#man i wonder how much was lost in the mage rebellion...

[vigilskeep]

Hi I saw you mention wanting to talk about schools of magic and specializations; do you want to talk about the arcane/primal earth DAO -> force mage DA2 -> rift magic DAI transformation and what that says about the different places that various protagonists learned their magic/what the fade is like in Kirkwall (I feel like I saw you mention that "fade is thin in Kirkwall" + "yeah rift magic, which has all the force mage spells, is a new school since the giant hole in the sky" was a bit of an odd take)?

Alternately, would you like to talk about the arcane warrior -> knight enchanter thing and how the chantry getting ahold of ancient elven battle magic might have occurred? And what that means for the Greater Lore?

Anyways love your blog and you have the best takes ❤️

i actually just made a joke about the obvious similarities of force magic and rift magic and it’s @miraculan-draws who had the really great take about the veil in kirkwall that made me take this seriously!

it really can’t be overstated how fucked the veil is in kirkwall. the sheer amount of demons out and about! the way you can just become an abomination with a snap of your fingers no trip into the fade to make contact with demons necessary! good lord! it’s also worth noting that it’s not even just the mass suffering and slavery that has happened here and is literally painted onto the walls; kirkwall, insanely, is intentionally built in the form of giant glyphs and iirc it’s implied it was used by magisters as a mass blood ritual for entering the fade, possibly even THE entering the fade? not to mention corypheus’ prison nearby or keeping the mages in the GALLOWS of all places or the histories of occupation or sundermount. mass death and suffering causes tears in the veil. nobody should live in kirkwall. nobody should fucking live there. it would totally make sense if force magic, a brand of magic specifically noted to be popular in kirkwall, required the same closeness to the fade as rift magic. kirkwallers don’t need a breach they literally just live like that

as for arcane warrior/knight enchanter, it’s covered really interestingly by ariane in the witch hunt dlc and velanna in the awakening dlc that a lot of the circle’s magical knowledge is essentially appropriated from ancient elven knowledge that they were able to preserve while the dalish were robbed of it. that’s what’s happening when you take ariane to kinloch to get information on eluvians and some random young human mage knows more than her and her keeper, and ariane talks about this at the time. velanna and anders also have this banter:

it comes up a lot in anders’ banters with dalish mages that he is coming from having grown up in a place intended for the sharing and discussion of magical knowledge, where bickering academic rivalries as well as political ones are commonplace, and learning from each other and living side by side is what makes them better safer mages. (which is one thing abt the circle i think he actually misses and tries, however awkwardly, to seek out. imo he’s just parroting “great civilisations are built on the sharing of ideas” here, it sounds way more like something that’s been said to him than something he would think. he wants to talk abt magic bc he’s lonely and on the run and used to be surrounded by people to talk abt magic with! vivienne talks abt this more intentionally, she makes good points abt mages thriving when they’re together among those who can understand them.) whereas merrill and velanna grow up in a background where magic is quite individual and private, shared from one keeper to one first and (according to merrill) never practised in public, and that’s a safety measure to protect them from templars and to protect elven knowledge from being taken away from them as it has been previously. so obviously they’re not engaging with the first human mage trying to blunder his way into discussion with no sensitivity at all by picking the kind of fights he’s used to, which velanna and merrill obviously wouldn’t have context for

that’s a tangent abt characters bc i love talking abt anders merrill and velanna and the way i think they think abt magic, ignore me. anyway. my POINT is i imagine the ideas behind knight-enchanter came into the hands of circle mages and the chantry in a similar way to finn’s knowledge about eluvians in witch hunt. that seems natural enough. i believe you can have a conversation with solas after taking the spec where you discuss what the ancient elven arcane warriors might think to see their abilities in the hands of the chantry?

[cloudninetonine]

A past that still haunts me

A/N: Hey guys, it's me (ya boi) I'm back with my still current hyper fixation Genshin Impact and a vent fic because I've been really stressed and well, it's hard living in my house :) It's a hurt/comfort fic because they always get to me and I needed to make something for myself

I am willing to do aftermath where the boys confront the abuser or do scenario but with different characters

Synopsis: You’re not a damsel in distress, you never have been and you never will be, but, well, sometimes you need a hero to rely on and that’s okay

Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Zhongli and Childe

Warnings: Hints to past abuse, confrontation of abuser, violence, mentions of blood, threats, foul language

It had meant to be like any other menial day of an adventurer: sign in with Katheryne, complete your commissions, sign out with Katheryne with your payments - done and dusted.

But that wasn’t how it went, no, far from it - archons, so damn far from it.

“Thank you once again, (Name)” Katheryne’s smile was kind like usual, holding that familiar feeling of gratitude as she handed over your remission within a marked package, hand returning to the desk’s polished surface once you had taken it graciously, sending her a beaming grin back. “The Guild really appreciates your work ethic when it comes to the Ruin machines, it’s hard to come across adventurers who want to handle them anymore”

You sent her a shrug as you placed away the box “Can’t blame them really, they’re a hard bunch to handle- I was terrified of them when I first started too, but I had my vision to help me out, a lot of these folk only use there pure determination to eradicate them, gotta admire that!”

She laughed along with you politely “Have a good evening, (Name), I’ll see you again tomorrow?”

“Of course you will!” You backpedalled away from the guild reception, throwing the woman a polite double fingered salute as you did “Ad astra abyssoque as they say, my fair lady!”

She parrotted back her usual phrase before disappearing into the building, you walking further down the path of the city for your final activity for that day.

Of course, you didn’t reach that far, after all, it wasn’t that menial day you had expected, that you had wanted. Life was cruel sometimes, so incredibly cruel for no justified reason just for the sake of it all and you wished, archons, you wished you could rewind the clock and stop yourself from bumping into the body, to save yourself from all the repressed trauma bursting forth like a flurry of butterflies, well, more like moths, disgusting, ungodly, monster moths that aimed straight for the face.

“Sorry!” You yelped, too preoccupied with gathering your pocketwatch you had dropped in the stumble to see who it had been, after all, you were on a schedule and you didn’t want to be-

“(Name)?”

...late.

All of a sudden, time didn’t seem to exist, or maybe it was moving way too slowly from that horrid spike of adrenaline that shot into your bloodstream as soon as the voice registered.

You hoped to the Archons that it wasn’t, that it couldn’t, but did the gods hear your prayers?

“Oh Archons, it is you! It’s been such a long time!”

Of course, they did, they just didn’t care to listen. Ignoring the cries of your people were in fashion to them these days.

They stood there with a smile so excited it almost seemed to tear their face in half, with eyes sparkling with recognition after so many years away from them, they opened their arms welcoming you into their embrace like it was something just so normal for the two of you like you would come bounding to them like a lost puppy who had finally found their master.

The fear of your abuser dwarfed in comparison the pure feral rage and loathing to think that they even deserved to be breathing in the same space as you.

People were looking, of course, they were looking, you knew what they were doing, being bright and jovial, bringing others attention towards you both so that whatever scene you caused would be your fault like you were the bad guy. It was old tactics, of course, you wouldn’t dare do anything when you were younger, you’d just push through it, but this wasn’t old times, this wasn’t younger you, scared, smaller you afraid them, this was you now, a warrior, unwavering in battle, a person who smiled in the face of danger, who laughed at the pitiful fights that 2- no- 4 abyss mages brought to you!

To hell what other people thought, you’d stomp their head into the cobblestone if they had so much as poked you.

“Come here and give me a-”

You took a step back, mustering the deadliest face you could, but you wavered, it was only natural, no matter how much you could try to hype yourself up, this person was your first true experience of real-life nightmares, the first person to bring you true pain, no matter how many ruin guards, hunters, millachurls, mages- anything you faced, nothing could prepare you to face your first fear:

The fear of your older sibling.

“If you fucking touch me I’ll stab you-” The growl cracked nearing the end, you were always an angry crier but you were not about to fall back to this- this monster. “In front of all these people, I won’t hesitate”

Their face dropped followed by your stomach, though, the food you had for lunch sure did feel its way up your gullet.

“What’s with your language? We haven’t seen each other in four years and this is how you treat me? Your older sibling?” They laughed in disbelief because onlookers would think they were shocked, I mean, how could you speak to family like that? But they didn’t know, they didn’t know the words they had told you, the insults, the threats, those tight grabs, those beatings- they didn’t know, so they obviously didn’t know that the shock came from the fact that you had stood up to them.

You licked your lips to get rid of the dryness, but the problem you faced was that your mouth had dried out along with them, as did your throat.

Don’t let them turn this on you, don’t let them get the upper hand, you were better than them, so much better.

“You’re not my fucking sibling” You spat, feeling the air vibrate around you, a sudden shine from your cloak hinted you to the cause “You haven’t been for a long time, don’t fucking try that shit with me”

There it was, that familiar enraged spark, that look of hatred on their face, the thing that warned you about what you said had been the right thing to set them off, that they were just as easily triggered by the smallest act of rebellion just like when you were kids.

Of course, they hadn’t changed.

Evil never did.

They took a step forward but you didn’t back off, just hardened your resolve as they leaned in menacingly, as though their stupid little intimidation tactic still worked after all these years.

You told yourself it didn’t but you knew deep down that wasn’t completely true.

“Don’t speak to me like that, (Name)” Facade gone, they showed you what they really were, what they were really like after all, “Don’t you ever speak to me like that, you show me fucking respect”

Respect?

RESPECT!?

Oh Archons, you were angry, no, seething from the thought that they ever deserved respect.

That pathetic piece of shit, that gruelling pleb, mere gum on the bottom of your damn shoe-

You’d kill them, right here, right now.

You felt the familiar materialisation begin to form in your hand when another voice called out, a familiar loving one that nearly made your throat swell from relief.

“(Name)?”

Diluc

He could sense the tension. Of course, he could sense the tension, Diluc had faced this tension so many times before, he was practically the one that owned such a vibe anytime Kaeya even breathed near him for a second longer than necessary.

But being the one to witness it, to see you, the usual awkward, goofy sweetheart stare at another with such overbearing malice made him uneasy, caused his stomach to churn in ways he didn’t like, set him off in a way that was only reserved for the most chilling on moments.

Diluc wondered what exactly this stranger had done to warrant such a reaction from you.

“(Name)?” The redhead called, glancing around the many citizens of Mondstadt that watched the exchange with intrigue, guard and worry, eyes focused on the scene of this foreign stranger and fuming you, hand poised by your side with weapon particles dancing on your palm.

When Diluc finally made it over, his form seemed to curl protectively around you, hand landing on the small of your back delicately while keeping face with the person, eyes narrowed dangerously but still holding an air of civilness.

A true gentleman, even when you were close to merking some rando.

“Is there a problem?”

The stranger straightened immediately, backing up a few steps with their hands up in defence, sending Diluc a charming smile that the man could see through crystal clear.

“No problem, no problem at all” They glanced back at you, seemingly friendly despite his partner’s obvious ill intent that radiated off you in waves “Isn’t that right, (Name)?”

Diluc saw you tense up once again, the buzz from your Vision rising in volume with your obvious anger as you tightened your first, ready to just screw your weapon and go for the throat.

“If that is the case” The noble’s hand softly pressed against your back, gently but coaxing, knowing that conflict in the middle of the town centre would just bring the knights to meddle in affairs that they had no business attending “Then we shall be going”

“There’s no need to leave, after all, my sibling and I were just chatting”

He paused, shouldering a questioning glance your way but at the sight of your unruly expression, he pushed down his enquiries and once again began coaxing you away from the scene. Angel’s Share had already been open for a while, meaning the usual folk would already be settled in, but the storage room was sure to be a good place to chat and to calm you down, all he needed to do was get you away.

“We already had plans” The side glance had the stranger- your sibling, biting their tongue, brows furrowing in a known annoyance as the two of you began your way towards the pub, you still vibrating in anger. “Good day to you”

The two of you had made it a few feet when they called out once again “Don’t worry, (Name), I’ll see you again real soon”

Diluc’s arm tightened around you faster than you could react, tugging you away quickly “Diluc-”

“No, (Name)”

“Stay out-”

“Not here” Sharing a look, he softened at the shine in your eyes. “You’ll just attract the knights' attention”

You didn’t care, no, not one bit. If the knights had dared to interfere at that moment, they too would have been caught up in your blinded revenge, thrown aside or slashed down without single care just to finally eradicate the bane of your existence and you didn’t care about what consequences you brought about, you just didn’t and you made sure to tell Diluc that, as soon as you had the privacy of Angel’s Share’s storeroom, pacing up and down while he stood off to the side against the wall, watching silently.

“You had no right to get in my way!” You snapped, voice shaking from the pure emotions you were releasing “I finally had my chance, I was finally going to do it! They deserve to end by my hand, by my decision, after the years of torture they put me through! They deserved it! And you got in my way! How could you get in my way! I-”

Pushing off the wall, he slowly advanced towards you, carefully, hands out like he was approaching a wounded animal.

“I understand you’re upset-”

“I’m not upset!” You cried at him, stopping mid-step before dropping your head and tightly, grabbing your hair in your hands “I’m not upset! I’m angry! I’m so fucking angry! And I deserve to be fucking angry! I-”

The sob ripped through your throat despite you trying to hold it back, tears finally gathering in your eyes and rapidly falling down your cheeks “You should have let me kill them! I should have had the chance to rid the world of their evil! It’s not fair! It’s not- it’s not fair, I-”

You didn’t bother to fight him when his arms finally wrapped around you, just fell against him as you wept. The pent up rage, fear and sadness from years of repression taking its toll as you cried, your partner whispering sweet words as he raked his hand through your hair gently and leaned his head against yours.

“I’m sorry” His hand held your cheek fondly, ruby red staring back into your own eyes with a softness that made you melt “I didn’t know this meant so much to you, but if you’re willing to tell me, I’ll listen. I’ll always listen”

With another choked sob, you leaned into his hold “Please just hold me for now”

And he did just that.

Kaeya

The captain had promised to meet you at his office, a simple task really but with the lingering presence of Jean and the words ‘There’s so much work that needs to be done’ leaving her lips he bolted, hoping to catch you by the Guild and drag you to Angel Share for your date. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help her, it was just he had already promised you this night and Eula could have always taken his place with paperwork, her threat of “vengeance” as she liked to call it could wait for another day.

It was also due to the fact he had no intentions of filing any paperwork for as long as he could avoid it, but that was his secret to be kept.

Being the perspective man he was, he could tell straight away he had walked into something tense, surveying the surrounding people of Mondstadt who looked on in concern, the unbridled rage upon your face, the obviously intimidating lean that the stranger held over you- something was wrong and he knew he had to put a stop to it.

“(Name)?” You glanced for a single moment before your furious glare had returned to the stranger, another flag waving right in his face as he approached, “My dear? Who might this be?”

Before you could snap, lip curling in disgust, the stranger stood back to their full height, switching quickly with a fake charming smile that practically mirrored his own, holding out their hand towards him “(S/N) (Last), (Name)’s older sibling. it’s nice to meet you”

Kaeya’s smile widened and despite the glare from you that was now focused on him, he shook your sibling's hand in-kind “Kaeya Alberich, (Name)’s partner-”

He made sure to tighten his grip with his last words “And Cavalry Captain of the Knights of Favonius”

Successfully, as he always was, Kaeya held back the smug, mocking grin that itched to climb onto his face when the neck of your sibling bobbed nervously, forehead reflecting the afternoon light as sweat gathered on their brow.

The man hadn’t obviously threatened them, surely, Kaeya was smarter than that, but then again, he could still present himself as a threat, a good one and well, his title was a menacing one when it came to the right moment. ‘Try anything and not only do I have the authority to kick your arse but the power to put you in a place many didn’t dare even step’ shortened into an innocent sentence with only 8 words.

“Cavalry Captain? That’s quite impressive” They laughed off, tugging away their hand awkwardly when Kaeya continued to keep a firm grip, his present eye focused solely on your siblings face. They glanced over to you “Quite an achievement for you, aye (Name)?”

You growled, “I’ll show you an achievement-”

Kaeya’s arm had wrapped around your waist not a second later, tugging you tighter to his side as the two of you turned, the man throwing your sibling a smile over his shoulder.

“As nice as it was to meet you, (S/B), we must be going”

And then without another word Kaeya dragged you away, heading in the direction of your home instead of Angel Share tavern, feeling your pure, unfiltered anger the whole way along with the citizens as they parted ways, rushing off from your rage.

It was only when you had returned to the sanctuary of your abode did you snap, jerking away from your boyfriend with angered strides and beginning your seething lecture towards him, moving up and down through the living room while he ventured off into the kitchen, grabbing 2 glasses and a bottle of wine.

“How dare you Kaeya! How fucking dare you! Do you have any idea what you were doing back there!? What was even happening back there!? So much for being the most observant man in Mondstadt because you seemed pretty dense to me the whole fucking time!” Your hands raked through your hair as you yelled, trying so hard to hold back the tears “I didn’t need your damn help, Kaeya! Nor did I fucking want it! Know to stay out of someone's business when it isn’t wanted!”

Logically you knew what he had done, you were smart like that and you knew Kaeya long enough to know what he was doing but your rage, fear and sadness blocked out everything in that moment, made you blind to reality, made you only think irrationally and Kaeya didn’t blame you for that. He could never blame you for that.

Though, it did hurt him to see you in this state.

“Wine?”

You gawked at him for a moment, staring at him with shock and confusion as he held out a wine glass towards you, another held in his other hand and a sweet smile plastered on his face, before your moment morphed into rage, grabbing the drink from his hand and tossing it towards the wall, the red wine splattering over the wallpaper and glass shards falling to the floor.

“Well, that was a waste-”

“Do you think I’m an idiot, Kaeya!?” You cried, not even bothering to hold back anymore as the tears fell and your voice cracked, hand pointing accusingly in his face “Is this some kind of joke to you!? Huh!? Am I a fool in your eyes!? Some sort of blubbering idiot!? Why must you- why do you-”

The second glass was placed on the dresser by you both, Kaeya’s hand coming to hold your cheek fondly while the other came to grab your hand that dangled in the air, still poised at him “I don’t think you're either of those, my dear, in fact, I think you’re one of the brightest in the whole of Teyvat, nevermind Mondstadt”

You hiccuped “Then why-”

Brushing away the wetness from your cheek, he brought your hand to his mouth to place a fond kiss on your palm “Because you mustn’t cry, (Name), don’t waste your tears on someone like them”

“I’m not crying, I’m-”

He shushed you gently and you finally relaxed, falling into his embrace with a heavy heart “-I’m not, I swear-”

Within the familiarity of your home, you wept in his arms, exhausted from the whirlwind of emotions and the scenes that had transpired that day, ready to just curl into yourself and try to block the flooding memories of history. Although, having Kaeya at that moment helped more than he could ever know, having him to rely on made it all so much easier to cope with that day.

“Tell me what ails you and I’ll listen” Brushing back some hair, he pressed a kiss to your head.

“Can..can we just stay like this for a while?”

“Of course, my dear”

Zhongli

He had sensed the incoming danger like it had been revealed in some sort of premonition. Maybe it had been a skill he had acquired after his long, eventful life, maybe it was his connection to Liyue and his citizens, but for some reason, as he sat before Iron Tongue Tian as the man recalled his tales of ancient Liyue like usual, Zhongli knew that the crowd that was forming around Wamin Restaurant had something that he need urgently attend, especially when even Tian paused his story to glance around the corner of the restaurant building to see the commotion.

When the archon had finally borne witness to the scene, he paused within the crowd, surveying the surroundings carefully. You were the centre of attention, along with another stranger, both glaring at one another with anger and disgust, though your own anger seemed to double compared to the other’s, seeing as your weapon was slowly materialising in your grip. Zhongli could also see Guild Master Lan making her way down the steps leading to the Guild reception, a worried expression on her face glancing between you and the approaching Millelith.

Zhongli made his decision, politely pushing through the crowd until he had finally made it by your side, hand being placed gently on your arm “(Name)?”

Both you and the stranger glanced at him, but he paid no mind to them, only held eye contact with you when Lan appeared by your other side, glaring at the stranger with a hardened gaze.

“Are you harassing my guild member?”

Before the stranger could respond, the Millelith had also popped in, glancing between you and them “Is there a problem?”

Zhongli had taken up your view when Lan began her take, she had borne witness for much longer than he had of course and he was certain that you were in no state to talk to the guards. Your eyes were glazed with hatred, pupils pinpricks in a sea of (E/C) and your hands were shaking, balled into fists.

If anything, he needed to try and calm you down first.

“Get the hell out of my way, Zhongli” Your teeth ground together, words shaking with anger “Don’t push yourself into my business”

“I’m sorry, my love, but I can’t do that” He tried brushing your cheek but you jerked away, glaring at his hand before glaring back at him, in no mood to be coddled “I don’t want you to do something you’d regret”

“Trust me, I won’t regret this one bit”

Zhongli held his tongue for the question that almost rolled out, knowing now wasn’t the time for inquiries when the stranger’s voice rang out, condescending and snarky as they addressed you.

“Still need people to protect you, aye (Name)? Of course, you’re still the same pathetic bitch from years ago”

You were lucky for your reputation around Liyue, for the picture of the kind and caring adventurer that had swept through the town from your years of living here because had it not been for that, you pushing aside your boyfriend and materialising your weapon to aim it at your sibling’s throat would have had you in cuffs that instant.

Lan grabbed you, tugging you away as you screamed “I’ll show you pathetic you fucker! Let me go!”

The Millelith didn’t wait to drag your sibling away, much to their cries of dismay, one sending Lan a nod while you continued to fight against her, crying out in frustration.

“Kid, you have to calm down-”

“Calm down!? No! Get the hell off me!”

