#tagged by @orsino-the-enchanter

[wildbasil]

some old dragon age things

[vigilskeep]

🔥 Orsino?

they should have let him and hawke kiss i’m dead serious

okay aside from that. um orsino is my babygirl and i do see why people buy into the orsino fight not being real if you side with the mages especially bc there’s like word of god admission it wasn’t done well and hints in canon etc., but i ALSO think the orsino harvester transformation emphasises the desperation of the last straw fight if you side with the mages, which imo is easy to miss bc of like the videogame format where you know you can’t really lose. even if you side with the mages, orsino thinks you are all going to die. (as a further note, everyone who sides with you with the mages is in doing that accepting those chances, however brave a face they’re putting on it. i really think the gravity of that final stand and like the weight of the odds against you gets ignored.) i don’t necessarily mind orsino’s harvester thing but they should have written it better so it doesn’t like happen non-sensically when you seem to be winning, i think you should be getting overwhelmed. at the very least

[littlelostmabari]

Chapter 16: For Want of a Moment's Peace (Part III)

In which Antsa joins the Circle, and Cullen confronts himself.

This chapter is heavy. Mind the tags, take care of yourself. CW: blood (creation of a phylactery, tranquility), child abuse (creation of a phylactery), mage abuse / beatings, mentions of minor character deaths, inactive bystanders, anxiety/panic.

Fandom: Dragon Age 2 / Dragon Age Inquisition

Current Pairings: Cullen Rutherford x OC. Background F!Hawke x Anders

Rating: M (Canon-typical violence & behavior, check tags & CW on chapters)

Links: Whole Work | Chapter 16 | Saoirse Character Sheet

(Dividers by cafekitsune)

The chamber where phylacteries were made lay just outside the wards of the vault — wards that only a select few Templars and the First Enchanter knew how to deactivate. It was one of the most heavily guarded areas in the Circle, a thought that only crossed his mind as he realized he was letting a wanted apostate get close enough to the vault to see its secrets. Flashes of a soft smile, a head of wavy blonde hair worn down across her shoulders because he told her once that it looked nice that way. A melody of a laugh at a passing joke. Then a wail as sword met flesh and iron and stone and the last time he let a mage this close to him, this close to a phylactery vault she and Jowan had used blood magic to — He cursed under his breath and stopped Orsino and Antsa before they could round the corner. It took some convincing, and some promises that she would get everything back in just a few minutes, but he relieved Antsa of both her ragdoll and the pocket around her waist before he fell back and allowed Orsino to lead the child towards the chambers. This needed to be over. He needed the Witch out of the Circle. He needed his afternoon ration of lyrium. He needed everything to go back to normal.

[theluckywizard]

happy dadwc lucky! for Cullen & Bethany: “If you don’t know my options, don’t judge my choices.”

Thank you, Mer! Here's some Bethany Hawke & Cullen Rutherford in early DA2, Act 2 in the Gallows. for @dadrunkwriting Pairing: Bethany Hawke & Cullen Rutherford WC: 800 Rating: Teen Tags: Mage-templar dynamics, painfully clueless Cullen, Circle Bethany, adjusting to imprisonment, awkward conversations

The next time Cullen saw Bethany Hawke, a strange sensation hitched in his gut. He didn’t want it to be relief, but it felt a lot like it. Her name had been on the harrowing schedule within the first week of her arrival. Meredith had been pushing for earlier harrowings for months. An unharrowed mage puts us all at risk, she decreed. Orsino did his best to argue for the young apprentices, still in the thick of preparations, still maturing and strengthening their resolve, but the uptick in voluntary tranquil spoke volumes. It was the safest way. But it made his stomach cramp and burn.

Bethany was a rarity. It was unusual to capture an apostate who had been free for so long and they didn’t usually fare well in harrowings. Hedge mages who never learned to cope with a true demonic threat, who’d spent years using their mana to heat water and heal wounds wound up tranquil or dead more often than not. Meredith felt it was the natural penalty for evading the law for so long. Cullen sometimes wondered if it wasn’t a wretched waste.

He spotted her dark head bent over a bowl of stew during the third lunch shift in the green and gold Kirkwall’s newly harrowed enchanters wear. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so surprised given all he uncovered during his investigation.

She sat alone. The mages could be as brutally exclusive as the templars. He thought back to his own days at his own table. Now he ate alone in his office more often than not.

“How are you settling in, Enchanter?” he asked. “I hope the facilities meet your expectations.”

He silently cursed himself when he surprised her with a mouthful. She dabbed her mouth with a napkin and swallowed in a hurry.

“It’s— fine.” She looked beyond him at the other mages, and then studied her stew bowl once more, prodding at a carrot with her spoon before stirring it needlessly.

“It can’t be worse than the squalor of Lowtown, can it?” he asked.

Her brow twitched. “Well on the plus side, I suppose it’s nice that the sewage is properly managed here. But in Lowtown I could wander down to Berny’s if I felt like it and buy a—”

“—sweet roll. I— uh. I know it.” Cullen shifted on his feet as he considered the enormous privilege of a sweet roll on a whim. His tongue felt dry and clumsy suddenly. He’d never been good at conversation. “Here they make them at Wintersend.”

Bethany’s lips disappeared into a minor frown. She must already suspect the quality to be inferior. She’d be correct.

“Have you heard news of my brothers?” she asked, folding her napkin into a smaller and smaller triangle. 

“I have not. I saw in the broadsheets that one of the merchant’s guild members returned with his men,” he says. “I could look into it— if you like.” What was he doing?

He felt the force of her sudden gaze blast right through him.

“You— could do that?” she asked.

Cullen regretted making the offer. “I could. I will send the information through the proper channels. Orsino will take care of it.”

“Thank you, Knight Captain,” she says. Cullen glances at over at his shoulder and three dozen staring eyes flicker away to other objects of interest. He could guess how it looked. A fetching, newly harrowed enchanter chatting with the recently promoted right hand to the commander. And yet he found himself inventing a half dozen legitimate ways to steal a real conversation with her.

“I’m— I’m glad you made it. Through your harrowing. It pained me to see that they’d scheduled you so soon.”

She huffed softly. “Aren’t you the second in command here?” It’s that unwitting insolence again, something she hasn’t learned to help yet. 

“I— my duties are surprisingly narrow in scope.”

Bethany regarded him doubtfully. Her skeptical look didn’t change the truth. Meredith was delighted to pawn off operations to him. Provisioning. Staff schedules. Inventories. Low level templar disciplinary issues. And whatever investigations she assigned him. She said it would build his confidence as a leader. He hoped it would earn her trust.

“I heard harrowings are happening sooner, when the apprentices are younger,” she said quietly. “Isn’t there something you could do about that?”

“If I could— I— you don’t know what my options are,” he answered in a low voice. He blinked, frowning at his own floundering thoughts and pivoted to defend Meredith, the woman who believed in him so fiercely. “The Knight Commander is a wise woman. I trust her. And you should too.”

He patted the hilt of his sword and moved to extricate himself from this crumbling situation. “I’ll find out about your brothers. If I can.”

Read the rest of Together Alone here

Summary:

A traumatized newly-promoted Knight Captain who only wants to keep the world safe from the terrors of the Fade. A soft-hearted, sharp-minded mage who spent years evading the law. Maybe they don’t share the same fears. But at least they're not alone in being afraid. Or how two people form an unlikely friendship in the worst possible place and change each other forever.

[blightweave]

I was tagged by @mxanigel to do this picrew! ty for the tag <3

Funny enough, I'd already done it a few times before the tag so I had the images ready to go lolol

Sazlek & Nathanos Blightcaller

Lilith Hawke & First Enchanter Orsino

Rho Ar'khan & Hunter TBB (this was a semi recent development that I haven't actually talked about outwardly all that much.)

Not gonna tag anyone bc that's just not my vibe but it's there if you wanna do it uwu

[ineedmyknightcommander]

WIP Whenever!

@mxkelsifer, @mxanigel, @druckkugelschreiber and @anneapocalypse have tagged me in various 'share snippets' memes over the last few days, and I... actually wrote something today! (Post Absolution, taking place in the continuity as my other Orsino Lives works.)

The cottage wasn’t the sort of place Cullen had envisioned Orsino taking as a residence. It was of simple means, with wooden walls and a thatched roof. If anything, it reminded Cullen of the houses of his youth. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, considering he was in the Hinterlands, but despite being back on Fereldan soil, Cullen had never felt so far from home.

Cullen raised his hand to the door to knock, but it was already ajar. It felt dangerous, perverse, for the former First Enchanter to be so unguarded like this. It hadn’t been this way back in the Circle.

But so many things had changed since then. Everything had changed. Except for the most important thing.

He sighed loudly. He wished it hadn’t come to this, that he didn’t have to be the one to tell Orsino the bad news. But who else was there? Who else knew Orsino’s whereabouts, who knew he was even still alive? The popularity of the dwarf’s book seemed to have overwritten reality even for those who were present. “Cullen,” Orsino’s voice called from inside, “do you intend to brood in my doorway all day? Come in.”

Cullen flushed, pushing his way into the house with heavy footsteps. “How did you know it was me?”

Smiling, Orsino looked up from the teapot in his hands. “I’d recognise that sigh anywhere.”

Tagging: @sharksister, @venatohru, @ineffableaz, @breadedsinner, @milesmentis, @galfrey and YOU! (but no pressure!)

[dacreateathon]

Precipice

By: @ziskandra

Pairing: Orsino/Meredith Stannard

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4508

Having recently been elevated to the rank of First Enchanter, Orsino intends to make Meredith follow through on the promises they'd made one another when they were younger.

He gets a little more than he'd bargained for.

Tags are below the cut, because some are E-rated!

Tags: Mage-Templar Dynamics, Reunion Sex, Desk Sex, Clothed Sex, Rough Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Love confession, Denial of Feelings, Pre-canon, Backstory

[ziskandra]

Fic Round Up 2022: Questions and Stats

I posted the actual list of fics in a separate post to keep things from getting too unwieldy! I produced 38 written works across 10 fandoms this year, which means that despite writing less than 2021, I actually dipped my toe into different waters! Thank you @queenaeducan, @mxanigel & @little--abyss for the tags! 💖 Now, onto the questions. Words posted: 68,731

Additional Words Written: Probably another 10k or so all up scattered across various half-written exchange treats...

