Rutherford writes back that Skyhold may be sending out Inquisition members to pass through various branches. Temporarily. He wants to know what a good number would be for the Morrin Branch, and of what sort. Bull writes back that more healers are welcome, and that he has plenty of melee fighters. Morrin can host up to two dozen without worry on the impact on regular business, if they don’t mind sharing rooms. If more space is needed then they’d need to talk about more details.

Morrin isn’t exactly the same size as the Denerim or Orlais branches.

Leliana writes back that the dragon was harvested of materials, and is still in the process of disassembly. She sends him three vials of dragon’s blood and a promise of something nice made out of the processed hide. She avoids the mention of teeth because she’s a tease and she knows exactly what’s going on here and wants to have him hanging by a thread.

He’s half a mind to write her and plainly ask but it’d feel a bit like losing. Though in this situation he has no idea what the hell winning would be.

Actually --

No. He has no idea what winning is.

Does he want her to come in and claim her prize? The prize being him? Does he? The quests were never meant to be completed, it was a joke. It got people off his back. It was an excuse. He’s never even met the woman. She could be another Pavus, for all he knows. Haughty and petty and irritating like a hangnail you want to rip out.

And if she doesn’t come back? If she doesn’t have the tooth and she doesn’t claim the prize?

Bull’s stomach feels uneasy. He recognizes the feeling of being offended but he has no idea why. He’s taken insults from scores of people — some of them people he even cares about. Why would this stranger matter to him?

His curiosity is going to be the end of him.

[dragonagecompanions]

Hi, idk if you guys are still taking requests, but if do are... could you do the DAI companions reacting to a gravewalker inquisitor? Meaning a dead human that is only still around because he is the vessel of an elven wraith (like in shadow of mordor)

Cassandra: Everyone expects Seeker Cassandra ‘Magic is the Root of All Discord’ Pentaghast to be violently horrified, and that their odd Herald will never be safe around her. Surely once they are alone she will seek to rid Thedas of this affront to the Maker, at a time when they need this helpful if unholy creature the most. Steps are taken to keep the two seperate, and more than once plan is in place should they ever meet.

But the result is….somewhat anticlimactic. The focus was too much on ‘Seeker’, and so most of the Inquisition conveniently forgets that ‘Neverran Nobility’ and ‘Raised by a Mortalitasi’ are also two key factors in Cassandra’s identity. While she might not be comfortable with their new leader, Cassandra is practical enough and familiar enough with necromancy to understand a useful tool when it pledges it’s sword to her cause. As long as the elven wraith remains so pleasant they wilol have no problems.

Solas: The Rift Mage hovers constantly between effervescent joy and paralyzing terror. Their leader is essentially an ancient Elvhen wraith, and the potential for like minded discourse and learning are almost limitless. But if this new figurehead is of sufficient age than his ruse is up even before it begins. 

Too much has been put into place to stop the Herald now, but Solas keeps a close eye on this new development, and has his own series of spies always watching. If he must ask swiftly, then despite the risk he will.

Blackwall: It’s unnatural, and disrespectful. Whoever this poor sod was that has their body inherited like an old coat deserves a better ending than this. Unnatural magic aside, his soldier’s sensibilities hone in on that. He’s convinced it will turn people against the Inquisition, but with the Wardens missing and the world in chaos there’s no one else doing anything and so he accompanies this frightening individual regardless.

And is pleasantly surprised at the results. Despite the perhaps sacriligeous beginnings their leader is doing their best for the world, and even if the construct of their existance is perhaps unsavory he’s proud to fight beside them.

Vivienne: It’s an abomination, and with the magical world in chaos as it is Madame de Fer can ill afford to be seen cavorting with demons. While the Inquisition might count on her political support as needed, she will limit her direct involvement with the Herald until such a time as their political pariahhood is a touch less dangeorus.

Sera: No. Just….just friggin’ no. Can’t even let the little people die properly, have to go draggin’ them back for demon suits! Every fiber in the Red Jenny is oppossed to the inquisition’s new leader, and while her people may help as they see fit Sera herself keeps a distance.

Dorian: The Inquisitor’s resident necromancer is, in a word, delighted when he meets this fascinating Herald. Binding a spirit to the body of the dead is no great feat, but for a wraith to do so in such a way as to animate in a fully autonomous, sentient and unbridled matter is truly a feat! If the Inquisitor allows it he spends hours studying their frame and the magics that bind them– though he falls short of attempting to replicate the experiment.

Such things might be in vogue in Tevinter, but the South is certainly the wrong place to be raising dead soldiers. Out in the open, at least.

Bull: He. Hates. It. Hates necromancy, distrusts magic, and is not at all fond to see the husk of what once lived walking around among the living. The Qun sent him here to do a job, and he’ll do it, but the Ben-Hassrath is less than pleased with this development and keeps an everpresent eye on their fearless- and lifeless- leader.

But after that same leader show more interest in keeping his men alive than the Qun his outlook….shifts. He will still never be fully comfortable with what is going on, but it becomes easier to look past the dead eyes and see what lies beneath. Which isn’t much better, but he tries.

Varric: He does his best, but it is difficult for Varric at first to see anything but the monstrosity that was the last moments of Leandra Hawke’s life. The stitched together horror had taken a terrible toll on his greatest friend, and in truth it had taken time for all of them to move past the event. No matter how many times the herald assures him that their host had passed before being inhabited the author is discomforted by the whole thing. He takes great steps to make sure Hawke is well aware of the situation before coming to Skyhold, and never leaves his friend alone with the Inquisitor.

But after Bianca, and the terrible Red Lyrium mminds molded from still living and tortured flesh, Varric can’t help but see things in a slightly different light. Hawke’s mother had her life cut short, but their Inquisitor is making the best of a sitation they could not fix, and whoever this unknown soldier was certainly cannot be displeased at their body’s efforts to save Thedas.

It doesn’t make it any better, but it helps nonetheless.

Cole: He doesn’t think he’s Cole from the tower, but he looks like Cole. The Herald is  someone; “Trying to breathe, too much blood, Maker please make it stop–” but they aren’t evil. The body doesn’t care that it’s still moving, and they want to help. 

So does he. 

-Mod Fereldone

[inquisitwors-story]

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Adaar & Male Lavellan (Dragon Age) Characters: Female Adaar (Dragon Age), Male Lavellan (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras, Solas (Dragon Age), Cassandra Pentaghast, Sera (Dragon Age), Vivienne (Dragon Age), Dorian Pavus, Cole (Dragon Age), Blackwall (Dragon Age), The Iron Bull (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Ensemble Cast, Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Tal-Vashoth Culture and Customs Summary:

Attempting to stop the rippling chaos of the Mage-Templar conflict, Divine Justinia calls for a ceasefire and a meeting at the Temple of Sacred Ashes in the Frostback Mountains. Then, all hell breaks loose.

Two attendees of the Conclave, a Vashoth sellsword and a Dalish spy, are thrust into the middle of a rapidly-unfolding war when they each awaken with a strange mark on their hands, magic neither of them had before, magic neither of them understand. With one another, and a somewhat ragtag group they pick up along the way, they must navigate a web of shifting alliances and strange magic, fighting enemies shrouded in mystery and hope they can discover the cause of it all before it becomes too late.

- - -

A rewrite of Dragon Age: Inquisition, from beginning to end and hopefully without too much flat rehashing of in-game dialogue, feat. Inquisitors Adaar and Lavellan. Character tags, warnings, and relationships to be updated as the story progresses.

Chapter 3 is up, folks !! Have some light dialogue before shit gets real. 

[nerielle]

shut up and dance with me

shut up and dance with me (fake dating au feat. cullen/female trevelyan from dragon age: inquisition)

I haven’t written fic not on AO3 in at least five years and I barely post any fic I write any more, so forgive me if I transgress on any fandom expectations! 

ANYWAY.

Rating: T for cursing because fuck the Winter Palace

Warnings: Dumb fluff, author self-indulgence, mild handwaving of plot, if that counts. 

Relationships: Cullen/Female Trevelyan, implied Iron Bull/Dorian

Characters: Cullen Rutherford, Inquisitor Trevelyan, The Iron Bull, Dorian Pavus, Cassandra Pentaghast, Leliana, Josephine Montilyet, random Orlesian nobles

Tags: fake dating au, mostly canon-compliant, cullen is a precious pup and I love him, elinor trevelyan is not here for your shit

Word Count: just over 3000 words

Notes: I wrote this little (by my standards!) ditty for an anonymouse in my ask box and I wrote it in one sitting, so all errors are mine!  takes place during the “Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts” quest, with a little fudging of timelines so that they have not yet kissed on the battlements but he has told her he’s stopped taking lyrium. 

Also, I wrote this all in lowercase because that’s my current aesthetic and I do not describe the Inquisitor on purpose because Elinor is not my “canon” Inquisitor—she’s the one I write when I want fic that doesn’t work with my canon, which is apparently a thing I do now. (I blame @monthofsunday even if she wasn’t the anon, lol.)

"you know this isn't something we did on purpose, right?" elinor trevelyan finds herself telling her councilors for what seems like the thirtieth time in the past ten minutes. 