Zhongli watched as you finally broke away, huffing and puffing up a storm before glancing amongst the crowd, staring at their worried and concerned faces, your own eyes tearing up before you looked away pushing past the crowd to find somewhere to be alone.

When Lan went to call out for you, Zhongli raised his hand, the two sharing a look before the archon made his way after you, his longer legs keeping a steady pace to which he could catch up to you, just beyond the bridge that led into Liyue Harbour. There were no people where you stood, just the lush green plants and great mountains of nature, a perfect place for you to let out your frustration without the prying eyes of the citizens.

“(Name)-”

“Leave me alone!” You cried, curling into yourself with your back turned to him “I don’t want you here, Zhongli! Nor did I want you back there! I didn’t need your or anyone else's help!”

You knew he was here from a place of concern, and deep down you begged that your words didn’t harm him in any way, but currently, you didn’t care, you didn’t want to care, you just wanted to be numb, numb to the flashbacks of your horrid past and numb to the feelings that were dragged along with them.

“My love, please, return with me to our home, I will brew some calming tea-”

“Tea? Tea!? Does it look like I want any fucking tea?! I couldn’t care any less about some fucking tea, Zhongli!” Spinning around on your heels, you scowled at him, not bothering to hide your rushing tears “Don’t you get it!? I want to be left alone, I-”

Two gloved hands gently encased your face, your angered expression morphing into one of shock as your partner stared down at you with glowing eyes filled with a deep-rooted love, affection, worry and so much more that you couldn’t put into mere mortal words. At that moment, everything felt as if it had melted away, only you and him were in this world, nothing else, just the two of you.

And you felt as though your heart had been lifted from the pressures of this life.

“I do not think it is best for you to be left alone” His baritone voice was always so calming, so serene and in your sane moment, you finally felt its effects “I wish to stay with you, so please, let me stay”

With a whimper, you grabbed onto his forearms and leaned your face into his hands, tears continuing to fall as your eyes fluttered shut “Okay…”

“They have hurt you deeply, haven’t they?”

Hesitantly, you nodded.

“Would you be so kind as to tell me the details?”

“I-...” Sharing eye contact once again, you whispered “Can- can you just...hold me for now? Please”

Moving his hands from your face, he engulfed you in his arms, leaning his head against yours “Of course”

Childe

The Harbinger had just left the Northland Bank, hell, he was just about to make his way down the spiral staircase but when hearing the commotion, he paused, something in his gut telling him to check just before and he was glad he did.

Glancing over the elevated walkway, he felt a fiery pit roar in the depths of his stomach, eyes narrowing dangerously at the scene; you were snarling in some other person’s face, their own face nothing short of disgust and a crowd that only seemed to grow by the minute.

Who the hell did this person think they were? Did they even know who you were? To stand so close to you, with a look of threat on their face like you weren’t about to kick their arse? Like he wasn’t about to kick their arse? How did this insignificant speck of dross not know your connections with him, the 11th Harbinger? Or did he know and was just trying his luck?

“Seems like someone has a death wish” And a death wish they had indeed.

Ignoring the perplexed glance from his subordinate stationed outside the building's entrance, Childe made his way down the steps, murderous look stitched on the whole way to the circle of civilians, the mass parting ways for the man that was Tartaglia and continuing to watch the moment in silence.

“Who the hell are you-” You both turned towards him, you in shock while the stranger stared in confusion until Childe’s hand wrapped around their collar, tugging them closer to look down at them with a deep-rooted disgust “-And why the hell are you harassing my partner?”

They fought against him, obviously, they did, but the surprise came when you saddled up next to him, grabbing his arm “Stay out of this, Tartaglia”

What? It hadn't been your request, no, you were always one to finish your whole fights you weren't "A damsel in distress after all!" no, you were so much more, so much greater but that look on your face, murderous and downright cruel- he just couldn't believe his ears.

Childe stared at you in shock while the stranger struggled, throwing him a dirty look in their attempts “Yeah, this is between my sibling and I”

Childe straightened in surprise, feeling embarrassment flood his system. Had he seriously just grabbed and threatened his lover’s family member? Oh, Archons, his judgement had been clouded by anger at the look of the scene, I mean, why would your sibling look at you that way-

“But it’s really no surprise that you still need to be babied, (Name), how shameful”

His eyes widened but not a moment later had you tackled your sibling, the crowd crying out in alarm as you threw back your fist and crushed their nose under the weight of your punch. “I’ll show you fucking shameful, bastard!”

There was shouting and a glance showed the oncoming Millelith marching towards the circle.

Being Fatui always did garner the attention of the guards nowadays, especially for him, who had tried to lure out the attention of their Archon by summoning an ancient god that nearly drowned the entirety of the harbour, so it was no surprise that they seemed to hurry in the pursuit when they noticed his appearance at the scene. However, lucky for him, your reputation as a great adventurer preceded you and throughout Liyue you were seen as a trusted and well-liked individual, meaning whatever trouble you got in, containing his meddling or not, was usually waved away due to the trust of the people.

So, without another thought, Childe tugged you off of your bloodied sibling and held you close, even as you thrashed violently, shouting at him to let you go.

“What is going on here?” A guard called, slamming the hilt of his polearm into the ground as he surveyed the area, eyes landing on the sibling before following the small trail of blood to you, still fighting against your boyfriend with threats falling from your lips “Was there a reason for this brawl? Who started it?”

As your sibling raised themselves on their forearms, they scowled and opened their mouth to respond, only for Childe to put in. “It was them, sir, they were the one that started it, (Name) was merely acting in self-defence”

The Millelith scowled at him, raising a brow and once again looking you over “Is that so?”

He addressed the crowd soon after “Is this what happened?”

And as expected, they all glanced over the sibling, then to you and piped up in agreement. It paid to be a hero, it seemed, the whole harbour returning the favour of years of helping out the community.

“If that’s the case, please come with us” The sibling cried out, anger and fear laced into their voice, trying to argue for their innocence only for the guards to grab them, hauling them away to archons know where while Childe did the same with you, slowly dragging you away from the scene and back into the bank, you screaming and cursing the whole way until you had made it to his office, finally managing to push him off and storming to the opposite side of the room practically seething.

“Who the hell do you think you are, Tartaglia!?” You cried, throwing out your arms in exaggeration “I didn’t need your fucking help! And why the fuck would you pull me off them!? I had them right where I wanted them and you fucking did that! Are you a moron!?”

“You had a sibling” He breathed, watching as you began to pace, muttering in an angered state “And you didn’t tell me”

“-after all these years I finally had the chance to end their pathetic excuse of a life and you just got in my fucking way! I’d waited too long for this moment and you fucking ruined it! How dare you, how fucking dare you-”

“(Name), why didn’t you tell me you had a sibling!?” He cried, walking up to you and grabbing your wrist to stop you “I was ready to kill them right there! And why are you talking about them like this!? They’re your family aren’t they-”

“They are not my fucking family!”

The scream echoed through the room, chilling Childe to the core as you ripped your arm from his grasp, running your hands through your hair before gripping it so tightly it felt close to being ripped from your head. But you didn’t care, no, you couldn’t, you were so angry and you needed something to keep you grounded, to keep yourself from losing yourself and getting lost in those haunting past memories.

The Harbinger felt his chest squeeze painfully as the tears fell down your face, red rimming your eyes and cheeks wet as you sobbed, chest heaving from trying to breathe “Family takes care of you! Family thinks of you in the highest light possible! They love you for who you are and they love you no matter what! That bastard hurt me, made me feel worthless and they refuse to believe they could do no wrong and I hate them! They are the bane of my existence! They are not my fucking family! I hate them, I hate them, I hate them, I-”

Arms were around you instantly, Childe’s face pressed into your hair as you wept, grasping onto the lapels of his suit and shoving your face into his chest to muffle your cries.

“I’m sorry” He whispered, his own eyes shining slightly “I’m sorry, I was being insensitive. Please, don’t cry”

“No, I’m not crying, I promised myself I wouldn’t-” You hiccuped “I wouldn’t waste any more tears on them-”

Then you broke off into more wails, your boyfriend holding you close and letting you continue to cry in his arms, warm and comforting until you were finally reduced to whimpers, leaning into him heavily as the remaining adrenaline in your body began to wear thin when he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Will...will you tell me about it?”

You sniffed “Later...just hold me for now, please, Ajax...”

His arms tightened protectively “Anything for you, my love”

[cssns]

Hello Everyone!

Please welcome @myfearless-love to the CSSNS!

Tumblr Name

@myfearless-love​

How long have you been in the CS/OUAT fandom?

I've joined the fandom when the show started airing Season 5. I followed people on Twitter who were watching it and saw pictures and gifs/videos they shared. At first, it didn't really interest me, but then I saw this one person obsessing over the main couple, sharing gifs and pics of them, also bts of the actors playing them. It got me intrigued so I started watching. I was disappointed that this Irish actor they've been singing odes for, the one half of the main ship wasn't in the first season. But when he showed up and had his first scene with Emma/Jen...BOOM. A CS fan was born. 

When did you start shipping Captain Swan?

I think I started shipping them before I even started watching the show. People I followed on Twitter were obsessing over them and after a while I started to wonder "a lost princess and a pirate? And they are also hot? Okay, okay, okay..." And when the bean stalk scene/episode came I was done for, they stole my heart completely.

What drew you to this event? 

I've only participated in one CS event (Captain Swan Little Bang) and realized how much fun it was. After that I only wrote for my hobby projects but I didn't really have enough time to start something new. But this opportunity just landed on my dashboard and thought "Why not?" I usually write ModernAUs or Canon Divergent fics, so this will be a challenge of some sort for me.

What inspired your topic? 

I've been watching shows with mages/witches in them, so I'm kind of up-to-date on that topic. I'm also thinking of bringing some other creatures into my fic.

If you would like to share a snippet/sneak peek/summary of your fic or artwork, please use the space below. 

At this time I can only share the rough summary of the story: Vampires, werewolves, mages and elves. They kept their existence a secret for centuries, but the constant rebellions against the strict laws of the Guild led to a terrible tragedy. In an open clash, it became apparent to humans just what kind of monsters lived among them. And only then does the war begin. Emma Swan loses the love of her life in the first battle. A few months later, while still trying to process what happened, a mysterious and terrifying figure slips into her life. But the man hides far more terrible secrets than he reveals, pulling them both into a horrible situation.

What are you looking forward to most about participating in this event? 

To create something I'm really proud of and something the readers will like. To share with everyone what I envisioned in my mind :)

Sounds intriguing! Nikoletta’s fic drops on July 12th. Be sure to say hi to her on Tumblr or Discord.

[fancytrinkets]

Brandy in the Library (Trevelyan/Dorian)

Note: Flirting and friendship features heavily here. Content warning for excessive alcohol use. And if you’ve read it before it’s because I’m repurposing pieces of my recent fic for 30 Days of Dorian. As a courtesy for potential readers, this is probably one to avoid if you don’t want to read about a mage Inquisitor who didn’t support the mage rebellion.

On his way to see Leliana, Trevelyan passes through the library — though it's not much of one yet, stocked only with a handful of books scavenged from Haven. A team of scouts went back three days ago to sift through the rubble. They returned with whatever they could salvage.

Dorian's sitting at one of the library tables, paging through a half-scorched book. He looks up as Trevelyan approaches, and smiles in a way that makes Trevelyan's heart beat faster.

"I see you've found this place," Trevelyan says. "Have you been to the other library?"

"There's another library? Does that one have more than eight books in it?"

"In fact it does. If you're free in two hours, I have a break between meetings when I can show you."

"I have a better idea," Dorian says. "Let's make it later this evening. I hear the tavern's expecting its first shipment of supplies. I'll nick a bottle of something good. You can have a drink with me in this secret library of yours."

That same evening, he finds Dorian waiting for him in the upstairs library with a bottle of Antivan brandy in hand.

The man looks even more attractive than usual, if that's possible. He's clearly taken extra care with his hair and clothing. He's chosen robes with an uneven cut, alluringly designed to reveal the contours of his chest and shoulders. Trevelyan has to force his imagination away from its preferred course — conjuring up vivid imagery of Dorian taking off those robes and climbing into bed with him.

Instead he focuses on the brandy.

"Always a good choice. Shall we get started?"

"Lead the way," Dorian says.

Trevelyan endures a pleasant case of nerves as he takes the stairs to the cellars and unlocks the lower library. He's been looking forward to this all afternoon, and now that the moment is here, he hopes Dorian won't find fault with his choice of venue.

His worries disappear as soon as the door shuts behind them.

"Very interesting," Dorian says. "A mage's library."

He pauses at a shelf near the entryway to have a look at the spines of the nearest books.

"Old, but not ancient," he says. "I wonder who was living here several hundred years ago."

Trevelyan doesn't have answers. While Solas seems familiar with Skyhold, he doesn't speak as freely and generously about it as he does when he's asked about the Fade.

"Hard to believe we found this site just when we needed it most," Trevelyan says.

"Or you were, in fact, chosen by Andraste." Dorian doesn't sound like he's joking.

"I can't rule it out," Trevelyan says. "But I'm not claiming it either."

"Fair enough. Here."

Dorian pours for both of them and hands Trevelyan a glass. The first sip warms his throat delightfully. He takes a seat and Dorian pulls up the other chair, moving it closer to Trevelyan before he sits down.

"Here we are in a southern mage's library," Dorian says. "I think you should tell me what it's like to be a southern mage."

"What would you like to know?"

"About you? Probably everything," Dorian says. "But start with what it was like to learn magic at your Circle."

Trevelyan shares a few stories from his younger days at Ostwick — of learning magic along with his peers, and being cautioned all the time about its dangers. In contrast, Dorian offers some details about his own elite, but tempestuous magical education in Tevinter. The differences in their training are vast, and yet the more they talk, the more Trevelyan appreciates the similarities in how they both turned out.

Openly and without shame, Dorian loves being a mage. It's obvious just from watching him. He loves the way it feels to use magic — and he's exceptionally good at it. Trevelyan knows that feeling also. Not the total lack of shame, of course. But in the months since he's left the Circle, he's grown to love his own magic in a way he never truly did before. The chance to use it fully for a good cause, to push himself to the limits of his capacity, and to see, for the first time in his thirty-five years, what a powerful mage he is — it's an unparalleled experience.

One that Dorian understands.

Trevelyan reaches for the bottle and pours them both another drink. He can feel the warmth in his belly, relaxing him.

Dorian smells good, he thinks. He'd like to hold this man close — press him against the bookshelves and kiss him, perhaps — all the while breathing in deeply to appreciate his scent up close. Trevelyan is far from anything he'd find so embarrassing as being fully aroused by nothing more than conversation and fantasy — he's not a teenager, for Maker's sake. But he is aware of the early stages of that particular reaction, and his close-fitting robes don't help him. He shifts in his chair for better comfort and discretion, and tries to stop the flood of mental imagery from pouring in.

Soon enough, he and Dorian are falling back into the friendly give and take of a conversation in which they don't quite agree.

The topic is templars — more specifically, the need for the power of mages to be held in check by a group of trained professionals with the ability to suppress magic when needed. Trevelyan finds it essential, given Tevinter as the cautionary tale. Dorian finds the south to be an example of a system both poorly designed and horrifically implemented — "hence the mage rebellion, yes?"

"Well, obviously the Circles here need to change drastically," Trevelyan says.

"And yet you were loyal to yours," Dorian points out.

"It's complicated."

"How so?"

Their exchange continues over drinks refreshed a third and fourth time.

Trevelyan replies with some details about Ostwick, but witholds others. He explains it as more lenient than most, without dragging his family into it. He may be keeping things back, but it's mostly because he wants to stay on topic. He likes these conversations.

He's being pushed, yes. But in the process, he's clarifying his thoughts — revising and rethinking them. Sometimes he agrees that he's wrong, or concedes that he's too accustomed to one way of thinking to change it immediately. And Dorian takes as well he gives. He's got a certain arrogance about him, sure, but when they start talking this way, he often yields a point and backs off without rancor when he knows he's mistaken.

It's refreshing and interesting to speak so candidly.

"Alright," Dorian says after the fifth drink has been poured. "If your Circle wasn't abusive towards you, then what about your peers who voted to rebel. What did they want?"

By now Trevelyan's thoughts are feeling nicely fuzzy.

"I don't know," he says. "More from their lives? The chance to move freely, live where they choose, visit families, get married, have children, that sort of thing."

"And that didn't matter to you?"

"I agreed with them. We all deserve those chances if we want them."

"But?" Dorian asks.

"Complacency? I'd begun to accept my life for what it was. A limited one."

Dorian shakes his head, disbelieving. "You don't strike me as complacent at all."

"Oh?" Trevelyan asks. "How do I strike you?"

Dorian smiles, but doesn't answer. At least not at first. He finishes the last of his drink, holds the glass forward, and then watches as Trevelyan pours him another.

"You strike me," he says. "A lot of ways."

"Good ways, I hope."

Dorian tilts his drink until it shines with reflected candlelight. He studies it a moment, then looks at Trevelyan.

"You're not as well-read as some, but more clever than most. Good-natured, though I suspect you have a temper under there somewhere, and that's intriguing," he says.

"Also, you seem to genuinely care about everyone. Including the people you don't like — which I can't even fathom. What sort of forbidden magic granted you that ability? Please tell me so I can avoid it — it looks exhausting!"

Trevelyan laughs. "And here I was expecting insults about southern mages with our backwards ideas."

"Yes, I was getting to that part."

Drinking and laughing with Dorian is a wonderful way to spend the evening. As the haze of intoxication sets in, Trevelyan finds he's happiest to talk about the battles they've won while fighting together.

"Do you know," Dorian says, "how thoroughly I underestimated you when first we met? I thought I'd have to look after you at Redcliffe castle — get you through the ordeal with my superior knowledge and abilities."

"Hah! How altruistic of you."

"Not at all. You were very nice to look at — I considered it a pleasant burden."

"Wow, that's– I'm speechless." Trevelyan can hear the drunken slurring of his words. It only makes him giggle.

Dorian's still lost in the story.

"When you took down that first guard with one hit, I thought, alright, perhaps this one can handle himself. And that was before we stumbled into the large hall full of Venatori."

"Ugh, there were nine of them, I remember."

"Yes, and I didn't like our chances," Dorian says. "But then you said, 'You take those three, I've got the rest,' and I started to think that between the two of us, maybe I wasn't the unbearably arrogant one, after all."

"No, hold on," Trevelyan says. "Did I not get all six of them?"

He knows he did. And he's sure it doesn't count as arrogance if you're actually capable of doing the thing you claim you can. But he thinks he might have that backwards. Thoughts are increasingly difficult to keep hold of.

"You did get all six!" Dorian says, sounding delighted. "I was very impressed."

"Glad I wasn't too much of a burden for you."

"I'm honestly surprised you trusted me. I doubt I would have."

"I didn't," Trevelyan admits. "I was expecting a double cross. But I was desperate enough to risk it."

Dorian grins at him and raises his empty glass.

"Here's to desperation!"

"To being wildly desperate for things," Trevelyan says, and clinks their glasses together.

Dorian tries to drink, only to find nothing left of alcohol.

"Fuck, I'm drunk," he says.

"I'm the same. And I should go to sleep," Trevelyan says. "I have meetings in the morning."

And so the evening ends with friendly words of goodnight and a hazy walk upstairs to his quarters.

.

When Trevelyan wakes in the morning, the sunlight is painful and a headache sets in. On his way to the kitchens to grab a late breakfast, he runs into Dorian doing the same. He looks perfectly groomed, as always, but Trevelyan can see the exhaustion in his eyes.

"Didn't sleep well?"

"No," Dorian says. "And you?"

"Terribly," Trevelyan admits. "But that was fun. We should do it again some time."

"Find a strange old room that frightens other people and go there to get drunk off stolen brandy?"

"Exactly," Trevelyan says.

The hangover is worth it for the way Dorian smiles at him.

[spell-cleaver]

DAY 21: FLUFFTOBER: “I don’t understand” @flufftober​

The Pirate Son Masterpost

This is set just after this ficlet, where Luke and Vader first met!

Vader didn’t bother to wait for the hole in his chest to close before he was barking orders, shouting at his men, telling them to get after those pirates. He’d see them all hang—especially that arrogant little boy sorcerer who looked like the baby his kind had murdered. He’d see them swing from the gallows, the insolent man and then the rebellious princess who’d shot him, and make the pirate watch… and then he would kill him himself.

But his men were incompetent. The pirates escaped onto the horizon.

No matter.

He was sure he would see them again.

Until then…

“Tear this ship apart,” he commanded. “I want to know everything about its collusion with the Rebellion, where it was hired, what contracts it did—anything to further our destruction of all organised resistance.”

Piett jumped to attention. “And the evidence on piracy, sir?”

“Give that to me as well.” He had made it his mission, since he lost Padmé and their son to those pirates who’d attacked, to wipe that stain from the seas, and so far he was succeeding. He’d heard rumours that the skull and crossbones flag was now taboo to be flown—his mask was too similar to the skull, a reminder of the death that stalked them.

Good.

He would crush them, ship by filthy ship.

Starting with this one.

He strode onto the lower decks to get an idea of it himself, a strange tug in his chest. He would find some important information in here, he was sure—he just knew it.

The first room he checked was the pantry. Poorly stocked—no wonder that rat had been so scrawny—and poorly kept. He scoffed and moved on.

The next room was the bunk room. The hammocks still hung from the ceiling, the lanterns having long since sputtered out, dripping wax on an eternally damp floor. Scraps of clothes, rags, lay about the place, bags of each pirate’s belongings hanging beside where they slept. He gave them all a cursory glance then strode on; his men would inspect that in detail.

The third room he came to was… an office.

That crude ruffian who’d talked back to him, who the sorcerer had intervened to save, had been the captain of the ship. Vader was relatively sure of that.