Highest Kudos: At 69 kudos (nice) it's White Noise, my first, and so far only, foray into Hot Fuzz fic! Definitely could be tempted to write some Butterangel again. 🧈👼 Highest Kudos to Hits ratio: Possibly because of recency bias (it hasn't had time to accumulate more hits!), but it's with no place to go, the angsty Franziska ficlet I posted just before Christmas this year! (That being said, there are a few fics of mine with less hits, so I think it's doing well regardless 🥰)

Highest Hit Oneshot: two in the bush, a Cersei/Sansa fic I wrote for nonconathon this year. Never underestimate the power of porny fic in a large fandom: this work received four times as many hits as the next fic on the list (which was Kristoph/Phoenix hatesex).

New Things I Tried: I did a lot more drafting and rewriting and starting things earlier than I have in the past, and I think it's really improved the quality of my writing, and I've found that I actually quite enjoy it? Surprise, surprise, this was the first year I tried writing after starting ADHD meds 😅 (the autism really takes over once I can actually focus, lol.)

Fic I Spent the Most Time On: All's Fair, the arranged marriage Meresino fic I wrote in an exchange for @venatohru! I kept wanting to add things to it, and then a whole actual plot evolved that I had no hope of actually completing in the time allocated, so I had to then rework the actual fic I submitted to be properly standalone and ahh. It was so much fun, though! Still working on that sequel...

Fic I Spent the Least Time On: Funnily enough, also an exchange gift for @venatohru! This time, an Ace Attorney twincest fic, (be)longing. I literally sat down, wrote the first draft in forty minutes, and when I looked over it again a few days leter to edit, discovered it didn't really need much improvement!

Favorite Thing I Wrote: Basically anything from Orsino's POV, which is still a massive surprise to me. Here's a couple of my favourites. From Precipice:

And Orsino was so, so tired of losing more of his own to the crushing oppression of the Gallows. It had been bad enough when he had been an apprentice, templars breathing down the necks of those who didn’t learn fast enough, or conversely, those with too much ambition. Only those who were able to adequately toe the line between these two different types of danger had successfully escaped notice.

Fortunately, Orsino’s childhood in the alienage, what little of it he remembered, had served him well when it came to knowing when to keep his head down and when to speak up. Make too much noise, or too little, and one could disappear.

It was why his parents had said nothing when the templars had come for him. Better the Gallows than the alienage, better this than dead.

He’d always held onto the hope that so long as he lived to see another day, he might one day bear witness to a better world, and perhaps even be granted the chance to help shape it himself.   

Only here in the Gallows would he, an elf, a mage, an elf and a mage, be granted such an opportunity. Only in this unique set of circumstances could Orsino be the kind of man who might ascend to the ranks of First Enchanter.

It hadn't mattered that no-one else had wanted it, that the chalice was tainted, nor that he had most likely signed his own inevitable death warrant. In the absence of a silver spoon in his mouth, or indeed, any spoon at all, Orsino would always make do with whatever scraps of success he could scavenge.

But also the entire masturbation scene in end and the beginning, wherein Meredith becomes an unwilling passenger in Orsino's body after The Last Straw and nobody's truly having a great time. A tinier snippet because I don't want to make this post too nsfw:

Meredith had known that someone like Orsino would find her actions indefensible long before the red lyrium had entrenched itself in the recesses of her mind, promising her the power to fix everything she had broken, the ability to save everyone she had failed —

I suppose, Orsino interrupted, dead is a type of safe.

Favorite Thing I Read: My reading tastes are wide and eclectic! (I've actually been working on a small project to do themed fic recs, starting with weekly DA recs, so keep an eye out for that!) If you're really burning for recs right now, my bookmarks are pretty reliable!

Writing Goals for 2023: I'm actually hoping to write less and read more. (Both in fandom and otherwise.) 😅 I'm planning on doing less exchanges and working on more of my own fic ideas.

Tagging: @ineffableaz, @venatohru, @darethshirl, @bogunicorn, @chocochipbiscuit, @syrupwit, @fandomn00blr, and YOU!

[rainwolfheart]

Dragon Age worldstate and OCs

This is just an app-friendly version of my characters page so I can link it don't mind me.

Worldstate

Warden sided with the mages, Warden brokered peace, Warden sided with Caridin, Bhelen is king, Kieran is an OGB, Anora is queen, Alistair is a Warden, the Architect was killed.

Bethany is a Grey Warden, Hawke killed the Arishok, Hawke sided with the mages, Orsino isn't actually dead Varric made that up.

Inquisitor recruited the mages, Briala rules through Gaspard, the Grey Wardens were banished, no one was left in the Fade, Morrigan drank from the well, Leliana is Divine, Inquisition was disbanded, vowed to stop Solas.

Characters

❤️ current partner(s) 🖤 ex-partner(s) ⭐ best friend(s) All ages are as of 9:45 Dragon First six (Hawke to Rafael) are primary characters, others are secondary, sorted alphabetically by last name.

Hamish Amell Hawke

tag

Champion of Kirkwall

Hamish or Hal (if you're Leandra/the twins) · Hawke (if you're anyone else including Anders)

he/they · transmasc nonbinary

Fereldan half-elf · warrior/mage

Force Mage/Spirit Healer

9:06 Dragon · 39

bisexual

❤️ Anders Hawke

❤️ Justice

🖤 [QP] Varric Tethras

⭐ Fenris

⭐ Isabela

⭐ Varric Tethras

VO: Nicholas Boulton

ADHD bisexual disaster par excellence, has never sat normally on a chair in their life. Be gay, do crimes, punch templars. Currently on a mission to cure every Tranquil in Thedas.

Branna “Mason” Cadash

tag

Inquisition agent

Branna or Mason

she/her · cis woman

Orlesian surface dwarf · rogue

Tempest

9:13 Dragon · 32

bisexual

❤️ Lace Harding

⭐ Bram Kenric

⭐ Dorian Pavus

⭐ Rafael Trevelyan Roldán

VO: Laura Bailey

Uses her stone sense for party tricks. In a tense competition for “the Inquisition's biggest nerd” with Dorian. Forever salty about the Titan choosing Valta over her.

Kit Ivish

Lilah's Second

he/him · cis man

warrior caste Orzammar dwarf · warrior

9:14 Dragon · 31

gay

❤️ [QP] Lilah Hirmot

❤️ Dorian Pavus

VO: Travis Willingham

Kindest gentlest softest boy. Somehow manages to keep himself out of politics in spite of being married to an ambassador and in a relationship with a magister. His love language is food and so is his cat's.

Dael Mahariel Sabrae

tag

Warden-Commander of Ferelden

she/her · trans woman

Dalish elf · mage

Spirit Healer/Keeper/Arcane Warrior

9:08 Dragon · 37

bisexual

❤️ Alistair Mahariel

🖤 Merrill Alerion Sabrae

⭐ Sigrun

⭐ Velanna Tillahnnen

VO: Nia Roberts

All about repressing the angst and regret from the hero's journey. Fereldan in spite of herself. Not-super-subtly using the Grey Wardens to fight for mage and elf rights.

Marfisa Trevelyan Roldán

mage rights activist

Marfi or Mari

she/her · cis woman

Antivan-Marcher human · mage

9:09 Dragon · 36

straight

❤️ Gaël

⭐ Tyrdda Hildsdotten O Sunhold

⭐ Rafael Trevelyan Roldán

VO: Stephanie Beatriz (I don't actually know if she can do the right accent but w/e)

Her little brother cured her of Tranquility but she still embarasses him in front of his friends to keep him humble. They team up to keep the rest of the family humble, so it balances out. Has no time for Vivienne's Loyalist bullshit.

Rafael Trevelyan Roldán

tag

Inquisitor

Rafa or Raf · Lucky (if you're Varric)

he/him · trans man

Antivan-Marcher human · mage

Knight-Enchanter

9:11 Dragon · 34

bisexual

❤️ Dorian Pavus

❤️ Josephine Montilyet

⭐ Branna “Mason” Cadash

⭐ Lace Harding

⭐ Marfisa Trevelyan Roldán

VO: Harry Hadden-Paton

Did so many crimes for the mage underground at Ostwick it's not even funny. Peace was never an option. Scandalizing the nobility 24/7 by being in a poly marriage (but nobody is brave enough to argue with Divine Victoria over the definition of marriage).

Tyrdda Hildsdotten O Sunhold

Inquisition agent

she/her · trans woman

Avvar human · mage

9:03 Dragon · 42

straight

⭐ Marfisa Trevelyan Roldán

VO: Abigail Thorne

Augur who joined the Inquisition to help close the Breach, stayed because she's a nerd about learning from other mages. Spent like a month at Kinloch Hold as a kid before her dad broke her out. Sworn enemy of Solas for absolutely petty reasons.

Lilah Hirmot

Ambassador of House Hirmot to Minrathous

she/her · cis woman

noble caste Orzammar dwarf · warrior

9:13 Dragon · 32

aro-ace

❤️ [QP] Kit Ivish

⭐ Maevaris Tilani

VO: Ashley Johnson

Girlbossed her way into an inter-caste lavender marriage so her family would get off her fucking back and let her get back to work. Too powerful to go to the surface, she and Mae would just steamroll Tevinter politics, they had to nerf her. Lies for fun and profit and to annoy her husband.

Marijke Kader

Grey Warden

they/them · nonbinary

Orlesian surface dwarf · rogue

9:10 Dragon · 35

bisexual

❤️ Bethany Amell Hawke

⭐ Nathaniel Howe

VO: Erika Ishii

Grey Warden courier who has set and beat their own records for fastest times across Orlais and Ferelden. Loves horses but never learns their names because they don't want to get attached. Did not know that their girlfriend's brother was the Champion of Kirkwall until far longer than they're willing to admit.

Milo Surana-Amell

enchanter-turned-farmer

he/him · cis man

Fereldan city elf · mage

c. 9:10 Dragon · ~35

straight

❤️ Solona Surana-Amell

VO: Liam O'Brien

Survived Kinloch Hold without getting recruited to the Grey Wardens because he is a cringefail terrible mage. Proposed to Solona as soon as they heard the news that mages could get married in Ferelden and now they have a farm and 3 kids. Thinks he's good at haggling when he goes to the market, is actually terrible at haggling.

Solona Surana-Amell

enchanter-turned-farmer

she/her · cis woman

Fereldan-Marcher human · mage

c. 9:10 Dragon · ~35

straight

❤️ Milo Surana-Amell

VO: Erica Lindbeck

The “excuse me he asked for no pickles” meme but it's Solona standing in front of Milo. Is vaguely aware that her second cousin blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall or something and thinks that's dope. Is so excited to embarass her kids by being a “cool mom.”

