#oc: meraad adaar

[calicostorms]

Oc Picrew

Tagged by @merrybandofmurderers to make some DA ocs in picrew!

In order:

Rajmael Anise (Inquisitor's bodyguard) x Nydha Lavellan (Inquistor)

Meraad Adaar (mercenary) x Lenamar Dax (ex-Tevinter Chantry brother turned tranquil)

Asgeir Brynjarson (Avvar Inquisition agent) x Fen'an Alahannon (Anderfels Dalish Inquisition agent)

Lark Orrick (Inquisition head healer) x Mellita Trevelyan (blood mage Inquisition agent)

[merrybandofmurderers]

last of these

Layeirth Isitmaethoriel Lavellan (ae/aer)

Quora Adaar (ve/he)

Tambryn Trevelyan (she/her)

Ozymandias (he/him)

Eliseo Cadash (he/him)

Qazari Adaar (she/her)

Meraad Adaar (he/him)

Zachary Trevelyan II (he/him)

Oryth Istimaethoriel Lavellan (she/her)

[buggleboos]

my inescapable oc sand trench

[dragonologist-writings]

Title: That Which Is Lost Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: G Status: One-Shot Characters: Inquisitor Adaar, Josephine Montilyet Ships: F!Adaar/Josephine Additional Notes: Hurt/Comfort, Post-Trespasser, Injury Recovery Word Count: 1.3k Summary: Meraad mourns what has been lost, and Josephine reminds her of what has not.

read below or here on AO3

For the first time, it occurs to Meraad that she might have to cut her hair.

She takes a deep breath- steady and barely shaking, because even in the privacy of her own quarters she must stay strong- as she fixes her eyes on the reflection in the mirror. Long, loose strands of un-tethered silver hair obscure her expression. That’s fine; honestly, she prefers not to look herself in the eyes when she finally admits defeat.

In those first few days, she barely spared a thought for things such as this. Her mind was reeling over revelations and war plans and betrayal. When even walking felt wrong and unbalanced, her hair didn’t matter; she left it loose and tangled and didn’t care.

But now she’s recovering, isn’t she? She’s sleeping through the night. With a bit of twisting and stretching she can secure the buckles on her own clothing. Dagna wants to show her a new prosthetic design today, and it’s not as if Meraad has ever needed two hands to wield a dagger anyway.

Even the pain is not so bad anymore. True, she still feels the occasional phantom shocks, as if the Anchor were still fixed onto a nonexistent palm… but it happens far less often and with far less intensity than it did when the wound was fresh.

Meraad can handle the remnants of pain. She can handle the adjustments to her fighting style and her new center of balance. She doesn’t need help to live her own life, and she certainly doesn’t- shouldn’t- need help to braid her own damn hair.

Maybe she should have cut it long ago. It’s always been an effort to care for, and she rarely indulges in silly luxuries. But when it’s loose it flows nearly to her hips, a soft cascading curtain of silver- the only thing about herself Meraad might truthfully call beautiful. She wonders what the others will think, when she shows up with her long, intricate braid chopped off. If she can’t even save this small thing- if she can’t do this simple task she’s been doing since she was old enough to walk- how is she supposed to re-learn everything she knows about combat in time to face Solas once again? How is she supposed to be strong enough to lead her people to victory if she can’t even take care of herself? How-

In a burst of willpower, Meraad grabs a long strand of hair and make one more attempt. Keep this strand between these fingers, tuck another between these, twist the elbow this way to grab a third from the back-

Her lone hand fumbles as she tries to reach around her horns, and her fistful of hair falls from her grasp once more. Meraad slams her palm on the dresser in frustration, screwing her eyes shut against the traitorous tears that threaten to fall.

This is all silly. She hasn’t cried over the pain or the nightmares, and she will certainly not cry over this of all things. She will cut her hair and that will be that. Meraad moves to wipe her eyes and out of habit moves the wrong arm, exposing herself to the disorientation of sending commands to a hand that is not there, and the boiling frustration that has been building inside her all morning finally escapes in a choked sob.

“My love?”

Meraad jolts upright, realizing with a pang of guilt and embarrassment that she has woken Josephine. She hurriedly wipes away her tears- with the correct arm, this time- and turns to assure Josephine that everything is fine.

But before she can say a word, Jospehine appears behind her, taking in the scene, and without a word reaches out to run her fingers through Meraad’s hair. She stands there for a moment, neither woman speaking, and then Josephine begins to braid.