He did not strike him as the man who had kept this office.

This office was tiny, poky, as would be expected on the limited size of a ship; all it held was the desk, with its drawers and the chair behind it, a swinging lantern in the ceiling and a candle clamped to the desk leg. But this was no doubt where the administration of the ship was done, where their passage and plundering deals were made, so Vader made to tear open one of the drawers to read through the paperwork—and hissed.

The lock glowed a bright, angry red, sparks flying, then cooled down again.

Locked magically, then.

So, it was the boy sorcerer who’d used this office—controlled their allegiance to the Rebellion. No wonder he’d been so intent on making sure they were opposed to the Empire, if he was worried about being persecuted for his powers…

Vader muttered a few words, and found the charm, observed how it interlocked together. It was a good, strong spell. Impressive. The boy had power.

But Vader had more.

He broke the charm with ease and tore open the drawer, rifling through the contents and dropping down into the chair.

He sat back immediately in disgust.

These were not payment receipts, or contracts. These were letters. Personal letters. Useless to him, unless he wanted to find out more about these individual characters, and he frankly did not care enough to do that. He just wanted them dead.

He crunched a letter in his fist—then paused.

Something caught his eye.

It was a foolish thing. Three letters—Sky. It was a word, even, a common word. But despite Vader’s years of distancing himself from his former name, it still caused a jolt of recognition in him.

And when he relaxed his grip slightly in shock, he read more of the word: Skywal.

That was an uncommon collection of letters.

Uncommon, except in the case of—

He opened his hand fully and laid out the letter on the desk, peering at it closely as he smoothed it down again. Yes: that word was Skywalker.

I know of some honourable allies on Naboo who would be delighted to obtain the famed services of Privateer Skywalker…

He fisted his hand again. What was this?

Vader had never been a pirate. Even his weak, foolish former self had never been a pirate, never sunk that low—

Pirates had killed his son, the youngest Skywalker, and now one of them was taking that name—

Until he read the letter in more detail.

It was a communique—a highly affectionate one—from the Princess Leia Organa, the last survivor of the royal family of Alderaan. Vader knew that; he’d been there when Tarkin killed the rest of that family. He’d helped place the kingdom under military rule in the name of the Empire.

And as he scanned it, the name at the top…

Luke.

She was writing… to a boy—presumably the mage boy who kept this office—called… Luke…

“What did you name him, in the end?” Vader had asked, gesturing to the baby Padmé cradled in her arms, half-shielding him from his father with her body.

She’d responded curtly, “Luke.”

Luke.

That… that boy… with the impossibly blue eyes, impossibly blond hair… the stature and the arrogance and the power, the magic that thrummed in his slim frame…

Privateer Skywalker…

The pirates had killed Luke.

Vader knew that. He’d interrogated them, asked them himself. He’d tracked them down and tormented them until they begged for mercy, and they had confessed: the baby they’d kidnapped, they’d attacked that ship for, they had thrown overboard. He hadn’t been worth the trouble, apparently.

Vader’s son was dead because of pirates.

And… and now he’d hunted pirates for years, had hunted and terrorised and tried to kill one today, only for the similarities to haunt him, only for…

Privateer Luke Skywalker.

A sorcerer-pirate.

A powerful ally for the Princess and Alliance alike.

Vader could have dwelled on how much he’d hurt his son already. He could have thought about how close he’d come to killing him, so many times already, how even now his son grew farther and farther away from him with every passing moment, in the company of thieves and traitors. And he did: all of those thoughts flashed through his mind at once, stirring up a lethal cocktail of guilt, regret, and fury.

But one emotion won out above them all.

He didn’t know what it was—more profound than shock, more powerful than relief, more desperate than hope, even fiercer than love itself. But it fizzed up and filled his chest with a dizzying intensity, until he could barely breathe for it all, and suddenly he was combing through the other drawers, trying to find a contract, trying to find notes, trying to find anything—

His heart stopped when he found it.

He unfolded the dry sheet of paper with painstaking care, running his fingers along the ink. It was just the receipt for a payment they’d received, something about an attack on an Imperial fleet… but there were several names signed at the bottom of it, and his gaze was riveted to one.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered. “I… I can’t believe this, it… can’t be…”

Luke Skywalker was dead.

Lost to Davy Jones’s locker years ago, before he could speak his first word.

Vader laughed to himself, that quiet sound conveying the sheer wonder of this moment, the unparalleled beauty of a world that had allowed this to happen.

That had given him his son back.

There would be anger later. There would be hatred, and raging, and screaming as he pieced together what must have happened, and tried to pursue the boy to the ends of the seas in a futile attempt to capture him. Vader’s obsession and disdain for all pirates but one would peak exponentially, he would command his ship like a man possessed. He would be the monster they all called him, but worse: he would be a monster with purpose.

And yet for now, he brushed his thumb against the signature Privateer Luke Skywalker and felt hope kindle in a spot in his chest that had long lain cold and barren.

[sidhelives]

Between Rocks and Hard Places

Written for something we decided to call "Loghanuary"

I really like Loghain, I just do. I just want other people to appreciate Hero's favorite murder uncle the way I do. In pursuit of this I present a study on Loghain and Cousland's interactions following his Joining at the Landsmeet:

Full text under the break.

Loghain considered himself an intelligent man. Perhaps not the genius some history books made him out to be, but smart, a problem solver, someone who excelled at reading a situation and acting accordingly. So it was with great frustration that he found himself at a loss as to what game the Warden was playing at as they marched south from Denerim.

Her companions had been understandably distant, throwing him veiled distrustful looks as they traveled, or in the older mage's case, openly hostile glares. But the girl, the Warden, had been amiable towards him: making sure rations were evenly divided in his favor, ensuring he was acquainted with and understood their plans, even gracing him with the occasional smile under sad grey eyes. He didn't trust Wardens in the best of circumstances, and his current situation was far from what he would call the best. So what was she doing?

Perhaps she had intended him to die in the Joining ritual. Appease Anora by not outright executing him but still have him done with. Perhaps his survival was a fluke in her plans and now she had to find a new method to dispose of him. He watched the back of her auburn head as they walked, her hair cropped unflatteringly short sometime between the Landsmeet and their departure early the next morning, and chewed over the question.

At dusk they found a secluded clearing off the road, setting up tents and building fires in an uncomfortable silence. He felt eyes on his back, animosity less disguised than it had been on the road, waiting for him to flee like a coward or attack like a cornered feral dog: to prove himself the monster that they believed him to be. 

But Loghain was not a coward, and thanks to the Warden, he had nowhere to run. 

He was already dead.

So he sat on a fallen log away from the others and ignored their withering glances, sharpening and polishing his blade, although it did not need it. The ritual was familiar, and the practiced motion slowly relaxed the tension from his shoulders and back. 

As he worked over the steel, he slowly came to realize he was no longer alone, the repeated sound of whetstone against steel covering the sound of her feet approaching. Loghain inwardly cursed his inattention, though regarded with bitterness that if his travel companions wished his death his reaction time would likely not do much to save him. She didn't speak, standing just behind his elbow, but he could feel her watching him with her sad grey eyes.

"You're very light on your feet for a warrior." He said by way of greeting, breaking the strange silence she carried with her. "I take it that was your mother's influence. Bryce was never what anyone would call subtle."

The girl seemed to start, eyes focusing on him like she'd only just noticed his presence."You knew my parents."

"Of course I knew your parents, girl." He remembered her too, the tall, lanky girl with the long red braid who so often ended up playing the dragon to Cailan's heroic prince when Anora insisted on being the captured damsel.

She hesitated, almost turned to go, then stopped, her hands dancing around her hips where weapons would have sat were she armed. A nervous habit, he concluded, similar to his own itchy palms in moments of stress. Loghain ran a rag over his greatsword and returned it to its sheath, setting the weapon aside as he waited for her to reach the conclusion of whatever internal conflict she seemed to be struggling with.

"Walk with me?" It was phrased as a question, which surprised Loghain. The girl had every right to order him to do whatever she wished and he would have expected her to revel in it. Instead, she demurely requested his acquiescence, which only acted to further his suspicions.

"Why?" He grunted, making no move to stand.

"I need to check the perimeter for darkspawn."

They both knew that her response did not truly answer his question. He signed in resignation. "I assume you'd prefer I did not bring my weapon."

She shrugged. "If it makes you more comfortable to have it, go ahead."

Loghain didn't realize that his face had reacted to her blatant show of faith until her brows pulled down in response, the stern, challenging look she had worn in the Landsmeet flashing in her eyes. "You're not going to kill me, Loghain."

She was not afraid, not of him and, he suspected, not of anything.

He left the greatsword where it lay.

On his feet, he saw that the Circle Mage, Wynne, was watching their exchange with barely contained fury shimmering behind her eyes. She didn't like him, that was very clear, but he wondered which of his innumerable sins she took offense with in particular. The Warden waved to the woman, flashing a smile that very clearly stated she was fine and needed no mothering, then started walking, trusting that he would follow.

For several minutes the air was dominated by the sound of their feet moving through long grass and past the occasional rustling shrub as she led him just beyond the tree line where the camp was obscured. Then she cleared her throat. Loghain took his eyes off the path ahead to glance at her, but she wasn't looking at him, attention focused on the trees around them with such intensity that he suspected she wasn't seeing them at all.

"Can you tell me about them? My parents." Her voice was small, like a wounded bird. Even as a child she had been confident and loud, proud, and honest to a fault. At the Landsmeet she had displayed much the same, her demeanor a dizzying echo of her father at times. This, whatever it was, was unfamiliar to him and he approached it with the same caution he would a suspected ambush.

"What do you want to know?" He grumbled, pushing aside a branch ahead of him.

"I haven't spoken to anyone who really knew them since this whole thing began. No one here had ever even met them, and Eamon… I think he wanted to spare my feelings, there was always something more pressing to discuss when I tried to bring them up."

"Something that would benefit him, I would wager." The disdain in Loghain's voice was tempered with age. "Eamon has always been more concerned with his own ambitions than anyone else's feelings."

She swallowed, head nodding slightly to confirm his assertion. "And Fergus… I don't even know if Fergus is alive or if he knows." She took a deep breath, swallowing down emotion. "Did you know them well?"

This, Loghain understood. The girl's life and her freedom had been ripped away in one horrific moment, and after that her existence had been one increasingly terrifying nightmare after another, into which he had played no small part. She wanted normalcy, she wanted to mourn, she wanted to be, for just a moment, the daughter of Bryce and Eleanor Cousland rather than The Warden.

"I did. I was honored to consider your parents my friends, for a time. They were good people. It was—” he stopped, his face falling back into a grimace. It would be best to avoid bringing up their death. The fact that he had not known about Howe’s involvement at the time did not mean he didn’t bear culpability for it, or that she wouldn’t blame him. She looked at him inquiringly and he quickly went on to cover the near flub. "Bryce— your father was brash and bold, like you are. He was decisive and could be a real pain in the ass when he set his mind to something. I and a lot of other people respected him for it. He cared in a way a lot of Lords don't." 

Loghain saw a small smile turn one side of her lips before she spoke. "He fought in the rebellion for this land and these people, he said it wouldn't be right not to keep fighting for them."

Loghain nodded. That sounded like the Bryce Cousland he knew: a man of noble ideals that didn't always translate with the way the world functioned. He wondered absently how different his Civil War would have gone had Bryce and Eleanor been alive for it, if it would have happened at all. He afforded the girl another look. She would have been spared her fate had Howe not betrayed her family, but where would that have left the world?

"What about my mother?"

“Eleanor was a force of nature. Even as a lady at court she never lost the raider she was raised to be. Fiercely loyal to her family and those she considered friends and vicious when she thought they were in jeopardy." He chuckled, finding himself drawn into his memories of the Couslands. "Getting on Bryce's bad side was stupid, getting on Eleanor's bad side was suicide."

"She wanted me to be a lady, a real lady, in fancy frocks hosting dinner parties and laughing prettily at the jokes of lesser lords." She shook her head, hair falling into her eyes. "I had no interest in the things I was supposed to. I climbed trees with Cailan to avoid Anora’s tea parties, I ripped and ruined every dress she put me in. My needlework was atrocious." She smiled and her eyes seemed to shimmer, though with laughter or tears Loghain couldn't tell. "I embroidered her a handkerchief once, it was the most hideous thing you ever laid eyes on, and she carried it every day."

"They loved you very much." He commented, unsure of what to say.

That seemed to be the right thing. 

"They did." She smiled warmly at him. "Thank you for humoring me."

He bristled slightly at her gratitude. "No thanks are necessary."

"Thank you, regardless."

It had to be a game, a ploy of some kind. No one was as generous as she behaved. No one who lived through what she had could be so kind. His mind slipped back into the roundabout circle of trying to determine what she wanted from him, what the point of it all was, as they continued their walk of the perimeter.

"Do you have any questions for me?" She asked suddenly, pushing through brush two steps ahead of him. "About the Warden thing or anything else?"

The number of questions he had for her was innumerable, more than could be asked in a short meander, and asking too many, displaying his ignorance and confusion, would be unwise until he figured out her end goal. "I have one," he said, voice flat. The one which pressed most heavily against him and the answer to which was worth more to him than the asking would give. "Why spare me?" The question had been bouncing around his brain ever since the Landsmeet, ever since the Bastard had furiously demanded his death, and the girl, looking for all the world like her Mother, firmly refused him.

“You’re a capable warrior and a brilliant tactician.” She answered quickly, face as lacking in affect as his own. “You can do more good as a Warden than you can dead.”

He nodded condescendingly. “That’s a perfectly reasonable justification, and I’m sure Eamon was thoroughly convinced by it.”

“But you’re not.” One corner of her mouth inclined slightly. She sighed, feet stalling as her hands once again danced restlessly around her hips. “When I was a little girl, while my mother fussed over my etiquette, my father would tell me stories about the rebellion. About how he met my mother, about King Maric and Queen Rowan, about the rebel queen who I was named for. He told me all about the Battle of West Hill, the Battle of Denerim Harbor, and all the skirmishes he fought in.” She took a breath and Loghain found his palms had become itchy. He knew where this was headed, and he was no longer sure it was a conversation he wanted to be involved in. 

“And he told me stories about the Hero of River Dane.” She shook her head gently. “A man who had the most humble beginnings and risked everything to fight for what was right, to save his people from oppressors. I remember telling my father that’s what I want to be. I don’t want to be someone’s wife, I don’t want to be a lady, I want to be a hero like Loghain Mac Tir.”

Loghain swallowed to wet his suddenly dry mouth. “I fear that I turned out to be a disappointing idol.”

She fixed him with an intense, steely look. “I spared you because I believe you’re still the Hero of River Dane. You’re still a man who does what he thinks is right and what he thinks is necessary for the good of his country. You were just wrong about what was right."

He searched her eyes in vain for some sign of deception, something to prove that this was an act. Anything to offset the gut-punch of guilt radiating out from the pit of his stomach. He had labeled her a traitor, accused her of regicide, sent assassins and worse after her, and yet she still believed he was a good man. Loghain wasn't sure himself if he believed that, but this girl truly did.

"If I may say so, I think you grew into a fine lady, even without the frocks." Loghain's voice was muted, his usual lack of emotion quavering slightly as the words slipped from his lips. The startled expression and subtle flush she gave him spoke volumes to her surprise at such a compliment.

"I would never have expected you to think so." The comment was only half voiced, more to herself than to him. Loghain's thoughts again ricocheted to the various torments his choices and actions had subjected her to. Intermingled with the shame was a small voice that insisted this was a slip, that she had been attempting to goad him in some way and that his response had stymied her attempt at confrontation. He latched onto the voice, watching her expression for any evidence that he could use to strengthen it. 

“You never seemed to like me much,” She remarked thoughtfully, smiling sadly, her eyes on the forest floor ahead of her.

Loghain gaped at her, his hope of some illicit motivation for their conversation shriveling. He quickly wiped the emotional response from his features and cleared his throat. “What makes you say that?”

She shrugged, tossing him a sheepish glance over her shoulder. "You were always nearby when we played, keeping one eye on us no matter what else was going on. I remember how gentle you were with Anora, like a completely different man than you were with my father and the king. And Cailan, you treated him like he was already King even though he was only ten." She chuckled at the memory, then sobered. "But me… it was like I didn't exist."

Loghain's tongue felt heavy. Maric would have laughed at him were he around to see it. The great Loghain Mac Tir, who less than twenty-four hours prior had been actively seeking this girl's death, was now fumbling for a way to explain his indifference to her as a child without hurting her feelings. “It’s not that I didn’t like you. You were…” He struggled for words, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "You were an obstacle."

She blinked at him. “A ten-year-old girl was an obstacle?”

He sighed. "You probably don't know, why would you, that Cailan and Anora were not promised to each other at birth. Maric wasn't overly concerned with his son's future until many years after the Queen's death. I was never overly concerned with the issue myself because the situation seemed straight forward. The moment I had a daughter there was no question in my mind that she would marry Maric's son. But then the Couslands brought their daughter to court." He stalled, rubbing his itchy palms against his thighs. "You were the right age, pretty, and you and Cailan got along like thieves. More than any of that were your parents' political ties. The Couslands are an old, well-respected family and the Mac Eanraig clan has ties all over Thedas. That's a lot for the daughter of a farmer to compete with. I was suddenly concerned for my daughter's future, and you, child though you were, were the thing which stood in the way of her advancement." 

"But Maric was your best friend." The girl listened with enraptured eyes, their walk halted entirely by her interest.

"It says much about your view of the world that you think that would be the end of it. There was a fair amount of pressure on Maric to match his boy with such a well-connected bride. Bryce and I shouted at each other for hours, several times we nearly came to blows." Loghain's face contracted into a frown. "In the end, the King made his decision, and Bryce stopped bringing you to court. I have always suspected that were it not for Maric's love for me, you would have sat the throne beside Cailan."

She was quiet, studying the ground at her feet, then she laughed bitterly. “I didn’t know that.” She laughed again, the sound sounding very much to Loghain like a sob.

“Why is that funny?”

“That’s twice I was almost queen.”

The defeat in her voice was palpable, a sudden wet sheen on her eyes making Loghain uncomfortable. He had of course known that she and the Bastard had been engaged to be married, Eamon didn’t keep his plans close enough for word not to get back to him in Denerim, but had not taken time to consider the situation following his Joining. Doing so it was obvious: the Bastard's anger with her at the Landsmeet, her hastily sheared hair, their abrupt departure from Denerim, the sadness she could not seem to shake from her eyes.

"He left you," he said as realization dawned.

She nodded and shook a shuddering breath, turning away from him. Her shoulders began to quiver and he could hear her gulping down gasping breaths as she suppressed tears.

Loghain didn't know what to do. This strange, impossibly kind girl, who in a matter of minutes he had come to feel so responsible for, was in pain, again, because of him.

"Hero," he said her name softly, reaching out one hand for her shoulder. His fingertips brushed the smooth leather of her jerkin and she spun to look at him with red-rimmed tear-filled eyes. He didn't know what she saw in his face, but she threw herself against his chest, arms thrown around his neck, pressed her face into the rough linen of his gambeson, and began to sob.

Loghain stiffened, arms held out from his sides, and internally panicked. He did not deal well with emotional women in normal circumstances, and what Hero had gone through was far from normal. He considered what he would do if it was Anora soaking his armor with her tears. Since killing the man responsible wasn't an option, he instead put his arms around her and gently patted her back.

She quieted, sobs receding to sniffles, and laid her cheek against his chest, making no move to extract herself from his inept embrace. "He— he said I cared about doing what was right— more than I loved him." She managed between shuddering breaths.

Loghain closed his eyes and let out a quiet sigh. "Because you didn't execute me." Another thing he had taken from her.

She nodded.

His mouth felt dry, lungs empty. “I’m sorry.”

He felt her head shake gently against his chest, sniffing again. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“I do.” He responded firmly.

Hero pulled back from him, wiping her eyes with her wrist. When she looked up at him her eyes were still wet, but they were hard. “I made a choice. That isn’t your fault, Loghain.”

“A choice you wouldn’t have had to make if I had made a different one.”

“We all made choices.” She said in what he had come to recognize as her Warden tone. “You chose to quit the field at Ostagar, I chose not to kill you. We each have to accept the consequences of those decisions, but you bear no responsibility for those that I made.” She took a deep breath, deflating slightly, her attention drifting away from his face. “Alistair has his own consequences to deal with.”

“ Alistair is an idiot.” He sneered. She laughed, the sound muffled through her lips, and glanced back up at him with grateful eyes. Loghain put a hand on her shoulder. “I would rather be accused of putting what is right above all else, than valuing vengeance more than those closest to me.”

Tears welled up in her eyes again as she smiled. "Thank—"

Loghain cut her off with a raised eyebrow and she laughed again, properly wiping her eyes dry. "We should get back," she said, voice as casual as Loghain could remember it, and her pale grey eyes clear.

"Before they all assume I've murdered you and set fire to the forest," Loghain responded with a grim nod.

"I'm sure they wouldn't go that far," Hero retorted flippantly.

As they emerged from the treeline they found Wynne waiting for them, arms crossed and face screwed up with worry. Her expression broke seeing Hero and she puttered to the girl's side like a matronly schoolmistress.

"There you are, I was beginning to get worried— oh." Her movement stuttered. "My dear, have you been crying?" The mage threw a dark look at Loghain.

"It's nothing, Wynne. We were just—" she faltered slightly and Loghain deduced that she was not yet ready to discuss her separation from the Bastard King openly yet.

"Hero requested that I accompany her on her walk of the perimeter, we spoke of the late Teyrn and Teyrna." Loghain volunteered soberly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a wave of relief pass momentarily over Hero's features.

Wynne raised a suspicious eyebrow at his use of the girl's name, then turned her attention back to Hero, giving her a motherly, inquiring look.

