#fifi de launcet

[hollyand-writes]

Dragon Age II – Mark of the Assassin DLC

Comtesse Dulci de Launcet (right), with her daughters Babette and Fifi de Launcet

[gayhawkelatehomicide]

Names

Honestly I... Don't know what this is. It possessed me and now it's here. Uhh I know that headcanoning Anders a name other than yanno, Anders, isn't everybody's cup of tea, so fair warning? It's not like I plan to have anybody call him that, I just wanted to think about what this conversation might look like and the name bit me. So here, have a handers that I wrote in like 20 minutes on my phone.

***

Word Count: 1339

Rating: G

Additional Tags: Hawke is an adorable dork with a heart of gold and no one will take this from me, cat bf and dog bf are the best kind of relationship, genuinely could not tell you where this came from, names and naming, the importance of calling a thing by the correct name so as to be able to recognize and understand it, boyfriends being soft about stuff that hurt a long time ago

***

Hawke walks in already complaining. Anders smiles and puts down his quill to stretch his aching hand, feeling a twinge of annoyance in the back of his head at being interrupted. He recognizes it for what it is—not entirely his own reaction, but not entirely that of his passenger—and ignores it. He was going to go to bed soon anyway. By the time Anders gets turned all the way around, Hawke has leaned his staff in the corner and is peeling out of the top layer of his robes.

"You know nobody in this entire city but you calls me by my given name? Seriously, think about it! With most of the citizenry, especially the ones in Hightown, it's 'Champion' all day long. 'Oh Champion, my brother's caravan is late' and 'Champion please, you have to help my mother,' and 'Dear Champion, my cat went up that tree and can't get down. Again.' It's as though they've all forgotten I have a name instead of just a title." He unties the fastenings on the leather cuirass he wears between his outer robe and the sweat-stained under-layer. The poor clasps creak protest at Hawke's enthusiasm.

"And I know at least some of them know it! Fifi de Launcet used to simper at me when we first bought the house and Mother was trying to get me married off respectably. Sure, a few of them probably think it's a compliment or some nonsense, but you'd think at least Lady Elegant would call me Garrett every now and then. If not in the course of business, then maybe when I'm poking around her stall doing something irritating."

He bends at the waist to unlace his boots, presenting Anders with a lovely view of his ass as he struggles with laces that he obviously tied while they were still wet. Hawke has been through four sets of laces for those boots in the past few months because he's too impatient to let them dry before jamming his feet in them and running off to do whatever it is he does when he's out of Anders's direct line of sight.

"Most of our friends don't use my given name either, did you notice? Varric calls me Hawke like it's a title more than Champion, which is *fine*," he manages to get one boot off, mostly by sheer brute strength. The sock comes with it. "Even Aveline doesn't three-name me when I'm misbehaving, just says," and here he drops into a worryingly accurate imitation of Aveline. "Hawke, if I catch you trying to breathe fire in the Lowtown market one more time, I swear-!"

The other boot comes loose with enough force to nearly knock Hawke off his feet. He catches himself with all the grace and poise of a moderately sized druffalo, then grins triumphantly over his shoulder at Anders, holding up the boot. The look on his face is incredibly similar to the look his mabari wears when he drops dead vermin (or, on one memorable occasion, a mangled burglar) at his master's feet. Anders applauds politely.

Hawke kicks the boots into the corner by the fire and starts on his greaves and bracers, still talking. "Hell, even the villains and other assorted bastards whose teeth we kick in regularly call me 'dog lord' or 'mage' or something equally obvious. You'd think at least one of them would've done his research. Evets, maybe, of Evets' Marauders. You remember them, don't you love?"

Anders does. Distinctly. He remembers wrapping Isabela in shield after shield as her quick fingers teased apart rows of traps while Hawke traded bolts of fire and sneering retorts with the blood mage on the other side of the bluff, and Aveline kept her shield between the mages and that terrifying longbowman. He remembers the reek of burnt flesh and armor and the despair in the eyes of the guardsmen, and the way they'd rallied around their captain and Hawke. He remembers the way more of them died, pinned with arrows or rent apart to fuel the blood mage's spells. Anders makes a noncommittal noise, which Hawke takes as an agreement.

"You'd think maybe that guy would've learned my name, right? I mean, he spent what, three years tracking me down? Some kind of criminal he was, I've been in the same place the whole time, but it's not like I care." Hawke sets the last pieces of his armor in a pile on the desk and flings himself diagonally across the bed. His curly black hair fans out around his head—it's getting deliciously long now—and he throws an arm over his eyes. The other one continues gesturing emphatically.

"Shit, even Carver just calls me 'brother' most of the time. The last letter he wrote home barely sounded like he was talking to me at all, just a quick update and one of his sullen little 'try not to get yourself killed too stupidly' things at the end. What is this resistance to using my given name, huh? It doesn't make any sense. I have a good name, I think. Mother made plenty of mistakes, but that wasn't one of them. Why does Kirkwall hate my name?"

Anders is gripped by a strange impulse. Later, he'll pick it apart looking for Justice's influence, but in the moment all he's thinking about is Hawke's running complaint and how the names a person wears can come to define them.

"Valery," he blurts before he can stop himself, then clenches his mouth and eyes shut.

Hawke makes an inquiring noise from the bed. The sound of sheets shifting, presumably as he sits up. "What was that, love?"

Anders grapples with a long-kept promise to himself for a long moment before giving up and sighing. He's said it already. Too late to take it back now. He might as well explain. Besides, Hawke already knows every terrible thing about him. What's a name, compared to that?

"Valery," he repeats. "It's the name my mother gave me. She was from the Anderfels; wanted to name me after her brother. My father didn't like it much, but he always let her have her way. Well, almost always."

The old bitterness threatens to swamp him, so Anders forces a smile onto his face and looks up at Hawke, still on the bed, looking stricken. "I've no clue why the templars didn't make a note of it, but when they took me to the circle they claimed they didn't know my name, just that I was half-Ander. I've been Anders ever since."

Hawke is out of bed and across the room in the space of a few heartbeats. He kneels on the floor at Anders's feet. Takes his hands in his own. "Oh, love. I'm sorry. I didn't think... Do you want-?"

"No, it's fine," Anders shakes his head. "It hasn't been my name for a long time." He squeezes Hawke's fingers, feeling the callouses and old breaks that didn't set right, the faint tremors that tell of using too much force magic without a focus. The way this city weighs on him day after day, expectations pressing, thousands of lives depending on his actions, is always evident in his hands. He always claims they don't bother him, but Anders sees the way he grasps his cup more gingerly on cold mornings than he did years ago, and he knows how quickly a hand massage turns Hawke into a puddle of warm goo. Anders squeezes Hawke's hands, feeling his smile warm into something genuine.

"Valery." He says it so carefully, the same way he's treated every fragile broken-glass part of Anders since the moment they met. The old name sounds so beautiful in his voice, and with his big dark eyes turned up like a sinner in prayer, he looks like a penitent angel. "It's a beautiful name, love. Thank you for trusting me with it."

Anders really can't be blamed for knocking them both to the floor in his rush to kiss Hawke as thoroughly as physically possible.

[dragonageconfessions]

CONFESSION:

As I was playing “Mark of the Assassin” I noticed that the De Launcet daughters, Babbette and Fifi, are both named after the female feather duster character from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. Fifi is the feather duster’s name in the animated movie and Babbette is the feather duster’s name in the Broadway musical adaptation.

[dirtybiowareconfessions]

Confession: Imagine Babette and Fifi de Launcet being as picky with cocks as they are with tea. Too short, too long, too thick, too thin, too curved, too straight, too stiff, too squishy... the cock is never just right!

[loquaciousquark]

6th Guardian. Chilly, but with a bite just sharp enough to make it unpleasant as well as uncomfortable

There’s a twitchy new elf in town. Showed up last night to ambush an ambush, as Varric’s friend we were supposed to meet is apparently become an ex-friend, or an ex-anything, really. That was unkind of me, but I do find myself intolerably snippy when someone I don’t know a) saves my life so that I owe them a favor, and b) looks better than me doing it.

They were Crows, too, which I rather thought had been dealt with ever since Isabela’s friend Zevran came through and charmed the pants off all of us. Well, off Isabela, certainly. Well, except she doesn’t wear--never mind. I suppose when one is famous enough to have made enemies of both effective heads of state in one’s town one ought not to be surprised when someone else comes a-killing down the lane.

You know, I said I wanted to vacation in Orlais, but this isn’t quite the way I’d meant it. The Heart of the Many is what she’s after, this Tallis, some fantastic jewel (pah!), and the villainous Duke Prosper (really!) keeps it clutched in his Orlesian...clutches. Leave me be, journal, I’m tired and Fenris slept at his own place tonight, so I’m woeful lonely even with the dog curled on the side of the bed where he belongs.