[niofo]

Name: Idris (formerly: Idris Morgan Aneirin Trevelyan) Nickname: Ginger (by Varric) Title: Senior Enchanter, Lord Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste

Age: 43 (9:42)

Race: human/city elf Nationality: Free Marcher

Pronouns: he/him, any Sexuality: aroace

Class: mage Specialization: necromancer, entropist, elementalist, healer

Partner: Rion Best friend: Lydia Rainier, Fiona Party composition: Dorian, Varric, Cassandra

Idris' tag

family tree

TW: suicide attempt, depression

Family

Born in 8:99 in Ostwick, child of bannora Milena Trevelyan and her elven chamberlain Mirthan. He grew up alongside his older step-siblings Griffith, Morwen and Erin, officially recognized as bann Taliesin's youngest. Neither bann nor his wife had much contact or deeper connection with any of the children, and Idris was never told which one of his mother's servants was his actual father. He received an education in politics, history and spycraft and was intended to one day marry into a rivalling family to serve as a spy there.

His closest friend in the castle was his older sister Erin, but that also came to the end when at the age of 9 his magic manifested - never liking hot temperature, he caused a snowstorm during Summerday festivities. He was swiftly sent to the Ostwick Circle, and Erin, hoping to help her sibling, convinced bann to let her become a templar - she argued that another child sent to the Maker and Chantry service would protect the family from a disgrace of producing a mage. She didn't know that Chantry intentionally kept siblings away in the Circles, so she was sent for training to Starkhaven, where she eventually climbed to the rank of knight-captain. Next time they met was in 9:41, Erin a devoted member of the Templar Order by then.

Ostwick Circle

Early on Idris showed a great potential and skill in controlling magic, but using his training as a spy he made sure he was never too noticeable or remarkable to avoid too much attention from the templars. He tried to teach it to another apprentice, Yorath Amell, but his new friend ended up failing with his studies and his outwardly rebellious tendencies ended up with Yorath being made Tranquil and Idris sent to solitary confinement for a year. Directly after the punishment Idris was ordered to undergo the Harrowing and to templars' great disappointment managed to pass it.

Later on he found himself in a company of two fellow Enchanters, Lydia Rainier and Vivienne - all sharing their ideas about reforming the Circles and the Chantry: Vivienne calling for the changes from the outside, while Idris and Lydia wanting to tear down the whole system and work out a mage-only solution on their own. When Vivienne was sent to Montsimmard Circle, the other two started to work even closer on realizing their intended plan, later on receiving a blessing from Grand Enchanter Fiona as well.

There was a debate on who would succeed Ostwick's elderly First Enchanter, and with Vivienne gone, Idris and Lydia were being brough up in equal numbers, it didn't cause a rivalry between the two though. They worked well together, Lydia acting more as a diplomat and a reasonable one, while Idris used his skills in espionage to monitor templars and cause trouble. He later picked up a study of necromancy, intentionally ruining his chance of becoming the First Enchanter, and also making sure templars would not want to enlist him in any brewing Exalted March. Lydia Rainier was chosen as the next First Enchanter after the previous one's passing.

The Mage Rebellion

With the worsening situation of mages in southern Thedas Idris and Lydia kept in contact with other like-minded people from other Circles: Grand Enchanter Fiona, First Enchanter Orsino, First Enchanter Rivella and Senior Enchanter Adrian, planning together on how to finally break away from the Chantry without much bloodshed - yet with events in Kirkwall in 9:37 it was quickly shown that would not be possible. With the prolonged stress of living in the Circle and protecting other mages under his care from the templars, Idris' mental state was quickly deteriorating.

It culminated with Idris attempting a suicide by jumping off the top of the Tower. He survived the fall with severe injuries that were later treated by healers, but the Knight-Commander assessed that such an attempt was a sign of a weak mind and a risk of possession, so he ordered the Rite of Tranquility to be performed. Having no approval from the First Enchanter he sent for an official request to the Divine, but before it arrived or before he gave up on waiting, the Rebellion broke out in the Ostwick Circle, the templars were either killed or expelled from the Tower.

After that Idris accompanied Lydia to meet up with Grand Enchanter Fiona and together they helped to organize the Rebellion. When Divine Justinia called for the Conclave to solve the issue, Idris was one of the mages immediately suspecting a trap and an attempt to wipe out all the Rebellion leadership under the pretense of peace talks. He volunteered to accompany the mage delegation and then use his skills in spying to assess if (or in his mind what kind of) a trap was set for them.

Personality

To most people he seems very calm, reliable and fair, but also quite intimidating to approach without really needing to. Amongst templars he has a reputation of being uncooperative and a troublemaker, but too sneaky to actually get caught in doing something wrong. Few friends he has see him as someone way too suspicious bordering on paranoid and steadfastly pessimistic. He prefers keeping everyone at arm's length and will not ask for help even those close to him.

He suffers from untreated and barely acknowledged depression from an early age, and accompanying it passively suicidal thoughts that manifest as occasional recklessness and self-neglect, usually worsening in stressful situations. He's particularly bad at processing his own emotions, which he deals with by rarely acknowledging or even noticing them anymore. To an outside observer he seems like a very stoic and level-headed person, with occasional bouts of annoyance in situations where anger or sadness would be more appropriate.

Skills

He's an accomplished academic and received his Senior Enchanter status due to his studies on theoretical necromancy. His secondary specialties are entropy and primal with main focus on ice magic. Later on he learns creation (mostly focused on healing) and force (to compensate for losing his arm). Has a particular talent for casting without use of a staff or other conduits.

Well versed in politics, religion and history due to early life education. He speaks Trade, Elven (with a bad accent, mostly learned from books) and knows the basics of Qunlat.

Went through a spy training as a kid and knows basic poisonmaking.

Appearance.

White, middle aged half-elf, short and of slight built bordering on malnourished, with his health steadily deteriorating. He has dark red graying hair he usually wears half up, not covering his slightly pointed ears. Has dark brown eyes and freckles that get more visible in summer. His most common expression is frown and is hardly ever seen smiling.

He rarely wears armor, but would substitute it with long cloaks of more protective types of leather. Prefers clothes that leave the least amount skin visible, often wearing gloves even in summer. Rarely carries a staff.

[guard-dogbiscuits]

CHARACTER IN FIVE QUOTES

Tell us your favourite quotes from your character. Give us an idea of who they are five things they’ve said. Then tag your friends:

Canon Quotes

1) Jake (to Roland, as he falls into the Abyss): "Go! There are other worlds than these!"

2) Roland: “Time flies, knells call, life passes, so hear my prayer. Birth is nothing but death begun, so hear my prayer. Death is speechless, so hear my speech. This is Jake, who served his ka and his tet. Say true. May the forgiving glance of S’mana heal his heart. Say please. May the arms of Gan raise him from the darkness of this earth. Say please. Surround him, Gan, with light. Fill him, Chloe, with strength. If he is thirsty, give him water in the clearing. If he is hungry, give him food in the clearing. May his life on this earth and the pain of his passing become as a dream to his waking soul, and let his eyes fall upon every lovely sight; let him find the friends that were lost to him, and let every one whose name he calls call his in return. This is Jake, who lived well, loved his own, and died as ka would have it. Each man owes a death. This is Jake. Give him peace.”

3) Roland: "I'm afraid to go to sleep. I'm afraid my dead friends will come to me, and seeing them will kill me.”

4) Susannah (Detta): “She felt as if all but the last two ounces of fuck-you had been squeezed out of her.”  “I kill with my heart, motherfucker!”

5) Samson (when confronted about what he did to his fellow Templars): "Not your business, Inquisitor."

RP Quotes

1) Fana/Ivy : "...the Archive was not a single person in a single world. She was many people, of many colors, races, and even species, in many worlds, all in one. The only thing they had in common…besides the knowledge they shared…was that they were all female, or female-presenting. Unless of course it was a world where males could lay eggs or give birth…”

2)  Samson: (an incident, the first time he’s allowed out of his cell)

"Th' brat's mum was distracted. By th' two older brats, havin' it out over a game o' Mumblety-Peg. They was arguin' over whose throw got closer t' whose, erm...bits. An' they was gettin' ready t’ escalate matters. By throwin' the knives at each other direct, 'stead of at th' ground 'twixt each other's legs."

"So whilst Mum's yellin' at th' wee hooligans t' pipe down er she'll confiscate th' shivs,  sweet li'l baby sis crawls over t' th' mason's scaffold. Right under th' ladder." He sighs. "Where there's a bucket o' mortar balanced, on th' plank up top."

3) Samson, continued: "An' I'm standin' there thinkin', No. She can't. She won't. Because I'm a bachelor. Wiv no kids o' me own, Maker be praised. Because of course. She's a woman, ain't she? Age got nothin' t' do with it. She can. She will. An' damme if she don't, and she's halfway up th' fuckin' ladder before I can believe me own eyes."

"Of course I know what's comin' next. So I run, an' sure enough she gets t' that bucket right as I'm there under th' ladder. An' of course she crawls out there, an' the ladder tilts. I manage to catch li'l Angel-Puss when it tips over; along wiv a whole bucketful of mortar up-ended on me head."

4) Samson, continued: "And that's when Mum finally sees what's goin' on. And somehow she recognizes me even with me face covered in plaster, an' she starts screechin' about th’ Butcher of Haven, and how I personally burnt down th' place. Ya know...like I brought in th' fuckin' dragon on a leash. 'Twere as much a surprise t' me as 'twas t'everyone else. Got th' burn marks t' prove it. A reminder, so t' speak."

He sighed again. He was still covered in mortar, his hair was standing up in stiff spikes, he had a black eye and a goose egg on his forehead.

"Never knew there was so many shovels and pitchforks around this place. Good times, good times..."

5)  Sally: (when the Man in Black shows up, at the Flyin' Pig Saloon) 

"...Sally O’ Malley, as I live and breathe.”

“Yes to the first part,” she said coolly. “And unfortunately, to the second.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why, Miss Sally! Those are…unfriendly words.”

“They surely are,” she agreed. “The sort you should expect, from anyone who came out of Gilead.”

He shrugged. “Hardly my fault, that the Barony clung to outmoded ideas.”

“Right. Such as honor and loyalty.”

“Both of which,” he answered smoothly, “ depend greatly on the eye of the beholder. Or…his ka.”

“If you say so,” she retorted. “So, what brings you to the Borderlands?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Just passing through.”

“Of course you are. And you just happened to see this place, and decided to stop by for a drink.”

“I’ll admit to a thirst. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to let bygones be bygones long enough for a glass of your best.”

“A glass of fair to middling,” she replied. 

“The best is reserved for my friends.”

[pikapeppa]

First Enchanter Orsino smut: Teach Me

A gift for @elbenherzart​, who has a dirty little crush on First Enchanter Orsino and who was super sad that he turns into an abomination at the end of DA2, which I couldn’t tell her when she first started playing the game, shhhh.

Inspired by this gloriously sassy little banter between Hawke and Orsino. ~1240 words.