Hero nodded, confirming Loghain's words. "I'm afraid I got a little choked up on the subject, but it was good to speak to someone who knew them." She gave him a glance that spoke volumes to her appreciation for his discretion.

Wynne's shrewd eyes flicked between the two of them, then she sighed, her arms relaxing to her sides. "I understand completely, Dear Heart. But you must come sit by the fire and get warm, you'll catch cold and even I can't help with one of those." She slid an arm around Hero's shoulders and evacuated her from Loghain's presence as quickly as she could while still appearing considerate to the girl's apparent esteem for the man.

As she was hurried away, Hero looked over her shoulder at Loghain and smiled.

Loghain remembered that smile. More than fifteen years ago it had shone on the face of a little girl who declared, wooden sword held high, she would slay the dragon and save the kingdom. 

She would, he knew.

And he would help her, in whatever way he could.

[merrybandofmurderers]

first lines

tagged by the wonderful @mrs-theirin!! are y’all ready lmao

rules: list the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20,  just list them all!). see if there are any patterns. choose your  favorite opening line. then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

apologies in advance for the inconsistency (so few of these are dragon age lmao) but you really get to see my range i guess

COMPLETED

Lost Love (Is Sweeter When Its Finally Found): Nezumi returns after a few years. Give or take. After a certain point, Shion stopped counting the days. Reunion would come or it wouldn’t; either way, Shion couldn’t do anything about it. He turned his attentions to other priorities, time passed, and eventually, Nezumi was back again.

Hope Is a Bright, Beautiful Thing: After their victory over the death Star, the Rebellion returned to their base on Yavin. They could not stay long, now that the Empire knew of their location. But it would take a while for the Imperial army to muddle through the aftermath, so the Rebellion took some time to savor their first real victory.

Surprising: Marus flopped down onto the cushions. “I can’t believe it.”

For Know My Crime Was Cruel, And All My Pain Deserved: Dorian did not know what he expected of the man being hailed as the Herald of Andraste, but a towering elven mage in intimidating armor was not it. He was flanked by a massive Qunari, a bearded human warrior, and a scrappy-looking elf. All regarded Dorian with suspicion.

The Time Has Come To Be Alive (Time Will Not Unwind): The first thing Dorian learned about the Herald was that he did not like being called the Herald.

Where We Will Thrive: They left their last fight—consisting of twelve bandits and three bears—rather worse for wear. Blackwall and Lavellan were bruised, battered, and spattered with blood. Sera had slipped and fallen in Maker knew what. Dorian… well, Dorian would just have to burn these robes.

Through The Ashes In The Sky: Groaning, Dorian dragged himself back to consciousness. The entire left side of his body was a bruise; he was fairly certain his wrist was broken. His mouth tasted like ash and his eyes burned. “Maker’s ass,” he croaked.

The Revolt Inside Me: Gwythren wakes in darkness. But no, not total darkness. There are torches. Gwythren can see the glints on the damp stone walls and iron bars. A dungeon.

WIPS

A Company of Heroes: Dear Dad, Before you burn this letter, let me say I’m sorry for leaving the way I did. I’m sure you were terribly angry when you woke up and found my bed empty and one of the horses gone. I know you didn’t want me to join the Inquisition, but I still feel it’s the right thing to do.

In Heart’s Drumming: Jain raises neir head from the ground. Hair falls around neir face, torn from its bun. Blood drips down neir cheek. The sounds of battle slowly, choppily, filter back into neir hearing.

I Feel Sun: The night was warm, and Skyhold’s courtyards were filled with revelers celebrating the defeat of Corypheus. The Inquisitor moved among them—laughing, dancing, sharing drinks—letting them worship their fill. Cassandra watched contentedly from Skyhold’s entrance, before she turned and headed out to the garden.

Feathers and Scales (working title): Andreios personally assured the Tuuli Thea of Karl’s loyalty. To be proven wrong is the worst kind of hindsight. Still, he cannot imagine how much worse it is for Ailbhe. He glances to the man in question standing next to him. Zane granted Ailbhe leave from the execution, but he refused. With his sister proven a traitor, he likely felt he had more to prove of himself.

The Taste of Hope: When Angharad first notices she is pregnant, it is because her bleeding is late. Her mind balks at the realization, tries to excuse it—it’s been late before, there are so many justifications. She tries to keep it a secret, but of course the Immortan discovers her; he keeps careful tabs on all of them. An invasive once-over by the Organic and it is confirmed.

Such Great Heights: Warren doesn’t want to do this. A scream is building behind his teeth, and heat itches in his veins. He wants so badly not to fucking do this. But when he made a last ditch attempt to convince his mom this was not a good idea, she rubbed her temple like she was scraping together every last bit of patience and just said, “Please,” and she looked so fucking tired that Warren shut up.

Nona: Some nights, she comes to me. Her face alight with vicious triumph, dark eyes warm, approving, loving—of me. Before I met her, no one had ever looked at me that way. She pulls me into the tender embrace of her body, wrapping like pale moonlight around me. Her sweet, cool scent clouds my senses, her breath hot on my ear.

Life Is A Highway (working title): My mother is Diana, as my father is fond of saying. When I was little, my bedtime stories were retellings of the old myths. On the ceiling of my nursery, my father painted the image of a dark-haired woman pulling the moon behind her chariot—the same champagne color as Mom’s Mercedes.

ORIGINAL WORK

Fire Prevention: She doesn’t think she might be in over her head until she’s crumpled over the toilet, heaving up lunch. Even then, it’s a momentary thought. When the regurgitation subsides, she flushes the toilet, washes her face, brushes her teeth. As she steps back into the kitchen, her father’s mantra rings in her head: “When shit happens, shit’s gotta get done.”

Hell’s Half Acre: RJ had been walking for an hour when it started raining. “Come on!” he shouted at the sky, disbelieving even as the clouds opened above him. “Isn’t this a fucking desert? Why now do you decide to rain?” The heavens did not deign to answer. The rain didn’t even do anything to cool him off. It fell, warm and steady, in swollen drops.

Into the Eye (working title): The sea winds whipped around Soona’s body, as she clung to the slick rock of the cliffs. Her hair was pulled from its tight bun and lashed across her face and neck. She could barely see, having to make her way by instinct and feel alone. Her limbs trembled as she panted against the rough stone, heartbeat loud in her ears.

Objects in Mirror are Closer Than They Appear: The usual routine consisted of Luther knocking off work, dropping by the grocer, launder, library—whatever destination was necessary for the day—then coming home and making dinner. Justin would either be there, poring over texts at his desk, or would arrive home from class just as the meal was ready to be put on the table. But today was different.

favorite line: have say it’s The Revolt, my tranquil oc fic. i’m still very pleased with it and love the style; i think it’s the right combination of dramatic, enticing, and evocative

tagging: @kirkwallgremlin, @thegingerjedi, fuck i can never remember who all writes; if you see this and wanna do it, feel free to say i tagged you

[herald-of-dirthamen]

@liliumsunshine​ said: May I ask why?

Honestly... where do I start.

I suppose, if I were to put it in a very brief way, it’s because the natural instinct is to fear magic and hide it away, unless they can find a way to use it.

I was lucky to be born among the Dalish, where we see magic as a gift, and treat it as a part of everyday life instead of something to be locked away and feared. We’re taught how to control our magic without it being surrounded by fear and disdain, treated not as if we’re ticking timebombs that are doomed to inevitably become a demon abomination and therefore to be watched under lock and key 24/7, forbidden to venture into the outside world unless you either have money or you have extremely special circumstances that require your skill, such as the potential of the end of the world, but instead treated as though we’re people like anyone else who can make their own decisions and will not make a deal with a demon at any chance they get, which we won’t, if we’re treated with basic respect and dignity instead of mistreated at almost every step.

Like... no one is denying that magic is dangerous and requires respect. Magic can be dangerous, precisely like how fire can be dangerous, or even a basic tool can be dangerous, if used the wrong way. I’ve heard people argue that mages think our magic cannot be dangerous, and it’s like-- who are you talking to that even says that? I use magic casually and trust me, I know that it takes a great deal of focus and control, which does get easier with practice, but that’s because you learn precisely how much focus you need to shape Fade energy to do what you want it to do.

Er... I should probably... cut this post. It’s very long, I’m very sorry.

But I guess I’m going a little off-topic there. It’s just. Frustrating because some of these people act like we don’t know we’re dangerous, and it’s like... how can we forget that, when we’re constantly reminded of that every step of the way?

It’s just... everyone acts like only mages, or only this race, or only this country can commit atrocities when the fact of the matter is that everyone is capable of committing atrocities, and it feels like they forget that because they think they’re in the right, that they’re doing it for the greater good, that what they’re doing is protecting people at the cost of so many other lives.

Like... gods. There are humans who waged war with my ancestors because my people didn’t help enough. Were worshipping our own gods instead of Andraste. None of them remember the people they’ve killed and most of them don’t care because it was a religious war, an Exalted March, and because we didn’t want to give up our culture and give up our gods, what little of them we remembered, they came and they slaughtered us and they put up statues and memorials dedicated to their prophet in what used to be our homeland and they said it was Good.

...I keep going off topic. I just... there’s a lot and I don’t know what isn’t important and what is so I’m giving as much context as possible, I guess.

It’s just, so much of their fear of magic is rooted in how their prophetess was killed, but she was killed because she was leading a slave rebellion, not because... it’s just... yes, I know Tevinter, ruled by mages, is also a horrible place. I know slaves are still allowed there. I know many of them practice blood magic even if it’s technically “illegal” because they view that as the most powerful school of magic, I know so many magisters there are awful and sacrifice thousands, I know, I know, I know, but there’s a BALANCE that has to be struck, and clearly they’re just as imbalanced as the non-magical countries.

And I know now that... apparently my ancestors, back in Arlathan, were just like Tevinter.

But that doesn’t mean that treating mages like potential abominations, murderers, slave-owners, and so on and so forth is okay. You learn that history. You take that history to heart. And you try your hardest not to repeat it. And you can only do that by knowing the history and the ideas borne in it.

It’s just. Hard for me to not be afraid. People act like it’s such an unthinkable idea that we should be treated like anybody else. “What will you do when they commit crimes? Who should judge them?” I don’t know, gosh, maybe a jury of their peers? Magic and non-magic?

This fear of magic is so prevalent that people have even written books about how to prevent magic from manifesting in your children. Superstition that encourages you to do things like place leeches all over your infant’s limbs, before burning said leeches without breathing in the smoke, and wrapping your child’s limbs in cloth specially blessed by a Chantry sister. Superstitions that encourage you to nearly drown your child showing signs of magic, holding them underwater until they almost lose their breath, saying that if their magic is weak, that the magic will die before your child does. Families are so ashamed of having mages in their family that instead of sending them to Circles, they’ll simply lock them away in their homes and ignore them, refusing to let them even learn how to control their abilities until it’s too late.

It’s so hard not to be afraid when those tasked with protecting the common people from mages - and even if they say they protect mages from the rest of the world too, it can’t help but feel like a lie - do horrific things. Abusing us, blackmailing us, even going so far as to cut our connection to the Fade and rendering us as people who can no longer feel or have desires and barely any self-preservation instinct and can’t effectively say no to anyone and being abandoned and left to die. They kill us for not passing Harrowings where they deliberately summon demons to tempt these mages, and some people are so afraid of being unable to pass that they’d rather just be killed then and there.

In fact, if a Circle is deemed too out of control, too beyond saving, they’re allowed to pass a Rite of Annulment, where they just kill every single last mage, every man, woman, and child, and just... start anew. Because most Circles think it’s better to do that than do anything else.

And templars would raid my clan to drag mages to their Circles, their prisons, or would kill us if we proved to be too hostile, too resistant. I’ve lost family to these raids.

And then everybody wonders why so many mages turn to making deals with demons, turning to blood magic... they’re scared and they’re desperate. They’ve decided that if the world is going to treat them like monsters, if the world is going to always treat them like this, then what hope do they have? What else do they have to lose? They decide things can’t possibly get that much worse. That no matter what happens, even if they were good, that they’d never get to be treated like a person because someone will always find a reason to hate us.

Even if all mages are free of Circles now... how long is that going to last? With the war, even though I resolved it... people aren’t going to just forget four years of templars and mages killing each other, killing innocent people, ruining so many lives because it was inevitable that eventually things would come to a head and explode and now there’s even less of a reason to treat us like people.

It’s. It’s just. I don’t know. People have every reason to be afraid of us but by treating us the way they do, they’re only just... causing a vicious cycle, one that I fear has been going on for so long that it might be impossible to break, no matter how hopeful and optimistic I want to be.

It’s just. It’s funny. I’m one of the lucky ones who was treated like a person worthy of respect when I was growing up, my family celebrated when I developed magic, I know I didn’t experience the worst of things for a mage. I know I was born lucky to not grow up in fear of myself and my own abilities.

But I’ve had to learn how to act in the world outside of my clan, and... so many people want me dead for the abilities I have. So many people act like I’ll go out of control. And it’s... how can I not be afraid? Truly?

I’m sorry, I know this meandered a lot and went to a lot of places. I’m not... much of a professional when it comes to writing. Or talking. And there was a lot that I felt was important to share.

I just think that... at least here, for your average person... they may be afraid of us, they might hate us, they have valid reasons to, but I don’t think they’re ever going to quite understand the terror we feel knowing that they’re never really going to want to see us as people who are just as scared as they are.

[lemonyellowlogic]

the harder the rain, the sweeter the sun: chapter ten

-o-

first

previous

-o-

chapter ten: the tree

“Oomph!”

Roman breathed out as he felt a large weight fall onto him from above. He slammed the back of his head into the tree he sat in front of when he saw Virgil looking at him from his lap.

“Hey. I was bored, what’re you doing?”

Roman took a moment to catch his breath before glaring at the dragon and shoving him off of him. Virgil casually rolled off of the human and laid down next to him.

“Well, Virgil, I was reading more on the history of Alimagian, if you actually cared.”

“Sounds boring,” Virgil lay on his back, breathing out a purple plump of magic as he listened.

Roman huffed, “You asked. Anyway, it’s different than my kingdom’s history, so I’m at least learning something.”

“Again, boring.”

Roman rolled his eyes, moving back to reading his book. He only got a paragraph into the chapter before Diego strolled up from the river, wringing out his hair with both hands before plopping down next to the two and laying his head down on Virgil’s lap and perched his legs on Roman. 

Roman stiffened, still not used to the casual intimacy all of Alimagians gave often, but he willed himself to relax.

It had been a few days since his confession with Remy, and Roman was startled just how much affection the mage gave him now. Emile was always huggy, but tried avoiding Roman to not bother the human, but now? 

Remy must’ve spoken to him about getting to know Roman or something because now Roman was given just as much affection as the two teenagers they’ve known for years, and Roman did not understand.

Virgil and Diego were strange, including him in their weird discussions and asking for his opinion like they actually cared for what he had to say, and it made Roman feel...something he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

It scared him, just how much he wanted to protect these strange people he didn’t know just a month before, but he didn’t hate it.

“Ugh, your hair is still wet, Dee.”

Diego rolled his eyes, getting comfortable where he lay, “Oh, get over it, dragon-boy.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes and Roman spoke up, exasperated, “Okay, you two are not going to start a fight. And if you are, take it somewhere else, for I am trying to read for Thomas’ sake!”

Diego rolled his eyes again before replying , “Fine.”

“Thank you. And please get your dirty little feet off of my pants please, I tried looking nice today.”

“You wear the same thing every day, red tunic and black pants.”

“No, I do not! I have multiple pairs of clothing from Emile, thank you very much. This shirt is clearly maroon, not like the red one, and these pants are a more dark grey.”

Diego laughed, “Sure, human-scum,” But removed only one of his feet.

Roman huffed again, ignoring him and opening his book again before Virgil asked, “Who’s Thomas?”

Roman took a moment to calm himself down from being interrupted again before slowly asking “What?”

“Thomas. You mentioned that you wanted to read for ‘Thomas’ sake’,” Virgil emphasized with air quotes, “So, who’s Thomas?”

Roman pursed his lips in confusion, “You don’t know who Thomas Sanders is?”

Virgil shrugged from where he laid and Diego responded, “Isn’t Sanders the name of the human kingdom? But no, haven’t heard of him.”

Roman’s eyebrows raised and he dog-eared the page he was on and placed down his book next to him. Emile and Remy didn’t care how he marked the books, but bending the pages annoyed Diego, so Roman made sure to do it.

 Diego narrowed his eyes at Roman but ignored it, wanting to hear the human’s response.

“Well,” Roman adjusted where he sat, “You're right of the kingdom name, but the Sanders Kingdom was actually named after Thomas. He founded our kingdom and is m-the royal family’s direct ancestor, give or take a few hundred years or so.”

Virgil’s eyes widened, “Really?”

Roman nodded, “Every human has to learn about him growing up and we tell stories of his adventures and how he founded the kingdom as bedtime stories.”

Diego smirked, “Then tell us them.”

“What?”

“Tell us the magical escapades of this Tommy Sanders, knowing you, it’ll just bore us to sleep and I’m tired anyway.” He got comfortable in Virgil’s lap and looked at Roman, his golden eyes shining. 

Virgil grinned, “Yeah, tell us, teacher-man.”

The two Alimagians looked up toward Roman and he swallowed, clearing his throat, “Um, sure.”

“Thomas Sanders was just a normal human being back when Alimagians ruled the country. The Alimagian government taxed them heavily and treated them horribly, and so Thomas decided to rebel. He had some friends who eloped him, and he started a rebellion against the Alimagians who had imprisoned and hurt his people.

“He joined forces with five different Alimagians, and the six were very close. The five were called Thomas’ sides, and they all did something different for the kingdom. They rebelled against their own people to save Thomas’, helping Thomas fight. 

“With the armies Thomas and the sides had amassed, they were able to turn the war and win it, and then the Sanders kingdom was born. The five worked as advisors and knights for Thomas until they died, and they all lived happily ever after.”

Diego snorted, “That is such propaganda, ‘special human and friends defeat evil Alimagians?’ Give me a break.”

Roman huffed, “Well actually, the retelling is found to be very substantial and there is a lot of proof that all six were real people.”

Virgil asked, “What were their names then?”

“Well, we don’t know. Their names were lost because of what King Foley did. But we know that they went by Logic, Anxiety, Morality, Creativity, and Deceit.”

Virgil hummed, “Interesting names. Poor Deceit, though, that’s an unfortunate thing to be remembered by.”

Roman opened his mouth to respond but Diego cut him off, “Wait, who’s King Foley?”

Roman stilled, looking at the merperson with ashamed eyes before coughing, “Well, King Foley was the king before the last two, from around a hundred years ago. And from what I’ve found, he was the one who started all of the segregation between the humans and Alimagians.”

Roman sighed, laying back on the ground as Diego laid his feet back on him, “He’s the one, after hundreds of years of peace, who wanted to defeat the Alimagains once and for all. So, he started attacking their villages and forced them behind the forest line, because fighting was more difficult there. 

“He erased a lot of our history in the process, but is renowned as some sort of hero, and the next two kings followed in his footsteps, slaughtering Alimagians and spreading lies about them to spread fear and hate so the people agreed with him.”

Roman bit as his lip before he continued, “He’s seen as this heroic man, but now that I actually know Alimagains and know what he said about them were just lies, I’m ashamed to once believing his sayings.”

“Well, I don’t know if your entire personality is a facade,“ Roman stiffened and Diego continued, not noticing, “But I think that you know better now and your past doesn’t really define you if you’ve made efforts to apologize for your old behavior.”

“Yeah, Ro. I know you, you’re a huge dork with weird speaking patterns but you’re our friend, don’t get mad at yourself for things you had no way of not doing.”

Roman hummed nodding, “Well, thank you. I really appreciate your words, but I really want to do more to be better.”

He thought to himself, “Maybe if I found the temple…”

“Temple?”

Roman looked at Virgil who’s eyebrow was raised, “What’s this about a temple?”

Roman grinned, “Well, there's a temple in honor of Thomas Sanders somewhere inside this forest, I believe. No one has ever successfully found it, and since Foley banned travel to the forest, most people don’t try to look for it, but it’s legend has been around since Thomas’s time, I believe. It’s said to be infused with the magic of Thomas’ sides and so maybe if I can find it and harness the power, we can do something.!”

Diego raised his eyebrows, “Well, I’ve never heard of anything like that before, but I’ve passed a lot of ruins with Em and Rem while travelling, so maybe I’ve found it.”

Roman laughed, “Maybe, but it’s been hidden for so many years, probably not.”

 “Fair point,” Diego shrugged, “But maybe we can go looking for it in the future. We have nothing else to do, I mean we’re all here talking under a tree when we could be doing anything else.”

Virgil yawned, “Hey, I’m enjoying doing nothing by a tree, beats having Remy lecture me on safety while I try and fail doing a new spell.”

“Random question,” Roman asked sheepishly as he turned over to look at Virgil, “But how can you do magic if you’re a dragon? I’ve been wondering since I got here.”

Diego laughed but Virgil smiled, answering tiredly, “Well, dragons are kind of like off-shoots of shapeshifting mages, but we can only turn into two forms. I can do whatever magic Remy can, but I’m also...like...a dragon, if that makes sense?”

Virgil looked shy as he finished talking, his eyes hiding behind his hair so that all Roman could see were the two black marks trailing down his cheeks. Roman hummed, “Well, I was guessing it was weird dragon stuff I didn’t understand, so I’m glad to know that I was exactly right.”

Virgil snorted, relaxing tenfold into the grass at his back as Diego grinned, turning onto his side to get comfortable. Roman placed his hands behind his head and stared up at the sky, a satisfied smile still on his face for making Virgil laugh.