Now Toby looks betrayed. He can’t even read! How should he know what I’m writing, aside from the fact he’s the oldest friend I’ve got & he knows everything I’m thinking in one glance? Hardly fair, is it?

Anyway, Tallis thinks we ought to come a-crashing to this gala he’s hosting at Chateau Haine in Orlais. A hunt, I think. I used to hunt in Lothering, but if I had to wager I’d suspect they’ll be using slightly different methods than my rope snares and broken traps. And different game than my hare & pheasant. Or perhaps they won’t! Who knows?

I wasn’t going to do it except that Anders is planning a particular midnight event that same week and he wants me publicly away of the city for an alibi. He thinks I don’t know what he’s planning, but I’m the one who got Aveline to turn a blind eye to any ships fleeing the harbor in dead of night with too many passengers than should be aboard. He’d realize it, too, if he weren’t so determined to only see what Justice lets him. Sebastian & Varric have said they’ll keep an eye on him, though, if I do end up going on this fool’s errand, which I suppose is as much as I could hope for. They won’t help him with the escape, but they’ll keep him alive. As alive as he’ll ever be, lately.

Tallis says I should pack something fancy for the evening assemblies at the chateau. Something that’ll make me fit in like the nobility I am. I told her I had a set of old leathers that only had a few pints of blood still caked in the creases, but I don’t think she thought it was funny. Her loss!

11th Guardian. On the road! Still chilly, with the fields tipped with frost this morning and a cold mist floating over all the hedgerows before the sun burned it away

I should never have thought it, journal, but Fenris and Aveline both have agreed to come along with me! I was certain he’d be as thrilled at the idea as Aveline when Isabela pulls out the sixth Angel of Death in a hand, but he only lifted an eyebrow and said, “I enjoy following you,” as if he didn’t know how wibbly he makes me every time he suggests the thought. He brought the beautiful black leather set he wore the evening I became Champion. I packed a sleeveless lavender overtunic and a simple white blouse I can wear over trou & boots, because if experience has taught me nothing else I know I should anticipate running for my life at least once during this venture. Aveline won’t show me, but I’d bet ten sovs on the copper it’s that blue gown she wore the night of the Satinalia feast Mother hosted a few years back.

You must forgive me, journal, if the hand is shakier than usual. The road to Chateau Haine is paved not with gold but with boulders as uneven as Carver’s temper when he’s tired.

Also, Fenris is dozing on my shoulder (an accident, I know, because if he could see the knowing looks Tallis keeps throwing our way he’d ghost straight out of the carriage), and I’d rather cut the hand off than disturb his nap.

We’re due to arrive tomorrow, which is the first night of the duke’s week-long hunting party. I expect to be thrown out by dawn.

Later, just after dinner - grouse, capers, mashed potatoes, mediocre white wine. Pretty pattern on the flatware, though

Evening at the Auberge de Tuyé, an old inn unremarkable in every way save its magnificent brick chimney and the fact that it marks our first evening within Orlais’s borders.

The only interesting events so far are that I nearly fell into the pig trough from stiff knees getting out of the carriage (a fine testament to the skills for which I’ve been hired), the elf waitress was almost uncomfortably deferent at dinner over our travel finery, and when the innkeeper gave Fenris the key to our room without a second glance, I got the most peculiar feeling in my chest that still hasn’t abated.

Got stronger, even, as I watched him read the numbers plated on the doors and find ours easily, without hesitation; stronger again as I watched him direct the inn’s boys with our valises as they brought them to the rooms with every comfortable ease. By the time he sat on the side of the bed and tugged off his boots, then ran his fingers through his hair to shake out the travel dust, my heart might have burst from how dear he’s become to me.

He saw me looking and his face changed, and it wasn’t until he asked (with no small alarm) if I meant to cry that I realized how much must have shown on my own. 

How easy it was to cross the room we share and kiss him directly on his mouth. How simple a thing, after every agony of Kirkwall & Tevinter put together, to cup his cheeks in my hands and feel his breath hitch as he smiled up at me.

Flames and pyre, but may I never take another moment for granted with him. Ever, ever, ever.

Very late or very early, not sure which

He’s exhausted & therefore snoring. I am rereading the last lines I wrote over and over again in this remarkably feeble moonlight to remind me why I don’t smother him with a pillow this very instant.

If he doesn’t stop soon I’m going to go kip on Av’s floor and not give two shits if Tallis thinks the less of me for it.

12th Guardian, near midnight. Cold

It was the blue gown, ha! We made it to Prosper’s estate just before dinner. More extravagant than anything in Kirkwall, even the Viscount’s festivals; fire dances and swans made of ice and servants proffering canapes at every turn. Fifi de Launcet & her entire hideous family are here. Dulci’s already sneered at me twice. I thought about asking after Emile, but I’ve fond-enough memories of his foolishness I didn’t want to poison them with his relations.

One of the guards thought Fenris was my manservant and tried to hustle him away from the glitterati, which lasted all of three seconds before the guard a) realized Fenris’s jacket cost more than his entire set of armor, and b) looked at Fenris’s face and read the death there if he didn’t release his arm that instant. More dangerous than that pet wyvern Prosper keeps to alarm his guests. Maker, I need to learn that trick.

Aveline mostly kept hawk’s eyes on Tallis all night. For the second day of a week-long hunt the festivities seemed over-grand to me, but Tallis hardly batted an eye as she danced in and out of the crowds, listening for any mention of the jewel and what I suppose are Prosper’s dubious motives for pilfering it. Nothing tonight, she said, though there’s plenty of time yet.

Haven’t met Prosper himself, as it happens. Apparently he’s still negotiating certain hunt-related errata or somesuch. I can’t bring myself to care at the moment, as I’m in a bed with white satin sheets, covers embroidered in gilt thread, and a shirtless elf insistently nibbling his way across my shoulder, please the Maker I’ll put down the pen, fine!

14th Guardian. Warmer today but not by much, clear skies to see doom from miles away

Short entry, as we’re to be guests of honor at the feast tonight--got the wyvern today! & an alpha, for that matter, and my left arm’s burned to the Void to prove it. Got wrist-deep in wyvern dung & Fenris laughed at me (prior to the burning), watched Tallis make a fool of herself (roughly contemporary to the burning), and nearly killed but didn’t an Orlesian baron who attempted to poach our rightly-earned victory from under our noses (post-burning, and some of his details are frankly lost by me attempting to beat my own arm off to get away from the spitting poison). Asked Aveline after if she missed being part of these fancy companies and she said as yet she hadn’t seen anything worth missing. Ha!

Regardless, Tallis wants to use the party Prosper’s throwing for us as cover to sneak inside the chateau & find the Heart. I feel as though the guests of honor vanishing mid-feast might be noticeable, but then again, I’ve snuck out more than once at these things and haven’t been caught yet. Perhaps tonight will be more of the same.

Tallis told us we ought to be prepared to do whatever it takes to get hold of the key we’ll need to reach the innards of the chateau. I told her I drew the line at my clothes coming off at any hands not tattooed in lyrium and Fenris coughed into his wine. Tallis only rolled her eyes and said she’d be happy to do the seducing if it came to that, and Aveline sighed and said she wished Isabela had come along as well. She’d have enjoyed every minute of this, the wench.

(Sidebar, before I forget--Bann Teagan is here as well. That’s who Aveline’s been spending most of her time with when absolutely forced to make small talk, & I must remember to ask him how Lothering is doing before we go. His outlook was not so sunny last time we spoke, but I have hopes.)

Agh, I’ve more to say and no time! Later, later!

Who knows what time it is

Tallis is a Qunari spy, Prosper knew we were coming, and it was all a trap. This prison cell is so old the stone has graffiti from over an age ago.

And yet, funnily enough, I’ve been to worse parties.

I’m annoyed with Tallis & writing here to ignore her. The guard outside the cell keeps rattling the bars with his pommel and asking if we’re hungry yet. I can’t say I care for his leer, though it’s better than the way Cyril de Montfort eyed me like a hock of (despairing) ham earlier. His hands are larger than Fenris’s and much colder, and when they came ‘round my waist I could feel him searching for a hem to slide under. Thank the Bride I can be fucking glib when I wish to be, & that Cyril’s fool enough to think midnight being more romantic was a good enough reason to let me go.

I think I could burn these bars to slag but I don’t know how many guards are down the hall, and I don’t know where my father’s staff is. I also don’t know where Aveline & Fenris are, which worries me more than anything.