At first Meraad wants to protest, but the feel of Josephine’s fingers, methodical and steady in their task, is soothing. Besides, she still doesn’t trust her voice not to shake. So she lets Josephine work, and as she does Meraad studies the other woman’s reflection in the mirror.

Josephine is still in her long nightdress, her hair own tousled from sleep. But her eyes are as alert and perceptive as always. It is her eyes that Meraad watches; they are lovely, deep and intelligent and always so expressive. Meraad searches those eyes now, certain she will find pity- or worse, disappointment. Josephine has always been the strongest believer in Meraad’s strength. She has always been the last person Meraad wants to let down.

But in this moment, Josephine’s emotions are unreadable, even to Meraad. She simply continues her work silently until she has gathered all of Meraad’s hair into a long braid, which she then tucks over her shoulder. It is only then that she speaks, her voice heavy with sorrow and worry. “You have been through a great deal in a very short time. Do not demand so much of yourself.”

So much, she says. As if fixing her hair is the equivalent of leading a battalion.

Meraad frowns and stands, brushing past Josephine to collect her daggers from the other side of the room. “Why not? Everybody else does.” She is aware of how bitter her words are, but she can do nothing to sweeten them. “And I can’t afford to let them down.”

Josephine reaches an arm out to touch Meraad’s shoulder as she walks by. The touch is light and gentle, but it still stops Meraad in her tracks. “Do you know how many countries are completely self sufficient?” Josephine asks. “Do you know how many noble houses can sustain themselves with no allies or benefactors?”

She is using her ‘gentle reprimand’ voice, and even as the words make Meraad scowl, the familiar tone eases some of the tension in her chest. It is nice to know that some things don’t change, she supposes. And Josephine is talented enough to make even a lecture feel comforting. “I thought Ferelden was infamous for its independence.”

“Ferelden would not be standing if not for the Grey Wardens. And the Grey Wardens would have collapsed if not for the Inquisition. And the Inquisition would have failed a hundred times over if not for the people who believed in us and gave us their aid.” Josephine’s hand drops from Meraad’s arm, tracing down her forearm and wrist until their fingers are wrapped together. “Nobody stands alone.”

Meraad sighs, and she turns her gaze from the hand currently wrapped in Josephine’s to the hand that is not there. She doesn’t like looking at that empty space; it still feels so wrong, to expect to something there, even something unnatural and painful, and instead be reminded that there is nothing.

“The Inquisition may have had assistance,” Meraad replies, “But it was still built on a foundation. What will happen when that foundation is damaged?”

Josephine reaches out to cup Meraad’s cheek and turn her head so that they are facing each other. “I know it will not all be as simple as this,” she says, brushing a stray lock of hair from Meraad’s face and tucking it behind her ear. “But you are still Meraad Adaar. That is one of two things you can never lose.”

Meraad releases a deep breath, closing her eyes and letting herself be soothed by the touch. “And what is the other?”

“You are my love,” Josephine answers, and though Meraad’s eyes are still closed she can hear the soft smile in her voice. “And you will not be facing the future on your own.”

Meraad lets the words sink in over a long moment, and then she nods, and decides that perhaps she will not cut her hair just yet.

[ringneckedpheasant]

[k9rage]

Snippet Smonday bc I want to post snippets

A tiny snippet of my Meraad Adaar x Lenamar ( @nbmesa‘s oc) in a modern au where Meraad is an ER patient and Lenamar is a nurse. The other two ocs are from @just-call-me-angel, Lark and Asgeir!

“Asgeir- really, why would you even think that! And- and besides, even if you were right, you can’t just go and… flirt with a patient, or-”

The man in front of him had already started laughing midway through his rambling. “You’re full of shit sometimes- I do it all the time, has the building crumbled to dust? Nah, no one gives a damn, simple as that!” His eyes widened in surprise. “This isn’t news either. Hell, Lark knows-”

A muffled, “please don’t bring me into this” cut the man short, his colleague’s attention back on him.

[sky-scribbles]

OC fact: Felix isn't actually a fandom OC but if he was a bender (as in ATLA/LOK) he would be an earth bender

Ooh, cool! I love ATLA AUs :D

Let’s think - of my Dragon Age mages, Firion Surana would be an ice-focused waterbender, Dalton Hawke would be a firebender, Meraad Adaar would be a healing-focused waterbender and Elera Lavellan would be an airbender who’d use vibrations in the air around her to navigate without her eyesight (like an air version of the seismic sense.)

[heraldofthenug]

Meraad Adaar.