-o-

next

masterpost

[fistsoflightning]

14: hero’s journey

prompt: part || masterpost || other fills || ao3 mirror

word count: 4813 (i DONT want to talk about how long this is)

You are not simply a hero, but this is still your journey, and the parts of you are waiting along the way. All you have to do is take them.

DRK shenanigans, anyone? Note: distinctly not canon-DRK things ahead, hopefully still keeping the same emotional sort of weight? Also, second person POV! There’s no spoilers because this is just me going off on a tangent :P

Someone had noted—an age old teacher, perhaps, memories inlaid deep onto your crystal—that grief causes the greatest oddities to occur. Simulacrums formed of it weren’t so uncommon as one might be led to believe with a surplus of aether and enough love turned sour.

You just weren’t expecting to be one of them.

Like wildfires, you expect to fade back into the darkness of the abyss easily enough; the hands of such a young knight wouldn’t be able to bear being stained so pitch-black, you think, not when she glows with Halone’s blessing and something even more. Her hands leave freezer burns over the facets of your crystal, frosty fog forming as she keeps training, keeps hunting down more and more aevis until there’s nothing left. Even Ishgard’s worst blizzards fail to stand up against the winter storm of her fury.

Must be some sort of rebellion, violent and reckless as it is. You sit back (as much as a distant flame in the abyss can, anywho) and wait until the worst of her temper fizzles back into snowmelt—which, obviously, doesn’t happen like you assumed, otherwise you wouldn’t be here, now would you?

(When you hear the truth of it, crystal fed enough blood and aether to reach out further than just from the little knight’s pockets—when you hear betrayals and exiles and my brother is dead because of your Braves, Alphinaud, what more do you want from me, your realization shows itself in coldflare and dark light, wrapping itself as best it can around someone so blessed and “loved by the gods” as your ward.

Though you need her more than she needs you, it still doesn’t hurt, you think, to cover her armor in a veil of darkness, even when her shield sings of nevermelting ice and wraps light around her anyways.)

But eventually, it does; Lumelle—you find out her name from a man willing to jump in front of inquisitors and magical spears alike for his beloved friends—her enraged grief bubbles off into a quieter sort at the beginning of Ishgard’s new dawn, and you are left by her bedside when she falls into a sleep after destroying a wyrm with grief that, really, wasn’t all that different. (Besides the whole eternal lifespan and eyeballs of power, and the wyrm’s sibling being eaten by Lumelle’s ancestors thing. That had thrown you for a loop.)

And oh, you expect it to end there, your tale that of accompanying a girl who didn’t need you so much as she needed closure; fading after protecting someone so bright would be an honor.

...

(But there is no rest for the righteous, now is there?)

...

Your next chapter opens in the palms of someone already acquainted with bloody hands, and though the little time spent out of Lumelle’s hands has left you wanting for your senses yet again, it takes hardly any time to figure just what this one’s deal is. 

(Her hands shake whenever she sees her party’s astrologian—so small, her head is practically the size of your ward’s fist balled up—and the thought of Vylbrand sours every conversation like milk left to rot. Y’shtola utters the word crone and the spike of earthquake panic you both feel lets you understand the jumble of misremembered nightmares that still haunts the warrior so far north from the place.

When she almost drowns herself in the memories, asking the sea to take her back into her arms, you are the one screaming the entire time—not because she is taking you with her, no, but because you can feel the summer breeze and hear the quiet pond rushing about the housing district looking for her, and you do not know what you’ll do if her death reignites Lumelle’s tempered anger.

The scholar cries out her name just as she falls too deep; Syhrwyda, you remember—you’ll force her name onto this damned crystal if you have to—and the breath of relief you sigh when the white mage forces the ocean to spit her out is all but audible.)

You expect her to let the little supernova cut her down, cleanse burns with blood and old aches with a trip into the abyss, because if Lumelle’s aches were screaming freezer burns then the gentle warrior’s are a quiet erosion. Even dripping blood can wear down a mountain, with enough time, and with a Calamity come and passed, the proof burned onto her skin, it is more than enough to see this mighty willow fallen to the skies opening up and pouring a tsunami’s worth of suffering in retribution.

Both you and her close your eyes when the axe comes swinging down, kneeling on the ground in pain. You do not expect it to be swift or painless like the rumors say of guillotines and execution, but you hope it is anyways.

And yet, and yet, the blade does not come.

(Part of you wonders: would the girl shrouded in fallen moonlight have done the same thing, if she had seen what Syhrwyda had seen? Would she, knowing that the choice was submission or death, have still seen her friend and ally in the woman that burnt her childhood with naught but a single incantation?

It matters not. There is no turning back time, and she has decided to give her friend a boon.)

It is not metal that comes, but a flurry of stars calling a lost sailor home instead, so potent that her magic seeps into your crystal as she collapses against your ward’s shoulder, whispering I’m sorry, I can’t, I won’t like little wishes made upon falling stars. You don’t know if you imagined the croaked it isn’t your fault or if you simply missed the mumbled movements, but Syhrwyda’s aether settles in time with the stars bursting across her skin and you know that your time with her will come to an end soon.

When she sets your crystal by a small crystalline lamp, you hum in amusement, letting yourself slip down into the abyss once more as the watery blue light ripples off the bookshelves.

…

(Who are you?)

(No one of consequence.)

…

You find yourself more confused than before when the scholar picks up your small crystal, facets gleaming brighter than before but still dulled from decades of being frozen under Ishgard’s snows; nothing about him sings of the same pain like the last two. He pockets your crystal easily and you wonder just what use he’ll find from you if he has no abyss of his own to draw from, no font to gather his strength for him to find.

(You miss how quiet he is in the din of everyone and everything else, tuned up to near painful when you open your eyes again. You miss the words he reads, the spells he crafts, the spared glances to his usual tome. Nothing about the man betrays it; hardly anything he does seems to suggest even a hint of regret, grief long since frozen over and forgotten of a home he’d long lost.

This was never an easy road—traveling down into the abyss and to rise back up again—and you do not expect easy wards, but the scholar—)

Even deadly waters can be calm at the surface, deceiving depths holding something stronger, and when he rises to meet the Illuminati and the (not their) primal, you start to see the signs of something lurking in the water and strain to open your eyes, drained as you are so close to Alexander. 

(You should have noticed how he balked away from poisons, preferring to sit far away from the rogue; you should have felt the gentle ripple when Mide mentioned Alexander’s purpose and wondered more.

It is too late for regrets, but it is not too late to stop this man, whose hands are too gentle and weary, from falling further into something he did not truly want.)

Are you daft, you whisper, and it’s not the best thing you’ve ever come up with but it’s the first words you’ve truly spoken to be heard. Like the rest, you expect your words to fall on deaf ears—stubborn people, the ones that have found you—but this time the scholar stops. Lingers, the precipice of a typhoon brewing up from the bottom of his soul. Do you truly think this will work?

“Not completely,” he says, his voice a quiet rumble as his small carbuncle shimmers and shakes its way into existence; part of you wishes you were strong enough to do the same just so you could shake the fluff out of this man’s brain to where it belongs. “But it might, and even the smallest chance...”

What of your friends today?

You don’t know what you expected, really; the scholar clams up and so do you, a connection cleaved in two as he walks away from the hand of the giant primal, stone in hand, and you are too exhausted to try and pry his heart open wider. Convincing him to let it all spill forth is harder than convincing a rock to move on its own, so you don’t try.

This time, when you fall back asleep atop a book with a soft leather cover, you desperately hope this is the end of it.

…

(Did you know them, too? Did they lead you to me?)

(In a way, yes.)

(Then you can stay, for now. Just… keep quiet.)

…

And of course, it never is.

It’s hard to describe your next awakening as anything but a bolt of lightning straight to your center, with how much aether rushes through your crystal and into the abyss. Too fast, too quick, like a flame burning too hot too soon. From freezing to the fiery depths of hell, you think incredulously as you reach out, looking to just who might be so dangerously close to tipping too far.

You don’t expect to find the timid white mage staring down at your soul crystal, red eyes and all.

(In a way, perhaps you should have known it would happen; the man was too damned reserved, all flower petals and no bark, the look in his eyes when he saw someone injured too intense for simple worry. He hates bloodshed yet makes his career in it all the same, and you’ve been held by Lumelle so tightly that you felt his magic—summer’s night bottled into a cure, blooming flowers pressed over scars, and you think nothing could be kinder than the way he loves.

Shame that you forgot that sometimes kindness is forged in the abyss.)

You’re sure he doesn’t mean to keep your crystal at all—hells, he sets it at the bottom of his satchel before he goes running off to join the fray in the same place that nearly killed him, the damned martyr—but you get taken with him regardless, and you see just how badly he’s dealt with it all. You don’t retort as snarkily as you might have with Duscha; your current ward is like paper thin glass, and you worry that if you push him he might break into pieces so small not even the sun’s light could find him.

In fact, you’re not sure what will happen if you make yourself known at all. He doesn’t seem strong enough to handle the idea that his guilt is making a simulacrum manifest.

(If you truly wanted, you could make him a fine dark knight. Teach him how to take his love and turn it into strength and protection stronger than anything the realm’s elements might give him, no matter how loved he is by them. Stain this white mage in dark.

But you see his dreams, sometimes—you never had found your way into dreams before, but with someone practically bleeding their life aether onto you, a simulacrum fueled by memories and pain, it’s hard not to have new experiences—and his hands are always coated in blood. His own, someone else’s, his mother’s, his father’s…

You choose not to take him through the abyss. You don’t want to know if he’ll still be there when you walk out.)

Finding someone that might be able to help someone who very stubbornly doesn’t want help is… a lot harder than intended. There’s not too many people… happy, with your ward; not after Baelsar’s Wall, and the man that Lumelle sent flying. You faintly remember a name—Caelestis, or something—but you care little for details and more for solutions, so you keep peering outwards and looking as best you can without fully peering into their heads.

That is, until that someone comes running at the white mage like a teal tulip some sylph chucked at you with the force of a demon.

(He introduces himself to everyone as Haruki, but you can’t help but call him Ruki after one too many trips into A’dewah’s head—Dewah, he says, and you don’t know much about Seeker names but you know that it means more to your ward than it does to anyone else—and you think you can get him to help, even if A’dewah himself is trying to avoid him like the plague. 

Especially because he’s avoiding Haruki like he’ll die if he doesn’t.)

It takes a few minor illusions and a trip to the Steppe (you didn’t know how to do these before A’dewah, you think as you practically lead a trail of hints from the Enclave to the tree A’dewah’s stuck himself in) but Haruki’s always been smarter than he might look (you still can’t get over the peacock feather of a mess his hair is) and eventually, eventually, your plan comes to fruition.

You don’t try to listen when they talk, but the rush of relief in A’dewah’s aether and the slow transition of summer bottled up tight enough to crack glass to the light warmth of, say, a greenhouse in full bloom tells you all you need to know, anyways.

(Doma is freed, soon after, and the Warriors are called back home, to Ala Mhigo’s war, but you look one last time out to Doma and see the last moments of A’dewah’s goodbyes, and of course it’s Haruki he tells last. His eyes burn like a solar eclipse, and you think if it weren’t for his son—so small and brave, callouses already on his fingers—he’d come back with you.

You think it might be puppy love, somehow, but you take one last look at what you know and think that maybe he’s just tired of being left behind, of being the last one. Might be love, might be wanderlust.

It doesn’t matter. You still have to leave, even if it hurts.)

On the ship’s journey back through the Sirensong Sea, A’dewah finally acknowledges you, in a way.

“Thank you,” he murmurs to no one in particular as he ties up his hair tighter. His eyes aren’t reddened from crying anymore—just the unfortunate lot of his mother’s eyes being blood red by nature—and you think you can rest, now.

So you do.

…

(Don’t you understand to call for help?)

(I can manage.)

(So sayeth the Weapon of Light.)

…

From one firebrand of a caster to another, you think as your crystal gets put into Valdis’ open palms—you learn her name early, this time, instead of just before the climax of the story—and though her aether is quiet you know well enough that it doesn’t mean there’s nothing hiding behind it.

(It’s the same sort of longing for something long past, you remember. Duscha’s aether had a similar balance to hers, even if Valdis is mostly umbral shade and hardly a hint of water among the flames she pulls into form. Where Duscha was restrained she is explosive, and you don’t need to look too hard to find the root of the issue.

The thing is: you’re too exhausted.)

You’re lucky she doesn’t fight closer to the front line, like Lumelle or Syhrwyda, because you can hardly summon a shadow at this point—perhaps you were played the fool by A’dewah’s tears into doing too much, not saving enough.

But then you look at Valdis and think she might be fine on her own, eyes still lit up and hopeful. Spitfire in her hair and embers in her eyes, already burning like a flame that knows how to rise from her ashes already.

There’s something to be said about youth, maybe, and you sigh as you close your eyes and hope to wake when she needs you.

(The thing is: she doesn’t need to.)

…

(... Hmph.)

(If you’re expecting an apology, you’re getting none from me.)

(I do not need—)

…

Your next venture leads you into the hands of someone so astrally aspected you don’t know if you can even summon the strength to peer outwards. Their aether and yours conflicts so greatly that it’s hard to tell if the abyss is flaring up or dying down, really, but you try regardless.

You will eternally be glad you do not have a face, because the pure shock when the face you see is one that was supposed to be long dead is not a face you’d ever like to see.

Lumelle had been your catalyst, and the little machinist before you the cause; you didn’t think he’d survived, somehow, even if you saw the monk that supposedly fell with him. He’s brighter than you’d thought he’d ever be, as close to the abyss as his sister was, and then you realize—

He truly doesn’t need you. His eyes still gleam on their own, not shrouded by something buried deep. If Duscha’s abyss was well hidden enough for you to mistake it, there can be no mistake here.

When he keeps your crystal close, anyways, you close your eyes again, thinking that perhaps this time you won’t be needed like before.

And for the most part; he doesn’t.

(There are times, surely, when a speck of darkness flickers into the light that fills his aether, but you hardly need to look at it to tell it’s over something silly. A flame that will flicker out soon enough. You don’t lift a finger over that.)

In a way, his hands are a restless reprieve. You cannot sleep, truly, because if you do you don’t want to know how much your crystal’s facets will fade, but there is nothing for you here, either.

So. You watch.

…

(But. Don’t you want?)

(I already want enough. I can get by.)

(Doesn’t mean you should.)

…

The rogue plucks your crystal from Elwin’s bag, a shadow in the night, and you hardly realize the change until you’re set by a pack of crystals. You nearly think to panic—what disaster do you have to reconcile now, tired as you are—but then the rogue whispers like he already knows.

(Maybe he does. Every rogue you’ve seen through other eyes has always been a bit sharper than they make themselves to be.)

“Take a breather,” he hums, flipping his daggers in the air and watching them glint in the dim moonlight. You think you might know his name, uttered once or twice in passing, but you’ve hardly begun to rest from your time in Elwin’s bright hands and aether that it’s slipped you by once or twice already. “Ye’ve helped us out. ‘S high time we pay back, hm?”

I do not do this for payment, you sigh, but his aether is the easiest of them all, really, more comfortable than even Valdis’ despite the light chill of it. He doesn’t respond, merely whistling as he walks along the metal pathway—Garlean territory, and he’s so calmly strolling through it?

You don’t choose to rest, even though you could, and keep an eye on the man anyways.

(It’s worth the trouble, you think when you shroud him in shadows, narrowly avoiding the gaze of some wisened soldier who knows the tricks of the trade. Even if nothing’s gained in return.)

…

(They’re...gone. They’re gone, gone, what do I do now—)

(Breathe. You’ll find them again. You always do.)

(But what if I can’t this time? What if I find them only to lose them?)

(You won’t.)

(How can you be sure?)

(Because you want to find them. I’m still here, aren’t I?)

…

There isn’t so much of a rest between leaving Tehra’ir’s palms and falling into the monk’s own, really; not when the rogue collapses alongside Valdis and the man with the eyepatch after some reverberating call that shook even you, incorporeal as you are. If you’d a physical form, the pain behind your eyes would be overwhelming; the sensation of being ripped from one’s body must be horrible, but even more so being torn from the very aether that keeps you.

Either way, the Elder Seedseer drops your crystal into their hands when she comes from the infirmary with a grim look on her face.There is something so familiar about this new bearer, aether so tempestuous and yet… calm. Leaving you contented and wanting all at once.

You don’t know what use you might be to them, either, but if you belonged in the hands of your past seven bearers then you are at home in theirs, lightning crackling from their skin to your crystal’s surface with great ease, for two non-metallic things.

(There is nothing I can do, the Seedseer murmurs and the sharp ache that immediately takes over the dull pain in their head echoes to you and oh, you understand more than ever now what you must help resolve, head spinning as the abyss flares and rages around you.)

You are there for everything after; when they flee to the Steppe, when they hole up in the empty house, when they take Ochir and fly across the mountains until Lunya calls them back home. Your crystal is usually hidden away in their pocket, safe in the leather pouch and buttoned into the cloth of their pants, and never once do you feel ignored, sitting in mutual silence. There’s nothing to be said, really, because their loss is just as much yours.

Both of you grin when you finally, finally make it past the gates into the First despite the horrid circumstances you have been brought to resolve, because it brings you both one step closer to finding them again.

(At first, you think they’ll be just fine without you, that you might be prudent to fall back dormant once more in face of the terribly draining light. At first, it seems like the others might just be a day’s journey away. The Exarch may be hiding things, but if the Scions are scattered then so too are the wayward Warriors; nothing so difficult as pulling souls back across the rift, yet.

Hah. When has anything ever been so simple?)

The journey is the hardest it’s been out of your eight travels, really; whether it be from the Light or from the constant confusion and grief that they struggle to pull from you do not know, and you keep your eyes open when they cannot—especially after Malikah’s Well.

(You are not the one fighting—never have been, even on that odd occasion that you’ve been able to force your way out of the abyss—but in Eulmore you see the flying eater’s wings seconds before they come crashing down on your bearer’s back with talons and when you reach out, for whatever banal reason, it is not darkness that springs forth.

At first, you think it a trick of the Light, because the last time you saw this shield it was back when you were still convinced you were ephemeral, but the next time you reach forth your ward’s wounds are healed in a burst of crystalline lilies.

You are not so stupid as to think this is your own strength, but they have not been with you for so long that you can’t tell what else it could be, what could be more than the others you have traveled with. 

Oh, how blind you were.)

Here, down in Amaurot, it’s harder than ever on them but the easiest it’s been for you, and when they start slipping you have to drag them back to their heels again, lest the Light breaks free and both of you end up dead. You don’t have anything else to give—you do not have Lumelle or Syhrwyda’s inhuman strength or the healer’s prowess of A’dewah or Duscha, too incorporeal to give support like Tehra’ir or Elwin and too loud to stay as quiet as Valdis—but you are there and that has to be enough.

(If Zaya themselves is not whole enough to be worthy in that Ascian’s eyes, then you will find the missing parts that make them whole and bring them home, because in your eyes there is nothing more than them and the little family you’ve somehow managed to pass through like a hand-me-down, and if you and the friends that remain are not enough to guide them through Hades’ abyss then one of them will be.

And the funny thing is; you do, because the missing parts of their soul were the storm in you.)

The final days of Amaurot are harrowing; you are there when Zaya nearly falls to a bird demon, of all things, and you are there when the tempest of aether above a simulacrum of Emet-Selch’s world nearly shatters you into a million stars. It is less you taking the reins and more you standing by their side, the shadow in the light of falling stars that pushes forward when they cannot.

You think Ryne and Y’shtola can see you, can see the glow of seven crystals at Zaya’s side, but it matters not when Emet-Selch still refuses to take reprieve of the abyss and see the merits of something different from what he knows; all that does is that you are by their side, a shade in a city of simulacrums.

(How funny is it, that in his grief Hades dipped into the abyss just as Zaya did in theirs?)

You don’t remember much of what happens afterwards. There is a blur of light, a man’s voice—seven voices you recognize as the abyss flares and takes you back, because there is no space left here for darkness, not now. You expect to die, somehow, because you’d been fighting for so long in a place that threatened to swallow you whole and keep you there even if you followed Zaya resolutely, Hades taking you in his grasp and shattering you just to prove that they are nothing.

There’s a moment of clarity—when dark overtakes light once more—and you take the chance to stretch yourself out, to cover as many people as you can tell are here because Hades’ claws glow with something terrible and you will not lose anyone now, not when you’ve found yourself in them. Even Urianger, even Alphinaud, even Thancred, who is yalms and yalms away from Zaya—all of them have become too precious to lose, too beloved to let be harmed, and if Hades’ form is large then you will become the event horizon that swallows him.

(If you disappear here, it will be worth it—you have served your purpose as a shield, gouged on aether and memories as you are, and if you can give them even a moment more the price of your existence, as much of a simulacrum as you were, it would have been worth the trouble. 

If Hades wins you don’t know what you’ll do.)

But he loses. He loses, and you go home as small of a flame as you were when your journeys began.

And when all is said and done, your crystal ends up on a necklace of thin chain and leather, held close to Zaya’s breast. Dark lightning crackles over the shining facets, finally polished to its prime like it was all those years ago when your last owner died; even then, you don’t know if you can ever come back again, really, exhausted and drained and frayed as you are.

It matters little, those ifs and maybes.

(“No matter where you go,” the gunbreaker says, and you can feel Zaya’s soul warm, cracked as it is—or maybe that’s yours, feeling a bit like your own promises are being voiced through his. Ardbert, the bloke, smiles from behind you, and the little part of you that knows exactly how you and he are similar grins wildly. “I will be there, guarding your back.”)

When they need you next to pull them from the blackest of nights, you’ll be there to see the beautiful dawn they bring in return. There is nowhere else for you to go.