*****************

“So I shouldn’t slit my wrists and dance naked under the moonlight just to fit in?”

“If that’s what you intend, perhaps I’ll join you after all.”

Elena Hawke couldn’t stop thinking about him. 

She knew it was bad. Yes, it was bad to be thinking about the First Enchanter with anything other than collegial respect. He was standing up to Meredith, after all, and any Circle mage who had the balls to push back against Meredith’s authoritarian bullshit was worthy of Elena’s respect. 

But she couldn’t stop thinking about him seeing her naked.

She rolled over in bed and pulled her pillow over her head, but it was no use; no pillow was fluffy enough to drown out her thoughts of Orsino’s mild and cultivated voice dropping just that tiny little bit. Ooh, yes, that tiny little hint of a growl in his voice? It was almost like the way Fenris sounded when he was irritated — and Maker only knew how much Elena liked that — but when Orsino mentioned joining her while she danced naked in the moonlight, he didn’t sound angry at all.

He sounded hungry. 

Shut the fuck up, Elena, she scolded herself. Orsino’s old enough to be your father. But that also didn’t stop the rampant thoughts of his voice and his lips and his long elegant ink-stained fingers from running through her mind. 

Those fingers, though. Elena would put good money on him knowing exactly how to use those fingers to pull the pleasure from her body. He’d lived most of his life in the Circle, after all, and weren’t Circle mages pretty kinky, from what Anders had said? Orsino probably had lots of experience. Lots of experience with sliding those fingers over a woman’s skin, over her budded nipples, over the curving planes of her belly to pet the slickness between her legs…

She shifted beneath her sheets and pressed her thighs together, but this proved to be a mistake. Her smallclothes were damp already – Maker, I’m a fucking mess, she thought – and the friction of her own skin only served to heighten her overactive imagination. 

She rolled onto her back and scowled at the ceiling. Orsino is old, she reminded herself. The First Enchanter was an older man, with crow’s feet at the corners of his pretty green eyes and grey hair – grey hair, for the Maker’s sake! 

Grey hair that Elena could just imagine sliding her fingers through as he sat in the chair at his desk and slid her thighs apart… 

Fuck, she thought hopelessly. Now all she could think about was sitting naked on Orsino’s desk in the Gallows. Not only naked, but sweaty too from dancing in the moonlight for him. If she did dance naked for him, what would he want to do once he had her on his desk? Maybe he’d push her legs apart and study her pussy with the same attention that he gave to his letters and tomes? Or maybe he’d lick the sweat from the tips of her breasts before offering to show her some advanced fingerwork that they only taught in the highest ranks of the Circle…

She twisted restlessly in her sheets, then slid her greedy fingers between her legs and closed her eyes. In the darkness afforded by her own eyelids, she could easily see the fantastical scene unfolding in front of her: Orsino setting his three-headed staff in the corner, then turning to her with that sweet and intellectual smile. Orsino politely inviting her to seat herself on his desk. Orsino pushing up his sleeves and flexing his ink-stained fingers, then politely asking if she might assist him with a new technique he was developing – a new technique for making a woman come multiple times in the space of a minute…

The fantasy was so fucking trite that she almost laughed at herself. In any other context, she would have laughed at herself for harbouring such an absurd fantasy. But at this moment, Elena couldn’t laugh. Her fingers were sliding between her legs, spreading the slickness that she’d brought on herself with her dirty thoughts about the First Enchanter, and as she shifted her fingers higher to pet her swollen clit, the fantasies only hit her harder. 

In her mind’s eye, Orsino was smoothing his thumbs along the insides of her thighs. He was composed and collected as he licked his lips, and his smile was polite and warm as he looked her in the eye. “Champion,” he said, “I hate to ask for your assistance once again. But I’m afraid this is a task I can’t do on my own.” Imaginary-Orsino arranged his robes carefully as he sat in his chair. “I must ask you to open your legs for me.”

Yes, she thought feverishly as she slipped her fingers between her legs. Andraste save her, she could hear Orsino’s polite and mild-mannered voice in her head, and she could see his handsome lined face and the hint of mischief in the curl of his lips. She could imagine those elegant magic-wielding fingers pushing her thighs apart, and could see his grateful smile when she agreed to assist him with this favour, and – fuck, she could swear she could feel the smooth and gentle touch of his tongue when he lowered his lips between her legs.

She gasped and twisted her free hand in the sheets. The pulse between her legs was beating against her own swirling fingers, and her desperate imaginings were more fractured now, flickers of fantasies that tortured her mind while she touched herself: Orsino tracing his tongue between her legs with the sort of precise and measured care that he used to choose his words. Orsino sliding those fine-boned fingers of his into the slickness of her heated depths, then curling his fingers with a gesture that he knew would bring her to her peak – a gesture that he’d perfected during his many, many years of pleasuring his illicit lovers in the Circle. Orsino losing some of that calm control and rucking up his robes, then pressing her against the wall and fucking her fast and hard, his fingers biting into her hips as he tried to bring her to her peak before Meredith could knock on the door… 

Teach me, First Enchanter, she thought deliriously. Maker’s balls, she would do anything right now for Orsino to teach her everything he’d learned over the years about how to make a woman come–

Her climax suddenly slammed through her body, sending tendrils of pleasure pulsing through her calves, and she gasped into the darkness. She could see his smile, warm and polite and glazed with the evidence of her pleasure on his lips, and she shoved her fist against her mouth to muffle her own cries. 

When her pleasure finally began to ebb away, Elena dropped her hand limply to the bed. She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling for a long moment. Then, in the peaceful darkness of her bedroom, she started to laugh.

Sick, she thought gleefully. I must be sick. He’s an older man. But frankly, Elena didn’t give a fuck about his age. Older only meant more experience, after all – and with the delicious buzz of her climax still warming her limbs and her belly, she vowed to spend more time imagining the experience that the handsome Grand Enchanter could share with her. 

[littlelostmabari]

WIP Wednesday Thursday

I spent my whole weekend writing One of the Good Ones and planning out some one shots. Then I got tired and didn't post the WIP snippets

"One of the Good Ones"

(DA2/DAI : Cullen x OC : in progress) Check out the story on AO3! (Rating: M)

This chapter is going to be a little messed up, sorry in advance. You'll want to mind the tags when it's posted.

The chamber where phylacteries were made lay just outside the wards of the vault — wards that only a select few Templars and the First Enchanter knew how to deactivate. It was one of the most heavily guarded areas in the Circle, a thought that only crossed his mind as he realized he was letting a wanted apostate get close enough to the vault to see its secrets. Flashes of a soft smile, a head of wavy blonde hair worn down across her shoulders because he told her once that it looked nice that way. A melody of a laugh at a passing joke. Then a wail as sword met flesh and iron and stone and the last time he let a mage this close to him, this close to a phylactery vault she and Jowan had used blood magic to — He cursed under his breath and stopped Orsino and Antsa before they could round the corner. It took some convincing, and some promises that she would get everything back in just a few minutes, but he relieved Antsa of both her ragdoll and the pocket around her waist before he fell back and allowed Orsino to lead the child towards the chambers. This needed to be over. He needed the Witch out of the Circle. He needed his afternoon ration of lyrium. He needed everything to go back to normal.

Currently Unnamed Starfield Smutty One-shot

(Starfield : Sam x f!Reader) (Rating: E / 18+)

It's date night in Neon.

A pair of eyes, watching. You could always sense his gaze, as if he had called your name loud enough to cut through the music. He was there, at your two o’clock, in the shade of a small booth. A glance confirmed. One hand swirled a whiskey, neat, while the other stretched lazily over the back of the booth, his legs crossed and steady against the vibrations of the music. The brim of his cowboy hat was pulled low, which was good. Meeting his eyes at a time like this inevitably turned you into a puddle — because you knew what you'd find there.  A deep, all-consuming hunger. And you were, as always, the prey. The whiskey glass raises to his lips with a smirk and a nod. The game begins. 

[blightweave]

9 People I Want To Get To Know Better

I was tagged to do this by @thedascharlatan! ty for the tag <3

I won't tag anyone but if this is something you'd like to do, by all means.

Three ships:

Sazlek & Vol'jin - this was my first WoW ship for my main WoW babygirl, Sazlek, and while she has two others now, I'll always go back to these two. I love them dearly.

Lilith Hawke & First Enchanter Orsino - The Dragon Age ship Ever for me.

Ash Halley (Spidersona) & Curt Connors

First ship:

I honestly don't remember, at least not in the context of pairing canon characters together. However, I can remember that by first oc x canon ship was a Bleach oc with Jushiro Ukitake from my Bleach days. The oc has changed a bit, but the ship is still the same <3

Last song:

Home by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. It was my daydream scenario song yesterday.

Last movie:

Deadpool and Wolverine

Currently reading:

About to start the X-Men Comics.

Currently watching:

The last movie I was in the middle of watching was X-Men: Days of Future Past. There's a theme going on here lmao.

Currently eating:

Nothing, yet, but I'm about to get my hands on some Jimmy Johns.

Currently craving:

The aforementioned Jimmy Johns

[imakemywings]

A Little Bit of Politicking

Fandom: Dragon Age 2

Pairing: Orsino x f!Hawke

Summary: The Champion of Kirkwall spends a great deal of time in the Gallows. Rumor is starting to spread that she favors the mages. What would First Enchanter Orsino do with the Champion’s favor?

AN: Hi hello welcome to quite possibly the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever posted on this site. Please enjoy.

AO3 | Pillowfort

_____________________________________________________________

The Champion of Kirkwall spent too much time at the Circle of Magi. Even Orsino, who had good reason to desire her help, was aware of this. Aware of what it looked like. He didn’t need Knight-Commander Meredith’s raging to tell him what the appearance of things was (although he got it anyway). He had even warned the Champion of this, but she only smiled and waved him off: the silly, incessant worries of an old man.

               The Champion insisted on remaining neutral between the mages and templars. Orsino knew she had given her help also to the knight-commander, but she had thus far avoided taking a side publicly. Both Meredith and Orsino had pleaded for her support, but she would not cave. The Champion’s snarky smiles and biting remarks defied any belief that she took a single thing on the Maker’s Earth seriously. She would not be dragged into the constant sniping between Kirkwall’s factions.

               While speaking out against the templars of Kirkwall would no doubt slap a big, bright target on the Champion’s back, the look on the knight-commander’s face alone at the news that the Champion was publicly supporting Kirkwall’s mages would have been worth it. And the Champion had been a target before—she knew how to handle it.