Tallis looks miserable I’m so angry with her. Damn it. Damn me. If she’d been straightforward from the start I’d have been so much more inclined to help her with this piffle.

It must have been at least two hours by now. My left arm is killing me since Aveline has my salve. I’ve forgiven Tallis solely out of boredom

She says if we don’t stop Salit hundreds of innocent people will die. The guard suggests that if we don’t stop chit-chatting like a pair of magpies he’ll shut our mouths himself. I don’t care for this one’s attitude, honestly

Later, briefly

We’ve only stopped a moment to rest, so this must be extremely short. Fenris & Aveline found us in the prison--Tallis had made them stay behind as we crept through the chateau to avoid attention. Fenris tore out the guard’s heart as Tallis picked our lock & then he took hold of me so tight I could barely breathe, and it was the first time since the inn I felt quite myself again.

Prosper has these creatures fighting for him. Harlequins, he calls them. They fight like demons & wear masks to boot, and there’s something very skittish in the way they move. I don’t like it, though I will admit they die like anything else.

We’re deep in the caverns under the chateau. We did manage to loot the high holy fire out of Prosper’s vaults before we left, which has made me feel loads better, but we’re not out of the woods yet. Or caves, as it happens. Aveline’s shield broke in the last fight & she twisted her elbow badly; we’re giving her a moment to bind it before we continue on. I’ll heal what I can when she’s finished, but Fenris thinks I should save my strength for battle. Tallis agrees with him, which is even more irksome.

Aveline’s done with the splint. More later.

(I hope)

17th Guardian. Warmer still today, or is that just the wyvern spit

There is, it seems, a later, though it was a close thing. Prosper and his wyvern are both dead, as are Salit & the plans to steal the Qunari agents’ identities. Tallis has mucked off to who-knows-where, though not without hocking a great fat ruby at my head in thanks and exchanging a few flirts that had Fenris rolling his eyes so far back in his head he probably saw the Maker Himself. We’re in the carriage now, on the way back to the Auberge for our last stop before returning home to Kirkwall tomorrow. I’ve had to borrow clothes from Aveline’s bags, as the green slime Prosper used to guide his wyvern’s little nosie right to me has stunk my leathers to high heaven. They’re wrapped three layers deep in a trunk lashed to the roof of the carriage and I can still smell them.

Maker, I don’t even remember where I left off. We made it out of the caves eventually, though not before I found Fenris a necklace that used to belong to some Fog Warriors & he kissed me hard in one of the little rocky nooks right before the exit into daylight. Aveline was already outside, and Tallis didn’t seem to care much -- not that it would have mattered if she had, as there was enough lingering fear in his voice I shouldn’t have stopped if Andraste had come down herself to ask.

The next hours are a blur. We fought our way up the hills and down them again, mostly against Tal-Vashoth & these horrid little nesty creatures called ghasts, and then Baron Arlange must have been very determined to die as he came out at us, again, and this time there wasn’t a duke to intervene on his behalf.

Flames, I’m starving, and the dried jerky Aveline so thoughtfully brought for us on this last journey is not taking away the edge. We’ve still over an hour before we reach the inn; thank goodness this is distracting enough. I’d rather be napping, honestly, but Fenris has taken the seat across to lounge its full width, and since he was nearly gutted by the wyvern in the last fight I suppose I can’t begrudge it overmuch. Aveline’s solid enough, but her shoulder’s hard as a rock. A good thing--strong! Rock-strong. Mountain-strong. Don’t give me that look.

Anyway, we eventually fought our way back to the chateau, whereupon we discovered our intrepid Salit dispensing his little scroll directly into the duke’s grasping ...grasp. Tallis got the scroll back via a bit of trickery--good enough--but then Prosper saw the rest of us and it was all “you’ve seen too much” and “now you must die” and blah, blah, blah, here’s my raging seasick wyvern to spit up on you while I rain fiery exploding arrows from the sky, worst Tuesday ever.

In the end, though, both the wyvern and his rider went off the cliff backing the chateau’s courtyard, Tallis got her secrets returned, and Fenris got the munificent honor of lying flat on his back on the pavingstones for another quarter-hour until I could get his side closed up again. Aveline was marvelous this whole time--held all the remaining, goggling guests at bay while Tallis invented an excellent cover story (I assume, as I wasn’t there to hear it, but we also remained un-mauled by Prosper’s guards further, so it must have had some success). Leliana came out from the house too, that Nightingale from that evening at the Chantry a few months back, and as much as she obviously knew we were lying she backed up everything Tallis said and more. Tallis clearly didn’t thrill at her presence (is she truly a spy? She shows her emotions far too easily--said the tar-black pot to the kettle, I know, I know), but thanked her for the help, later, and didn’t make a single acerbic comment when Leliana and I began talking about the Lothering chantry over dinner.

(I’d forgotten she used to run the handbell choir there for a while. I was only a ringer for half a season, since there weren’t enough bells & Bethany wanted it more than I did, but I have so many fond memories of watching her on the little dais before the altar, dressed in Chantry rose & gold, her hair ruthlessly pinned back as she watched Leliana for their cues.

Leliana says she remembers her, is sorry for the loss of a sweet girl. She’s a far better liar than I’ll ever be, but I’d like to believe her.)

As it is, by the time Lord Cyril arrived to find his father dead & his house in utter disarray, most of the carcasses had been ceremonially tossed to the rocks below. Leliana and I managed to persuade him Leopold had eaten something poor and lost his mind, and in the fracas took the duke over the edge with him--true enough, given the circumstances, but as Cyril seemed both wholly unaware of his father’s attempt to ally with the Tal-Vashoth and wholly unsuspicious of our motives (aided, perhaps, by the fact that I still had blood up to my ears), he accepted our truth readily enough and turned all his attention to legal matters and the rest of his guests instead. I nearly got away without any more of his attentions, too, but at the last moment he caught me by the hand, kissed my cheek with very cold lips, and gravely told me as alluring as I might be, he thought it would be unseemly to pursue a summer romance given the circumstances. Of course, said I ad nauseum, until at last he let me go and I was able to get Fenris inside to our room where he might rest. Fenris, who is infinitely warmer even when complaining about the Kirkwall cold.

Hm. In retrospect, that may have been the fever. Ah, well.

We’ve pulled up to the picket gate before the Auberge, so I will end this here.

18th Guardian. Very cold dawn, clear pink skies

Writing this at breakfast. Fenris is still asleep and Aveline strongly discourages dialogue before she has had her second cup of coffee, so I speak to an ever-willing audience in you instead.

Fenris’s fever has broken and his side looks much better, thank goodness, though he’s disgustingly tired and prone to snippy complaints at the least discomfort. I’m of the opinion a few good nights’ sleeps & a few really good sleepless nights will get him back to his old self, but I doubt he’ll feel truly well until we’re in Kirkwall again. He’s also annoyed my arm is taking so long to heal, though I haven’t told him it’s because I’ve been using all my strength to get him whole, first. He wouldn’t thank me for the knowing, and I don’t need his high dudgeon prolonging his healing even more.

Damn all of this mess. Despite everything I do like Tallis, and despite everything I feel badly for Cyril. The only person I don’t regret killing there is Prosper, and that’s half because I got to be very clever as he died. Maker, bring me quickly back to Kirkwall, where at least I know I don’t know who’s right and who’s evil.

Ah, Fenris is up at last. His eyes are clearer than they’ve been since the weekend, so he must be feeling better. And here comes the starry-eyed waitress to bring him his breakfast, right on cue. I ought to marry him as soon as possible to ensure I’m forever included in this excellent service too.

Late evening, in the estate at last, home sweet home (or as much as it can be, anyway, though Toby’s done a wonderful job at trying to crawl through my whole self in welcome)

Asked Fenris tonight if he would have minded a summer romance with Lord Cyril. Said immediately Cyril wasn’t his taste--not nearly alluring enough, even covered in wyvern spit, and went right back to his quail. Cheeky, said I, though I know I was smiling.

Orana keeps walking out of the laundry room with scented kerchiefs pressed to her nose. The leathers may be a lost cause. Damn!

25th Guardian. Warm winds from the north today, though the morning broke cool

Varric is already drafting a series on the Chateau Haine escapades. Jewel Heart, he’s titling it (tentatively), in spite of my numerous and vociferous objections. I say it ought to be an adventure, not a romance; he says it can be both. Hmph.

Varric, when you read this (and don’t flatter your chest hair, we both know where you get your source material, and we both know Isabela’s helping), for Andraste’s sake, come up with a better title. Heart of the Many, maybe. Mark of the Assassin. Something!

14th Drakonis. Warm but very wet -- the puddles are steaming

He uses the word “alluring” forty-seven times in the rough copy. I’m going to burn his press to cinders.