…

(I’ll have to leave soon. Heroes don’t stay, you know.)

(Well, you do.)

…

From the depths of the crystal, a quiet light shimmers brightly, and you are reminded of home...

Action learned: The Brightest Dawn.

[deadanddeactivated]

The Prince Roman

Fandom: Sanders Sides, Anatasia AU Pairing:   Roceit, Logicality Characters: Roman, Deceit, Logan, Patton, Virgil Notes: Day 9 of the fluffuary event being hosted by @tsshipmonth2020​​ - Roceit Summary:  When the Orange Mage took the throne, three of the royal family survived. When Virgil, brother to the True King, took it back, only two returned. King Regent Virgil will do anything to bring his nephew Roman home.

Ro's not sure he's the prince, no matter what Dante says. But hey, worth a shot right?

AO3

--

“Do you?”  Dante asked, stressed, staring into Roman’s sparkling eyes.  And then Roman’s eyes slipped shut and he leant forward, pressing their lips together in a way Dante had been dreaming off since that dance.  Maybe earlier.  “Oh.”  Dante breathed when they finally pulled apart.  “You do.”

When the Orange Mage took the throne, there was a bloodbath.  The King was killed quickly, his body later displayed brutally to keep the nay-sayers quiet.  Most of the guards were killed or imprisoned.  Any loyal servants were quickly weeded out.  All were made examples off.

Except, that is, for three.

A rather problematic three, for the Orange Mage.  For the bodies that did not join the red soaked ground all have rightful claims to the throne he had stolen.

The King’s younger brother, Virgil.  Who was old enough to pose a credible threat if not tracked down.

And the twin heirs to the throne - Roman and Remus.  Too young to organize a rebellion, but dangerous in their own rights.  Those children were symbols of hope to those that still supported the old king.  Symbols that the Orange Mage didn’t have complete control.

Desperate for that control, the Orange Mage spent the better part of his reign trying to hunt them down and kill them.

He did not succeed.

Instead, Virgil snuck into the castle and killed the false king himself.

By all rights he could have claimed the throne then and there.  He refused. 

“I am not the King.”  He huffed at advisors desperate to give someone the crown.  “I will be King Regent until the true heir comes of age, and even then only begrudgingly.”

“You have the twins?”  Someone asked, pure hope and joy on their face.  Virgil hesitated.

“I have Remus.”  He finally said.  “Roman is missing.”

--

Dante didn’t care much for the politics of any of that.  The new king meant nothing to him, even if things in the kingdom seemed marginally better now.  For everyone else.  Not for him though, not for the man with the cursed face.

So no, Dante didn’t care that the King had been replaced.  Or restored.  Or whatever.  No, what he cared about was the monetary reward for Prince Roman’s discovery and return.

--

Ronnie, Ro to his friends, didn’t care much for the politics of the castle either.  He’d imagined, once or twice, that he was secretly a prince sent to the orphanage for protection.  Any day his father, a king, would come and collect him and they’d live a blessed life.  Of course, he’d known they were only fantasies but something deep instead him ached when they didn’t come true.

So no, Ro didn’t care that the King had been restored.  He’d hardly even heard the news.  But when Dante looked at him and said ‘you know, you just might be the missing prince’, something had felt so very right.

--

Logan cared deeply for the politics of the castle.  He’d been quite close to the royal family, closer still to the royal cook.  When the castle had been invaded, Logan had been away.  In just a moment he’d lost everything. 

So yes, Logan cared quite a bit that the Royal family had been restored.  But it wasn’t easy for a man of nothing to get to the castle, and Dante was a trustworthy man.  At least to his friends.  

--

“This is ridiculous.”  Ro complained as they went through table set ups and the importance of the person to your right verses the person to your left.  “Why do I have to learn all this stuff?  Wouldn’t Regent Virgil just, recognize me or whatever?”  

“There are many people you have to convince before you can reach the Regnant.”  Logan pointed out.  “They will expect you to know all of this.”

“Then they’re ridiculous.”  Ro huffed.

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up now Ro, I thought you were better than that.”  Dante mocked from his own spot, entirely unaffected by the look Logan shot his way.

“Oh please, you couldn’t tell the difference between a soup spoon and a dessert spoon if your life depended on it.”  Ro mocked right back.

“If we could focus.”  Logan called.

--

“If you hate this so much just leave.”  Dante huffed, growing more and more annoyed at Ro’s complaining by the day.

“I am not going to leave!”  Ro snapped, as annoyed by Dante’s constant teasing as Dante was with him.

“Why not?  What’s so important you just have to stick around?  Or do you just love complaining that much?”  

“Family, damnit!”  Ro all but screamed, startling them both.  He looked away and Dante could just barely make out tears in his eyes.  “Is it so unbelievable that I just… want a family?  A place I belong?”  Hand subconsciously going to the side of his face, Dante could only sigh.

“No, it’s not.”  He mumbled.  Pulling his hand away he sighed again.  “Pass me your hand, let’s try again.”

“You aren’t going to mock me every step of the way again, are you?”  Ro asked and De winced. 

“I won’t.”  He promised.  “How about we just… try all of this again?”

“...okay.”  Ro whispered.  “Okay let’s.”

Looking down at them from the balcony, Logan wasn’t sure how to feel.  It was good to see them getting along, it was good to see Dante’s focus on their plan shifting.  But watching them dance, smile, and even laugh together, Logan wondered what they do if Ro really was Roman.  A cursed man and a prince wasn’t exactly a conventional royal romance.

--

“Patton.”  Logan breathed, staring at the man who’d entered the room.  “You’re alive.”

“Logan!”  The cook cheered, all but leaping into the man’s arms.  “Oh, I thought I’d lost you.”

“And I you.”  Logan returned, clinging to Patton just as tightly.  Behind them, Ro leant towards Dante to fake whisper.

“Did you know he could do that?”

“Do what?”  Dante asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Have emotions.”  Roman elborated.

“I had no idea.”  Dante smirked, their teasing earning an eye roll from their friend and a chuckle from Patton.

“Sorry.”  Patton said, letting go of Logan and helping him straighten out his clothing.  “I didn’t see you two there.”

“Or it’s quite alright, we see you were distracted.”  Dante assured.  Even now, Patton had hardly looked away from Logan.  But, eventually, he cleared his throat and turned to the two.

“Who are your friends Logan?”  He asked.

“This is Dante and Ro.  Dante helped me quite a deal these past years and Ro… well we believe Ro may be the missing prince.”  Logan explained.

“We’re hoping, anyway.”  Ro mumbled.  “I don’t… I don’t really remember where I come from.”

“Oh that is so exciting!”  Patton grinned.  “And you do look so much like Remus.  If you were cleaned up and fed a little better, and had his terrible mustache.  Oh I can almost see it!  It’s so good to see you again Roman!”

“T-thankyou.”  Ro said, a little awkwardly, a lot hopefully.

“So you’ll take us to see Regent Virgil then?”  Logan asked.

“Logan, honey, I wish I could.  And I’m sure he’d love to see you again.  But… well, there’s been so many false calls.  Virgil’s started to fear the worst, he refuses to see any more Romans.”  Patton explained.

“Oh.”  Ro mumbled, a little awkwardly, a lot heartbrokenly.  “That, um, that makes sense.” 

“There has to be some way.”  Dante tried.  “We’ve come all this way.”  

“Well…”  Patton thought for a moment.  “I’ve got it!”

--

“Regent Virgil.”  Dante greeted, bowed before the acting king.  “I’m-” He started, only to be cut off.

“I know who you are.”  Virgil huffed.  “You were the one hosting auditions for the part of my nephew.”

“Ah, that um…”  Dante mumbled, trying to come up with a proper explanation.  “It was an… additional test, to see there really was any stock to their claim.  But-”

“Don’t lie to me.”  Virgil spat.  “I have had enough of two-faced liars.  Leave, and take whatever actor you brought alone with you.”

“Sire, please.”  Dante tried again, reaching out for the regent.  “He’s not an actor, he really is Roman.  If you just look at him, you’d know.”

“Don’t touch me.”  Virgil growled, pulling his hand away.  “I will tell you again, leave.  Before I have you arrested.”

Standing just outside the room, Ro pressed the palm of his hand to his mouth to keep from sobbing.  It had been a con?  All of it?  

--

“Ro!”  Dante called as the man speed towards their rooms.  

“Don’t talk to me.”  Ro snapped.  “I don’t, I don’t want to be some pawn in your game anymore.  Just leave me alone!”

“Ro it wasn’t like that.”  He claimed.  

“Wasn’t it?!”  Ro huffed, turning and stopping to glare at a man he thought… a man he thought loved him.  “Because it sounds to me like all you wanted was the money, and you found the perfect gullible, idiot to help you get it.”

“No, that’s not… I mean, it was.  At first.  But you really do look like him and-”  

“What does it matter if I look like him?  What does any of it matter?  Whether I’m Roman or not, Regent Virgil will never want to talk to me, because of you!  I thought… I thought I had a real shot at a family here Dante.  With them but, but with you and Logan too.  And it turns out you were lying to me the whole time?”

“It wasn’t the whole time.”  Dante argued.  “Not since we danced.”

“Don’t.”  Ro said, trying for stern and only managing a sniffle.  “Just, leave me a lot Dante.”

--

Ro sat in the inn room, trying very hard not to cry and failing miserably.  In his hands he clutched his amulet, the only thing he’d ever had to remind him of his past.  It was a simple thing, until you looked into the center.  A storm raged in there, clouds and lightning and rain.

Since this whole Roman idea started, Ro had looked into the royal family quite a bit.  Not always because Logan told him too.  

It was a little known fact that Regent Virgil was a mage, if one who had set his magic aside to rule the kingdom.  He was known to specialize in storm magic.  

Ro had thought that meant something.  Had hoped maybe that was a sign his amulet had been a gift from his uncle, a mage of storm and brother to the King.

How foolish of him.

A knock rang out through the room and Ro tried to wipe his face.  

“Come in.”  He said.  His eyes widened and he immediately scrambled to stand and bow when he saw who it was.  “Regent Virgil.  I-I’m so sorry, I had no idea about the auditions or-” Roman stopped when the regent rose a hand.

“I know.”  He said.  “Logan told me as much.  He also seems rather convinced you are my nephew.”

“I don’t know about that.”  Roman sighed.  “All I know about my past is that I had a locket.  Not much to prove I’m a prince, really.”  So why had he believed Dante?  Stupid of him.

“A locket?”  The regent asked.  “Can I see it?”  Hesitantly, Roman handed it over.  He couldn’t help the confusion when Virgil’s breath caught.

“A locket with a storm spell trapped inside.”  Virgil said.  “I think that’s rather good proof you are a prince.”  

“What?”  Roman frowned, confused and too scared to grow hopeful once more.  Virgil moved to sit on the bed, still clutching the amulet.  He gestured for Roman to sit with him.

“You used to hate when I’d leave.”  Virgil said.  “Said you always had nightmares about how I wouldn’t come back.  So I made you this locket, and I told you-”

“That if it ever stopped storming, you were gone.”  Ro whispered, eyes widening as he recalled the conversation.  “I was so mad at you that day.”  Ro, Roman, remembered.  “Because you’d been avoiding me.”

“You always made it so hard to keep a secret.”  Virgil grinned.

“It’s the eyes.”  Roman said.  “All Sanders have eyes that stare into your soul.”  That’s what his dad used to say, anyway.

“I guess that's why you were always so bad at lying.”  Virgil laughed.

“Not as bad as Remus!”  Roman argued.

“Well that's not much of an achievement.”  Virgil teased.  He stood back up.  “Would you like to go see him?”

“Yes,” Roman had never meant something more in his life.  “Please.”  Virgil offered him a hand and when Roman took it, he pulled the taller boy into a tight hug.

“I missed you so much Roman.”  He breathed. 

“I missed you too Uncle Virgil, even when I didn’t know it was you I was missing.”

--

Roman and Remus were attached at the hip the next day as they caught up, but Virgil has kingly, regently duties to attend and so begrudgingly leaves them alone.  His first appointment of the day, however, was not begrudging.

“Sire.”  Dante greeted, bowing.  “You called for me?”  Despite his even tone, he looked as wrecked as Roman had the night before.

“It seems you were correct.”  Virgil said.  “You did indeed find and bring my nephew home.”

“I’m just glad he’s home safe.”  Dante said.

“Yes, I’m sure.  You seem very noble.”  Virgil replied, rolling his eyes.  Dante looked away, frowning slightly.  “I’ll have your reward delivered to your hotel room.”

“No, thank you.”  Dante refused.  “I don’t want it.”

“Oh?”  Virgil prompted, raising an eyebrow at the man.  Sighing, Dante resisted the urge to the rub the back of his neck.

“It doesn’t feel right.  Ro, uh Prince Roman, isn’t an object to exchange money over.”  He admitted.

“You didn’t seem to worry about such things when you hosted those auditions.”  Virgil pointed out.  This time Dante didn’t suppress the wince, or try to lie his way out of the accustion.

“It was a lot of money, and from so far away it didn’t feel… real.”  He said.  “Even if Ro hadn’t been Prince Roman, I don’t think I’d have gone through with it.  I don’t think Logan would have agreed to the plan if he didn’t know that too.  I suppose he’s always been more honest about me than even myself.”

“He said about the same.”  Virgil confirmed after a moment of tense silence.  “I will at least send you some supplies, to make your trip home easier.  I’ll send for you when they’re ready.”

“Thank you Sire.”  Dante said, taking his leave with a bow.

“Perhaps I was a bit too hasty to judge him.”  Virgil admitted, if only to himself.  From what Logan had said, and from what he’d just seen, Dante didn’t seem so horrible a man.  

Perhaps he should help Roman remember that.

--

“How are you settling in?”  Virgil asked later that night, smiling as Roman looked up.  He could still hardly believe it.  His cousin, finally home and safe.

“Oh, it’s wonderful.”  Roman smiled.  “Everything I could have hoped for in finding my family.”

“I’m glad.”  Virgil said.

“Is it all settled then?”  Roman asked.  “I’m really, officially Prince Roman?”

“There’ll still need to be a coronation, but that can wait.”  Virgil assured.  “Everything else is indeed settled.”

“So Dante got his money then?”  Roman mumbled.

“He could have, we spoke this morning.”  Virgil said, hating the way Roman seemed to deflate at the thought.  “But he didn’t take it.”

“What?”  Roman frowned, looking up in confusion.

“He didn’t take the money Roman.”  Virgil assured.  “Gave a speech about how it didn’t feel right.  Really, I think he just didn’t want you to hate him.”

“I don’t-”  Roman flushed as his loud reaction, looking away and collecting himself.  Next time he spoke, it was calmer.  “I don’t hate him.”

“Perhaps you should go tell him that.”  Virgil suggested.  “He’s still in his hotel room.”

“Really?  But… but he’s, and I’m a prince now.  Doesn’t that matter?”  Roman asked, clearly not wanting to get his hopes up.  Virgil’s smile turned softer.

“Roman, the only thing I care about is that you’re home, and you’re happy.”  Roman’s face lit up, hugging him tight around the waist, and Virgil smiled into his shoulder.  “Just warn him not to break your heart.  I’m still acting king for a few more years, I can behead him.”  He joked.  Mostly.

--

“Ro?”  Dante frowned, confused to find the man at his door.  Then he faltered, bowing.  “Prince Roman.”  He corrected.

“Don’t do that.”  Roman said.  “You look so weird bowing sincerely.”

“Why are you here?”  Dante asked.

“You didn’t take the money.”  Roman answered.

“Not so you’d come see me.”  Dante claimed.  Even so, he tried to explain.  This might be his one chance.  “I just… it felt wrong.  I swear I thought you were the prince.  Maybe not at first, but pretty quickly.  I wasn’t trying to fool you, or use you.  Hell, I forgot about the auditions.”  Throughout it all, Roman smiled.

“I know.”  He assured.

“You mean a lot to me, I wouldn’t want to hurt you like that.  There were so many times I almost came clean, but I was so sure you were the prince by then and-”  Roman cut Dante off by resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Dante.”  He said.  “I know.”

[laurelsofhighever]

Chapter Rating: General Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fereldan Civil War AU - No Blight, Romance, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort Chapter Summary: Revelations come in the aftermath of the attack on the Circle.

---------------

Fifth day of Firstfall, 9:32 Dragon

Tendrils of golden mist wove through the courtyard that enclosed the templar barracks of Kinloch Hold. Frost whorled away across the flagstones, thick as a coating of snow, silvering the summer’s cobwebs and the dainty, bone-thin ends of the birch that had been planted in the centre. As Rosslyn trudged across from the room she had been shown to the night before, a blackbird warbled in its upper branches, as if boasting of its triumph over the winter night, as if there had not been a slither of demons pressing like a boil against the skin of the world only the day before. She paused to watch it scrape its beak on the branch, her breath a thick white puff that vanished into the fog, and stuffed her hands into her armpits to keep her fingertips from being bitten. It was always so after a battle. The small things in the world returned to their normality, unconcerned for the scars left by human action, for the hollow remains of victory’s thrill through the blood.

Shaking herself, she walked on, drawing her cloak more tightly around her shoulders. The spare clothes the lay sister had left her were too thin for the weather, but she was grateful for them nonetheless. Her only other option would have been the shirt and gambeson she had worn to storm the tower, still stained with sweat and blood and ichor, and all the memories of what she had faced with it. She tried to turn her mind from it. The demon’s fantasy had been nothing more than smoke, and yet it had let her see her parents again. She had spoken to them, heard they were proud of her, seen them approve of the man she loved, and she ached so much for their arms around her again she hardly cared that it wasn’t real. And yet, when she closed her eyes, she didn’t see their faces, only heard the slick rasp of steel through flesh, a gasp, the heavy sag of a body as it crumpled to the floor.

Voices raised around the corner. She wiped her eyes, straightening into her general’s façade as footsteps approached and halted, the tail of the argument lashing with voices she recognised.

“Karyna, please –” Cullen begged.

“You said mages aren’t people,” Amell snapped. “How can you expect me to be reasonable after that – what does ‘reasonable’ even mean?”

“You saw the damage in there as well as I did, so many dead –”

“And most of them mages. My friends. They died because they chose that over becoming abominations.”

“You said yourself they would have attacked anyone who came into the tower!”

The enchanter snarled a curse. “What would you have done in their place? Greagoir was planning to slaughter them! We obey, we keep our heads down, we keep our magic locked away, and yet none of that loyalty is worth anything. We really aren’t people to you, are we?”

“It isn’t the same,” the templar stammered. “You –”

“The Right would have had us all murdered, with no reprisals. If I’d been in there, and the oh-so-valiant knight-commander had told you to strike me down, would you have done it?”

“I – that’s not fair.”

“See? You can’t even answer the question. I don’t think I want an answer.”

“Karyna!”

The mage’s footsteps didn’t slow as she hurried around the corner, blind to everything beyond her unshed tears. Rosslyn let her go. Sympathy tugged at her, remembering the drift of ash above Highever, but whatever her own misgivings about the Chantry and what she had seen of the Circle, the grief was still too present, and it was not her place to offer shelter from it. Instead, she gritted her teeth and stepped out from the shadows, ignoring the instant of panic that lit Cullen’s features crimson.

“My presence was requested in the knight-commander’s office,” she said. “Which way do I go?”

“Oh… it’s the second on the right down that corridor, Your Ladyship.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Did you…?”

“As you were, Lieutenant,” she huffed, already marching past him.

She arrived at the door to Greagoir’s office to find Alistair already inside, backlit by a spitting fire, leaning over a map with his weight pressing through his knuckles into the desk. The deep crease of his brows made her hesitate in the doorway. The Fade vision had seemed so real, and afterwards she had been too lost in her own thoughts to even consider the effect it might have had on him, to hear platitudes from the false stranger who had called himself his father. His skin was paler than it should be; dark circles bruised glazed, bloodshot eyes, and the gaunt twist of his mouth hollowed out his cheeks like paper.

A floorboard creaked beneath her heel. The sound startled him out of his reverie, and when he looked up, the fatigue that made her heart ache brightened into welcome, a smile all soft corners that lifted as he breathed her name.

“Good morning,” he murmured, reaching for her.

She smiled her reply as she took his hand. “It is now. How are you?”

“Tired,” he replied, shrugging. “But considering the alternatives, I’ll take it. how did you sleep?”

“Not well, if I’m honest.” She dropped her gaze, well aware of the blush stretching across her cheeks.

“That’s not surprising.”  

A gentle hand rose to cup her face, and for a moment she let herself sink into the comfort, eyes closed and breath a soft huff mingling with his.

“It wasn’t just the dreams,” she said. “I missed you.” She pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist. “I kept waking up and you weren’t there.”  

Wordlessly, he pulled her into a hug, squeezing tight as she buried her head against his shoulder. “I know what you mean.”

“I’m sorry about Maric.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t realise how much I wanted his approval. All those years I thought I put it behind me, but now I just keep wondering…” he sighed. “But it was all the demon. He was never interested, not even when I left Redcliffe.”

Rosslyn’s hand curled against the back of his neck. “We can’t know why he did what he did,” she soothed. “But really, does it matter? What you made of yourself is entirely down to your merit, and nothing can change that. I’m proud of you, if that counts, and you should be proud of yourself. I couldn’t have made it out of there without you.”

“It does count,” he told her, breaking the embrace so he could look at her. “There’s nobody whose judgement I trust more.”

She leaned in, drawn by the intensity of his gaze, but remembered at the last where they were and turned to glance at the doorway. The empty corridor stared back, draughty and silent. And Alistair was there with his fingers brushed against her jaw, ducking the last few inches to distract her with a kiss.