               Despite her stubborn refusal to openly back his complaints, Orsino liked the Champion. The easy light in her amber eyes, the careless grace with which she moved, her readiness to offer him assistance when she had no real cause to do so. She held no office, needed no job, had no magic. She had no reason to help the first enchanter or the mages, and every reason to avoid him. As a mundane upper-class woman of Kirkwall, she was best served by the status quo—ergo, supporting the Templars was the obvious choice for her. Yet she came to him again and again, responding to his missives, offering news, even checking in just to see if he had additional work for her. She had persuaded runaway mages to return without violence, tracked down trouble-making Templars, and looked into more crimes than anyone in Kirkwall could count.

               Many times he had asked why she persisted with this, but she turned away from answering just as she did with taking a side: she smiled and made a witty remark and moved on.

               Selfishly, he had grown to enjoy her company. She was a spot of lightheartedness in the midst of the strain of caring for mages the knight-commander seemed determined to demonize. Her clever remarks could make even weary Orsino chuckle—and a few times, laugh outright—and the passion that thrived in her reminded him of a time when he was young, and vibrant. Not that he had ever been as the Champion of Kirkwall was—there was an energy to her that no one in the city could match, and that was part of what made her the Champion.

               Perhaps he should have turned her away, insisted she cease in appearing to favor the mages, but he could not. Was it so unfair, to indulge in enjoyable company? Was he to deprive himself of everything that brought him the slightest shriveled bud of joy out of fear of Meredith’s irrational rage?

               That was how the Champion came to be in his office, though he had told her over an hour ago he had no more tasks for her that day, sitting on the edge of his desk, telling another story of her company’s wild adventures.

                               “—and just as Varric says ‘Hawke, watch your feet!’ I stepped right on the damn wire! Lucky for us whoever set the traps was a few candles short of a full chandelier—neither of the explosives went off. Until we were maybe fifteen feet past, and then­ wham!” She gestured widely with her hands, grinning. “Grass ten feet around was scorched, splinters of wood from the crates everywhere. I looked at Varric and said ‘Thanks for the warning!’”

               “Sometimes I think you alone are a sign of the Maker’s divine love, Champion,” the first enchanter said with a wry smile. “He certainly seems to have his hand over you.” He ought to have been working, but somehow, the Champion’s visits to the Circle seemed to involve less actual work every time she came.

               “He must, here I am sitting in your office babbling away and you haven’t thrown me out yet,” she said.

               “It’s enjoyable babbling,” Orsino said, threading his fingers together. “Your stories are something different from what I hear all day, from mages and Templars alike. It’s…nice.” The Champion’s smile renewed, something that pleased Orsino more than he knew it should have (he told himself it was not this that had inspired him to take her to the Circle library, and show her some of Malcolm Hawke’s old works, on the impression they would interest her).

               “Good, it’s nice to have someone who hasn’t heard all my stupid stories yet,” she said. “I think Varric’s wrung the Hanged Man dry of any possible audiences.”

               “There aren’t many who are looking to spend more time at the Gallows,” he said. “Which makes you a bit of an anomaly in this city.”  

               “And miss out on your charming company, first enchanter? They have no sense!” The Champion swung her feet and rested her hand on the desk, leaning in closer. There was no one else in Kirkwall who could have gotten away with sitting on Orsino’s desk without a withering look forcing them to withdraw, but the Champion’s breezy audacity granted her allowances most others did not have.

               “Ha! That’s not a word I think most would apply there,” he said, looking back down at the paperwork he hadn’t touched in nearly an hour. He had given up some time ago on pretending he was still working while the Champion was talking. It didn’t please her just to yammer at him, no matter what she said—she sought his attention, and he found himself wanting to give it to her.

               “You give yourself too little credit, first enchanter,” the Champion said. “But if you knew my friends, I suppose you might not take it as a compliment.”

               “Oh?” Orsino looked up, eyebrows arching.

               “Oh, I love them, don’t get me wrong! I wouldn’t have anyone else by my side!” She beamed. “But they’re…unique. One-of-a-kind. Oddballs. Fantastic company, but completely nuts, all of them.” Orsino’s eyebrows rose a little further. “What can I say? Crazy has exactly been a turn off for me.”

               “Then I should be surprised you don’t spend more time in the knight-commander’s office,” he observed. The Champion barked out a laugh and dissolved into giggles.

               “The knight-commander has no sense of humor,” she said. “I can’t do anything with that.”

               “And you think you can do something here?” There were times—there had been times—when he thought the Champion was implying something. He did not spend much time considering what she might be implying, or why. It did not seem like a thread he ought to pull on, no matter how brazenly she invited him to do so.

               “It’s possible,” she said, moving closer on the desk. His hand was still on his quill as he gazed up at her—the twinkling brown eyes, the silky black bangs that fell straight across her forehead, the round, full cheeks, the dash of red kaddis across her nose, just in case anyone forgot she was Ferelden. “You tell me, first enchanter.”

               “I think you walk a very dangerous line, Champion,” he replied, giving her a warning look. It was not enough of a deterrent, to Orsino’s failure, and he blamed that on welcoming attitude to the Champion’s visits.

               “You think I should make a choice,” she said.

               “I think if you try to balance too long, you may fall,” he said. “And I think you’re reckless.”

               “I sure am. How do you think I became the Champion?” It should not have surprised him then, when the Champion leaned across the desk to close the rest of the space between them, and pressed her warm lips to the first enchanter’s. It shouldn’t have, but it did.

               The Champion stayed only a few seconds before withdrawing, looking somewhat chagrined by her own daring. She slid off the desk.

               “Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” The cocky attitude was gone; he had never seen the Champion look something so close to abashed. Perhaps he should have dwelled more on that, but there was a singing in his ears that defied an attempt to focus, and with one gesture, the Champion seemed to have narrowed his entire world down to that one office. “I was just thinking—” The Champion didn’t get a chance to finish, before Orsino had jumped to his feet, seized the front of her jerkin, and pulled her back into the kiss.

               The Champion did not pull away this time. She leaned in, bracing a hand against the desk and pressed into it. When they did break apart, the Champion’s lips and cheeks were flushed, and Orsino was sure his own pallid complexion had managed something similar, judging by the heat he felt creeping up to the tips of his ears.

               “I—apologize, Champion,” he said, trying to fathom what in Andraste’s name had come over him to make that seem like reasonable or even defensible act. “That was…” Even as he searched for the words to describe how inappropriate a move that had been, the only coherent thought his mind offered up was an urge to kiss her again.

               “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I, uh…I should go.” The laugh that escaped her was almost nervous. “Only so many bad decisions in a day, right?”

               “If you must.” Their combined anxious energy hustled the Champion out of Orsino’s office, and he dropped back into his chair, staring blankly at the desk. Was he a fool, not to have recognized it sooner? Was it obtuse, to think she had spent so much time in the Gallows simply out of interest in Orsino’s troubles, or a pure-hearted desire to help? Or was it arrogant to think she had stayed for him? That she might have some interest in an old elven mage?

               Orsino groaned and cradled his head in his hands. Was nothing in Kirkwall ever simple?

               He had thought that little mishap would keep the Champion well away from his office, but it was not so, and that did not ultimately surprise him. There was no one in the city as impervious to shame, fear, or common sense as the Champion. She was already well-aware that the knight-commander and associates disapproved of how many afternoons she spent chit-chatting with the first enchanter, and if that had not stopped her, Orsino wasn’t sure why he thought whatever fumbling accident had occurred between them in his office would. Naturally she gave it less than two weeks before she returned, chattering away as if it had never happened. Orsino, for his part, was haunted by the feel of her lips and the guilt over his own recklessness, both things which kept him fixated on the event (and curiosity, his damnable curiosity, always).

               It took a couple more visit before she addressed the issue.

               “About last time,” she began sheepishly as he poured them each a goblet of wine from the small table across the room from his desk. He didn’t need to ask to know she meant not her last visit, but the one. “I’m sorry if I made things…difficult.”

               “Not at all,” he said robotically as he finished pouring the wine and approached the Champion. “It was—I should have—behaved better.”

               “What’s wrong with being a little naughty?” The Champion looked like she regretted speaking as soon as the sentence was out of her mouth, as if she had disappointed, but not surprised herself.

               “It’s a bit more difficult in the Circle,” he said, handing her the wine. For all her supposed noble heritage, it was very apparent the Champion had not been raised with much formality, and it amused him to think of the nobles, and the former viscount, trying to deal with her as a legitimate political figure. “What with the templars looking to put us on the rack whenever they can.”

               “That’s too bad.” Was he standing too close to her? It felt too close—he could see the pink in her cheeks and the simple line of kohl she wore on her lower eyelids. If he backed away now, would it make it obvious he had been standing too close? “

               “We manage,” he got out.

               “Do you?” There was a burning ember in her eyes that did not mesh with her bashful apologies—or attempts thereof. If she had come to make it clear that what had happened was a mistake, and he should forget about it, she was crashing and burning in a spectacular fashion. 

               “…in a fashion,” he allowed.

               “That doesn’t sound like managing.”

He was certainly standing too close. He could see the iris spokes in her almond-shaped eyes and the lines curving with her lower lip.

“It’s…” Orsino had been among the youngest first enchanters ever appointed; he had never wanted for intelligence or education or stubbornness, but the Champion—who had plowed through Kirkwall’s upper crust like a bull, never mind any of the traditions or expectations for her station—might as well have waved her hand and emptied his head of anything worthwhile. “…you can convince yourself it is,” he said at last.

“That doesn’t sound like any way to live.” Had she moved closer? Or only shifted her weight? He hadn’t been watching her feet, but it was possible she had moved.

This is no life, Orsino, Maud whispered in his ear. In some separate, isolated part of his mind, he could see the scarred wood of the closet door on the third floor, the outside warped, the inside flame-scorched.

“It’s not.” Wasn’t that what the complaint of so many young mages was? Wasn’t it one Orsino himself had thought, wasn’t it why he had taken the position of first enchanter when no one else in Kirkwall would? There was one advantage to aging—the fear that might have gripped him in his youth, regardless of his opinions, was much diminished. Why should he fight so hard against something he wanted?

He held the Champion’s eyes for several long beats, and saw when her eyes drifted down to his lips. A good general recognized a lost battle. Orsino was no commander, but he had fought many fights in his life—against Circle administration, against the Templars, against the Chantry. He reached over to set his wine down before returning to the Champion and kissing her without any further quibbling.

She responded by trying to kiss him back and put her goblet down at the same time. He caught her reaching hand, removed the goblet from it, and tossed it aside to clatter against the floor in the corner, splashing its contents against the wall. That could be cleaned up later.