[masterworker-shargo]

~The February sketches~ My mages ♥ • The Warden - Ilargia Amell • Hawke - Frelse Hawke • The first Inquisitor - Azeria Trevelyan • The second Inquisitor - Saar-Meraad Adaar

[dragonologist-phd]

OC-Tober Day 5! A short piece for Meraad Adaar for the prompt Cliff from the prompt list by @oc-growth-and-development!

The Storm Coast was a lot of things. Stormy, obviously. Cold. Foggy. Spider-infested. The air smelled of salt and pine and rain, and whether it was from the spray off the ocean or the constant drizzle, it was impossible to travel through the are without ending up drenched through to your skin. It was altogether a somewhat gloomy picture.

And above all else, the Storm Coast was grey. Grey clouds filled a grey sky which looked down upon grey cliffs perched above the grey rocks jutting out against a grey ocean.

Meraad Adaar, being vashoth herself, loved it with every fiber of her being.

Her favorite spot was atop one of the tallest cliffs, where she could sit and watch the sea for hours. With the mercenaries and darkspawn cleared out, the land was mercifully peaceful- nothing but the sound of the howling wind and the crashing waves and Meraad’s own thoughts.

Meraad ruled over Skyhold, and she’d claimed many other territories. But it was here, far above the rest of the world, with the vastness of the ocean spread out before her and the rhythm of warm rain against her skin, that she truly felt invincible.

[caednua]

🐝

[calicostorms]

hi. hello. um. for the codex prompts- 1, 4, 6, 12, 13 for meraad. thank you ily

1: a conversation overheard about your oc

[Conversation between two Inquisition scouts]

How odd— did you see that qunari the other evening?

The one with the beard? What's so odd— he looks like any other oxman.

Yes, him. I heard he has a wife and is flirting with that Tranquil gardener.

Truly? Maybe he doesn't know they can't feel like us.

Rumors have it that they have kids together, too. A shame for his poor wife.

4: a letter from your oc to their love interest

Codex: Inquisition Agent's Letter

[A letter found in the rotunda in the Skyhold garden. Its written in functional, blocky script on basic Inquisition stationary and smells heavily of elfroot and embrium]

Kadan,

All is well. We have at last been sent somewhere warm and dry. All of our mercenary band should return in good spirits with a heavy tan. If all goes well with the next mission, we will return within a week from your receiving of this letter.

I have packed enough sun balm for those who forget theirs more often than not. I often find the constellation of draconis (or that's what the southerners call it— I am unsure how to translate the Qunari word for it) and imagine you are likely still gardening high in the mountains while we rest. The sunsets here are much faster than further south.

You would like it here far more than I do, I suspect. The weather is closer to your home than mine and the dry heat does little but cause me irritation. The creatures here, however, have been fascinating. Some look like a very small, spiky dragons and are called varghests. I have enclosed a sketch of one such creature which I observed for several hours yesterday.

I look forward to returning to you when this mission finishes and am missing you greatly. Shaye and the rest pass on their well wishes as well.

Yours,

Meraad Adaar

6: someone describing a time your oc helped them

Codex: Archer's Unsent Letter

[A crisply written but rushed letter on brown parchment dated for the 3rd of Harvestmere. It is unsent and occasionally dotted with small spots of moisture]

Hi Fanora,

Sorry for the lateness of this letter, things are hectic here. I joined up with the Inquisition recently have got put right to work. I'm doing ok; it's an honest job and pays more than hunting my kills in the forests ever did. I'm getting paid the big bucks now to shoot down all manner of weird beasts, human, animal, or in between.

Last week I joined a Qunari mercenary band that works for the Inquisition on a dragon hunt of all things with a couple of other agents I've become friends with, Amund and Sidony. Well, I don't think Sidony likes me so much, but she's like that with everyone. I think. I almost got injured but one of those qunari we traveled with pushed me out of the way just in time for the dragonling to miss me and my bow!

I got hurt a little, but that qunari was watching out for me most of the time. Maybe his name was Meraad? I should ask the Ambassador to thank him for me if she can find out who he is. The rest of the injuries are just scrapes.

I hope your Clan is well, even if they never wanted to take me in. I'm using what you've taught me for good now. I miss you.