The instant his lips touched hers, a jolt of foreign heat sank low in her belly. Her hand rose of its own volition to bring him closer, the desperation thrilling through her echoed in the flutter of the pulse beneath her fingertips. They had almost died; they had encountered horrors and monsters and walked the veil-thin line of tension to the top of that cursed tower with no room for any thought but survival – and now that tension snapped. Alistair groaned as he pushed into her mouth, as she rose on tip-toes and wrapped her arms around his neck to banish every bit of space that separated them. The movement overbalanced him. He had to throw out a hand to save them from the edge of the desk, but he never faltered. Eventually they parted, breath sharp, giggling for air, just far enough to dart back in for soft presses against every part they could reach. She never wanted to stop.

“What is it?” he murmured, ghosting another kiss across her lips.

Her hands cradled his face. “The worst thing…” She swallowed and tried again. “I keep thinking – I know it wasn’t real, but it might have been, and… I wish they could have met you.”

“Oh, love…” He pulled her in again with a swift brushed kiss to her forehead. “We’ll get through this.”

“If it ever ends.”

“Hey now,” he chided. “Where’s my indomitable warrior goddess? Everything will be –”

The echo of footsteps in the corridor interrupted him. Clearing his throat, he withdrew to a respectable distance, though his touch lingered at her hand.

“Everything will be alright,” he repeated, and dropped her hand as the door banged back against the wall.

Cailan entered, with Irminric on his heels. The king shone his usual puppyish smile as he greeted them, but Rosslyn had spent long months in his company, and knew him well enough to see the brittle nature of his resolve; his cheeks bloomed with their usual rosy colour, but his eyes were bloodshot. How long had he tossed and turned thinking about Loghain’s reach, that it extended even as far as a tower in the middle of a lake cut off from the rest of Thedas?

She knew better than to bring it up. Instead, she crossed to Irminric and wrapped him in a hug.

“It’s good to see you alive and whole, couz,” he told her. “For a moment there, I thought I’d sent you to an untimely end – Alfstanna would’ve been furious with me.”

At the sound of her old playmate’s name, Rosslyn brightened. “How is she? I heard there were twins.”

Irminric nodded. “They gave her a lot of trouble before the end. The bairns are sickly, but the healer says they’ll all make it through.”

“When this is all over, you’ll have to go back to Waking Sea and play Uncle properly,” she replied, and realised the others were waiting politely for the pleasantries to be out of the way. “But until then, what are you doing here in a war council?” She had expected Greagoir himself after the revelation that Uldred’s rebellion was triggered by outside events.

“I’ve been given a new assignment,” he told her with a shrug. “It seems the knight-commander wants someone to oversee the distribution of the supplies he’s donating to the cause, in exchange for saving everyone in the Circle.”

“You mean he’s sending you away in almost-disgrace for going against orders,” Alistair supplied with a wry tilt of an eyebrow.

“A small price for what you managed to do.”

“Just about,” Rosslyn groused.

“What’s the plan now, then?”

With the call to business, Cailan grinned and stepped up to their borrowed desk, shuffling papers away to expose the northern stretches of Ferelden on the map. Counters purloined from the knight-commander’s chess set had been laid out to represent the location of their forces, though some slipped their place in the tidying. As the king righted them, he talked. The Highever Guard with Eamon in tow was still somewhere around Lakehead, a strong enough force for a skirmish, but not for a pitched battle.

“We’ll cross to the eastern shore today and catch up with the bulk of the army,” he explained, still moving counters. “After, we should all arrive in Aeylesbide around the same time – Bann Ferrenly is expecting us. From what his scouts report, activity in the north has slowed as the cold weather has set in, and aside from a few outposts, our enemy has retreated to the strongholds already in their possession.”

Rosslyn’s heart quickened in her chest. “If we’re gathering our entire force at Aeylesbide…”

Cailan nodded to her. “We’re going to take back Highever, yes, and not a moment too soon.”

He paused to let her absorb the swell of emotion, the anticipation leaping like a deer through her veins at even the distant prospect of seeing home again. She had missed the rugged coastland, the cliffs and the sea breeze and the pastures of long grass rippling like silk in the wind. The fields would be barren now, laid bare for the first snow, and no doubt Howe had taken the dragon’s share of the harvest to bolster his own forces through the winter, leaving her people with scraps for food and nothing but rotting twigs to feed their fires. In the dream, she had returned a hero, with the sun shining, her parents proud on the steps of the keep to welcome her, the people happy and healthy and cheering her name. And that was the knife that truly made the demon’s tricks twist in her gut – even if she succeeded in taking back the city and the castle, even if she caught Howe and got her revenge, it wouldn’t bring them back; it wouldn’t make the fantasy real. A small part of her mind enjoyed the irony of the situation, that the goal for which she had yearned for almost a year was now within reach, just as she lost the stomach to face it.

I’m counting on you to see them safe, her father had told her as the dust settled over Glenlough. No matter what.

She felt the shift of weight beside her, Alistair lending her strength even though their company meant he couldn’t touch her. She exhaled a shaky breath, grateful, and turned her attention to Cailan once more. He had been waiting for her to continue.

“Your victory at South Reach has taken the last foothold away from Loghain,” he said. “And now we must cut off his retreat. The Bannorn is ours, and once the North follows suit we’ll be able to march on the capital without fear of being caught in a pincer movement. Once we’re mustered at Aeylesbide, we can finalise the details.”

“You’ll have a contingent of mages as well,” Irminric added, with a grim twist of his mouth. “We’ve nowhere to put them now until the tower is fully cleared, and with the number of templars killed we don’t have the resources to send them all to other Circles, either.”

Alistair scowled, but held his tongue. Meddling in Chantry politics was not a battle they could afford in the moment. “We may be able to finish this before the spring, if we don’t end up with a siege at Denerim,” he said instead.

Cailan frowned. “If Loghain is still a man of the people, he wouldn’t put them through that.”

“I’m afraid we cannot take that for granted,” Irminric replied. “Not if he’s become an abomination.”

“I thought only mages could become abominations?”

The knight-captain folded his arms, stroking the trimmed edge of his beard. “Only mages can summon demons from the Fade, it’s true, but once in our world the creatures may work on the minds of anyone they choose, usually someone with whom they find an affinity – an emotional connection. It’s possible Loghain’s allied magisters were the ones to perform the summoning, though whether it came before or after the Landsmeet, I cannot say.”

“It doesn’t matter for the moment,” Cailan decided. “I have faith in your abilities, Knight-Captain, but we have yet to reach Loghain before we can free him of the demon’s influence. No, first we must take Highever, and quickly.” At the questioning glances sent his way, he let the last of his cheerful façade drop into worry. “The queen has been sent there from Denerim, and we haven’t heard from her since. It’s possible he suspects she’s been aiding us.”

The implications settled over them like the fog outside, wrapping them in silence. Of them all, Rosslyn was most familiar with the aid rendered by Anora’s intelligence, regardless of her motives for betraying her father, but so far, her position had allowed her to avoid being used as a pawn. If her safety were threatened, however, Cailan would have to capitulate or risk losing the goodwill he had built up in his months in the field, and Ferelden’s entire future along with it.  

Alistair was the one who broke the silence. “Why wouldn’t Loghain send her to Vigil’s Keep? That’s far less exposed if he wanted her out of his way.”

“He wouldn’t want to give Howe that much power,” Rosslyn answered in a low voice. “He’s already shown himself capable of betrayal.”

His hand fell to her arm. “Still, it’s rather convenient, don’t you think?”

“We don’t have a choice,” she answered bluntly, without looking at him. “And my people have suffered enough.” And I’ve spent too long wanting Howe’s head on a spike to back down now. “You know, Your Majesty, if you had told me this sooner, I might have outlined a strategy for you already.”

Cailan fiddled with one of the counters, suddenly uncomfortable. “Well, my dear…” He pressed his tongue between his teeth, looking for the right words for whatever he wanted to say. “I would have, but I had hoped you would be persuaded to take a step back from this one.”

“Why?”

The frostiness in her tone blanketed the whole room, so even the fire seemed to dim. Cailan shrank away from it with a sigh, trying to deny the flush in his pale cheeks, and nodded to the rest of their company. Irminric obeyed the silent order and bowed out of the room with a mumbled excuse, but Alistair, sensing what was coming, stubbornly refused to take the hint.

“Brother, if you might…?”

“Your Majesty, what is this about?”

Defeated, Cailan sighed. “Some might deem it inappropriate for you to have a part in Anora’s rescue, considering the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?” she asked, though her eyes had narrowed. “Anora’s presence in Highever changes nothing but our approach, and it’s my home. Would you sit in the supply lines while we took back Denerim?”

“I… no. I would not.”

“Then please don’t tell me this is some misguided act of chivalry to try and protect me from the worst of the fighting.”

“Maker, of course not!” the king cried. “My lady, you have proven yourself time and again, on the field and off. The matter is… more delicate than that.” Sighing again, he turned to pace across the confined length of the room, either gathering his thoughts or trying to work out the frustration evident in his voice. “It has become clear to me that, for the good of Ferelden, whatever existed between Anora and myself may no longer be… supportable. And so I find myself facing the possibility of a future where I am a king alone – in need of a queen.” He paused, took in her posture, cleared his throat, and dropped his gaze to the desk. “I… was hoping that, in time, you might consider being that queen.”

Her stomach turned. Despite what Alistair had said to her the other day in the meadow, and the sense it made once she knew everything Eamon had done, part of her had not believed Cailan really had plans for her. He turned that hopeful, guileless smile on her now, uneasy but not discouraged by her blank, silent shock, and stepped around the desk to take her hand in both of his. She felt the warmth of his skin, the callouses on his palms, and it was surreal.

“I had also hoped that, uh, circumstances would have allowed a more romantic proposal,” he allowed, with a self-conscious glance at Alistair.

“Your Majesty –”

“Cailan.”

She shook her head and extracted her fingers. “Your Majesty. I have no desire to be queen – I’m sorry.” Her heartbeat felt thready. “I would have always refused you… even if my heart didn’t already belong to someone else.”

Cailan blinked. “Someone else? Who?”

For a long moment, embarrassment stopped her tongue. Heat crawled across the back of her neck and pulsed behind her eyes, until she finally gathered the courage to lift her eyes to Alistair’s. He was smiling. She couldn’t help but return the expression as relief washed over her, too aware that even though they agreed they would bring their relationship into the light, the expectation had been something more controlled, planned, and definitely not straight off the back of another man’s proposal. When his fingers brushed against hers, however, she laced them together instinctually, finally remembering to breathe as his fingers squeezed their reassurance.

Cailan glanced between them, bewildered.

“If it makes you feel better we were planning to tell you,” Alistair said.

“This… well.” The king shook himself. “How long?”

They paused, unsure of the answer. For Rosslyn, at least, the love had grown so slowly, through distractions and misunderstandings and distance, and yet as she searched through her memories even that first morning, when he had stood enshrined by the dawn light and offered her his blanket and shared her breakfast, was touched with a sense of belonging too big for her to describe.

“From the beginning,” he offered, raising her hand to kiss her knuckles.

Her breath caught.

“And you’re happy?” Cailan asked.

She blinked, drawn back to the present, and smiled at him even as the revelation overwhelmed her. “Very.”

“Huh… You really are in love, aren’t you?” A puff of air blew through his cheeks, giving way to a wry chuckle at his own mortification. “Well then. In that case, little brother, you should be congratulated on winning the esteem of such a fine lady! You’ll have to tell me how you did it, eh? And you, my dear,” he added, turning to Rosslyn, “be sure he treats you as you deserve, or I may have to start another war to defend your honour.”

“As you will, Your Majesty.”

“The two of you… honestly.” He laughed again. “Who else knows of this?”

The warmth in Rosslyn’s chest cooled, feeling Alistair tense at her side. She cleared her throat. “About that – there’s… an allegation we have to make.”

“Allegation?”

“Against Arl Eamon,” Alistair supplied. “He intercepted letters between Rosslyn and me, to try and separate us.”

“Surely not…”

But Cailan listened all the same as they told the story, both what Eamon had done, and the ways he had tried to cover for himself once he was caught. It was unclear whether the initial idea was his, since King Bhelen was obviously so keen to be rid of his sister, but it was clear enough that the old arl had not acted under duress. When they finished, still leaning into each other for support, they watched as Cailan reeled back to lean his weight on the desk as if winded, his mouth pulled down at the corners and his brows knitted in a frown that added years to his face.

“Thank the Maker Teagan is with us already,” he murmured. “I will have to look into this. In the meantime…” He sighed, and fixed a smile in place. “We must continue as we are. We still have a campaign to plan, don’t we? It would be very poor sport if this one setback inconvenienced everything.” He glanced down at their joined hands and looked away, clearing his throat as he returned his attention to the map.

[four-loose-screws]

Their Sealed Pasts - FE4 Short Story Translation - Section 2

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations - Ko-fi

I consider this a “section” and not a “part” because it’s a break that I defined myself. This short story was not broken up into parts by the author.

T/W: Half-sibling incest. Direct implications of sex, but no explicit scenes.

———————————

Their Sealed Pasts

Short Story #5 of Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War - The Last of the Earth Dragon Tribe

Section 2

Deirdre was not a virgin.

But this fact did not change his feelings for her, rather, it made them burn all the brighter.

Every night, as he touched her, he felt pangs of jealousy.

'Someone else did as he pleased with this beautiful body before me.'

Not wanting to lose to this unknown man brought him to love her all the more passionately.

Nothing satisfied him more than her moans of pleasure, but at the same time, they also made him suffer.

'Tell me, did you moan just like this for him?'

But he couldn't ask her, because she could not remember anything before him.

'I can't go on like this.' He thought. 'I've been so fixated on her past, that it's become an obstacle to everything I am planning to do. I cannot stand to think about it any longer.'

ー

Arvis sat down at his place at the table.

"Deirdre, I've been thinking. About why you appeared before me after you lost your memory. And I've concluded that it was destiny. It was your destiny to lose your memory and be mine. So I don't want you to try to remember your past anymore. Only for you to make more memories with me."

Tears welled up in Deirdre's eyes.

"What happened? Did I say something wrong?"

"No, not at all! Actually, I'm very happy!" She wiped away her tears with a handkerchief.

"This whole time, I've thought of myself as only half a person. As a woman that can't possibly be good enough for you. During the day, when you go to the palace, I try as hard as I can to regain my memories. But I can't, no matter what I do. When you come home, I always blame myself. Today was the same. I'm a terrible, awful woman…" Her last words trailed off into a wail.

"You don't have to feel like that anymore, Deirdre. What I’m saying is, we are the most perfect couple in all the world. Today, I visited the king. I told him that I found the woman that I want to spend the rest of my life with. And then he said he wants to give us his blessing."

"You… You did…?"

"He was overjoyed, and asked me to bring you to the palace tomorrow."

"Am I really the one? A woman like me…?"

"Don’t say that. You are the most amazing woman I have ever met." He said with all the conviction he could muster. Then, he repeated to himself over and over that he couldn't obsess over her past anymore, and sealed those thoughts deep within his heart.

That night, he made love to her without a single worry in his heart for the first time.

All unease disappeared from her face as well.

'She's even more beautiful now than ever before.' He thought.

When they were finished, Deirdre said, "I don't know why, but that was the first time our love has ever felt quite like that."

He stroked her soft, smooth back. "I felt the same way. I love you, Deirdre."

"I love you too, Arvis. I love you so much."

They fell asleep in each other's arms, and slept soundly until morning.

ー

King Azmur sat on the throne for the first time in a long time.

Arvis walked up to him with his fiancée, and they both bowed.

"It's good to see you. Please, raise your heads."

Deirdre bowed further, dropping down on one knee, before doing so.

The king’s expression changed suddenly.

"Is something the matter, Your Majesty?" Arvis asked.

"It's nothing." He said, then looked closely at Deirdre's face once more. “Young lady, I understand that you have lost your memory?”

“Yes, I have.”

“So you don’t remember anything about your parents?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“I may be wrong, but… Your face reminds me of someone. Please take off your circlet, and show me your forehead.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” She looked puzzled, but raised her arms to take off her circlet.

She always wore it. Even Arvis had yet to see her without it on.

“Is this okay?”

On her forehead was a white, wave-shaped mark.

“I knew it.”

“What is it?” Arvis asked, worry dripping in his voice.

“That mark on her forehead is the Holy Mark passed down through Grannvale’s royal family. Deirdre, was it? There is no doubt in my mind that you are my son Kurt’s orphan.”

“What are you saying? That my fiancée is Prince Kurt’s daughter…?

“Yes, I am. I do not know when or with whom he may have fathered her, but I know that she is his daughter. This is cause for celebration! I worried that Grannvale’s royal bloodline had died out, but the gods have not abandoned the Crusaders after all. Duke Arvis, Deirdre, I give you my blessing to marry as soon as possible and produce an heir. Duke Arvis, I will grant you the status of regent, and you will run the kingdom’s government until your successor has grown. What a joyous occasion this is! We must announce the news throughout the country straight away!”

It was Arvis’ final chance to question who she was. He started to wonder how she could be Prince Kurt’s daughter...

But he had already sealed his heart off from thinking about her past.

All he could think about was the idea that he was next in line to inherit the Grannvalian throne.

‘Everything is going according to plan.’

War continued to ravage the continent, yet Grannvale remained almost completely unaffected by it, throwing a wedding so extravagant it would be the major news story long after it happened.

ー

Sigurd’s army came out of hiding in Silesse, and killed Lombard.

Now, they were gaining momentum, and traveling across the Yied Desert towards Grannvale.

But Arvis had a plan in place for every possibility.

He ordered Friege’s army, led by Reptor, and Velthomer’s army, led by General Aida, to face Sigurd's army head-on. However, once the fighting started, Velthomer’s mages rained Meteor spells down on Friege’s Army.

Friege’s Army panicked, and Reptor was killed by Sigurd, who had obtained his Holy Weapon, the Holy Sword Tyrfing.

General Aida opened the gate to Velthomer Castle, and greeted Sigurd. 

“Duke Arvis knows that you are innocent, Lord Sigurd. He says everything that transpired was all the work of Duke Reptor and Duke Lombard. They were simply too powerful for Duke Arvis to do anything about them until now.”

“Really? Then that means my father’s name will be cleared as well?” He asked her with a cold expression on his face.

“Yes, Duke Arvis is waiting with His Majesty for you in Balhalla. The Roten Ritter will be there to greet you. The entire country will celebrate your triumphant return.”

Sigurd announced to his army that the war was over, and disbanded them.

Only two hundred of his soldiers went to Balhalla, and just a single unit went with him to the palace.

What the world would soon call “The Battle of Balhalla” would not be a battle at all. It would be a massacre.

Arvis himself stood before Sigurd, and declared him a traitor. Then, Arvis pulled Deirdre alongside him. “Take a good look at him! This is the man who killed your father! Sigurd, son of Duke Byron! He will now be executed for his crimes!”

Then, Sigurd screamed, “Deirdre!”

She looked at him in complete surprise.

“Of course! I know everything now, Deirdre! It was him!”

“You… You know me...?”

Arvis cut off her next question, and ushered her to the back of the Rotten Ritter. “Take my wife back to the palace.”

The two soldiers each took one of her hands.

“Wait, milord! ...Just give me one moment with him…”

But the soldiers began to pull her along, nearly dragging her across the ground.

“Deirdre!!”

“All units! Kill the traitor and his soldiers!”

It was over in an instant.

The only traitor who survived was a woman, who lost her right arm and fell unconscious in critical condition.

Those who had traveled to Balhalla, but did not go to the castle, all fled without even trying to put up a fight.

‘So it was him. He is the man who loved her before me.’ Arvis thought to himself as he looked down at Sigurd’s charred remains. ‘But it is no matter. The past is in the past, and now he is dead. The only problem is whether or not she regained her memories when he called out to her.’

He didn’t want her to remember.

He wanted her to be his, and his alone.

Once he confirmed that the battle was over, he returned to the palace.

His wife was alone in her room, sitting in a chair in the corner, lost in thought.

When she realized that Arvis had entered the room, she pleaded, “Tell me! Did he know something about my past!?”

‘Thank the gods. Her memories did not return.’ He sighed and answered, “I do not know. But he was always a liar. Surely, he thought that by pretending to know you, I would spare his life.”

“I see. If that’s the case, then I understand, but…”

“You have no reason to worry. As I’ve always said to you, we gain nothing by obsessing over the past. Your only memories are the ones you have with me. Those as my perfect bride.” He took her hand, pulled her up from the chair, and hugged her tenderly.

“Hold me tighter. I’m so scared of what my past might have been. Even one thought about it chills me to the bone.”

“It’s alright. I’m here.”

They held each other for a long, long time.

A few days later, he learned that she was pregnant.

ー

The rebellion was over.

And King Azmur was on his death bed.

To build his new empire, Arvis had to work long, hard days, and traveled frequently.

While subjugating Leonster to the east, he was informed that his wife had given birth to twins, a boy and a girl. All three of them were doing well.

He named the boy Julius, and the girl Julia.

With their king and inheritor to holy blood, Quan, gone, Leonster did not put up much of a fight. Seeing that there was still much to be done, he entrusted Leonster to Reptor’s son, Bloom, and returned home.

He promised Bloom the title of King of Leonster. Bloom vowed his absolute loyalty with glee.

It was Arvis’ first time coming home in two months.

He rushed up to Deirdre’s room, and found her breastfeeding one of the babies.

The sight of her husband’s return put a smile on her face, but made Arvis gasp in response.

Deirdre no longer had the face of a young woman, but of a mother. And it reminded him exactly of his mother’s.

‘Mother!’ He couldn’t bring himself to say the word, screaming it inside of his heart instead.

And it became the key that unlocked the seal upon his heart.

Every one of his forgotten memories came flooding back to him.