               “First enchanter,” she said breathlessly when they separated for air. For two heartbeats, they just stared and caught their breath, and then they both moved at once. Orsino seized her waist, surrendering to the flame that her gasp of his title kindled in his gut, and the Champion caught his face between her hands and pulled him into another kiss. He could feel the callouses on her palms; her hands were warm and sturdy; the Champion had never allowed her newfound wealth to make her idle, and up to then, Orsino had only ever felt the briefest brushes of her fingers when exchanging items.

               He wanted her hands everywhere.

               Orsino’s mind struggled to comprehend that he was kissing the Champion of Kirkwall; that the Champion of Kirkwall was kissing him. Fortunately, he was able to close that part of his mind off in a distant jail. He was not going to let it ruin his chance to have whatever the Champion was offering.

               She took a seat on the edge of his desk and he stepped in to kiss her, placing his hands on her thighs, where he could feel the thick muscle through the fabric of her trousers. The Champion drew him in again and he felt her knees press against his sides. She was short for a human—barely two inches taller than him, but with her on the desk, he had to lean up to meet her mouth. The Champion’s hands grasped at his robes and in his office in the Gallows, the first enchanter of the Circle of Magi kissed the Champion of Kirkwall with tongue.

               He couldn’t remember the last time someone had kissed him like that.

               “Champion, this is…” Was he really supposed to think with her chest inches from her own, with the warmth of her saliva still on his lips? “It may be ill-advised,” he allowed at last. “You have a reputation to maintain. This is…dangerous.”

               “Don’t you know?” The Champion stroked her hands down his chest and pinned him in place with her legs. “Danger turns me on.” With the glint in her eyes and the wicked grin on her lips, he could well believe it. What else would compel her to play games with the first enchanter of Kirkwall (what other reason would she have, besides the thrill of something illicit?)? He didn’t have much time to think on it, because she leaned in again. This time, her mouth sought out not his lips, but his neck, burrowing under the folds of his hood to nibble and kiss. Orsino bit down on a groan and his hands grasped the back of the Champion’s hips, pulling her close to him. Alright, he had made his effort to tell her no, and it had failed, and so they were here, and if the Champion wanted to tear off his robes, who was he to stop her?

               “I’ve never seen the inside of the Circle,” she said in a low voice, her breath hot against his throat. “It must be interesting.” Even Orsino’s dazed mind caught onto the Champion’s meaning.

               “I would happy to show you, Champion,” he said, embarrassingly aware of how breathy his voice sounded. Leaving her embrace was agony, but it was tempered by the heady thrill of her invitation to carry on with this (And what else would he do, take her on the desk? Ah, well, now that he considered it…). When was the last time he broke a rule for his own entertainment? He gathered an armful of papers, so he might presumably be on business, and led the Champion out of his office and off to the Circle.

               Keeping his face at its steady, stoic resting expression was ridiculously difficult as he took the Champion through the Circle up to his room. Sneaking a woman up to his room! How old was he? A hundred ideas of what he would do with her paraded through his mind, each more tempting than the last. It was fortunate for Orsino that he had practice in schooling his expression—that came of having to deal not only with the senior enchanters, but the templars as well. He had seen young mages and apprentices and even enchanters trying to sneak things into the Circle, or doing other unbecoming things—their faces gave them away ninety percent of the time. They looked like callow mages breaking rules. He, on the other hand, strode through the Circle with all the authority of the first enchanter, the Champion of Kirkwall loping along in his wake, and no one questioned him.

               “Did Meredith put you all the way up here just to make you climb all these stairs?” the Champion asked as they trekked up to the top of the tower.

               “It is traditional for the first enchanter to take the tower suite,” he said. “Although I’m sure it pleases her to think of me running down all the stairs to meet her summons.” He could hear a note of impatience in her voice, but the walk between his office and his chamber gave Orsino time to relish the excitement of it and think about what he meant to do with her when they arrived.

               “Will she punish you, over this?” the Champion queried. “I’d hate to be responsible for you losing your head, first enchanter.” Her tone did not suggest as much concern as her words, but Orsino could count the number of times he’d seen the Champion concerned about anything on a single hand.

               “Only if she catches us,” Orsino replied, throwing a look over his shoulder at her. A crooked smirk tugged at the Champion’s face. Us! Orsino thought for a moment. There was an us, at least for the next…however long this took.

               “That’s one of my life philosophies,” she said. As Orsino undid the lock on his door, she leaned back against the wall and watched his hands. He wondered what she was thinking of, and if she would tell him if he asked her. It took him longer to undo the lock than normal, or time felt like it was speeding by, but finally he threw it open and let the young Champion into his quarters.

“Wow.” The Champion walked in slowly and looked around. She unbuckled the belt in which she wore her daggers and dropped it on the floor by the wall. “Damn. Perks of being the first enchanter, huh?” She turned to look at him with that careless grin, making Orsino take another look around the finely decorated rooms, trying to see the space as she might. It had been almost thirty years since he first moved into the space; nothing about it stood out to him anymore. It was a gilded cage to him now—he imagined it was different for someone who had the freedom to walk back out whenever she liked.

               “It’s not bad,” he said.

               “I should let you decorate my house,” she remarked. “I have the money now but no idea what curtains to choose.” She went over to the broad stretch of windows along the main wall of the living area and looked out at the darkening city. “Wow. That’s a view. I think I can see all the way back to Ferelden from here!” Orsino was taken aback by the genuineness of her reaction, and he went over to look with her, really look. When was the last time he had stopped to look at the view without being consumed by worries? Was there any part of his life that was not work anymore?

               Moreover, how did they pick up where they had left off? Maker, it had been too long since he had done anything like that.

               “Shall I bring you a drink?” he offered at last. Wine was always an excellent segue into a rendezvous of this sort.

               “No.” The Champion turned to him with that prowling look in her eyes again, and Orsino felt a jolt go all the way through him. “I’m not thirsty. For wine.” She reached out and grasped the folds of his robe as she stepped in. Orsino could not look away from her, and he felt as if energy radiated off of her, the unrelenting, intoxicating energy of the Champion, watcher of Kirkwall. He met her lips when she went in to kiss him and made no disguise of his hunger this time. They were in his own private chambers and the Champion had come to him.

               He wrapped his arms around her waist and tugged her solid, muscular form against him, relishing the press of her breasts against his chest and the feel of her hips under his hands. Fire scorched down his chest, reaching ever lower the longer the Champion held his kiss, until a needy moan threatened in his throat because she was simply not close enough.

               “You haven’t offered me a seat, first enchanter,” she said when she drew back, her lips shining and wet. “I’ll just have to take one myself.” His title had never sounded remotely erotic until he heard it from the mouth of the Champion of Kirkwall. She broke free from his arms and sauntered over to his bed. She unlaced her boots and threw them aside; any other time, he would have protested their laying all dusty and haphazard in the middle of the floor, but for that moment, anything outside the Champion did not exist. She spread her legs apart and looked expectantly at him.

               Orsino was with her again in a heartbeat.

               “Forgive my rudeness, Champion,” he said as he reached for her thighs, a liberty he had never taken before that night, an intimacy that left him nearly dizzy. Would she be so generous as to cushion his ears with them? He could only hope.

               “I might,” she said, her eyes dancing. “If you can persuade me.”

               “Persuading people is half my job,” Orsino replied. “I’ll see what I can do.” He kissed her, pressing her down onto the bed, climbing onto the edge to hover over her. The Champion made quiet noises of pleasure into the kiss and Orsino felt heat explode low in his belly. How was it possible that the Champion was here? Was this some deluded fantasy of his? Had he fallen asleep in his office, not yet ready to wake with a tent in his robes? He moved his kisses down to her neck and felt her squirm, trying to get nearer to the knee he had resting between her legs. Overtaken with boldness, he pulled loose the laces of her breeches and slipped his hand down the front. He had to know. She could certainly feel his arousal against her, but he had to know if she felt the same. The answer came promptly—she was slick and warm and wanting, and a shiver went through him.

               “First enchanter,” she said, her voice almost a gasp. He met her wide eyes and smirked. “That is persuasive. Allow me to make another suggestion.” She pushed him back so she could sit up. Then she dispensed with her leather bracers, her jerkin, and the remains of her clothes from the waist up. She must have known from the look on his face at the sight of her bared breasts that she had the upper hand once more; he could not stop himself from devouring her with his eyes: her chest and abdomen were just a few shades lighter than her face and arms, the warm brown broken in places by scarring that, perhaps later, he would be tempted to ask about, and she lounged in this state of undress with such ease in a room she had never been before! As he moved in, she leaned back on her hands, so he had ample room to lavish her chest in kisses. He nibbled on the sensitive skin as she had needled his neck before, then sucked on the little sore spots. The Champion sighed and groaned and Orsino moaned at the way she squirmed and shivered at his touch. Her leg rode comfortably between his own, and he fought the urge to rut against her like a beast in heat, to soothe the aching throb between his legs.

               The Champion pushed him back again.

               “A very good point,” she said. “I have a small rebuttal.” She climbed off the bed and stripped out of her breeches too, apparently too impatient to remove things piecemeal, then tugged at his robes, clad in nothing but her shorts. There were many layers to the robes, and as she was not of the Circle she was likely to be unfamiliar, so he did her the courtesy of helping her remove them. An impish little smile flitted around the Champion’s face as her fingers delved into his robes, possibly meaning to assist with their removal, but mostly just getting in the way, particularly with her apparent penchant to grab whatever he uncovered when taking something off. Was Orsino complaining about this? Not on this plane! She could grab him wherever she wanted; if it was her inclination to spend all night groping him, he had no protests.

               “So many layers! You’re testing my patience, aren’t you first enchanter?” she asked, looking up at him from under a fan of dark eyelashes, her hands on his hips.

               “Naturally,” he said. “It’s one of the riddles you have to answer to get into my bed.” It sounded foolish as soon as he said it, but the Champion laughed and stepped closer still, sliding her hands around to seize his ass in a way he was quite sure no one else had.

               “You know how impatient I am,” she said. “Show me a knot to untie and I’ll cut it in two.” She captured his mouth with hers and Orsino forgot he was supposed to be taking his clothes off; he sank boneless into her embrace and moaned his need for her against her lips.

               “Champion,” he breathed. “I’ve decided to give you a pass on the riddle.”

               “See? Efficiency.” The Champion’s eyes gleamed in the low light and her tongue passed over her lips; Orsino was being looked at like he was a meal, and it was fantastic. Again, he ought to be taking things off, but in the Champion’s arms, he could press himself against her, which offered some minimal relief from the pressure, and she went on fumbling with his clothes, until they were both down to their shorts, she took to the bed again, and Orsino followed.

               “You play a wicked game, Champion,” he said as he climbed over her, eyes roving over the mural of the Champion’s body displayed before him.