16th Drakonis. Still raining

Fenris likes it.

I may never win again, but at least he makes me enjoy the losing. And Varric -- oh, who cares, you’ll do what you like regardless. Just make sure he’s in his black leathers at least once, and I’ll be satisfied.

And for the record, I demand the first print copy to be autographed for me. Consider it payment for services rendered, for my arm’s gone and scarred and if I haven’t you to tell me how wonderful I was in the scarring, how else will I know it was worth it?

(You know I love you. Don’t ever stop.)

[ao3feed-handers]

the abcs of loving anders

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2pOLFtX

by bokutoma

there are a lot more than 26 reasons to love anders, but there are only so many that varric can fit into one manuscript

Words: , Chapters: 1/26, Language: English

Fandoms: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age (Video Games)

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Categories: F/M

Characters: Female Hawke, Anders (Dragon Age), Justice Anders (Dragon Age), Justice (Dragon Age), Vengeance (Dragon Age), Isabela (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras, Merrill (Dragon Age), Fenris (Dragon Age), Bethany Hawke, Aveline Vallen, Bodahn Feddic, Sandal Feddic, Dulci de Launcet, Guillaume de Launcet, Fifi de Launcet, Babbette de Launcet, Lady Elegant (Dragon Age), Gascard DuPuis, Saemus Dumar, Marlowe Dumar, Leandra Hawke

Relationships: Anders/Female Hawke

Additional Tags: Alphabet Meme, soft anders, Anders Needs a Hug, Anders Positive, BAMF Anders, Canonical Character Death, Varric Tethras is a Good Friend, Isabela is a Good Friend, Sweet Merrill (Dragon Age), ugh i'm just SOFT, Broody Fenris (Dragon Age), i'm considering maybe either a flashback chapter or a nathaniel chapter, Minor Angst, Based on Songs, Non-Linear Narrative

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2pOLFtX

[schmooplesboop]

Don’t you wish you could’ve been invited to the duke’s party? Oh, everything is so splendid here and so Orlesian! The decorations, the company, the food! And just thinking about the wine sends me into a giddy fit.

The duke spares no expense, truly! I hear he has it brought in from Val Chevin, just for these parties. He has whole crews of thick, simple-minded Fereldans to carry his barrels of wine up the mountain. And they’re too stupid to know what they carry is worth more than what they earn in a year.

It’s so funny. Fifi and I actually saw the laborers. One rolled down the mountain and crashed to the bottom. It was such a shame. I almost died seeing all that gorgeous red seeping into the ground. Or maybe that was from the laborer. Well, whatever.

--Excerpt from a letter written by Babette de Launcet to her brother, Emile

[servesorlais]

Ever wanted to know who the ruler of a certain Orlesian city is? Need connections for your Orlesian OC, but weren’t sure where to start? Look no further! Here I have attempted to compile a list of the named & notable Orlesians found in the Dragon Age games, primarily those that are alive during the events of the games & tie-in novels  ( although a few historical figures are also included for reference. )  Note that it only includes individuals; families that are referred to by the family name, but with no individuals singled out, are not included, nor are unnamed NPCs. Characters that live in Orlais but would likely identify with heritage from elsewhere are not included ( i.e. Josephine would be considered Antivan rather than Orlesian. )  Lastly, some characters may fit under more than one subheading, but are only listed once  ( i.e. Gaspard is both royalty and a chevalier, but is only under the former heading. ) 

Shoutout to Erran for the Fereldan and DAO NPC List, which served as inspiration to compile a similar reference for Orlais. Given the scarcity of Orlesian blogs in the rp fandom, this won’t serve as a masterlist of rpers, but I can make a second list if that interests anyone!

List will be periodically updated, as it’s by no means complete yet! If you notice a particular character is missing, feel free to reblog and mention the name(s) in a comment / the tags on a reblog, or send it in a message. Reference a source if possible  ( game, war table mission, book, etc. ) And with that ...

ROYALTY

Empress Celene Valmont – Empress of Orlais Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons – Celene’s cousin Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons – Gaspard’s younger sister Emperor Florian Valmont – Celene’s uncle, former Emperor Prince Reynaud Valmont – Celene’s father, Florian’s brother  Duchess Clarisse de Montfort – Celene’s mother Duke Theodore de Chalons – Gaspard and Florianne’s father Princess Melisande Valmont – Gaspard and Florianne’s mother Calienne de Chalons – Gaspard’s wife King Meghren Dufayel – Former Orlesian King of Ferelden, cousin of Florian Emperor Judicael I – Florian’s father, Celene and Gaspard’s grandfather Emperor Judicael II – Florian’s older brother, Celene and Gaspard’s uncle

THE COUNCIL OF HERALDS

Duke Bastien de Ghislain – Vivienne’s lover, head of the Council of Heralds Duke Laurent de Ghislain – Duke of Ghislain following Bastien de Ghislain’s death Duke Prosper de Montfort – Duke of Montfort, one of Celene’s closest allies Duke Cyril de Montfort – Prosper’s son, youngest member of the Council of Heralds Duke Germain de Chalons – Gaspard’s uncle Marquis Etienne de Chevin – One of Celene’s closest allies, Marquis of Val Chevin Marquise Mantillon – “The Dowager” Comte Lothair Doucy – Member of the Council of Heralds Comtesse Solange Montbelliard – “The Silver Lady of Churneau”

NOBILITY

Duke Remache de Lydes – Ally of Gaspard’s Monette de Lydes – Duke Remache’s daughter, brought up in Chantry service Duchess Caralina de Lydes – Remache’s cousin Duke Stefan de Firmin – Lady Caralina’s husband, Duke of Val Firmin Lady Seryl – Lady of Jader, an ally of Celene Comte Pierre – Lord of Halamshiral, an ally of Celene Lord Mainserai – A nobleman of Halamshiral, known for his cruelness towards elves Lord Montsimmard – Chevalier and ally of Gaspard Lady Montsimmard – Friendly with the Circle of Magi in Montsimmard Evariste Lemarque, “Fairbanks” – Found caring for refugees of the civil war in the Emerald Graves Lord Esmeral Abernache – Hired by the Inquisition to appeal to the Templars in Therinfal Redoubt Arlessa Isolde – Married to Arl Eamon Guerrin, daughter of the Orlesian governer of Redcliffe during the Occupation Alban Poulin – Ruler of Sahrnia in Emprise du Lion Baron Edouard Desjardins – Friend of Josephine Montilyet’s father, given command of Suledin Keep with the Inquisition Baron Havard-Pierre d’Amortisan – Studies Thedosian beasts, author of numerous books on the subject Comtesse Lynette Dionne – Noblewoman who is requested to sponsor the Du Paraquettes, asks for news about her mage lover Gascard Dupuis – Orlesian noble blood mage living in Kirkwall  Baron Arlange – Invited to Prosper de Montfort’s wyvern hunt Lady Couteau – Lady-in-waiting to Celene Lady Colombe – Lady-in-waiting to Celene Lady Fleur – Lady-in-waiting to Celene Lord Chancer de Lion – Trainer of the Champion specialization in Skyhold Lady Marcelette – Court historian in Halamshiral  Marquis de Serault – Player-created character in The Last Court   Marquis d’Alyons – Neighbor and rival of the Marquis of Serault Lord Remi Vascal – “The Black Fox,” noble who became a legendary thief and rogue Lady Servana de Montfort – The Black Fox’s lover, may have been a Circle mage Baron Arlange – Invited to Prosper de Montfort’s wyvern hunt Gascard Dupuis – Orlesian noble blood mage living in Kirkwall  Comte Guillaume de Launcet – Nobleman living in Kirkwall Comtesse Dulci de Launcet – Wife of Comte Guillaume  Emile de Launcet – Guillaume and Dulci’s son, a mage escaped from the Circle in Kirkwall Fifi & Babbette de Launcet – Emile’s sisters Ghyslain de Carrac – Nobleman living in Kirkwall whose wife Ninette goes missing Marquise DuRellion – Nobleman with claims to the land around Haven  Comte Brevin de Chalons – Relative of Gaspard, sponsor of Michel de Chevin “The Baroness” – A blood mage, ruler of the Blackmarsh in Ferelden during the Occupation  Lord Vincent Callier – General of Celene’s army, murdered by Thom Rainier Vicomtesse Elodie de Morreau – Friend of Vivienne, Josephine, and Leliana Lady Ducette Maron – Joins the Inquisition in Emprise du Lion disguised as a villager Lord Basile Maron – Ducette’s father, a minor noble Duchess Nicole de Val Montaigne – Head of the Orlesian Society for the Protection of Historic Architecture Duke Alvin Blanchard – Lord of Val Montaigne, ally of Florianne and the Venatori Duke Valere Fontaine – Claims to be indebted to Josephine Marquise Effiloche Bouffon – Ruler of Val Gamord in the Western Approach Comte Boisvert – A lord of Val Royeaux Lord Pel Harmond – A lord of Verchiel Leontine Pontival – Killed at Therinfal Redoubt Vicomte Tremane Pontival – Leontine’s aggrieved brother Comte Renald de Mourier – Distant relation of Celene’s Marquis de Courtemance – A rich nobleman in the Heartlands, discovered to be smuggling red lyrium to the nobility  Judge Auld – Fond of hunting Minister Bellise – Royal minister, able to approve or deny noble titles Marquis Wiscotte – Nobleman in the Dales Lord Pierren DesRosier – From a traditional and old money family in Val Royeaux Lady Velise Thibault – Head of a new money family of wealthy merchants Celeste Thibault – Lady Velise’s daughter Jecin Leandre – Celeste Thibault’s lover Lady Eustache Richelieu – Known for proposing arranged marriages  Comte Marius de Poisson – Interested in invading the Ylenn Basin near Verchiel  Lady Cybile Maronn of Baisne – A minor but very wealthy noblewoman who plotted against Divine Justinia and was socially disgraced