"it's my fault if anyone's," leliana adds. "this is what happens when i don't pay attention to what you two are getting up to." 

josephine sighs, sharing an exhausted glance with cassandra, and then turns to elinor and cullen. "will you recount the events again? i need to consider how to address this tomorrow morning before we depart." 

elinor and cullen share a long look, much to dorian and varric and the iron bull's amusement, and elinor nods and begins the tale.

***

the first hour at the ball is exactly what elinor expected it would be; she spends so much time exchanging pointless pleasantries, fielding innuendos, and smiling her most devious smile that the first opportunity to go snooping around the winter palace is a godsend. if someone calls her lady trevelyan one more time she's probably going to scream—and that includes cullen, who has been fastidious about addressing her formally since they arrived, as if there were something terrible about the fact that they are on a first-name basis. they've been through some shit, thank you very much, so she can call him whatever the fuck she wants. 

when she returns to the ballroom after her first excursion, she makes a point of making eye contact with every member of her party she can find before walking back to the vestibule to talk to leliana and get direction for her next steps—and elinor busies herself investigating and networking in equal measure.

elinor's on her third run back into the ballroom to make an appearance when she realizes that she hasn't seen cullen in almost a half hour. as she makes her rounds, her eyes roam every corner of the ballroom to try and spot cullen. she misses the mantle, she realizes after a few minutes, because it would make it so much easier to find him—but then she spots his blonde curls, disheveled due to his nervous habit of pushing it back. she straightens her back and glides gracefully across the room—mother would be proud, she thinks—and makes her way through the throng of people around cullen. 

she's still several feet away from him when she realizes that he is surrounded by admirers, and the blush on his cheekbones and discomfort radiating from every bone in his body makes it clear that he's realized it as well. elinor clears her throat and flashes some smiles to get through the crowd, and cullen is so relieved to see her that he begins reaching out for her, pulling back as soon as he realizes it—a new habit, elinor's noted—but this time she doesn't let him. instead, she takes the hand he has extended towards her and uses it to pull him to her so she can step into his embrace. 

"sorry for disappearing for so long, my dear," she murmurs, batting her eyelashes. "but now that i've returned, i was hoping you would dance with me."

to his credit, cullen only stares at her with wide eyes for a brief instant, and then he's inclining his head and tightening his arm around her. "it would be my pleasure." 

the small crowd parts for them, buzzing like bees—but the buzzing becomes deafening silence as cullen and elinor step onto the dance floor.

cullen's amber eyes dart around the room as she steps into his arms, and elinor can feel him tremble lightly. "lady trevelyan, perhaps..."

"elinor," she reminds him a little forcefully, "and it's too late now, cullen—we've got to dance." 

he nods and leads her smoothly enough, if a bit tentatively, into the first steps of a dance. as they begin to find their rhythm, cullen smiles softly, his hand tightening around hers. "thank you for rescuing me, elinor."

i did it for myself too, she thinks, but she just smiles at him. "always glad to be of service, commander."

he smirks, twirling her out of his embrace and then back into it, and his smirk widens as the silence ends abruptly and the chatter in the ballroom returns to a dull roar. "we're going to hear about this, you know." 

"i'm certain," she replies quietly, her eyes searching his face. "but even if it ends up being not a brilliant idea by orlesian standards, i'm... glad that we got this chance." 

"me too," he replies immediately, his voice low and warm and honeyed. elinor shivers, involuntarily taking a step closer to him, and it is not until he's dipping her gently that she realizes that their dance has concluded. cullen offers her his arm and leads her out into one of the balconies and, as soon as they have walked past the curtains, they both take deep breaths. 

"this will only be a temporary reprieve, you know," elinor says after a moment, letting go of his arm and walking over to lean on the balcony railing. "as soon as we go back inside, they're going to start asking you about me and about the dance and it might... it might make everything worse. i'm sorry. i wasn't really thinking." 

cullen scratches at the back of his neck, sighing, then leans into the railing just beside her. "if the price for them to stop propositioning me is that i have to spend the rest of the ball speaking of you, then... that's more than a fair trade." 

elinor laughs, turning to face him—and then they're too close and all she can see is his mouth and she feels light-headed all of a sudden. 

"we should get back to work," he says after a moment, turning away from her, and elinor takes a deep breath before grabbing the proffered hand and stepping back into the ballroom. 

***

less than an hour later, cullen finds her in one of the hallways, looking frazzled. "we need a story." elinor blinks at him for a moment, unsure, and cullen sighs. "they keep asking for the love story and i keep demurring, telling them it's our private business, but... it will keep them distracted, i hope." 

elinor feels her cheeks warm—and smiles as a blush covers cullen's own cheekbones. "right, yes, our love story," she begins. "is it a recent thing, or have we been keeping it quiet for a while?" 

"for a while," he says immediately. elinor raises an eyebrow, and cullen shifts his weight from foot to foot, avoiding her gaze. "they'll be less likely to try and sway me away if it seems more... established." 

she nods. "a while, then. let's say... we talked about it after haven? since we'd come close to losing one another and did not want to leave things unsaid any longer?" 

cullen's eyes widen and the flush adorning his face deepens, extending into his neck. "that... yes. makes sense. excellent." 

"anything else about our relationship we should discuss?" she asks after a moment, her gaze fixed on the freckles she's found dusted across his nose.

"no, that... that's perfect." he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "maker, how i hate these things." 

elinor chuckles, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. "help me save orlais so we can go home?"

"absolutely," he replies immediately, reaching out to brush a lock of hair from her forehead. his hand lingers from an extra moment, making elinor exhale shakily, and then he's inclining his head and turning away.

what the hell have i gotten myself into? she asks herself, shivering, and then she forces herself to return to the ballroom for her next round.

***

the rest of the night is, to be quite frank, a comedy of errors. sure, elinor saves the empress and exposes a conspiracy and saves orlais from chaos... but she actually spends a lot more time fielding comments and questions about cullen. he is immensely popular with the orlesians, for some reason—you know why, her traitorous brain accuses—and they are all completely fascinated by the idea of the inquisitor and her commander. by the time it is all said and done, elinor is so exhausted that she barely manages to make it out to a balcony before bursting into frustrated tears, trembling against the railing. 

she hears footsteps behind her and she is about to whirl around and scream when she hears cullen's quiet voice.

"elinor, are you alright?" 

she shakes her head, trembling, and cullen rushes to her side. he rests a hand on her lower back and cups her face with the other, turning her face so he can examine her gaze. "what do you need?" he asks gently. "what can i do?"

"nothing, i... i'm sorry," she says, leaning into his touch. "i'm just... so exhausted and i've... lost it. i'll be well soon enough." 

cullen pulls her closer and shifts them both slightly so that he can shield her from view of the ballroom. "it's quite alright, you know," he whispers. "it's been nonstop madness since you came out of the fade. you're allowed to lose it. maker knows you've seen me in worse states. and, silly as it is, i worried for you tonight—even though i know you are a storybook heroine who will save the day and be just fine." 

she chuckles shakily, smiling up at him—and then she closes the distance between them and embraces him. his arms encircle her immediately, one of his hands moving to stroke her hair gently, and elinor trembles and buries her face in his shoulder. "thank you," she says after a long moment, taking a step back. "i can't imagine doing any of this without you." 

cullen smiles, bowing exaggeratedly. "at your service, my lady."

she laughs, tucking stray locks of hair behind her ears, and then grins up at him. "my valiant knight." 

he inclines his head, a soft smile still on his face, and then extends a hand. "may i have one more dance, lady elinor, while we still have time?" 

"i'd love that," she replies, placing her small, gloved hand in his, and the smile remains on her face as they spin around one another on the balcony. 

*** 

elinor ends up walking back to their temporary quarters—as insisted by empress celene—with cullen by her side, their walk punctuated by a companionable silence that does nothing to calm her racing heart. as she opens the door to her own room, she is startled to find the rest of their company awaiting them, and so she ends up telling them the story of her daring rescue of cullen from a gaggle of orlesian nobles. 

"i couldn't make this up," varric declares when her tale is finished. "but good on you for rescuing curly tonight." 

"a regular savior," leliana says with a smirk. 

josephine shoots leliana a look and sighs. "this is an absolute disaster." 

"and we will have to sort it in the morning," dorian says after a moment. when all eyes turn to him, he sighs dramatically. "we are exhausted, it's been a long night, and i need my beauty sleep. we can do whatever yelling we need to do in the morning." 

"maybe curly should stay in here to keep the tongues wagging," varric adds, and elinor is certain her face matches the bright red of her uniform. josephine sputters off to the right, looking absolutely scandalized, and bull and dorian laugh in perfect sync. 

it is, of course, cassandra who restores order. "enough. everyone out. we will meet here in the morning." she nods at elinor gently enough, but her face remains impassive. "good night, inquisitor." 

"good night," she echoes, watching them begin to file out. cullen hovers for a moment before squeezing her shoulder—and then walks out wordlessly. she is about to start undressing when dorian clears her throat, bringing his presence to her attention, and elinor sighs. "what is it, darling? out with it."