               “You could call me Hawke,” she said as he settled between her legs.

               “And you could use my name as well,” he pointed out, leaning down to kiss her breasts again.

               “I like calling you First Enchanter,” she said.

               “If you insist, Hawke,” he said. She grinned and dragged him into another kiss, rolling her hips up against his, grinding against the pitched tent in his shorts. Orsino made a sound that he could not have, in any good conscience, even to preserve his dignity, described as anything other than a whimper and pressed himself urgently against her; he could feel the heat of her through the thin cloth of her smallclothes and ached to bury himself into her. His pride on this noise was soothed only by the Champion’s quiet gasping, and the vigor with which she was arching her hips up against him. They both seemed to reach impatience around the same moment, and reached for his shorts in tandem.

               “Are you going to wow me with your magic staff?”

               That put an immediate end to any and all movement on the bed. Orsino hung his head in dismay and then looked at the Champion.

               “I hope you’ve gotten that out of your system,” he said. “No mage has ever heard that one before.” The Champion laughed and he was sure it was the merriest sound his chambers had heard in years.

               “I couldn’t resist,” she said. “I haven’t slept with a mage before.”

               “Then allow me to treat you, Champion.” Before she could proceed with divesting him of his one remaining article of clothing, he yanked her shorts off and she yelped, followed by giggles. Orsino could, with some effort, recall his last rushed sexual encounter—there had not been any laughter that time, and he decided then that it had been lacking for that reason. As a young man, the idea of a woman in his bed laughing would have been simply petrifying, but now he could think only that the Champion was in a buoyant enough mood to be laughing so easily, and that was better than the melodramatic scenes that played out in some of the novels floating (despite the Templars’ best efforts) around the Circle.

               “Oh, you’re getting into it now,” she said. “I see we’ve entered into serious negotiations.”

               “Forgive me, it’s been a while since I was a player in this particular game,” he said

               “I’m sure you’ll remember quickly,” she said, reaching down and grabbing him before he could register the movement of her hand. Orsino gasped and met the Champion’s eyes at once, that wicked grin stretched across her face. The woman was no fool—could she guess, how long it had been since someone had touched him like that? Somehow, it was different with her hand than the mere grinding of their hips—more personal, more deliberate. The Champion slid off his shorts and silenced anything else he might say—or not say—with a kiss.

               She wasn’t wrong, about remembering. He spread the Champion’s delicious thighs apart and bit back a curse—or worse, another whimper— as he slid himself into her for the first time. They settled into a comfortable position before he started to thrust, shifting a bit as they eased into the best way to move together. No, she wasn’t wrong—it had just been over a decade since the last time he’d put any of this to use.

               “You know,” the Champion breathed, her nails digging into his back, “I think I can forgive you for the chair, first enchanter.”

               “Oh, thank the Maker.” Thank the Maker he was able to form words. “I would—hate for that to—cause an indelible stain on—my reputation as—first enchanter.” It was truly unfair of her to expect him to have even a pseudo-conversation at a moment like this, and worse, it seemed to amuse her, laying back against his pillows as he thrust into her and tried to come up with a suitable response.

               “A scandal indeed!” She laughed, and grabbed the back of his head to pull him in for a kiss, relieving him of having to reply—or, indeed, having to think at all.

The Champion moved her hips with his, driving him in deeper, her hands grabbing at his chest or his hips or his back. He looked down into her wild amber eyes and felt his stomach turn the most thrilling summersaults. While he was awestruck by the Champion, she flipped them over and took her chance to ride him as he had imagined on their way up to the room, her body hot and firm against his, a sheen of sweat starting to shine on her forehead as the heat coiling low in him was tightening and urging release.

               Her thighs gripped his hips like a vice and he could see the sinewy muscle rippling in her abdomen and her legs as she rocked on him, reminding him how often she put her considerable fighting skill to use. The candlelight wavered against her, changing the lines of her form by the moment, throwing shadows around the room as it darkened with the setting of the sun behind Kirkwall’s smoggy clouds.

               His body began to beg him to let go, give him the release he had not had from anyone but himself in far too long, but he was determined that the Champion should have her pleasure first. His hands slid up her hips and one slender-fingered hand moved between her legs to press and rub his thumb against her clit. Carefully, he applied a little shock of cold and was rewarded with a gasp from the Champion and a particularly vigorous bucking of her hips that almost finished him there.

               “Oh, yes,” she cried. “Maker, do that again!” Orsino happily obliged and the Champion threw her head back, tossing her glossy black locks and that was the end of Orsino’s ability to hold out. Bright points of light obscured his vision as the climax hit him and the sensation of her continuing to ride him through it was intense to the edge of pain. To his delight, she hung on until he had recovered before she released and he had the unadulterated bliss of watching the Champion of Kirkwall’s face as she orgasmed, a cracked cry escaping her lips as her back arched and her nails sank into his chest. She took a moment to rest, catching her breath, and Orsino lay marveling at the sight of her chest moving as she panted and the look on her face as the pleasure passed.

“Can I say…that was magical? Have you trained as a force mage, first enchanter? Because you just stripped down all my barriers.”

               “I knew it was too much to hope you had run out of those,” Orsino sighed, shaking his head.

               The Champion rolled off of him and lay down, that easy grin on her face. For someone who might be here with him purely for the potential danger, she did not seem to overly bothered by that potential. Now, he expected, she would rise and gather her clothes, having gotten the satiation she sought. He couldn’t complain with that—a one-night stand with the Champion of Kirkwall was far more than he had any right to expect, and it was a memory that would warm him for many nights. She leaned over him to place a kiss at the hollow of his throat, her teeth scraping just a bit against his collarbone, making the faintest of goosebumps rise on his forearms.

               “I think I could get used to sleeping with mages,” she said.

               “Don’t expect them all to have self-control,” he advised.

               “Oho, are you bragging, First Enchanter?” Orsino glanced away, faintly embarrassed that she had picked up on it, but unwilling to say no, as the idea of it seemed to entertain her.

“I only mean it’s not entirely unheard of for…mishaps to occur,” he said. Mages setting things on fire, causing spontaneous rainstorms, shattering things…trying to use magic in the throes of passion could easily go wrong for the poorly-trained or those lacking in willpower. In fact, he had seen it a bit more than he had ever wanted to, as first enchanter (AKA: the one cleaning up messes at the Circle).

“Well thank the Maker we didn’t have any of those. I’d hate to have to explain one of those injuries to A—a doctor. But please, go on,” she invited, nipping at his earlobe. “You’re making me wonder what other tricks you have up those sleeves of yours.” One of her hands was making its way across his chest.

               “I would certainly be remiss not to show the Champion of Kirkwall what the mages of the city are capable of,” he said, running a hand down her side.

               “Terribly remiss,” Hawke echoed, running her fingers along his ear to tweak the tip. It was not the sort of thing that would bring either of them the kind of pleasure they were bathing in at the moment, but nor was it a bad thought that something about his appearance pleased her, if that were the case—Maker, when had he last taken the luxury of vanity?

               She was looking at him with hooded eyes, making something stir low in his belly, though it was too soon after his last finish to be ready for that again.

               “Then allow me to oblige you, Champion.” He pushed her back on the bed and settled over her, kissing her throat and the joint of her neck and shoulder with a passion he had not expected of himself since he was her age. The Champion hummed and tipped her head back against his pillows, a pleasured stretch passing through her body like a wave.

               “You are most obliging, first enchanter,” the Champion breathed, running a hand through his hair. Her nails scraped deliciously across his scalp and mussed his hair. His mouth ran its path from her lovely throat, down the smooth swell of her breasts, over her toned stomach, tasting the heat of her body and the salty tang of sweat from their coupling. The soft sounds escaping the Champion’s lips as he worked her over were sweeter than any music he’d heard, and the noise she made when he pressed a kiss between her legs shuddered right through him.

               It had been a long time since Orsino had needed to put his quick tongue to work in this way—he couldn’t remember when. But he was set on giving the Champion what she deserved, so slid her legs over his shoulders and studiously applied his mouth. The scent of her, strong after her last orgasm, permeated his nose and he could see streaks of dampness on her thighs—his, or hers, or both. The muscles in her legs twitched when he stroked her in a particular way and he moved his tongue that way again, making the Champion let out a hoarse gasp. When he felt he had worked her up enough, he tested her with a slight warming spell, just the lightest touch of magic, and was rewarded with a moan erupting from her chest.

               “Oh, yes, that’s nice,” she murmured. He gave her a moment of that before switching quickly to the cold, and the Champion cried out in a way he could not immediately identify as pleasure or pain. Her back arched up and tensed around him; he quickly got back to swirling his tongue around her pleasure point—he was certain she was achingly sensitive after his little tricks. “Oh, fuck. Yes, please, that’s good.” The Champion was starting to babble in earnest, and it spurred Orsino on. If she asked him to spend the entire weekend there, he would have agreed. “Oh, yes, first enchanter,” she gasped, digging her fingers into his bedsheets. “Oh—Maker, Orsino, yes!” The sound of his name on her lips, hearing her cry out for him in her bliss was like a draught of pure lyrium. He buried his face in her sex and felt her whole body shiver and tense with her second climax of the night.

               She slumped down against the bed when he was done, and when he sat up, she was looking at him with a kind of glassy-eyed satisfaction that he could not stop himself from feeling ever so proud about.

               “Are you pleased with the Circle of Magi, Champion?” Orsino asked, delicately wiping at his mouth.

               “Very pleased,” she said. “Very impressed. I will have to let Knight-Commander Meredith know how capable the mages of this city are.” Orsino must have given her a very alarmed look because she burst into laughter. “I’m sure she’ll be very glad to know,” she added when she had stopped snickering, and the look returned to his face, making the Champion laugh anew. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll keep this one to myself.” She pressed a finger to her lips and Orsino’s shoulders relaxed.

               “I would appreciate that, Champion,” he said, moving over to lie down next to her. The awe of her presence hit him yet again, and he thought of the many afternoons she had spent hanging onto his explanations of life in the Circle or the history of magic or whatever pedantic topic he had been foolish enough to think she was genuinely interested in. He knew she had flirted—she had made little secret of it—but he had assumed it was just a game, just the Champion’s way. He had rarely been so deliriously glad to be wrong. “You have a very strange preference, to be here, when there are so many other places you could be.”

               “This is where I want to be,” she said. “Or does my company bore you so soon?”

               “No! Not at all,” he said. Her smile softened and considered reaching out for her, but now she really must be ready to go, and would think it clingy and foolish if he attempted post-coital affection with her now. Besides, there was a pleasure in keeping enough distance that he could simply admire her, stretched out in his bed like a lounging panther.