Dareth shiral,

Hall

12: your oc overheard while drunk: skipped, I can't think of anything atm

13: transcript for an interview with your oc: skipped, I have a separate interview thing I'm working on for him already

[merrybandofmurderers]

do i have too many ocs? you decide

Oryth Istimaethoriel Lavellan (she/her)

Neveah Lavellan (she/they)

Qazari Adaar (she/ze)

Ovidia Trevelyan (she/her)

Raleigh Cadash (he/him)

Ozymandias (he/they/she)

Quora Adaar (ve/he)

Nhairi Tellanthe (she/her)

Meraad Adaar (he/him)

@evangeline444, @transfenris-truther, @spainkitty, and honestly if you wanna do this feel free to say i tagged you i wanna see ocsss

[melissuer]

I have a whole Modern Thedas AU fic idea in my head and i will write it some day but for now have a Herald returning from the supermarket

also zoom in for a better view because I do not know why her face looks weird from afar

[dragonologist-writings]

Title: To Dance With You Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: G Status: One-Shot Characters: Inquisitor Adaar, Josephine Montilyet Ships: F!Adaar/Josephine Additional Notes: Fluff, Romance, Set During WEWH Word Count: 675 Summary: Lady Josephine Montilyet and Inquisitor Adaar share a quiet moment at the Orlesian ball.

read below or here on AO3

Vivienne is not going to be happy with this, Meraad thought idly as she surveyed herself in the dim glow of the candlelit lamps lining the palace balcony. The lovely dress- a unique creation made by Vivienne’s personal seamstress, tailored specifically for Meraad’s stature- was certainly unsalvageable. The skirt itself had held together well enough, but the long, flowing train it once boasted had been ripped to ribbons during her run through the gardens. The dress was not her only concern, although it was easily the most expensive. Her hair, previously braided and pinned around her horns, was now hanging loose in long tangled strands, and the delicate silver chains she’d worn had been ripped clean off her throat and left scattered in pieces across the ground below.

At least Meraad had managed to avoid splattering herself with blood. Or if she hadn’t, the red didn’t stand out against the dark material she wore. Perhaps that was why Vivienne had recommended the black dress; she must have anticipated how unlikely it would be for Meraad to get through the evening without using her daggers.

The quick clicking of heels drew Meraad out of her thoughts, and for a moment she worried her self-inspection was about to ruined by some bothersome partygoer. But she quickly recognized the rhythm of the footsteps and relaxed as, sure enough, Josephine turned the corner.

The ambassador’s eyes lit up as she spotted Meraad in the shadows of the balcony. “I thought I might find you out here.”

“I needed a moment of peace,” Meraad answered, marveling at how despite everything that had transpired that night, Josephine still looked as radiant as ever in a cloud of golden silk. She approached Meraad with an easy smile, not a single hair out of place, as bright and confident as a butterfly on the breeze.

“Then you should take it while you can. Everyone inside is clamoring for an audience with the Inquisitor. They couldn’t be more delighted with you.”

Meraad waited for the punchline, and when none came realized Josephine was serious. She tilted her head curiously. “Even after all of the assassination?”

Now Josephine did laugh. “I forget you’ve never been to an Orlesian ball before. Had there been anything less, they would have been terribly disappointed. You are all they are speaking of.”

Meraad found that hard to believe. These were the same nobility who had gaped at her throughout the evening as they openly whispered oxman while she was mere feet away. Now that she had just murdered a member of the royal family and upended the power balance of Orlais, she shuddered to think of what they were saying out of her earshot. “Perhaps it's best I stay out here, then, especially considering the mess I’ve made of my outfit. I would hate to give them more fodder for gossip.”

“You misunderstand, Inquisitor,” Josephine said, a smile still playing on the edge of her lips. “You are the hero of the hour. You can do no wrong- for the remainder of the night, at least. And I assure you, within the month the newest fashions from Val Royeaux will feature skirts of shredded ribbons.”

The very notion was ridiculous, but Meraad had to admit that nobody knew the workings of these things better than Josephine. “I should enjoy it while it lasts, then.”

“You should,” Josephine agreed. She glanced toward the ballroom doors, beyond which the soft strains of music could be heard, then back to Meraad. With a well-practiced curtsy, she held out her hand in invitation. “Would you honor me with a dance, Lady Adaar?”

There were plenty of reasons for Meraad to refuse- the state of her attire, the stares of the humans, the inevitable gossip, the fact that Meraad had killed her last dance partner scarcely an hour ago. Every reason withered into nothingness under the warmth and sincerity of Josephine’s gaze.

Meraad lightly took the offered hand in her own and brought it to her lips. “Nothing would please me more, Lady Montilyet.”

[ringneckedpheasant]

tagged by @merrybandofmurderers to make some ocs in this picrew 🖤

Kiernan Lavellan - he/him

Rhian Lavellan - he/him

Ehsaan Adaar - he/she

Meraad Adaar - she/her

Rhys Mahariel - he/him

Gavyn Trevelyan - he/she/they

Luria Surana - he/him

Toshie Surana - they/them