"did it occur to you, dear cousin, that you were not saving cullen simply because you are altruistic?" 

she tugs at the ribbons in her hair, releasing it, and shakes her head. "i'm sure i don't know what you mean." 

"he means you were jealous because the orlesians want your templar," bull clarifies from his spot by the door, making elinor jump. 

"cullen isn't a templar anymore," she replies automatically, and the smile on bull's face makes it clear that she's walked right through the door she opened. "oh, by andraste, you can't be serious," she mutters, tugging the buckles on her boots. 

dorian laughs. "as entertaining as the pining glances are, my dear, i think it is time for you and our dear commander to have a chat about your feelings." 

"i'm sure i don't know what you're talking about," she says, stepping out of her boots, and she sighs. "look, it's late and i'm tired and we all need our sleep." 

bull looks ready to protest, but dorian shakes his head before stepping up to elinor, resting a hand on her shoulder. "just think about it, elinor dear—you said it yourself in your love story, after all... we don't have time to leave things unsaid." 

elinor stands there and considers the words long after dorian and bull have departed. 

***

i hate everyone and everything, elinor thinks to herself as she finally gets out of bed after hours of trying to fall asleep. she pulls a cloak over her nightgown and runs a hand through her hair, trying to tame it before she steps out into the hallway. she tiptoes down the hall until she comes to cullen's door and knocks before she loses her nerve. 

the door swings open quickly—almost too quickly, she thinks—and he is as surprised to see her as she is surprised to find him shirtless. "elinor, is everything alright?" 

"i don't know," she says, her eyes fixed on the slope of his shoulders. "i just... can't sleep." 

cullen takes a step back from the door, waving vaguely towards the interior of the room. "would you like to come in?" 

she nods, stepping past him, and she lets her eyes make a quick inventory of the room as he reaches for a shirt on top of a nearby chair. he hovers near her once he's put on his shirt, and elinor examines his expression for a long moment before she decides to jump into the deep end. 

"cullen, i... perhaps you wondered how i had such a ready answer regarding the love story tonight." 

"i did," he says softly. "but i did not want to... presume." 

elinor chuckles quietly. "presume away, cullen." his eyes widen, and elinor takes a step closer to him. "the story came so easily to me because it's not just a story... at least not to me. i did want to tell you after haven. hell, after redcliffe. but it just... never seemed like the right time." 

"we're at war," he murmurs. "i don't know that... there is a right time. definitely not now."

"i know," she whispers. "and yet... you were worried for me tonight and... it made me realize that you are often left behind, waiting... and if you care for me as i do you, then you are also left worrying. there might be a time where i don't return, cullen—and, if indeed that is the case, i don't want to leave anything unsaid."

he reaches out to stroke her cheek with the back of his hand, and elinor closes her eyes and shivers at the touch. "neither do i." 

she forces herself to meet his gaze then, her eyes searching his. they both steps closer to each other, close enough to touch—and cullen bridges the distance by leaning down to kiss her, except he stops a hairsbreadth away. elinor has to smile—she knows what he is doing—and then she's leaning in that last fraction of an inch and their lips are meeting and oh, there are lights going off behind her eyelids. one kiss turns into another into another into another, and his arms are tightening around her, and elinor is dizzy and bright-eyed by the time they part. 

"thank the maker," he whispers. "i was so afraid that you wouldn't..."

"how could i not?" she replies incredulously. 

"i'm not the man you deserve, elinor," he tells her, his voice breaking, and elinor trembles and then surges forward to kiss every doubt away. 

"we can talk more later," she says between kisses. "we have time. but i'm here and you're here and i'm going to show you just who you are to me." her mouth trails over his jaw and down his neck, and cullen's hands curl into her coat before he kisses her more insistently. elinor smiles into his mouth, tugs at his hair, and resolves to make him feel everything she is not yet ready to say. 

*** 

they walk back into her room at dawn, smiles sparkling and hands clasped, so they can wait for the rest of the councilors to join them. cullen sits by the window, his packed knapsack resting by his feet as he watches elinor change into her travel clothing and then gather her own things. when she's finished, elinor steps up to him and offers her hand. 

"will you dance with me, even without music?" 

cullen laughs, taking her hand and using it to pull her against him. "any time, my lady. i'm yours." 

"and don't you forget it," she replies with a brilliant smile—and they are still dancing, starry-eyed, when the others begin filing into the room. 

no one comments on the dancing except for varric, who compliments their form, and elinor has never been more delighted by cullen's blush and the warmth of his hand in hers. the dances alone were worth it, she thinks to herself even as josephine yet again launches into her long speech about the importance of regaining and maintaining the court's favor, and the rest has been a lovely bonus. 

she is not sure what things will be like for her and cullen as they move forward—but she hopes that there will be a lot more dancing.

[wolffyluna]

There are points where I’m annoyed that I played my “Cassandra Pentaghast f/f, feat. humourous miscommunication” hand before I knew who Aveline was

Like, I know there’s no rule you can’t write similar fics more than once, but still! I played my hand too early! I could have had even stupider flower based miscommunication (feat. Varric falling over laughing the background.)

[hanktalkin]

my secret santa for @thedwarveninquisitor over at the @santa-age secret santa

They wanted something feat. Cassandra, and also like enemies to friends, the origins companions, and their inquisitor to be included. Hope you enjoy and have a happy holiday!

A new Divine. A new Left Hand.

Cassandra had done her research, preparing for this meeting in an attempt to keep her mind on the Divine’s goals and off her own thoughts. A thousand and one anxieties, foolish worries and…under it all…a sadness she couldn’t deny. Staring out a window of the Grand Cathedral, she watched a few scant snowflakes fall past the glass, the only evidence of winter this far into Orlais. Cassandra had never minded it for that, the warmth of the sea reminding her of Nevarra more than her trips farther south. This place had been her home for over a decade and now…

Beatrix was gone. Her successor was three days coronated, and Cassandra was left feeling floating, without purpose.

A hand went to the braid piled on top of her head, and—feeling it breaking free from its plait—she undid it completely. As her fingers moved though the tangles of black hair, she tried to find her center again.

She shouldn’t feel so helpless. A death she knew had been coming had come, and it was not like Beatrix had been much of a guiding force in the last years of her life. Cassandra was a Seeker, Pentaghast. This should not shake her.

And yet…she’d served the Divine the entirety of her adult life. Maybe she was only human to feel…abandoned.

“Cassandra,” a voice at the doorway called. Cassandra turned, her hair not yet back in her braid since she’d forgotten halfway through.

“Your Grace,” Cassandra said with a nod as Dorothea entered. No, not Dorothea. Justinia. Divine.

“As you know, I’ve made my choice for my Left Hand,” Justinia said, already stepping aside to allow another woman passage. “Sister Leliana has graciously accepted.”

And Sister Leliana she was. The red-haired woman was dressed in Chantry robes, but it did nothing to fool Cassandra, who’d found more about her past than anyone within the walls of the Grand Cathedral. This woman was a bard, a veteran of the fifth blight, had spent the past three years hunting a influential Orlesian noblewoman—no robe, no matter how authentic, could conceal how dangerous Leliana was.

“Beatrix never had need of a Left Hand,” Cassandra told her simply, the art of Chantry pleasantries never Cassandra’s strong suit. “I would like to know that you did not accept without reason.”

Leliana didn’t hesitate, her blue eyes twinkling. “The will of the Maker has called me back to Orlais. I assure you, Cassandra, that I will serve both him and the Divine without question.”

Cassandra straightened her shoulders, her hair swinging forward. Already layers of meaning beyond what she intended—omens that nothing with Leliana would ever be easy. Both her and her mistress were unknowns, not yet having proven themselves. But there was time; for Justinia to be Divine and for Leliana to be her Hand.

With a short bow, Cassandra crossed an arm across her chest. A salute in the Templar style. Respectful yet formal, and Justinia watched her Right Hand with unreadable eyes.

Cassandra hoped these two would be good for the faithful. Leaders who did what was best for those with the maker in their hearts. And if not, Cassandra would deal with it. For now, she would see.

The hunt for the Warden had been fruitless, and searching for the Champion looked to be similarly pointless with each passing day. A fine mist was beginning to settle in the streets of Kirkwall, threatening to be rain and never actually committing.

Cassandra remembered once, long ago, when Knight-Commander Martel had claimed that the events in Kirkwall could never be allowed to happen again. How different a meaning those words had had back then, how reliably history repeats. Now she was dealing in the aftermath of another crazed and power-hungry Knight-Commander, the remains of Meredith’s last stand still bronze and glowing at the Gallows. Citizens were afraid to leave their homes, Templars were without a leader, and yet again the champions of the Maker spilled innocent blood.

Before, when Cassandra had saved Beatrix’s life, she’d been little more than a child in over her head, scrabbling to put together a conspiracy with forces she couldn’t put a name to. She thought if she was in control, if she stood among those who were too blind to see what was in front of them, she could change the course of fate. She could help.

Now it felt as though she was as useless at the Right as at the bottom.

“Did you really have to stab him, Cassandra?”