CHEVALIERS

Ser Michel de Chevin – Celene’s champion Ser Bastien Proulx – Commander of Gaspard’s military forces Dame Jehan – Commander of Celene’s military forces Dame Fabienne – Chevalier under Jehan’s command in the Exalted Plains Ser Jean-Gaspard de Lydes – Brother of Duke Remache; revealed to be the bastard son of a travelling Grey Warden Ser Benoit du Lac – Aveline Vallen’s father Chevalier Ducet – A commander in the Imperial Army Chevalier Auguste – A chevalier who defected to join the Freemen of the Dales Ser Michel Lafaille – First Viscount of Kirkwall, drove out Qunari occupation in the Storm Age Ser Aveline – First female chevalier

BARDS

Leliana – Left Hand of the Divine Marjolaine – Leliana’s tutor and former lover Melcendre – Bard working for Gaspard de Chalons Katriel – An elven bard, Maric Theirin’s lover

ELVES

Briala – Spymaster and lover of Empress Celene Felassan – Seemingly Dalish elf, mentor of Briala Colette – Elven assistant to Professor Bram Kenric at the University of Orlais Threnn – A leader in the elven rebellion in Halamshiral Lemet – Threnn’s friend, a tradesman from Halamshiral whose death sparks a rebellion Erlina – Queen Anora’s handmaiden

MAGES

Vivienne de Fer – Court Enchanter to Celene Valmont Fiona – Grand Enchanter of the Circle of Magi, former Grey Warden Lienne de Montsimmard – Apostate, ally of Gaspard de Chalons Edmonde – First Enchanter of the White Spire in Val Royeaux Adrian – Part of the Libertarian Fraternity in the Circle of Magi First Enchanter Remille – First Enchanter of Kinloch Hold in Ferelden ZITHER! – Mage, minstrel, and Inquisition agent

WARDENS

Clarel de Chanson – Warden-Commander of Orlais Jean-Marc Stroud – Former chevalier, Inquisition’s warden contact Warden-Commander Caron – Human Warden-Commander of Ferelden Warden-Commander Andras – Elf Warden-Commander of Ferelden Warden-Commander Kader – Dwarf Warden-Commander of Ferelden Fontaine – predecessor of Clarel de Chanson Genevieve – Warden-Commander before Fontaine Bregan – Genevieve’s brother, Warden-Commander before her Guy – Genevieve’s fiancé Julien – An Orlesian human Warden, Nicolas’s lover Nicolas – An Orlesian human Warden, Julien’s lover

OTHER

Bonny Sims – Inquisition merchant Belle – Inquisition merchant Corporal Rosselin – Soldier in Gaspard’s army in the Exalted Plains Chancellor Jurgen Haulis – Head of the University of Orlais in Val Royeaux Cedric Marquette – A professor at the University, specializes in archaeology  Frederic de Serault – Dragonologist studying in the Western Approach Hubert Bartiere – Orlesian merchant, owner of the Bone Pit in Kirkwall  Lieutenant Suzanne Cloche-sec – Inquisition agent  Clara – A farmer driven off her land by the Freemen of the Dales in the Emerald Graves Gertrude – A merchant, taken captive by the Freemen of the Dales Maliphant – General of the Freemen of the Dales in the Emerald Graves Duhaime – A commander of the Freemen of the Dales in the Emerald Graves Sister Costeau – A leader of the Freemen of the Dales Willvan – A book merchant in Val Royeaux Pierre-Marie – Merchant in Val Royeaux  Liselle – A merchant from Val Royeaux who fled to Denerim with her brother after being assaulted by a chevalier Jovi Merice – Fled Orlais to Denerim after making accusations about Orlesian nobles Argent – Formerly an assassin hired by nobles, now works for the Inquisition

CHANTRY & TEMPLARS

Divine Justinia – Head of the Chantry   Mother Giselle – Revered Mother in Jader’s Chantry Mother Renette – Serves in Lydes’ Chantry, tutor to Monette de Lydes Mother Hevara – Revered Mother in Val Royeaux, candidate for Divine Mother Anette – Val Foret Chantry Sister Natalie – Chantry sister, opposes Leliana Sister Andrea – Sister in Val Royeaux Sister Antoinette – Sister in Val Royeaux Lord Seeker Lambert van Reeves – Head of the Seekers Lord Seeker Lucius Corin – Assumes lead of the Seekers after Lambert’s death Knight-Captain Evangeline de Brassard – Knight-Captain at the White Spire in Val Royeaux Knight-Captain Fornier – One of the Red Templars in Emprise du Lion Lieutenant Coutte – Another Red Templar in Emprise du Lion

[awellboiledicicle]

Lady Lacette de Launcet is a fun character because she’s easily the most intelligent person-- in terms of law, theological debate, and history-- in Thedas in her age bracket, but as far as her parents are concerned, she isn’t a really valid heir because she was too close to her brother Emile and hid away from the others, unlike Fifi and Babette. Heir in terms of nobility meaning “can be married off” really, and unlike her siblings she has very little interest in interaction with suiters her family has sent her way. Mostly she instantly latches onto a single detail of their very clipped polite conversation and then it’s 5 hours of feverish lecturing about a subject tangentially related to it, and a tour of the private library to pull out diagrams and books to show drawings. It’s driven people away. Lacy is wonderfully ok with this, lonely as it may be, because it means she doesn’t have to deal with people who have no real interest in her or her interests.  The people tied up in the Noble Doggy Order tend to love her talking and what she knows, because she looks into everything. Everything. So they’re all very dear to her, and they never hurt her books. 

She’s very soft, very gentle, and startles easily, but tries to adventure with everyone-- she got her family to buy her a magically protected journal case so she could record field notes on the Wounded coast. She learned you only need to talk to people so long to establish a working relationship, outside the group and keep them working with you. How to use her family’s contacts to help people. How to use what she knew to help people. Her previously useless hours of studying old maps of Kirkwall now helping shuttle mages through passages that hadn’t been known to the viscount for hundreds of years. 

The fact she hardly ever made strong facial expressions playing in their favor when someone came to call, demanding to know if their family had something to do with the Underground.

Lacy is so good.

@bubonickitten

[hollyand-writes]

Six Sentence Sunday Monday 

I was tagged this weekend by the lovely @a-shakespearean-in-paris, @aria-i-adagio, @noire-pandora, @morganlefaye79, and @pinkfadespirit (thanks so much, guys! ❤️ ) but I was really busy yesterday and therefore mostly offline, so I’m doing Six Sentence Monday instead -- where I combine Six Sentence Sunday with Last Line Monday (or Last Six Lines Monday, in this case) 😆 

So! Have a (spoiler-free) six sentences from the Regency AU Carver/Merrill longfic A Chance Engagement, since that made up some of what I was working on during NaNoWriMo (no pairings in this snippet): 

Merrill, who was trying again not to squirm in her seat, was grateful that Mahariel kindly spared her from needing to contribute to the Hawke sisters’ conversation about Sir Carver. ‘I suppose Babette and Fifi de Launcet implored your mother to write to your brother and beg him to return to Kirkwall?’ Mahariel asked.   ‘Even worse,’ Bethany giggled. ‘Poor Carver. The Comtesse de Launcet told Mother her daughters were made so anxious by his absence that they wrote to him in Lothering, asking him to come back soon so that they could secure a wedding from him. Apparently, he never replied.’