His father’s suicide. His mother, Cigyun, and Prince Kurt’s behavior at the funeral. And his mother’s disappearance.

As a child who'd become the Duke of Velthomer at such a young age, he had to be strong to protect his title. However, he was still just a boy who'd lost his mother and been left alone, so at first, he’d cried time and time again.

With all the pieces in place, he put the truth together.

His wife was the child born between his mother and Prince Kurt.

He'd fallen in love with her at first sight because his unconscious saw his mother's image in her.

'I married my sister from a different father, and even had children with her.'

For any normal person, it would be a shameful secret, and end there.

‘But I inherited Loptous’ blood from my mother. So children born between my sister and me would likely have much thicker Loptrian blood than us. What will this mean for them?'

And the last thing he remembered were Manfroy’s words. “She is waiting for you.”

‘What are you planning, Manfroy!?’

“What’s wrong, milord?” Deirdre saw that her husband was still standing in the doorway, and called out to him. Then, she looked down at their child. “Look, Julius, it’s your father!”

Her voice dragged him to their side.

“Aw, look at our son. He looks just like you!”

The boy seemed to be like any other innocent infant, eyes closed, peacefully sucking his mother’s breast.

Except for the tiny red dot on his forehead.

[iwritethat]

Fantasy AU

Dick Grayson: Forbidden

A/N: The final one albeit late! My apologies but here you go.

Warnings: None???

>>>>——————————>

Being a noble maiden of the kingdom was strenuous, being the Princess of Ravaryn made it even more so. With aspects of being the 'perfect' daughter and influential figure added to your shoulders it was no wonder you had phases of rebellion.

If anything the King should be grateful you even showed up to the ball, the congregation of available Princesses and Duchesses also looking for a husband in their expensive flowing gowns and beautiful features maintained the fleeting attention of various suitable noblemen. The amount of suitors that had tried their luck was credit to your beauty enough, but you were not naive, it was the title they desired and they'd probably have the women they'd flirted with prior as mistresses during your union anyway. Alas, to appease the masses you played nice and observed almost all guests throw themselves at members of the Wayne family, Dick Grayson in particular. Admittedly you found him attractive, but he could have a flock of women with simply a smile - it's been that way since you were young. Although in your previous brief encounters, he was always so genuine - you recalled him informing the young ladies that he was from the circus, hoping that'd rid him of the crushing admiration they 'apparently' held for his handsome features and it worked, all lost interest except you who only grew more intrigued. That's why you associated so often despite your father forbidding such a union, his past and lack of true royal blood didn't change how you viewed him unlike other monarchs. Even as you matured, it was difficult to keep your distance from one another, carefully avoiding your families informants and suspicion of other Nobles when doing so. Though currently, you'd managed to sneak out of the ball undetected opting to change into clothing more fitting of your disapproving destination.

.

It wasn't uncommon for you to be seen wandering the streets and many of the townsfolk favoured you because of your friendly attitude toward all beings regardless of species or wealth. So when you burst into your local bar, a wave of cheers and greetings sounded from friends that were deemed unworthy to attend the Palace event.

"Hit me with my usual~" You sung once reaching the ancient oak bar, the Faun bartender pleased with your regular business automatically slid over your favourite alcoholic beverage and proudly leaned over the counter to talk to you like always.

"I saved some for you Princess, knew you'd be in tonight or at least I sure hoped so. And by the way, Happy Birthday!" At his last sentence, the whole pub sparked to life with 'Merlin' the mage illuminating the warmly lit area in an array of morphing sparks and colours that delighted the senses, the iconic noir grand piano of the Inn belted upbeat music accompanied by the rest of the jazzy band which set rhythm into people's feet with your friends and locals dancing together. Laughter surrounded you with occasionally out of tune vocals echoing over the music as everyone enjoyed the surprise party as well as some humorous shenanigans encouraged by the constant serving of alcoholic beverages.

"Hah - bet our celebration is a lot better than that fancy pants gig you came from huh your highness?" The young Blacksmith grinned, offering you a tastefully crafted dagger by his own hand as a gift.

"You- you all remembered? I thought-" You couldn't even expressed your gratitude properly but they understood.

"Of course we did, as mates of yours we weren't distracted with getting you a husband like those nobles are. Now c'mon, enjoy your birthday your Majesty!" The faun enticed, lightly herding you off of your barstool before a handsome villager pulled you into the fray, you danced with them, next being spun into a witch coven who wished you well, your feet were non stop, being met with the paces of werewolves to vampires to townsfolk each twirling, dancing and offering you their blessings and suddenly the music halted with your new partner.

.

You turned into him, the man who caught you by the waist thus silencing all surrounding you by appearance alone. By the rich texture of his clothing and the golden medals adorning his chest you knew he wasn't local.

"So you thought you could leave all by yourself? Not very smart of you my Queen." His voice was smooth, tone knowing that he had one over on you with a playful spunk to it.

The accurate nickname was the giveaway but you gazed into the sparking sapphires of Dick Grayson anyway, taking the time to remove your hands from his chest.

"Don't call me that yet - shouldn't you be looking for a wife or something?"

"Oi oi your Majesty! The mans' calling you his Queen, don't that mean you're his wife?!" Instantly, one of the ale mugs was shot across the Inn courtesy of your favourite Faun, hitting the Blacksmith square on the skull thus knocking him out cold much to your relief.

"Well... I knew you were strange (Y/n) but I didn't expect to see you in a place like this." Dick commented, overlooking the less than regal scenery.

"Oh really? What's wrong with it? Aside from drunkards jumping to conclusions obviously..." The last part was muttered in a sheepish manner but the defensiveness in your tone was admired by your friends.

"Nothing, it's awesome!" The pure happiness in his voice surprised you somewhat, as well as the rest of the guests but you could tell they’d already accepted him.

"...You're not like the others are you Dick Grayson?"

"It takes one to know one (Y/n) (L/n). Anyway I saw you disappear and I couldn't exactly let you leave without me so..." He trailed off, almost embarrassed as he spoke which indicated he was hiding something and with an expectant look he would tell you.

"..."

"Okay to be honest the Ball was super boring and I only attended to hang out with you but you disappeared, plus this party seemed pretty sweet."

"What I can I say? My friends know how to entertain." You laughed, guiding him to a quiet secluded corner booth where drinks were served as you sat down to catch your breath.

"I agree, but you're not going to find any approved suitors here."

"Ah yes, I'm missing out on the blissful marriage to some aristocrat I may not even like in hopes of making the rich richer. He'll probably only cheat on me anyway, and so I doubt I'm missing out on much.” You offhandedly shrugged, taking a sip of your beverage.

"Ah you might be right but we're not all bad, for the record if I were allowed to marry you, it wouldn't be for my Kingdom, nor for the Royal Courts. They would matter but those duties would fall second to you, you'd be my one and only - forget mistresses or whatever they'd expect me to indulge in." It was reassuring to know that you both agreed with one another, despite this opinion most likely being frowned upon by the King.

"It would be the same for me if I were to ever have the pleasure of marrying you, you'd be the one thing I'd truly love more than anything. You'd come first."

"Maybe that's the real reason we're forbidden to marry, because it would be for love and not power." The male spoke truthfully, sheepishly running a hand through his raven hair.

"Are you saying you love me?" Your voice held a degree of mischievous merit, amused at the position you found yourselves in.

"That depends, are you saying you'd want to marry me?" Dick matched your tone, equally pleased with your wit.

.

“YOUR MAJESTY!”

Instantly you were on your feet, conversation long forgotten and curious glare directed at the Royal Guards situated at the Bar entrance.

“You’re with - It matters not, your father has ordered your return but under these circumstances, we are to place you both under arrest.” At his statement, the bar fell into silence and you knew that your friends would be willing to fight the Guards for you with no hesitation - you lowly raised your hand, a respectful nod sent to the Faun who immediately understood, they were not to involve themselves in this, those were your orders.

“You can’t, I forbid it!”

“I regret to inform you that the Kings commands outrank yours. By far.”

Your expression hardened at their honest explanation despite a majority of the group watching over you since birth, Dick placed a careful palm on your waist leaning to whisper in your ear.

“I can take them, all you must do is ask.”

Instantly your gaze softened as it locked with his crystal ones, you knew he was perfectly capable but that would only make the situation worse.

“No, I won’t let you get in more trouble.”

“Step away from the Princess immediately!” The lead Guard demanded due to your close proximity, sword pointed in your general direction. You were aware how your father hated the bonds you shared with an ‘unworthy’ suitor but this was ridiculous.

However, Dick obeyed albeit reluctantly - on the other hand, you weren’t as disciplined when it came to your fathers orders. As a result you pulled him toward you, hands placed on his chest before gently reaching one to his neck to bring his lips to meet yours with more passion than there should have been. You pulled away, both of you exchanging meaningful looks before turning your attention back to your loyal guards.

“What if I want him as close as possible?” Your words held mischief, playing with idea of taunting your father through the guards who no doubt would diverse the event in full detail.

“Then we shall arrest you... My apologies your majesty.” And they did just that, separating the two of you with their weapons before escorting you out of the bar with little resistance as you laughed under the flurry of witty remarks courtesy of Dick Grayson.

.

“So my Queen, I’ll take our current situation as a yes to my previous question?” His time was charming yet held underlying sincerity.

“Yes! Of course it is, how could I say no to a man like you my love?” Yours more sarcastic but truthful none the less as the Guard urged you toward the carriage.

“Then I promise I’ll do it properly once we’re out of this mess (Y/n).”

“I look forward to it.” You gave him a wink as you we’re seated opposite one another in the carriage - no doubt on the way to face the wrath of your father.

Together.

[queerspeculativefiction]

9 and 10 for the fic writing asks! (If you haven't already)

9. Favorite character to write?

10. Favorite line or lines of dialogue that you've written

9: Hawke from DA2 hands down. I love that trainwreck.

10: It’s long, but Anders’ speech from the second one of my DA2 books: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1469254/chapters/3096055

The speech is behind the cut.

"How could you possibly justify what you did?" The question came from another mage, a serene-looking older woman. "Killing all those innocent people…""How could you possibly justify doing nothing?" Anders replied hotly, feathers bristling on his shoulders.For a moment there, Hawke thought he looked exactly like an angry crow, challenging a colony of seagulls. Never a good decision. "We are not on trial here," Ravan replied."Aha," Anders snapped, pointing a finger at the old man. "This is a trial after all. And maybe you should be.""Would you tell us why that is then?" Ravan asked patiently. It was clear this was not the first time a discussion with Anders had frustrated him."Fine," Anders sighed. "This is a story that needs to be told."The mage took a moment to center himself. Hawke suspected he had been going over this speech again and again in his head, like he had the drafts for his manifesto. "Everybody keeps telling me that the dead were innocent," the healer started, speaking softly to his audience. "I don’t deny that some probably were. Maybe most. Will I carry their deaths with me to my grave? Yes, I will. But I would do it all again if I had the choice, because the Chantry was far from innocent, and neither was Grand Cleric Elthina." Anders’ voice rose at the last words, daring anybody to interrupt, but his remained the one voice in the room."Doing nothing does not make one a good person," he continued, voice strong and angry. "Ignorance is not the same as innocence. She claimed to take no side in the conflict, but by her inaction she condoned what was happening in Kirkwall. What kind of mother stands to the side and lets the older sibling beat up and abuse the younger one? That is not neutrality. That is silently condoning crimes that should never have happened. And on what grounds? That it would complicate matters further? Andraste’s ashes, of course it would complicate things. Life is not simple, and if she was afraid of making tough decision she is no more fit for the role of Grand Cleric than my cat. If I had one." The last was mumbled afterthought, leaving him a moment of silence to catch his breath and let his words sink in before he started speaking anew."Have you ever studied history?" Anders asked rhetorically once he had collected himself. "I did. I found it fascinating. Did you know why it took so long for slavery to be outlawed despite everybody agreeing that the Tevinter Imperium was evil, and that we were all the Maker’s children? Because it was hard. Because it was complicated. There were whole noble houses that fed off the slave trade, and ending it would mean an end to quick and easy coin. The economy would crumble, they argued. Who could afford hiring workers in those numbers? The crown would weaken, there would be no taxes, no army and then the Tevinter Imperium would invade again. Besides, there were already beggars on the city streets, vagrants and refugees on the roads with no farms to support them and no hope of a future.""Wasn’t it better for the slaves to remain slaves?" Anders continued with a cynical grimace. "After all, then they had food and shelter and if their master abused them… well, that was too bad, but maybe it was better to work on just improving their circumstances rather than actually freeing them. Certainly a lot simpler." He spat on the floor, as if he had a bad taste in his mouth, and Hawke found himself wondering exactly how much time the mage had spent talking with Fenris."I talked with Elthina," the healer sighed, his worst ire vented. "I pleaded our case again and again and all she would do was to spout words that sounded like they were coming from the mouths of long dead slavers. ‘It would be too dangerous’, she would argue. ‘The people would not support it. There might be unrest. Yes, the abuse of the mages was wrong, but the Templars should be tempered, not abolished completely.’ It’s no wonder this happened in Kirkwall, the city was built on slaves, and the chains never lay unused for long. How many rebellions were put down there before finally succeeding? How many innocent people were slain by people who had just had enough? Been pushed too far?" "I saw more blood magic there than I had believed possible existed. Are mages dangerous? Maker, yes we are, especially when fighting tooth and claw for our lives and sanity. Backed into a corner even a rabbit turns to fight, and every time another mage cracked it was an excuse to tighten the chains. You can’t really understand. The circle in Ferelden was different, not the norm of how things were done. I kept running away, but Maker, I didn’t know how good I had it." Anders admission seemed to cause the first stirs of surprise in the audience. Apparently they had not expected the renegade to have anything good to say about the place he escaped from."I had a benevolent master," Anders continued with a look of dangerous humility on his face. "And if I had been a good slave I could have been spared the whippings and the solitary confinement and given privileges. My leash could have been looser, I could have been allowed to go outside now and again, maybe even get a position at a court, or in a noble’s mansion. Maybe be granted permission to do some research. If I was good." He tapped his cheek with a finger, looking thoughtful, before voice grew harder, sharper. "But marry? Go where I wished to go? Start a family? Have children? Never. Because I was still a slave and my master owned my future and my offspring." "Think about it," he shouted, silencing the murmurs that had begun to spread amongst the benches. "How many of you have lost a child, had it killed in the womb or given away at birth to be raised by the chantry? How many of you were taken from your parents, not even knowing why you were dragged away? Thinking that it was because you had been bad, complained about your nightmares too much or because your parents really hated you? How many of you have kept silent about the mistreatment of yourself or others just because you were afraid that if you made a fuss, if you protested, you might lose what few privileges you had gained? How many of you have had friends made tranquil, run away or kill themselves just because they could not take being locked up all the time? How many nights have you laid awake wishing you were not a mage, thinking that this was all your fault somehow, that you were bad. Evil. Tainted. Hated and marked by the Maker." Anders was angry now, and the room silent enough to hear a pin drop. "This couldn’t be allowed to continue," the healer said with steely determination. "I would not allow it to continue. And if that meant killing those others would name innocent, so be it. I accept their blood on my hands because this has to stop. If it takes war, then war there will be. Why is it that it is considered noble to fight the tyranny of a king, but not the Chantry? You know how things are, but have you ever stopped and thought what they could be like? If we only tried?"Anders’ voice went soft, he had no need to raise his voice anymore, everybody was listening now. “Imagine the Circle as a place of learning, where children could be brought to study and get help to master their magic. Not stolen from their parents but brought there with pride, being able to go home for holidays, and having their relatives visit when they wished to. What would things be like if there was no need to hide? No fear? No stigma?” He paused briefly, then his voice turned sharper, aimed not just at the listeners but at himself"How many demon infested nightmares have we inflicted on the young just by accepting the Chantry’s judgment on us? How many apostates have turned to abominations, not from evil or a lust for power, but because they feared the Templars more than damnation? Imagine the Circle as a school, where apprentices are kept safe instead of captive. Imagine knowing that you will graduate one day, pass your Harrowing and be allowed to do whatever you want with your life. Marry your sweetheart, stay as a teacher, or just see the world. Imagine how many fewer abominations we would have if mages just knew that they had a future to look forward to. There is nothing more dangerous than a man with nothing to lose. Imagine how many that could be saved just by giving people hope? Isn’t that worth fighting for? Isn’t that worth dying for? A world where a mage could be just a man. Just any man."Anders paused there, running a hand through his hair, fighting with the sudden sadness that threatened to overcome him. Resigning to his fate."If you want to kill me for what I did, fine," he finally continued. "I never expected to survive Kirkwall. But you’ve heard what I said, and I can see some of you thinking. Imagining. Wondering if I am right. That maybe there is another way than just delivering yourself into the hands of the Templars, pleading for mercy with me as the peace offering. Because if you do, know that the blood will be on your hands. Not mine, you’re all welcome to that, but theirs, the dead of the Chantry and of Kirkwall. Because then you let their deaths amount to nothing. You made all this a mistake instead of a beginning. And that, for me, is as great a crime as lighting the fuse."

[gascon-en-exil]

FE16 Blue Lions Liveblogging

Chapters 3-4. It takes some time to get used to this game’s pacing, but admittedly a lot of the content is filler that can technically be skipped if you’re not interested or just want to get to the action faster.

Everyone’s in beginner classes. The plan of keeping units in a class until they master it looks like it might not be feasible at higher tiers. I have several already at 10+ where they could promote to immediate classes but nowhere near mastery, and I have to keep in mind that this is not a game with an infinite grind endgame/postgame (at least pre-DLC). Everyone’s about equally useful at what I’ve got them doing, but Ashe is a bit iffy and I’m ignoring Annette’s scattered interests to make her a full mage. Byleth was actually falling behind for a bit, but he just picked up his Prf sword so that ought to make him more useful.

Battalions have their uses, but mostly they’re just minor stats boosts and another button to press in combat. At least they’re low maintenance.

I take back what I said last time about supports growing slowly, because I’ve picked up a ton of them in these two months. Byleth’s first support took me off guard because it happened without my even realizing that I’d initiated it. Sometimes the students just come up and talk at to them during the week.

Also did tea time. Not too hard, pretty dull, and only marginally less weird than face touching. I still maintain that this feature would have better with alcohol, but apparently the Japanese are as prudish as Anglos about that. It also doesn’t feel mechanically very rewarding compared to some of your other uses for activity points.

I’ve got a handful of broken weapons and a bunch of smithing stones, but the forge still hasn’t opened up. I appreciate that you gain access to more monastery features a little each month and not all at once, but this is the only one that I’ve found myself really waiting on.

Speaking of timespans, I believe the school phase lasts twelve in-game months? In which case I’m already a third of the way through it, even with my frequent exploring and need to talk to everyone each month.

Finding lost items and giving gifts is occasionally cute, but doesn’t seem very rewarding. It’s great for the Lions characters since they get more motivation for their studies, but as far as I can tell the other characters only get a small support boost with Byleth that I don’t care about and would probably take forever to get anywhere on that alone besides.

The Death Knight does his best Black Knight impression during Chapter 4, but thankfully he doesn’t move. And I thought beating the fake Desaix in the last battle of FE15 Act 1 was daunting...he does drop a Dark Seal so hypothetically he should be able to be defeated, but I have no idea how without an absurd amount of grinding. 

Story/Character observations

The factional conflicts within the church appear to be wholly political in nature, but I’m left wondering if Rhea’s crusade against the Western church is all that we’re going to see of that. 

So much character exploration for the Lions pivots around Duscur. As much as I enjoy the central players getting to glimpse other aspects of Faerghus through stuff like Lonato’s rebellion is refreshing.

That said, Dimitri/Dedue just does not let up. Dimitri pulls the “like a brother” bit in his C with Byleth but also admits that Dedue was all he had for companionship after the events of Duscur left him without a father and alienated from his childhood friends. Combine that with Dedue’s perpetual wariness about affecting the reputations of anyone who isn’t Dimitri and Ingrid’s hostility toward Dedue’s presence in their house and the subtext just writes itself. It helps that the two of them are together in basically every cutscene and so far have always appeared in the same area when exploring the monastery but for the most recent month, when Dedue’s offer to help with security was rejected by the church on account of his heritage and yet (and this point might be coincidental? I don’t know if they spawn randomly) his earring can be found in the room where he was with Dimitri the preceding month. 

Other support shenanigans: Felix upbraids Sylvain for unknowingly hurting others with his behavior, which is enough to quirk an eyebrow. Ingrid also takes him to task, recounting instances during their youth when Sylvain hit on her elderly grandmother and a scarecrow (NB: from what I’ve seen this is one instance of the text being substantially changed from Japanese, in which he hits on a crossdressing man instead). I get that the intention was to avoid a lazy, transphobic joke, but oddly the English comes off even gayer since I’ve never heard of a female-presenting scarecrow...if you will. Ingrid and Ashe bond over tales of knighthood including one about the King of Lions’s very close friend who gets referenced in the Dimitri/Felix ending and serves as an effective model for how Fódlan history is going to immortalize all this homoeroticism. It’s not mentioned in their C at least, but I got the impression that this is meant to be significant because, as a woman and a commoner respectively, Ingrid and Ashe are outsiders to the usual ranks of knighthood who nonetheless idealize the lifestyle. Mercedes shares her mildly disturbing family history with Byleth, while Annette keeps dropping hints about her missing father and claims Byleth is like her big brother...three conversations before she decides to sleep with him. See, sometimes claiming a sibling-like bond does lead to sex. Awkward considering who I’m planning to have Byleth S rank on this playthrough, however....

Regarding non-student characters, I’ve not yet been given the opportunity to recruit any. This is rather basic information that doesn’t seem to be documented anywhere online yet, so I’m curious to know who becomes available and when.