Cassandra wiped at her brow, pushing aside the hair that had turned sticky in the city’s mist. Once it was out of her face, she glared at Leliana. “I thought he knew where Hawke was. If he had been forthcoming, I would not have had to.”

Leliana raised a brow. “Didn’t you just tell me you believe him now?”

“…Like you are above such tactics when you want to gain information.”

“I don’t think that was tactics, Cassandra. I just think you wanted to stab him.”

Ignoring her, Cassandra stared into the damp city, blinking past the wet hair that had fallen back into place. Leliana was right, but Cassandra was in no mood to admit that; Over the years she’d worked closely with the Divine’s other hand, and had learned to barely tolerate Leliana’s…less than appealing way of doing her job. There was a good woman in there—she never would have become Justinia’s confidant if there wasn’t—but she took the ends justify the means to an extreme Cassandra could never follow.

Meredith had felt justified. Martel had felt justified. When had there been a man or woman who hadn’t felt justified when they killed those who trusted them?

Sometimes Cassandra worried how easily she could fall down that same path, how if she lost her way, she had no one but herself to lead her back out.

“Cassandra?” Leliana asked worriedly.

Cassandra closed her eyes, seeing the bodies of dead mages as though they were still there. It took a second, to re-find the center that was still there. But then she opened them and said, “to the Keep again. We may yet find something.”

Another Divine gone.

Leliana paced, Solas watched the prisoner, and Cassandra tried to keep the fragile remains of the Chantry bureaucracy from killing themselves. It was about as hard as expected, especially with the breach expanding every day—Cassandra only found Leliana because she stepped into the Chantry prison while searching for a peaceful moment.

It was unsettling really. Cassandra wasn’t used to seeing Leliana broken like this, and finding the woman staring at a wall while the world continued to end put a shock through her system that didn’t lessen when Leliana turned to face her. The Left Hand’s eyes were dark—empty of something Cassandra had always associated with her. Hope, faith, a belief in second chances.

Cassandra remembered a window in the Grand Cathedral with snow swirling just beyond. She remembered being lost, no longer with someone to guide her. Leliana was feeling that and more, when Dorothea had been the one who had loved when no one else had, and had shown her the Maker’s light.

Cassandra couldn’t undo wrongs that had already passed. She couldn’t bring back Justinia, nor Beatrix. What she could do is place her hand atop Leliana’s, and let the woman be weak, just for a moment.

A river—Cassandra didn’t know the name—cut through the Hinterlands sloppily, showing no mercy to the bridge that had once tried to tame it. Not far away was a Templar encampment, now empty save for the Inquisition and a few bodies.

Sera was already pulling arrows from bodies, each time saying and another little stabby for you, prick accompanied by a snorting giggle. Bull, sitting on an emptied-out chest, was doing his own post-battle rituals by cleaning the blood from his axe. They all felt oh so very far away as Cassandra stared down at one of the bodies.

“Cassandra? You alright?”

Blinking, Cassandra chased the ghosts away, turning to face Brynn. “…Yes, fine. I am glad there is on less stronghold in this region, that is all.”

The Herald scrunched her nose, then looked down at the Templar Cassandra had been staring at. “…Someone you know?”

Cassandra sighed, frustrated she’d been seen through so easily. “Yes. She was. And I suspect she will not be the last.”

Great. Now things were awkward. Cassandra seemed to make a habit of doing that.

But, after a while, Brynn spoke again, thinking awkward talk was better than awkward silence. “So…you’re a Templar, right?”

“No, not exactly.” Cassandra hadn’t spoken to the Herald much since the founding of the Inquisition—not enough to explain what the difference between a Templar and a Seeker was. “But I investigated them. Met with many of them.”

Cassandra leaned over the body. Not someone she knew by name, but by face. One of the hundreds of warriors that had left when the Order had abandoned the Chantry, she had now become one of the ever-growing number of bodies created by this war. In her hand was a blade, a good one, better than Cassandra’s own.

Carefully, Cassandra withdrew it, holding it in the sun until it caught the river’s reflections. “…We could yet still go to the Templars,” Cassandra said unexpectedly. She had never tried to persuade the Herald one way or another, but her mouth suddenly seemed to have a mind of its own. “We need any help we can with the Breach.”

Brynn shrugged. “Leliana said the mages would be more helpful. And they’ve actually asked to treat with us.”

Of course Leliana had. These were the ends she was always aiming for.

But Cassandra didn’t say that aloud; instead, she nodded, and told Brynn, “yes I know. But it is something to consider.”

Cassandra kept the sword.

An old Left Hand, but a new Divine.

Leliana was standing in the archway leading to the undercroft, carefully sipping a glass of red wine while her eyes danced over the celebrating Inquisition. Cassandra hasn’t seen her this chuffed since Halamshiral—each time a pair of heads put themselves together, Leliana smiled like she knew exactly what they were saying.

“Enjoying The Game, even within our own castle?” Cassandra asked, coming to stand beside her in the shadows.

Leliana smirked, ever so slightly. “No. I am just…watching.” As she said it, Brynn and the Iron Bull slipped away, giggling as they took the steps to the Inquisitor’s room. At the same time, Cole stole a sip from a soldier’s drink without him even noticing.

“You seem happy,” Cassandra said, noticing the touch of color in her cheeks. Perhaps due to the wine.

“Aren’t you?” Leliana motioned her glass around her. “Corypheus is dead, our losses were minimal…and the world is changing.”

Cassandra nodded. “You’re coronation is not that far off.”

Leliana smiled slightly into her wine glass. “Not exactly what I meant, but yes, that.”

There was something that rubbed Cassandra wrong about Leliana’s words—because the world was always changing. To Cassandra, sometimes it seemed as though it changed too fast, upending the old ways before anyone could figure out how to fix them. Cassandra felt like she’d been born in the worst time possible but…she supposed everyone in history had felt as much.

“At one point,” Cassandra began, “I never would have believed either of us could be Divine.”

“You and I both, Cassandra.” Leliana wasn’t bitter though, her eyes soft as she looked at friend. “When Justinia died I…I never did thank you.”

The night beneath the Chantry. Cassandra remembered. Nodding, she reminded Leliana, “I’ve made a history of losing people I look up to. It is not a pleasant experience.”

A wave of pain crossed Leliana’s face, but it was lessened by a year’s distance. She looked about to say something, but Cassandra wasn’t done.

“That, and you are my friend.”

Leliana’s eyebrows shot up, and the flush in her cheeks deepened.

Cassandra pushed on. “Years ago, I would never have imagined I could ever have called you as such. But the world has changed. So have you. I may never agree with your methods but I know what you have planned, Leliana. I am willing to see it through.”

“…Are you willing to return as Right Hand?”

The party chattered on, but it felt like every head in the room turned toward Cassandra as she accepted Leliana’s offer. “Once, I believed that if I was in control I could solve everything that came in front of me. But I was young, and naive, and I know that all of Thedas cannot be saved by one woman alone. I will gladly continue to serve the Divine, especially if I know she is you.”

There is no cure for pride. Cassandra would never be safe from losing her way, but she could always choose who to follow. And, as the Inquisition celebrated its glorious victory, she made another decision she could live with.

[daroguecampaigndiary]

The Dalish Curse: Chapter One

Disclaimer: If you plan on playing The Dalish Curse campaign in your own group, be warned that this re-cap is riddled with spoilers, This is the fifth installment of the campaign: Invisible Chains // Ashes to the Waking Sea 

The Grand Cathedral looms over the skyline of Val Royeaux, an impressive feat in such a glittering, ornamented city. Despite the somber mood within the party, the warrior Solange, mage Darius, and Avaar Man-Cheetah cannot help but awe at its grandeur. After all, this monument was dedicated to the seat of power within the Chantry: the Divine. 

Man-Cheetah had received direct orders from Dhara to meet at the Grand Cathedral after helping Solange and Darius at Chateau de Vedel. The trio had made their way once again through the lively, winding streets of Val Royeaux to reach it and discover their first directives as members of Dhara’s organization. 

As the party approaches the building, they see Dhara, now more plainly dressed in garb any city elf would wear, gesturing wordlessly for them to follow her. She ushers them into a benign-looking gate at the side of the entrance, which leads to a basement chamber long forgotten. Inside, two figures stand half-cloaked in darkness; one is clearly the outline of the Divine herself by the shape of her Chantry hood. 

“Allow me to present Divine Victoria and her right hand,” Dhara says, gesturing to the mysterious figures. They step forward at the introduction. The Divine lowers her hood, revealing a young woman with a red bob and a pointed chin. Her companion, the right hand, has a much more square jaw and sharp, angled eyes, her dark hair chopped short. 

“Oh, please,” the Divine says, her accent thick and obviously Orlesian. She addresses the party. “There’s no need for formality here. Call me Leliana. And this is Lady Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast.”

The other woman scoffs. “As you say, just ‘Cassandra’ is fine.”

“Cassandra has rebuilt the Seekers into her own organization, working as the right hand of the Divine,” Dhara says, returning her attention to the party. “We are essentially all that’s left of the Inquisition. We have no official name, and we operate with as few of Leliana’s scouts and Cassandra’s Seekers as possible.”