I tag the people who tagged me yesterday (in case you want to do Last Line Monday), as well as: @dismalzelenka​, @pikapeppa​, @gothkimmyschmidt​, @mikkeneko​, @amarmeme​, @cleverblackcat​, @ser-thirst-a-lot​, @lesetoilesfous​, @rakshadow​, @hobo-apostate​, @ayantiel​, @illusivesoul​, @visceralcoma​ and anyone else who wants to do this -- consider yourselves tagged! ❤️

[theanimangagirl]

From the private journal of Revka Amell ca. 9:36 Dragon

I loved my child so so much. Do not misunderstand me, I still love  my child with every drop of my blood and with every fiber of my being but after more than twenty years without seeing her, is she really still my child?

I remember her birth so clearly, she was the first after all. My father was so worried pacing like a sinner in the Chantry, my mother was equally nervous, but far more composed than him. My husband looked calm and collected , he had complete faith I wouldn’t die on childbirth, stating that he had complete confidence in my abilities, and reminded every nervous midwife that I was not a weak woman, I was a scion of house Amell, a more than competent archer and the strongest woman he had ever seen. His confidence really relaxed me when the pains began, and I focused. This child would be born and I would live to raise it. With this baby we would reconstruct house Amell, we would drag our noble name from the ground and we will become a name to be reckoned in the whole Free Marches.

I know father had his reservations, and I am sure he didn’t knew that I noticed the mage he had quietly snuck in the birthing chamber. When the final push came my daughter came to the world, hair as black as mine and the blues eyes I had seen anyone in my family had. In that moment all my ambition for house Amell vanished and now I just wanted my daughter to be with me at all times.

Oh how happy we were those years, my dear husband, my dear daughter and I, we were a small island in the archipelago that was Kirkwall’s nobility. Even Damions inconsiderate absence did not dampened my spirit and that left my family alone so we could built our home.

I got pregnant again and I was happy as I could be, that delivery was quieter, not so many midwives and no mages on sight. Only later I would realize this was due my father’s dwindling fortune. My second child came like the tide, predictable and smooth. Our little island was growing, my husband's ties to Starkheaven kept us comfortable and independent from my father’s and brother’s dealings.

I heard from eavesdropping in conversations, a habit I was fighting on correct, that my cousin Leandra was still alive, the child from who she had abandoned everything was thriving under the Fereldan wilderness , and she had two other children, Bethany and Carver or so I heard. Fitting that Leandra would name her daughter after the mother who had cried everyday after her departure. I engraved the three names in my brain. One day I would tell my children about their lost relative, when they are older, so they would understand the risks of meddling with magic.

I was on my third pregnancy when disaster stuck again, in just one year, Gamlen, the head of the Amell main branch declared bankruptcy, he sold the main family estate and moved to Lowtown. I would had been more horrified with the news if something equally horrible hadn’t happened on my side. My father had lost my brother to prison, after the fool had made dealing with the Carta, my father run the family fortune the the ground borrowing from the Council of Five. Mother could not deal with the heartbreak nor the betrayal and died soon after my brother’s death in prison. I must had spend months crying for the older brother that once had been my hero, for my mother who always seemed so collected, and for my father that once seemed so strong. When he died just a week before my delivery I had already ran out of tears.

My third child was also a girl, her hair finally showed some of the red of his father's auburn hair. This child was so sweet , it was as if she decided to contradict the bitter tears I had shed during my pregnancy. She laughed, and slept, a mondel baby, or so Dulci de Launcet said when comparing it to her eternally crying Fifi. My oldest, was finally reaching the age when she was beyond simple tutors, she was always so smart, asking question about everything. Driving the Sisters mad after every Chantry service, as she wasn’t satisfied with the answers they scrambled to weave. Apparently for her, the Maker did it, was not reason enough. Fair enough, but I would need to teach her to keep such bold opinions to herself.

She was five and a half when cold dread settled in my gut as one day my darling beloved blue eyed child had no longer her baby blue eyes, instead they were now a deep brown, just like her father’s. The cold reality creeped to me like a stranger following you in Lowtown. There were only one kind of children that changed their eye color so easily, the magical kind. To think about my daughter as a mage gave me nightmares I could not possibly describe. Not only for the demons the chantry oh so eloquently liked to remind the congregation that could possess a mage. Nor the horrors of Tevinter, of the cruel gaze of the Knight Commander.  I conferred with my husband, the only person i could trust in all of the Free Marches. He gave so  many explanations that I didn’t believe any of it. He finally said he knew rumors of hidden mages in Orlais, it was just a matter or train her powers with a competent and reliable mage so she could keep it hidden. No need to stir the river, he said, we would start to save for hiring a tutor, he even suggested my cousin Leandra’s husband. Perhaps a handsome pay would bring him to Kirkwall to teach my child under cover of night, perhaps Leandra would like her children to grow in Kirkwall. As the remaining Amell I had such power, to elevate her and her children to nobility under the quiet condition of magical training and concealing.

Plans were drawn, but it came so soon. Mages were supposed to show their abilities as they approached puberty, not my child, no , she was far too smart for that and that terrible day in front of the Chantry she defended her brother, but sacrificed her secrecy.

The Templars came and took her, my first born, my beloved daughter. My husband came home only to find me hysterical, with my two children clutched to my skirt and my two other babies moving nervously on my womb.

A bribe was made and she was shipped to Ferelden, I had seen the Gallows when I was younger. My daughter would not grow up there, not while I was drawing breath.

What happened latter was a blur,and I do not wish to lie. The result was the same, I  lost my home, my husband and my children, now I wonder Thedas insearch of Andraste’s mercy, one day maybe one day I will see my children again. Perhaps I should return to Kirkwall, I head they named a Champion, a mege of all things, perhaps they could deliver the mercy I’ve been searching for…

[hollyand-writes]

Throwaway Thursday! 

I was tagged in this in early December 2020 by the lovely @fandomn00blr (back at you! 😄 and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to reply to this!) to post something I liked but wasn’t working/coalescing/fitting into whatever I wanted it to! ❤️ 

Here is a long deleted scene (813 words) from my Regency AU Carver/Merrill fanfic “A Chance Engagement” (although I re-worked some of it in Chapter 20–21): 

---

Lady Leandra descended the grand staircase to greet Mr Tethras before he went, and ordered her son to go back to entertain their other guests, so Carver was forced to go back to the drawing room while the Hawke women had the privilege of walking with Varric out of the front entrance to linger in the street, and talk a little longer. Carver grumbled to himself, but inwardly he was torn: on the one hand he had no desire to spend any time with Babette or Fifi de Launcet; but on the other, Miss Merrill Alerion was with them – and surely he would not need to be so much on his guard around the pretty elf girl while his mother and sisters were temporarily out of sight.

He strode back into the drawing room, where Babette and Fifi were all smiles of delight at his re-entrance, and made space for him on the sofa so that he could sit between them. Carver hesitated; he did not want to sit anywhere near them if he could help it; and in the end he seated himself between their sofa and Miss Merrill’s chair, the better to look at her lovely face.

‘My mother ordered me to rejoin you,’ he said, unconsciously addressing himself more to Miss Alerion than the de Launcets. ‘I hope I’m not interrupting any intimate conversation.’

‘Oh! not at all!’ cried Miss Babette, somewhat shrilly, ‘we were just about to enquire what elven marriages were like. Are they similar to human marriages, Miss Merrill? Elven culture is so different from humans that elven gentry have very different standards of marriageability than human gentry, I am sure.’  

‘Um,’ Merrill started; she looked uncomfortable in the de Launcets’ presence, Carver noted, although he honestly could not blame her. ‘Well, like humans, we’re expected to make a desirable match if we can; but elven marriages are far more about love marriages than social advancement. I’m sure the latter does happen sometimes – but generally, affection for your spouse-to-be is important.’

To her further annoyance, the Orlesians scoffed at this. ‘Oh, how quaint!’ Fifi tittered, in a voice that indicated she thought anything but. ‘How naïve! No wonder it is so easy for human noblemen to seduce their elven servants, if something as fickle and unquantifiable as love is what you value above all else!’

‘Miss de Launcet,’ Sir Carver cut in, sharply, and both women stopped giggling at a red-faced Merrill, ‘I would advise you not to insult a fellow guest in my house.’  

‘Oh! of course!’ Babette simpered, anxious not to upset the man on whom she and her sister had such designs, ‘we were not trying to be rude – we apologise profusely to Miss Alerion if she believed us capable of such a thing! But Miss Merrill, as a friend: let me caution you not to give credit to such a notion. You know not the ways of the world, especially the human one; and we are only too happy to assist you. We would not want to see you taken advantage of by an unscrupulous human nobleman – would we, Sir Carver?’