“And we’d like to keep it that way,” Leliana chimes in. “I assume you’re ultimately here because of an Inquisition flyer? While we like to distance ourselves from that title, it’s helpful to add to the propaganda that’s been circulating with our own legitimate information. Despite needing to keep our numbers low, we want mercenaries to take an interest. Hired vagabonds are harder to trace when compared to a legion of believers.”

Cassandra steps forward impatiently. “Enough idle chat. We are investigating ways to defeat a looming threat, a rogue mage with enough power to end the world. We cannot disclose too much with you just yet, but he is powerful and cunning, hence the need for secrecy and limited numbers.”

“Our next place of investigation is in the Dales, with the coming of Arlathvhen,” says Leliana. 

“It’s a meeting of Dalish clans that happens once every several years,” Dhara fills in. 

“We believe the mage’s plan may have something to do with the sudden lyrium disappearances, as well, though we’re still unsure of the connection,” Leliana continues. “For now, we need you to travel with Dhara into the Dales to meet with her clan. Your main objective is to make her appear as inconspicuous as possible; you must all play the part of nondescript travelers.” She reaches into her robes, retrieving a rolled-up note and handing it to Darius. “Before I forget: my spies intercepted this note from an elven gang leader in Halamshiral. I assume it’s for you.”

Darius reads aloud:

Word travels fast through the Indigo Road, you know. I heard that you and your cronies lopped Blaen’s head off and gave it to the Elevated Brotherhood. Ballsy. 

But, congratulations are in order. With Blaen dead, and no one to run the lyrium trade, you’ve effectively put yourself in charge of the Bleakwatch. I guess that means I answer to you now. Whatever you need us to do, we’ll handle it for you. Just let me worry about the lyrium and whatever’s left of the Indigo Road - I’m skilled to handle it.

Your servant,

Shesalla

The three glance between one another, remembering their elven companion’s lust for power. The note, clearly meant for Welfin, is tucked away into Darius’s robes. 

Dhara, already done spreading her map out on the table before them all, leans over to point at Val Royeaux with her index finger. “The journey into the Dales will take about seven days. If you’re ready, we should depart now.” 

So the party makes their goodbye to the Chantry figures and stops only to prepare for their journey in the city’s shops. Man-Cheetah seems to have purchased just a few healing kits, until he emerges from what looks to be a pet shop with a bounding dog. Solange, immediately taken with the animal, asks, “What’s his name?”

Man-Cheetah replies joyfully, “Olaf.”

On the outskirts of the city, Darius stops to retrieve mounts for each of them. Dhara rides with Darius, minimizing her visibility. Then they leave the city and begin their journey deeper into the southern forests. 

The first few days pass smoothly. As they venture further in, however, they have several run-ins with wolves, packs of vicious, agitated animals. They hurl themselves at the travelers, and the party is quick to respond. 

Darius snaps his fingers ostentatiously, obliterating one of the wolves in a fiery display. Solange, still in the midst of her own conflict, whirls around at the noise and shouts, “What the?!”

Man-Cheetah, entirely pleased by the battle, takes a defeated wolf by its jaws and pulls the jowls apart, singing a hearty song of masculinity popular with the Avaar people as blood explodes into the air. He then stands and points to the next wolf. “Get out of here, you stupid, dumb animal!” 

During their last battle with the wolves, Man-Cheetah gleefully chants an Avaar war-cry, a screeching made with the tongue, while he dispatches the last of them, the rest of the party stood aghast at his ferocity. 

But at last, after the seven days of travel through the Dales and with plenty of wolf pelts in tow, the party makes it out of the dense forest. In fact, they happen upon what looks to be a farm. They notice a flock of carrion crows all circling over a body. As they get closer, the body is bloodied terribly, and there are signs of carnage all across the farm, with more bodies strewn about. A pack of blight wolves lope through the farm. 

The group is ready to respond, and they quickly dispatch the blighted creatures, taking their pelts, as well. Though it would appear that the wolves were the cause of death for the farmers, the party notices that they did not kill them. Seven male bodies are flayed in the yard, and as the adventurers enter the farmhouse, they note three more dead bodies: a woman, a young girl, and an infant. There are claw and bite marks inconsistent with the wolves, as well as doors broken in by forceful blows. The floors and earth are sticky with blood. 

Solange reaches her hand up to a wall inside the main room of the farmhouse, where there’s writing in the blood of the slain. The others crowd around her to see. It is just one word in elvish script, and Solange says it aloud: “Mythal.” 

Dhara solemnly places her hand over the word, and says, almost under her breath, “The elven god of vengeance.” 

The party moves on to the barn, where the animals still seem to be alive, including an aging workhorse. As they pace inside, a low moan sounds from somewhere inside the barn. Frantic, they search for the source of the voice. 

Hidden under the hay in the loft is a young elf woman with a nasty, inflamed wound in her side, her clothes torn and covered in blood, dirt, and stray bits of hay and straw. As the group approaches, she tries to flee them, but only manages a feeble crawl before she passes out. 

They quickly attempt to resuscitate her, or else heal her wounds. Luckily, they succeed in stabilizing her; she visibly relaxes but remains unconscious. As they take a closer look, her wound is a set of four closely-spaced gashes along her side, apparently made by claws, and her clothing shows that she is a Dalish elf. Her wound is consistent with those suffered by many of the family found on the farm - it seems the same creatures attacked her. She carries nothing on her person except for a small leather pouch at her waist that holds a heavy link, forged out of silver, about the size of the man’s hand. It has been broken by some great force. 

Darius takes it in his hands, examining the strange object. “There are magical etchings all over the surface. I can feel a residue of the power the link once contained... but I can’t feel its nature.” 

Dhara hangs back as the group look between each other, confused. Darius pockets the link. 

“Come on,” says Solange, “let’s get this girl some help. There has to be a village nearby.” 

Indeed, they happen upon a village, Man-Cheetah carrying the elf woman over his shoulder. Before they can reach the village proper, however, they are met by what appears to be an angry mob. A swarm of villagers walk toward the group, agitated further by the sight of the elf. At the front of the group, a large, gruff man leads the mob, clearly the spearhead of the effort. 

The party hears people gasping, shouting accusations and rumors. 

“Why did she survive?”

“What was she doing at Fuldor Farm?”

“Dalish witch!”

“She came to lure the men out into the open!”

“She led the attack!”

“Sorceress!” 

“Cast her out!”

“Execute the dirty knife-ear!” 

“Protect Vintiver!” 

Clearly overrun, Solange charges ahead. “Calm down or I’ll bash your heads in!”

This manages to quiet down the mob, though they still seethe together. Darius comes up behind her, holding up the pelts of the blight wolves. 

“You see? We’ve defeated the creatures that attacked your farm!” he cries, though his words fall mostly on deaf ears. 

In the newly-made silence, Solange takes an opportunity to speak. “There is a great evil coming! Let us pass.”

It takes several more attempts to disperse the crowd, with no help from the leader of the mob, who reveals himself as Coalan. But, at long last, the party does manage to talk down the villagers, and, begrudgingly, they dissipate. 

Coalan practically stomps his feet, a petulant child, before moving on, muttering under his breath. Darius and Man-Cheetah make a silent agreement to follow him. Solange and Dhara then take the girl in search of an inn. 

It doesn’t take long before Coalan reaches a forge; he enters with the confidence of a tenant, clearly the village blacksmith. Not far behind, Darius motions for Man-Cheetah to follow his lead before entering themselves. 

Darius takes up his own brand of Tevinter confidence and bids the man a good evening. “Would you be willing to make weapons for me and my companions?”

Coalan spits on the ground before their feet. “Not to you. Not after you let that knife-ear back in our midst! You’d do best to leave my forge right now.”

Before Darius, flabbergasted, can answer, the door to the forge opens again, this time revealing a broad man with a leather coat and a Warden’s crest upon his lapel. 

“Coalan, what’s this I hear about - ?” the man starts before noticing the two adventurers. “Ah, and who might you be?”

“Traitors, say I,” Coalan says. 

The man shoots Coalan a dark look before returning his attention cordially to the other two. “I am Tarl Dale, the Warden of Vintiver. Ignore Coalan here - he’s a brute with a nasty temper. Come, let’s talk outside.” Tarl points a finger at Coalan. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Outside, Tarl turns to the party in earnest. “Now, can you men explain to me what went on this afternoon? I’ve heard talk of a mob.”

Darius and Man-Cheetah recount their days’ adventure: finding Fuldor Farm and the elf girl hidden inside, and bringing her to Vintiver only to find an angry crowd with Coalan at its head. 

“I see.” Tarl runs a hand over his shaggy beard. “You see, a Dalish clan made their way through here recently, but their stay ended on bad terms. Coalan had a row with one of their hunters. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. In the meantime, you two should find lodgings, if you haven’t already. See that the elf is made well; come see me if you have any more trouble.”

Safely stowed in the Arbor Inn, Solange stands watch over the elf girl. Dhara kneels beside her bed, tending to her wounds and whispering in elvhen. This goes on for some time before, at long last, the girl’s eyelids flutter open, and she sits up with a sharp inhale. 