‘Certainly not.’

‘You know,’ Merrill said, even more desirous of getting away than she was already, ‘I really should go back to Mahariel – I have deserted her too long. The Hawke Estate is so huge, though! – I fear I shall get lost before I find her room again, if there is not a servant who can guide me.’

‘No need,’ Sir Carver said, standing up, ‘I shall accompany you there.’

‘Oh, I really don’t think that will be necessary,’ Merrill said, backing away towards the door, while a glance showed her that both de Launcets were regarding her with hostile eyes – presumably they were angry that she was forcing Carver to spend time away from them, and she had no desire of coming between the silliness of all the human nobles in this room, ‘I am sure one of the servants will be sufficient!’

But it was to no avail: Sir Carver loomed over her, tall and broad and strapping, blue eyes peeking at her from under his dark hair so intently that Merrill felt she had no choice but to follow him.

For Carver, it was a welcome opportunity to get out of the drawing room, away from the de Launcets, and spend even a few extra moments on his own with Merrill. They did not speak as he led her through the halls to Mahariel’s chamber, but Carver’s mind was so full he was not sure he was able to speak. Merrill’s pronouncements on marriage captivated him even more than he was already, and as pleasing as she was to look at and listen to, he could not help wondering how in Thedas he would be able to keep any of this to himself for the duration of her stay. 

---

I tag the following people (no pressure!): @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold, @elveny, @kunstpause, @uchidachi, @charlatron, @wardenari, @goblin-tea, @visceralcoma, @veorlian, @hawkeish, @midnightprelude, @nug-juggler, @ayantiel, @stitchcasual, @natsora, @lauraemoriarty, @andrew-blackthorn, @wickedwitchofthewilds, @asaara-writes, @ocean-in-my-rebel-soul, @in-arlathan, @jentrevellan, @luzial and anyone else who wants to do this! ❤️

[hollyand-writes]

In this chapter, Carver writes Merrill a Darcy-style letter after she rejects his marriage proposal. (Sorry it’s been 6 months since I posted the last chapter!) 

Title: A Chance Engagement Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Chapters: 45/? Pairings: Eventual Carver/Merrill, background F!Mahariel/Tamlen, other pairings not revealed yet because of spoilers   Other characters: Marian Hawke, Bethany Hawke, Leandra Hawke, Isabela, Tamlen, Fenarel, Female Mahariel, Keeper Marethari, Sabrae Clan, Arishok, Pol   Other tags: Alternative Universe - Regency, Pride & Prejudice References, Bethany and Carver Hawke Live, Pride & Prejudice AU, Fluff and Humour, Ballroom Dancing, Secret Relationships, Comedy of Errors, Jane Austen References, Pining, Rejected Marriage Proposals    

Summary:

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, Lady Leandra Amell tried to impress upon her three children, that a single man in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife. However she hoped this wisdom would be received by her offspring, Lady Amell was dismayed to find that it had not had the effect she intended.”

Regency AU. When Miss Merrill attends the Kirkwall public assembly ball, the last man she expects to engage in a dance is Carver Hawke – a single man who has just come into possession of a large fortune. This chance meeting, however, sets them both on a path they never expected.

READ FROM THE BEGINNING ON ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN

———

The rain hammered down hard, yet Sir Carver Hawke barely noticed it as he marched on home, his heart in accord with the storm that was going on all around him – as if the sky itself was in sympathy with him. Even the crash of thunder sounded as angry as he felt, but Carver was so indignant he did not care. How dare she, he thought; her not accepting his hand was bad enough, but how dare she be so capricious and resentful in spurning him!

How could she be so ungrateful after he had confessed the immense personal cost his marrying her would come to him and his family – that his mother might be ostracised from Hightown all over again? He could have asked anyone in Hightown to marry him, if he were not choosy; and they would have accepted. If either Babette or Fifi de Launcet had perceived even half as much of that sort of preference from him, they would have already ordered their wedding-clothes. Come to think of it, judging by what their brother Emile had seemed to think at the Hawke Estate ball, they probably had.

Perhaps it was the most satisfying outcome that she had refused him. This way, his family would be spared the jeers and sneers that Hightown might heap on them by his marrying her. Carver was under no illusion that his mother only had so many friends because he remained tantalisingly single and thus – for some ridiculous reason – a highly desirable object for their daughters. While he remained enigmatically aloof and disdainfully detached of all of them, it had been up to the scheming noblewomen to ingratiate themselves with Lady Leandra in the hope their unmarried daughters could capture Sir Carver’s reserved heart at last. 

This had all worked perfectly well until Miss Alerion came along and ruined everything with her pretty face and cute voice and lack of interest in marrying him.

Read more on AO3...

[hollyand-writes]

5 Questions (fic meme)

I was tagged all the way back in December 2019 by the lovely @kagetsukai – thanks so much! ❤️  Sorry that it’s taken me, um, 7 months to get around to doing this! I think at the time I was feeling a bit too low about my writing (and, frankly, fandom) back then to be able to answer any writing memes, but I’m back on my bullshit now so LET’S DO THIS! 💪🏾 

I tag whoever wants to do this! 😃 

Let’s talk about “A Chance Engagement”, my Regency AU Carver/Merrill multi-chaptered longfic! 

1) What was the idea that started the story?

Two things: The first thing was this post that made me wonder what Carver would look like marching around in tight Regency breeches, and that got me thinking of all kinds of scenarios where he’d be marching around in them (also please have my bad Photoshop art. Thanks @fragilespark for enabling me, haha!).

The second thing was that not long after, @lucyrne was one of the randomly-selected prizewinners for the @carvermerrill blog giveaway when it reached 250 followers (random fun fact: it now has 366 followers; not bad for a rare-pairing!) and she gave me the following prompt: 

...I think what I'd really love is a prompt that involves them dressing up for some reason. Like going to a ball and actually getting to enjoy it instead of thwarting assassinations or fighting dragons ... 

After I asked her if a Regency AU would be OK with her, she replied: 

I was thinking something canonverse, but if an AU inspired you go for it. 

And, um, three years later, here we are. (I’m so sorry your blog giveaway prize has taken this long, Lucyrne!) 

2) Did you make an outline? Did you stick to it?

Kind of? I mean, I’m following the plot of Pride & Prejudice (the novel version, and maybe sort of the 1995 BBC adaptation) for the most part, especially with the main pairing (Carver/Merrill) and one of the other side-pairings (the Wickham/Lydia equivalent), but there is another subplot going on with F!Hawke/Isabela (i.e. Marian Hawke) and their secret romance which is very loosely based on their Dragon Age 2 romance arc, although it won’t exactly follow that arc. 

I tend to make a very loose and subject-to-change outline for my longfic after pantsing a few paragraphs/pages to get some thoughts down and some scenes out of my head, but then I start to string things together by coming up with some sort of plot to include the scenes in, and that’s what I’ve done here. I’ve got a list of bullet points of plot points I need to cover overall, and then I drill down deeper into each chapter and what they will cover every batch of several chapters. I haven’t always stuck to those more detailed chapter-by-chapter outlines, but I have stuck to the overall plot outline. 

3) What’s the favourite part of your story?

A certain rejected proposal that happened in Chapter 41. I was laughing about that for at least a year before I was finally able to release the chapter – it was so hard sitting on that plot twist for so long!

4) Who is your favourite character and why?

Probably the Arishok. His sole purpose in the fic is to just turn up and ruin everything, LOL. I’ve also really enjoyed writing the De Launcets, as well – writing the bitchy sisters Babette and Fifi and their brother Emile with his shit chat-up lines has been great, they’re just my favourite disaster family and writing their meanness has been fun. 

5) Did anything happen that surprised you as you were writing? 

I was actually surprised that the de Launcet sisters ended up having as big a role as they did, and that there was so little of Emile. I was also surprised at just how long it would take me to get from one plot point to another, that getting from plot point A to plot point B in my rough outline would take several chapters and a bunch of exposition and worldbuilding in order to build and complete the path there. 

I am also surprised that I’m still going. I thought this would be done in like 15 chapters and 20,000 words?!? AHAHAHAHAHA I WAS SO WRONG but I’m also surprised that I’ve got a fic past the 60,000-word mark and that I haven’t flagged and that I’m still interested in writing and finishing it, even if I am slow! 

The other reason I’m surprised I’m still going is actually because trying to write in a Regency style of English is really, really, really hard for me, and I don’t always enjoy doing it, even though (paradoxically) I really enjoy writing this fic???? despite my feelings about the style I write it in??? I can’t really explain it. It kind of feels like I was meant to write this fic, somehow, and I think so far it’s the most “me” out of all multi-chaptered fics I’ve publicly released to AO3. 