Dhara holds the girl’s shoulders to steady her. Solange quickly makes her way over and kneels, too. Confusion sweeps over the elf’s expression. 

“You’re safe,” Dhara offers. Her voice is uncharacteristically calm and warm; the girl appears instantly relieved to see one of her people. 

“I’m Solange, and this is Dhara. What happened to you?”

Weak, the girl blinks before sucking in a deep breath. “I am Eshara. I should start from the beginning:

“Our clan visited the village just two weeks ago, on our way to Arlathvhen and during their harvest festival. We were welcomed, at first, but there was a bit of trouble: some of the locals had too much to drink, and there was a confrontation with some of our young men. Harralan, one of our hunters, attacked the blacksmith. The warden separated them before it could get out of hand, but the damage was done. We were no longer welcomed here, and we moved on. 

“Harralan was angry at our treatment, but our Keeper assigned him the duty of scouting as we made our way through the forests of the Dales, to give him time to cool off. He was the first to disappear - he simply didn’t return from his scouting one night. 

“Then others began to go missing, as did the ones sent to look for them. The Keeper decided we should go back, but by then it was too late. Three days after Harralan disappeared, before we could reach the edge of the forest, they attacked our camp: darkspawn emerging from the trees in the dead of night. My people were taken. Those who fought were beaten or killed. I was captured along with the rest, taken to an ancient ruin in a rift valley deep in the forest, far off the trails. The master of the darkspawn is a creature, an abomination. He calls himself Mythallen.”

“‘Child of vengeance,’” Dhara says, almost to herself.

Eshara continues, “I was brought before him, and then taken to his chambers. I managed to escape, taking the broken link of silver I found laid out as if on a shrine.

“The darkspawn pursued me, accompanied by a pack of baying beasts. I was wounded, but managed to avoid them, hiding among the trees and gullies in the forest for more than a day, always moving, never resting for long. I stumbled upon the farm where you found me and managed to conceal myself in the hayloft. I heard some of the farmers coming... The darkspawn must have attacked. I remember the terrible screams... Then nothing... until you found me.

“Please... you must help my people! Mythallen and his creatures must be stopped!” 

The excitement strains Eshara’s exhaustion, and Dhara shushes her, lowering her back into the bed as she falls unconscious. 

That night, after Darius and Man-Cheetah return from Coalan’s smithy, Solange recounts Eshara’s tale. The party decides to go back to Fuldor Farm to keep watch for the darkspawn that may return for Eshara. They take Eshara’s clothes and give her the gown Solange wore at the gala back in Val Royeaux; Dhara agrees to stay with Eshara as the party ventures off. 

When they arrive at the farm, they clothe one of the bodies with Eshara’s attire as a decoy. Solange keeps watch with Man-Cheetah in the barn. 

For many hours, and all through the night, the two wearily watch on as nothing happens. They begin to lose morale, thinking that their first major lead has been lost. 

Just as Darius wakes and dawn spreads across the sky, however, the party sees figures approach in the distance. Coalan, followed by his cronies, bound across the field and up to the barn, having seen Solange and Man-Cheetah far in advance. It’s clear they had intentions of an ambush, or else to snuff out Eshara before alerting her clan and furthering their “Dalish plot.” 

Darius goads Coalan on inside the barn, as Solange and Man-Cheetah sneak their way further outside. Consumed by his temper, Coalan charges into the barn just as Darius sets it on fire, then sprints outside, leaving the would-be attackers trapped inside with treacherous flames slowly mounting. 

The three ignore the terrified shouts as they prepare for what may come. Coalan manages to break the door down - but Darius is quick to cast Winter’s Grasp, keeping the entire door frozen and those trapped inside without an escape. It can’t hold for long, though, and one villager is able to free himself. The party descends upon him, quickly knocking him unconscious and practically torturing the man with attacks to sensitive parts and a miraculous, treacherous show of pouring hot tea into his eyes. 

The rest of the barn burns in a horrifying display; just as it seems the door to the barn is about to succumb to ash, Coalan and the others escape with only seconds, fear more than anger burning in their expressions. Darius then sets the outside of the barn on fire, adding to the chaos. Even as the other attackers attempt to run, the party cuts them down, leaving all but Coalan and their torture victim dead. 

A little aghast at their swift and volatile actions, the group takes a moment to gather themselves - and their unconscious companions - and decide how to subvert their situation to their benefit. After all, the growing plume of charcoal smoke rising in the morning air was sure to draw the wrong kind of attention, already distrusted by most of the village. 

So they drag the bodies back to Warden Tarl’s house, Solange taking the lead in this subterfuge. She makes a great show of sobbing, knocking on the warden’s door with shaking shoulders. Darius and Man-Cheetah do their best to look sullen behind her. 

When Tarl opens the door, his eyes dart frantically between Solange and the two disfigured bodies lying on the ground. “What - ?!”

“They tried to hurt us!” Solange says, doing everything save collapsing into the man’s arms. “We went back to the farm to make sure there weren’t any more darkspawn, and they came and they tried to kill us!”

“Calm down,” Tarl said, taking her by the shoulder and leading her inside to sit down. “Here, bring them inside. I’ll tend to them.”

Darius and Man-Cheetah unceremoniously drag Coalan and his cohort into the house. 

“I know Coalan has a mighty temper, but I never thought him capable of this,” Tarl says to them. “I apologize on his behalf. The village has been through a lot, but that’s no excuse. Don’t worry about a thing - I’ll tend to them until they’re able to tell me what I need to know.”

The party shifts uncomfortably. 

“Now, what did you find out about that elf girl?”

Solange tells the warden about what Eshara said to her back at the inn, and how they intend to aid her clan as best they can. Tarl gives the party his full support, in whatever way he can. 

Back outside, the party gives a collective sigh of relief. 

They return to Eshara in the inn, who seems to be more fully recovered, thanks to Dhara. She sits up in bed, raising a brow at the group’s singed appearance, but says nothing of it. 

“So? Will you help my people? I can guide you through the forest, if you like. Please, I must free them from Mythallen.”

Dhara holds Eshara’s hand in hers, looking to the group expectantly. 

Solange nods and steps toward her. “Yes, we’ll help your people.”

[snaps-wexley]

a softer look than usual for lesbian day of visibility feat. my girlfriend, cassandra allegra portia caloghera philomena pentaghast

[mercurialmind]

The Sword and The Quill

Pairing: Josephine Montilyet/Cassandra Pentaghast, feat. Shae Lavellan/Dorian Pavus

Raiting: E

Additional Tags: Fluff, Slow burn, Romance, Hurt/Comfort

You can find the fic here:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/10882989/chapters/24182703

Chapter 1

“You know, Cassandra, you should really talk to her about how you feel”, said Dorian and took a sip from his glass of wine.

Cassandra stared at her glass absentmindedly while tapping her fingers against the table. “I know it is what I should do”, she told, “but I cannot even understand what this is, as I have never felt this way towards any woman before.” She drank from her glass and fell back on her chair. “I like men.”

“I hear you”, said Dorian smirking.

Cassandra chuckled, a sound that was so rarely heard from her mouth. “I mean I always dreamt of a man who would sweep me of my feet. I have yearned for this since I can remember, but now it does not seem to have importance anymore.”

During the first few months of the inquisition Dorian and Cassandra had slowly gotten acquainted and spent more time together. They had started chatting by the campfire and little by little began sharing more information to each other about their lives. If someone had told they would become friends, Cassandra would have laughed at that person. She had not let Dorian close very quickly. At first, she had been quite suspicious about him since he was from Tevinter, but after giving a chance they both realized they enjoyed each other’s company.

Dorian smiled knowingly while playing with his curvy moustache. He was sitting in his armchair, relaxed as always, one leg on top of the other.

“Oh, come on. You must admit this Antivan woman has gotten you under her spell, and you are all but helpless in front of her.”

Cassandra let out a disgruntled noise while glaring at him.

“You know always how to choose the right words to make everything sound incredibly tawdry.” She shook her head. “But even if this would be the case, how do you think any relationship would be possible as death lurks in every corner? I have lost many people I cared for. I do not wish Josephine to experience the same.“

“I understand”, Dorian said. “But, especially during time like this, you should take happiness where you can get it.”

She sighed. “You are probably right.”

— 

Cassandra had just finished her breakfast and was heading back to her quarters. They were going to leave soon to Exalted Plains for expedition with Inquisitor Lavellan. She decided to stop by Josephine’s office but felt suddenly butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She sighed hard. How this can even happen to me? She thought and knocked on the door. Right away she heard Josephine calling her to enter.

Josephine was sitting at her desk as usual, and a smile rose on her lips as Cassandra entered the room.

“Cassandra”, she said. “It is a pleasure. I was hoping to see you before you leave.”

Cassandra nodded stiffly but a little smile crept on her lips as she approached Josephine who stood up from her chair.  “I wanted to tell you, goodbye, before we head out.”

“I am glad you did. I do have something that might interest you”, Josephine said and opened her drawer. She pulled out a book and handed it to Cassandra.