The BIGGEST surprise I got, however, was that this longfic would be as loved as it was/is, and that I’d have so many lovely, awesome, wonderful people reaching out to tell me how much they love my fic and look forward to each update ❤️  Back when I started, I only had like 3 readers, and out of those, only Lucyrne was a regular commenter of mine – I remembered being disappointed at first, but then I thought “eh, this is the story I want to write, and I love diving into this world and this AU so I’m going to finish it even if Lucyrne ends up being my only reader”. So I stopped worrying about my lack of audience and just... carried on writing it, just for the sheer fun of writing it. 

I was genuinely not prepared at all for so many readers to discover my longfic somewhere around Chapters 9 to 15, and to come along for the ride with me. But I appreciate it and love you all. Thank you all so, so much. 😘❤️

[hollyand-writes]

Tales from the scrap file

I was tagged by @cullenlovesmen – all the way back in September 2019! 🙈  I’m so sorry this took me so long to do it, my friend! ❤️  You can read her answers to this Tumblr writing meme for her own Dragon Age canon-divergent Cullen/Sebastian epic longfic “A Love Long Lost” here. 

Like T, I too have extensive scrap files for my fics, especially my longfics, but I’m going to fill mine in for – you guessed it – my DA2 Regency AU Carver/Merrill longfic “A Chance Engagement”. Currently there are well over 20,000 words that will never see the light of day (probably closer to 22k tbh), and there will likely end up being more. 

So! Have 828 words of an earlier scene before I reworked the relevant chapter(s)! 😃  Copied and pasted straight from my scrap file doc including all the crossed-out bits 😄: 

Lady Leandra descended the grand staircase to greet Mr Tethras before he went, and ordered her son to go back to entertain their other guests, so Carver was forced to go back to the drawing room while the Hawke women had the privilege of walking with Varric out of the front entrance to linger in the street, and talk a little longer. Carver grumbled to himself, but inwardly he was torn: on the one hand he had no desire to spend any time with Babette or Fifi; but on the other, Miss Alerion was with them – and surely he would not need to be so much on his guard around the pretty elf girl while his mother and sisters were temporarily out of sight.

If Merrill was not already reeling at the revelation of how cold the marriages of human nobility were,

He strode back into the drawing room, where Babette and Fifi were all smiles of delight at his re-entrance, and made space for him on the sofa so that he could sit between them. Carver hesitated; he did not want to sit anywhere near them if he could help it; and in the end he seated himself between their sofa and Miss Merrill’s chair, the better to look at her lovely face.

‘My mother ordered me to rejoin you,’ he said, unconsciously addressing himself more to Miss Alerion than the de Launcets. ‘I hope I’m not interrupting any intimate conversation.’

‘Oh! not at all!’ cried Miss Babette, somewhat shrilly, ‘we were just about to enquire what elven marriages were like. Are they similar to human marriages, Miss Merrill? Elven culture is so different from humans that elven gentry have very different standards of marriageability than human gentry, I am sure.’  

‘Um,’ Merrill started; she looked uncomfortable in the de Launcets’ presence, Carver noted, although he honestly could not blame her. ‘Well, like humans, we’re expected to make a desirable match if we can; but elven marriages are far more about love marriages than social advancement. I’m sure the latter does happen sometimes – but generally, affection for your spouse-to-be is important.’

To her further annoyance, the Orlesians scoffed at this. ‘Oh, how quaint!’ Fifi tittered, in a voice that indicated she thought anything but. ‘How naïve! No wonder it is so easy for human noblemen to seduce their elven servants, if something as fickle and unquantifiable as love is what you value above all else!’

‘Miss de Launcet,’ Sir Carver cut in, sharply, and both women stopped giggling at a red-faced Merrill, ‘I would advise you not to insult a fellow guest in my house.’  

‘Oh! of course!’ Babette simpered, anxious not to upset the man on whom she and her sister had such designs, ‘we were not trying to be rude – we apologise profusely to Miss Alerion if she believed us capable of such a thing! But Miss Merrill, as a friend: let me caution you not to give credit to such a notion. You know not the ways of the world, especially the human one; and we are only too happy to assist you. We would not want to see you taken advantage of by an unscrupulous human nobleman – would we, Sir Carver?’

‘Certainly not.’

‘You know,’ Merrill said, even more desirous of getting away than she was already, ‘I really should go back to Mahariel – I have deserted her too long. The Hawke Estate is so huge, though! – I fear I shall get lost before I find her room again, if there is not a servant who can guide me.’

‘No need,’ Sir Carver said, standing up, ‘I shall accompany you there.’

‘Oh, I really don’t think that will be necessary,’ Merrill said, backing away towards the door, while a glance showed her that both de Launcets were regarding her with hostile eyes – presumably they were angry that she was forcing Carver to spend time away from them, and she had no desire of coming between the silliness of all the human nobles in this room, ‘I am sure one of the servants will be sufficient!’

But it was to no avail: Sir Carver loomed over her, tall and broad and strapping, blue eyes peeking at her from under his dark hair so intently that Merrill felt she had no choice but to follow him.

For Carver, it was a welcome opportunity to get out of the drawing room, away from the de Launcets, and spend even a few extra moments on his own with Merrill. They did not speak as he led her through the halls to Mahariel’s chamber, but Carver’s mind was so full he was not sure he was able to speak. Merrill’s pronouncements on marriage captivated him even more than he was already, and as pleasing as she was to look at and listen to, he could not help wondering how in Thedas he would be able to keep any of this to himself for the duration of her stay. 

--- 

I tag anyone who wants to do this, as well as: @lucyrne, @natsora, @barbex, @amarmeme, @storybookhawke, @lesetoilesfous, @andrew-blackthorn, @gremlinquisitor, @asaara-writes, and @lauraemoriarty! ❤️

[hollyand-writes]

Hello! I have a Very Important Regency Question (TM) for you :P Between Fifi and Babette de Launcet, which one of them do you think would catch a husband first? We're not even talking a quality husband either. Just which one of them could manage that first.

On seeing this ask when I woke up this morning, I giggled – then realised I had to think about this, as let’s face it, this is a tough question! They’re both just as obnoxious as each other! 

So we know from the video in this post that Babette and Fifi are unpleasant and rude and snobby, not only to everyone around them (they make some mean comments about Hawke being a “doglord” and “dog-lover” and a “turnip” for being Fereldan for instance), but also to each other… and we also know from the video in this other post that if you let Emile de Launcet (their brother) sleep with Nella at the Hanged Man, Nella claims to be pregnant and the Comtesse Dulci de Launcet laments that “it’s the only grandchild I’m likely to have” – implying that even the Comtesse knows that her daughters are obnoxious and whiny and bitchy and that nobody is likely to marry them 😂 

(and that’s before you even consider that in “Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts” in DA:I, even the snobby Orlesians at the Winter Palace mention their horror at the de Launcets turning up -- and talk about avoiding them all 😂 )

Judging by Babette’s and Fifi’s comments to each other, it seems that both sisters think the other one is ugly and lacking fashion sense… but I think Fifi’s comments (I think she’s the one on the right) are probably meaner to Babette (IMO) than Babette’s are to her – which either implies that Babette is older and is “running out of time to make a good match”, or simply that Fifi is more confident about her ability to catch a husband than Babette (even if that confidence appears to be based on very little foundation, LMAO). 

So there’s a part of me that would find it funny if it turned out that “ugly” Babette was the one to catch a husband first (if only to say IN YOUR SMUG FACE, FIFI), but there’s also a part of me that finds it really, really difficult to say which of them would catch a husband first, even a duff one with no sense. It’s already obvious by their dialogue in-game that they’re aiming way higher than they can actually get (Duke Prosper and Lord Cyril, both rich Orlesian nobles considered important enough to have ties with Empress Celene)… but let’s face it, if they DID catch a husband it wouldn’t be a quality one. 

Perhaps the most likely way either of them might manage it is if the Comte actually arranges marriages for both daughters, probably to a pair of equally obnoxious and dumb and desperate brothers with more money than sense, who are only “attracted” to Babette and Fifi for their respected noble title (and probably wealth) rather than anything about the sisters themselves 😂

Incidentally, can I share this curious thing I found by accident? I think I may have figured out where Bioware got Fifi’s and Babette’s names from…. 

…and that description of Fifi’s human appearance seems to match the one I think is Fifi de Launcet, as well 😂 

Anyway, I don’t know if this was helpful at all, but it was definitely lots of fun to consider 😄 Thanks for the ask! ❤️