“What is it?” Cassandra asked when she took it.

“It is a romance novel written by a well-known Antivan author.”

“Why would you - I mean how did you - ?”

Josephine waved her hand carelessly in the air. “Let us say, I have quite an ear for rumors”, she told and leaned against her desk.

Cassandra frowned, a slight grunt escaping her lips. She was glaring at the book suspiciously. It was not because she did not want to read a book recommended by Josephine, but she felt exposed as her secret appetite for romance novels had gone out.

“Please, do give it a chance”, Josephine continued as Cassandra seemed incredibly doubtful. “I consider it to be most intriguing and much better quality than Varric’s romance series, though I do not wish to offend Varric in any way. I highly respect his penmanship. I am just not convinced about his skills in writing romance.”

Cassandra raised her eyebrows. “You have read them?” she asked suddenly curious.

“Only one of them”, Josephine answered, “It was hardly romantic for my taste. I prefer his crime series. I think Varric is at his best writing those.”

“I suppose I can give it a try”, said Cassandra and saw Josephine nodding for approval, maybe she saw something else in her eyes too, but it could have been completely her imagination. “I will be going then – and will see you in a few weeks.” Cassandra tugged the book against her chest. “It will be a long ride.”

“Please, do take care of yourself”, Josephine said as she took a small step closer to Cassandra.

Cassandra nodded, as she leaned unintentionally forward. However, she quickly stiffened and turned on her heels. “Thank you for the book.”

When she closed the door behind her, she felt the warmth rising on her cheeks.

 —

The journey to Exalted Plains was most annoying. Long days of riding and she disliked riding, horses in general. She was always happy as they finally stopped to set up a camp since it gave her an opportunity to retreat in the tent for the night, to read the book. She was certainly curious about what kind of book Josephine had handed her, thus the first night she completely skipped the discussions at the campfire and told she was all too tired and needed rest.

As she settled in her tent, getting comfortable on her bedroll and opened the book, she recognized it carried a slight scent of Josephine’s perfume which made her smile. Fast she realized her thoughts had wandered and got flustered all by herself, immediately finding it completely ridiculous for feeling this way.

She sighed and started reading. The writing was good; she could tell it fairly quickly. She was a fast reader, thus it did not take her a long time to be able to form a slight opinion on the novel. It was interesting, she would admit for now.

Every night she read a little. She was utterly surprised when she realized the romance in the novel was between two women. Her head began spinning right away with thoughts. Was this some kind of message from Josephine? Had she noticed her lingering looks and now had given her this book, because she did not know if Cassandra was interested? Abruptly, she laughed at herself. That was all very nice but completely fruitless speculation. She decided to keep reading, with growing curiosity.

This trip felt more annoying than any other they had previously been on. And it was only because she had an urge to return to Skyhold even though she did not know what she would say to Josephine when she next met her. She found it extremely hard to concentrate to the task at hand.

One day, when they had stopped by a river to fill their waterskins, Cole appeared out of nowhere as he used to do every now and then. Cassandra had already gotten accustomed to it, thus she only flinched a little and continued washing her face.

“Her hair braided on the neck, slight scent of flowers as she walks by. Joyful giggle that warms the heart. Try not to admit.”

“Cole!”

Cole sat calmly on a big rock just beside her. He watched the moving water as it run by them.

“She would say yes.”

Cassandra looked at his pale, still eyes nearly hidden by the hat too large for the man of his size, and said nothing.

Cole turned to look at her for a moment and then he was gone as quickly as he had appeared.

Dorian could not avoid noticing Cassandra’s disappearance every evening after their dinner. On one evening, he confronted her.

“I am just tired”, she explained once again and tried escaping behind the tent curtains.

“Don’t give me that utter nonsense, Cassandra”, he said seriously. “Something is going on. What is it?”

“It is nothing really, Dorian”, Cassandra said feeling suddenly uncomfortable.

Dorian looked at her with investigating eyes and maybe saw something he did not want to inquire further as he just said: “All right then. But if you have something in mind you can always come and talk to me.”

“I appreciate that.” This said Cassandra closed the curtains.

That night, the novel took a turn to more suggestive direction. It did not take long before she started feeling overly warm in the small space of the tent. She could not avoid thinking about certain someone while reading it, thus she had to cast the book aside and leave the tent in order to get fresh air.

Everyone had already gone to sleep when she put her head between the curtains and took a peek outside, thus she sighed with relief.  As she sat in front of the cold ashes and watched the stars on the clear sky, she could not help but wonder if this was really it, the feeling she had. When she had started her journey with the inquisition, never would she have thought this to happen.

Honestly, she had never judged anyone according to their gender preference. By herself she had always been able to tell if a woman was beautiful but she had never really thought about them romantically. During her life, she had met many different people. Some of them preferred the same gender, some both, and some had no such interests at all. By this age, she had realized this had nothing to do with the personality or other such qualities of a person. She found herself thinking about Dorian who people knew preferring men, but no one disliked him for that. Sera liked women, and no one minded about it either. Even Leliana was known about her past relationships with both men and women. Still she succeeded to fear how she would be seen by others if she was to pursue with her feelings for Josephine.

Another thought creeping in the depth of her mind, was if she could even rely on herself anymore. How could she suddenly change this way? She had always liked only men even though she hardly had experience on them either, except for Regalyan, but it was so long ago. How could she suddenly have these thoughts about another woman? Other matter that worried her most of all, was if she had completely misled herself with Josephine and would destroy their friendship with her feelings?

She could feel her own heart pounding in the silence for the trepidation and delight as she thought about the moment she would see Josephine again. Whatever was to come out of this, she could not wait for their return to Skyhold.

The exploration took longer than ever. After Dorian’s approach she tried spending more time with the others in the evenings. The way Dorian and Shae sat shoulder to shoulder at the campfire, the way they looked at each other, made her smile with happiness. One evening, she saw Dorian smiling back at her over the flames. He had understood.

 —

It was one of those days when the sun hit hard, even though it was not yet midday. They were exploring the northern part of the plains and hunting for a white wyvern. Shae had told that Vivienne had requested him to get her the heart of a snowy wyvern.

“What does she need it for?” Dorian asked. “To my knowledge, it is not a common ingredient for any kind of a potion I know.”

“I did not want to inquire too much as I am not in so good terms with her”, Shae answered. “I am even surprised she asked this favor of me.”

They moved further and further in the Ghilan’nain’s Grove and soon they heard the sound of great wings above them. The growl made Cassandra’s hairs on her neck to rise, and she looked up already knowing what they were going to face. A high dragon flew over and landed in front them with a thunderous sound as it slashed through the air and crushed the rocks under its giant legs. It created such a wind they nearly fell on the ground from its impact.

“It is a Gamordan Stormrider!” Shouted Cassandra and started backing out. “We are not prepared for this. We need better armor to fight this one!”

Slowly they tried retreating from it, Cassandra in front, ready to shield anything that would come towards them. The dark purple dragon growled again, the very sound shaking the ground underneath. Cassandra swore under her breath while they tried together to gain distance to the dragon that moved closer and closer. It spread its wings, causing a whirlwind which started pulling them closer.

The others had succeeded retreating far enough to avoid getting caught in the wind, but Cassandra was less lucky. Even though she tried hard keeping herself grounded, she was pulled too close. The dragon took advantage and swung its tail towards her. She flew through the air as the hit landed on her, leaving her breathless, and it was the last thing she could remember before her vision went black.

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [435]

“Fascinating,” Lavellan says, putting her hands together.

“Yes?” Theron asks, already nervous about the answer because the look on Lavellan’s face can only be trouble. He’s bee around Ellana Lavellan, Heart of the Dales, long enough to know when her face means trouble (usually yes).

“The Head of the Clan of Morae has passed,” Lavellan says, tapping her fingers together.

“Yes, I am aware, we’ve had three other clans applying to take the Morae seat at the council,” Theron says, “And you’ve been invited to the funeral. Lyna and I arranged for Lyna to go in your place since you’re scheduled to be on campaign with the Inquisition headed towards Nevarra to confirm support from the royal family. Were you able to receive word from the Pentaghasts?”

“Cassandra is working on it,” Lavellan says. “I think we may have to postpone the campaign.”

“It’s an entire army moving at once, we’ve had this timed and scheduled and organized for months,” Theron says, already scrambling to figure out how they’re going to redistribute and reorganize the movement of that many troops through that many number of territories through a reasonable timetable and how to best address this with Nevarra without sounding entirely arrogant.

“Ambassador Montilyet can handle the rescheduling,” Lavellan says, “I will have Mahanon and Rutherford work together in restructuring the companies and reallocating their distribution to accommodate the changed time frame and the new conditions.”

Oh, yes. Right. Theron almost laughs out loud with relief.

He’s not responsible for that part. Thank every God and Goddess. There’s someone else who has to handle that mess.

He feels a slight pang of concern and embarrassment for having that thought immediately after. It’s no less of a feat just because someone else is handling it. He’d offer to assist the good Ambassador but he’s not sure how to go about it. He’d rather not step on any toes - at least, not this early into things. There’s time enough for that later when he knows which toes to step on for what.

And the good Ambassador doesn’t seem like the type of person who deserves such a gargantuan task thrown onto her. He has half a mind to say this to Lavellan but changes his mind last minute. He’d rather her not make him do it after all. He’ll just try to figure out how to offer his assistance to the Ambassador afterwards.

“Can I ask why you’re about to delay a campaign that we’ve been tediously working on for months?” Theron asks instead.

“The Iron Bull has brought me this message,” Lavellan says, pointedly looking down at the note in front of her. “Contrary to tradition and popular assumptions — “

“You know what they say about assumptions.”

“ — the holdings and power of the Head of the Morae clan was not passed onto the eldest daughter, Varna, but instead ceded to the Heart of the Dales. Essentially, the entire holding has become national property, with their seat in the council relinquished. Either the Noble Council is going to be down one seat for in perpetuity, or I get to choose who speaks for the Morae. It’s essentially a free seat.”

Theron’s eyebrows shoot up to what feels like his hairline.

“And how did your Iron Bull come across this information?”

“His spies, obviously.”

“And how did your Qunari favorite obtain spies in the Dales?”

“Now, Theron,” Lavellan says sweetly, “If I told you that it wouldn’t be a secret, and that would invalidate the point of a secret spy network, wouldn’t it?”

“I am part of your secret spy network! I help run your secret spy network!”

“One of my secret networks,” Lavellan corrects.

“How many do you have?”

“As many as I need to make sure I’m not being lied to,” Lavellan says simply. “No offense, Theron, but I do like having assurances. Don’t you? Now. Bring call in the rest - including my Inquisition advisors - we need to figure out the logistics of the Nevarran campaign and the Morae problem.”

-

“Did you know,” Bull says quietly as they’re walking through one of the halls towards the training grounds, “That you buildings are distinctly built for someone not my height?”

“Is that so?” Lavellan muses. “I don’t think my ancestors ever considered that the Qunari would make it to the heart of our nation and would appreciate higher doorways and larger corridors, to be honest with you.”

“It’s mostly not a problem,” Bull says, “Large hallways, high ceilings, tall windows, but some of your rooms and passage ways give me trouble. I also have one eye.”

“How’s that depth perception working for you?”

“It isn’t,” Bull answers flatly. “Which I think you would have known already. Which makes me wonder why you keep bringing me places where it gets increasingly difficult for me to navigate.”

“If I said training would you believe it?”

“No, but I wouldn’t question it further.”

Lavellan gives him a fond look over her shoulder, “You do need to be exposed to my country’s way of thinking. Our routes. Our architecture. You often speak of how architecture can reflect much about the builder - the culture, the person, the situation, the times - and this is the fastest way to teach you rather than send some historians to lecture you for a few years.”

“I’m sure that’s a reason you’ve factored in after the first few times.”

Lavellan smiles.

“Did you know,” She begins slowly, reminding Bull of a cat that’s about to do something its owner explicitly told it not to do, “That you make the most wonderful faces whenever you misjudge distance between walls and get stuck? It’s quite charming.”

“With respect, your Holiness,” Bull replies, “You’re something of a dick.”

Lavellan’s laughter peals out through the sunlight gold hallways, and Bull can’t resist his own smile.

“There is also when you do judge a space accurately and you can tell it’s going to be quite the difficult fit but you determinedly go in for it anyway and stoically suffer through the indignity without a single word. I’m quite fond of that look in particular. I like that you go through with it anyway. Because you’re following me.” Lavellan’s smile grows that much warmer, that much more woman than symbol. That much more blood than power. “And you keep your promises.”

[lightofthetrees]

tagged by: @irreverentecthelion​ I know the original post was only a list of favorite male characters, but I wanted to make a list of my favorite lady characters as well! I’ve also decided to make these my favorite NON-TOLKIEN characters (just as a challenge). The order is just the order I thought of the characters in - it doesn’t really mean anything.  This is long, because I wrote a short blurb about each character.

Top 10 Favorite Male Characters

Garrus Vakarian - Mass Effect Garrus is one of my favorite characters from this series - he’s always by Shepard’s side, no matter what. He knows when to crack a joke and when to stay solemn and serious. He’s also a total badass, capable of completely insane feats in combat. He also really grows as a character throughout the games.  Han Solo - Star Wars A classic. He’s a great sarcastic sidekick. Though he doesn’t always do the right thing right away, he gets around to it when the going gets tough. Sam Vimes - Discworld One of the things I love about (Sir) Terry Pratchett’s writing is his characters. Sam Vimes is no exception. He has this coffee-drinking, hard-working cop vibe, but underneath this gruff exterior is an incredibly courageous man who loves his city. He also makes sure he has time to go home and read to his son (Where’s My Cow?!).  Dorian Pavus - Dragon Age I love Dorian for similar reasons to why I love Han Solo - the witty sidekick is just my favorite trope, ok. He also has an excellent mustache. He’s a show-off who’s always making jokes. And he’s a wizard. What’s not to love? Dorian also shows us that not all people from Tevinter are horrible and evil. He’s a good dude and he wants to do what’s right.  Jarlaxle Baenre - Forgotten Realms novels This guy. He’s just. !!! A mysterious mercenary with a great fashion sense. HE CAN “TURN OFF” THE NOISES HIS (fabulous) BRACELETS MAKE YOU GUYS THIS IS IMPORTANT. As much as I love Drizzt, Jarlaxle is definitely my favorite R.A. Salvatore character.  Miguel & Tulio (”Mighty and Powerful Gods”) - Road to El Dorado This was one of my favorite movies as a kid, and Miguel and Tulio are pretty much my favorite kind of characters - basically just D&D bards on a crazy adventure. They get themselves into a TON of trouble, but they find their heroic sides at the end of it all. Crowley & Aziraphale - Good Omens Another mighty bromance, and more of Terry Pratchett’s wonderful influence. I love how these characters are the polar opposites of one another, and not just because they are an angel and a demon. Their personalities and tastes are completely different, and yet they manage to team up (and even be friends) in spite of all this.  Harry Dresden - The Dresden Files A main character who I don’t get tired of (or who I don’t just hate in favor of their sidekick). Yes, he’s an exceptionally powerful wizard, but he’s also just a guy who wants to protect his friends and his city. He tries hard to adhere to his own moral code, but he is by no means perfect. Definitely one of my favorite protagonists. Top 10 Favorite Female Characters

Cassandra Pentaghast - Dragon Age Ok, so, I love Lady Knight characters (see Brienne, below). This probably doesn’t come as a surprise. Though Cassandra is kind of annoying in the DA2 cutscenes, she becomes a remarkably complex character in DA:I. Though initially stubborn and quite harsh, she becomes one of the Inquisitor’s most trusted and loyal companions (most of the time). She is not only a great warrior - she’s a woman of principle. Despite her strength, though, even she sometimes feels lost. She questions the validity and morality of her actions. Rey - Star Wars She’s a powerhouse of Force ability, and she’s fiercely independent. She doesn’t need a romantic interest to be a complete character.  I am so excited to see where Rey goes as a character in the next movie.  Leia Organa - Star Wars Best. Princess General. Ever. <3 Eleven - Stranger Things Eleven is such a great character. As is pretty evident here, I love to watch how characters grow and change over time. As she develops her psychic abilities, Eleven learns what it’s like to have friends that care about her. She will do whatever it takes to protect them. Brienne of Tarth - Game of Thrones I love Brienne because while she is a female warrior, she isn’t just a fashion model wearing some armor. She’s larger in stature than most women and is really self-conscious about her appearance. She is fighting to find her place in a world in which men (and very traditionally beautiful women) hold the power. She’s also honest, loyal, and motivated to do what is right. Daenerys Targaryen - Game of Thrones Another powerful female character who, even though she has dragons and armies, is still coming to terms with who she is. She goes from a naive, frightened girl to a queen who metes out brutal justice and leads an invasion to claim her throne. Yup, she’s ruthless. But it works for her. She’s the Mother of Dragons.  Moana - Moana Another character who shows that a girl doesn’t need a romantic interest to be a complete and wonderful character. There is NO ROMANCE PLOT in this movie and I LOVE IT. Moana doesn’t have to marry anyone to become Chief. She’s the Chief’s daughter, so she’s next in line, and nobody questions it. She, too, goes on a journey to become the ruler she needs to be - compassionate but also strong enough to defend her people.  Karrin Murphy - The Dresden Files I love Murph. Yet another lady warrior, I know. :P But she’s great. She’s always there for Harry when he needs her. Like him, she cares deeply for her friends and her city.  Charity Carpenter - The Dresden Files I love Charity because she will do anything to protect her children. She’s basically Super Mom. Also, she makes armor.  Liara T’soni - Mass Effect How to go from sweet, innocent scientist to badass information-broker in 10 easy steps. Like Garrus, she’s there with Shepard through all the ups and downs of their adventure. She’s intelligent, motivated, and loyal.  tagging: anyone who wants to!  (You don’t have to stick to male and female characters - this is just the way I chose to do the lists. Basically I just think it would be cool to know about characters you guys like.)