               “Good. I’ve been called many things—some of them quite unnecessary—but never boring,” she said.

               “You couldn’t be boring if you tried, I suspect,” Orsino replied. “There was certainly nothing dull about you tonight.”

               “Perhaps I should apologize for being so bold,” she said. Orsino snorted.

               “Perhaps I should apologize for allowing it,” he said.

               “Then we’re both sorry, wonderful,” she said, stretching out and re-settling on the bed, without reaching for a single item of clothing.

               “It will be cold out this time of night,” Orsino remarked.

               “Probably,” the Champion said.

               “There will be gangs about,” he said.

               “Oh, certainly.”

               “I would offer to walk you home, but the knight-commander has confined me to the Circle and my office for the time being,” he said. Hawke laughed.

               “Me, walked home by the first enchanter! What an idea. Meredith would have a conniption. Execute me on the spot, maybe.”

               “Execute you?” Orsino snorted. “She’s been looking for a reason to put an axe to my neck for years. This would give her just the excuse.”

               “Executed for sleeping with the Champion. At least you’ll go out on a high note,” she commented with a smirk. “I’m sure the other mages would approve.”

“There are worse ways to set off the knight-commander’s temper,” he said, trying to picture what the looks on his senior enchanters’ faces would be.

“Well, it sounds like walking home is an altogether wretched affair.” She left an open pause, and Orsino gave her several seconds to fill it before he made the offer.

               “It might be simplest for you to leave in the morning, Champion.”

               “Will you be able to get me out as quietly as you got me in?” There was a twinkle in her eye that suggested she was barely bothered with the idea that he would not. In fact, he was quite sure the only reason she was concerned with appearances at all was the idea of the knight-commander’s fury if she found out the Champion of Kirkwall was consorting with the first enchanter.

               “I suppose we’ll find out,” he said.

               “I suppose we will.” She smiled and he could see her eyelids growing heavy. Trapped in his narrow, restrictive world, it was easy to forget the Champion had work outside of what she did for him. If rumor served, she was a very busy woman—no wonder she was tired now! Even her boundless energy needed renewal.

               “Get some rest,” he said. “Tomorrow you may be climbing down the outside of the mages’ tower.” He waved his hand and snuffed out the candles in the room.

               “Good thing I brought my climbing boots,” she said sleepily, snuggling into the pillows. Orsino had spent over two decades sleeping in a bed big enough for three of him, and it had always seemed ridiculous, although he enjoyed the space to stretch out during the muggy summer heat. But now, it gave him and the Champion room to be comfortable and he was glad he had never given in to getting something smaller.

               But now—she had agreed to stay, but was it only for the convenience? It was stupidly difficult to get around Kirkwall at night, and she was tired. Or did she mean to end their tryst on an affectionate note? He watched her stretch and settle in the dark until she curled up with her back to him. Given how much room they had on the bed, she had stayed quite close. Orsino looked at her back and spent several moments debating what to do.

               Don’t be a fool, he scolded himself. He had just slept with the Champion. Now he couldn’t commit himself to embracing her? He draped an arm over her and the Champion responded by loosely linking their fingers on the mattress. Orsino smiled into the blackness and settled against her back.

               “Nighty-night, first enchanter,” she mumbled.

               “Goodnight, Champion.”

***

                Orsino could not remember a time he had actually woken with someone in his bed. Exchanges amongst mages were usually hushed, quick affairs and he had not had regular contact with those outside the Circle in years. Orsino’s work had been his life, especially since becoming first enchanter. He had been appointed notably young, with Kirkwall’s Circle already pursued by the templars, and he had taken that seriously.

               Was it hard to blame him then, for thinking himself still in a dream when he stretched in the morning and felt the warm softness of another body against him? He opened his eyes to the sunlight creeping through the windows at the far end of his quarters, the ones that the living space looked out from, and the Champion of Kirkwall naked in bed with him. Both were extremely welcome sights.

               A smile spread across his face, confronted with the Champion’s bare back. He drew a hand thoughtfully up her spine and pressed a few soft kisses to her shoulder. There was a scar, just there, which looked to be from a blade, and he kissed this too. What he meant with it, he didn’t know, but she stirred, shifting the sheets more towards her hips. Was she done with him, now? Ah, but it had been nice while it lasted. His hand moved back down to her hip, and he kissed the back of her neck, the ends of her neatly cropped hair tickling his nose. Under the sheets, he felt the shape of her firm backside, and she stirred again, letting him marvel at how toned she was. But she didn’t become the Champion by sitting around with books, so perhaps he should not have been surprised. It was…fascinating, though.  

               “First enchanter,” the Champion croaked. “This is highly inappropriate.” He froze, and immediate regretted the touching. No one wanted to wake up from a one-night stand being fondled by their partner, especially not when the partner was a graying old mage! “I didn’t say you should stop,” she added, and he could picture the smirk, even if he could not see her face.

               The girl was going be the death of him.

               “I don’t want to presume,” he said cautiously.

               “Presume away,” she said. “That feels nice.” Gently, he drew his hand up her back again and she sighed, flattening herself more against the bed.

               “I trust you slept well, Champion?” he said, running his fingers up and down her back. He applied a slight warming spell and wished he could see her face as he touched his toasty fingers along her spine.

               “Very well, first enchanter,” she said. “You must have cast some kind of spell over me. Not that I’m complaining, I’m grateful for the sleep.” He flushed lightly, now glad she wasn’t looking at him. What had possessed him? He had not a second of regret for it, but it was hard to imagine himself doing something like that, even when the evidence was right before him. His hand moved up to her ear, tucking the hair behind it, and tracing over the cutely rounded tip.

               “I am pleased to hear it,” he said, pressing up against her back again. The curve of her ass fitted to just the right spot, and she turned to look at him as he settled against her, giving him a fresh view of her nude form. His body responded with embarrassing enthusiasm.

               “Good morning to you too,” the Champion said. She seemed, as she always did, amused. Like a grinning jester from Orlesian court, the Champion was entertained by all the world and no one could force her to take it seriously.

               A blush spread across the old elf’s face. He didn’t have to mention to the Champion that it had been some time since he was occupied in this way—his body seemed determined to let her know. He began to withdraw.

               “Hawke—”

               “Alright, that was kind of cute,” she said, rolling onto her back to look up at him. “I’ve never seen the first enchanter flustered before.” She smiled a mischievous smile, and blessed him by not bothering to wait for him to fail to respond. “Persuade me,” she said, her smile turning coy.

               In the light of morning, it was more difficult to be audacious with the Champion. But she had invited him, so he kissed her—tentatively at first, then spurred on by her response. Hawke’s hand delved into his hair and he felt her smile against his lips. He reached down to stroke her inner thigh and he and the Champion pressed together until any morning chill had been chased away. He took her leg and pulled it over his hip so he could press himself to the coarse patch of hair between her legs. He could feel the heat and dampness of her and rocked against her for a few moments before he entered.

               “Mm…are you always so gentle, first enchanter?” she asked. “I’ve fought Qunari, you know. I won’t break.”

               “Does it displease you?” he asked. He could hardly be expected to know her preferences from the get-go, but perhaps he should have assumed with her age she wanted something rougher. Something that matched the fire he had seen in her eyes when she turned to face himself and Knight-Commander Meredith, standing over the body of the Arishok, a terrible, sharp smile on her face. The memory, recalled now, with the Champion tight and hot around his member, her hands grasping at his chest, made goosebumps break out on his arms, and he was not certain fear was the only cause.

               “No,” she replied, and something softened in her eyes. “No, it doesn’t.” She kissed him, silencing any further remarks, and rolled her hips in time with his until their breathing was atremble and he was again struggling to hold himself back to the tune of Hawke’s shaky gasps.

               “Come on, Champion,” he murmured, reaching down to touch her with his hand as well. “Don’t hold out on me.”

               “Wouldn’t—dream of it, First Enchanter,” she panted, shivering as his fingers brushed over her. With two fingers he massaged her to climax and with the sound of her gasping out her orgasm, he allowed himself to finish as well, digging his fingers into her hips with a low groan.

“Maker,” he breathed. “Hawke!” The feeling that pulsed through him as he released into her had to be something near divine.

“Well,” she said when she had recovered. “You’ve given me quite the welcome, first enchanter,” she said. “I may have to spend the night more often.”

               Oh. Oh.

               “The Champion of Kirkwall is always welcome in the Circle,” he said, trying to wrap his mind around the wholly new concept that Hawke wanted to come back. An impulsive sexual adventure was one thing—coming back was another. And should he really have felt so smug about it?

               The Champion did not linger on her words, but sat up and stretched, giving him a stunning view of the arch of her back and the bulge of lean muscle in her shoulders. She threw back the covers and emerged into the weak sunlight. At the early hour of the morning, the sun was not yet powerful enough to break through the fog of smoke and cloud cover that hung around Kirkwall. For a moment, Orsino was caught up in the sight of watching her collect her clothes, the fascinating sight of her bare legs and the shift of muscle in her back (and, if he was truly honest, the picturesque sight of her ass as she bent over to pick things up). Then he managed to kick his brain back into sluggish action.

               “Let me heat some water for you,” he offered, wrapping the sheet around his waist as he got up.

               “Water?” The Champion looked over.

               “If you wanted to wash, before you go,” he said, surprised by her confusion.

               “Oh!” There was a look on the Champion’s face which seemed to be something like embarrassment.  “Yes. Probably a good idea.” Orsino moved as quickly as he could, finding a clean pair of shorts and pulling on just the first two layers of his robes to fetch water for the Champion. As soon as she was gone, he would need to get back to work—there were petitions to write, petitions to hear, nobles to soothe, templars to cajole…it never ended, never lightened, and never grew any less stressful. He poured a helping of water into the wash basin as the Champion hovered nearby, holding her tunic against herself. He placed his hands against the curve of the basin and in a moment or two, steam curled lightly off the surface. “Oh, I’ve missed that trick,” she sighed, looking at it. Orsino gave her a questioning look, but she did not provide any explanation.

               “I’ll leave you to it, then.” He left to dress and straighten the bed, leaving the Champion to some relative privacy in the corner of the living room set aside for washing. She finished around the time he had run out of things to tidy, coming into view fully clothed and smelling like his own lemon soap. That small detail added to what was already a pleasant morning, and for a moment he was tempted to pull her into another kiss.

               “Anything for breakfast?” she asked, hands shoved into her pockets, a crooked smile on her face that seemed to reassure him there was no harm done in sleeping with the Champion of Kirkwall. Twice.

               “We usually eat in the dining hall,” he said, glancing away.

               “Ah. Not a place I could blend in,” she surmised.

               “Please excuse the failure of hospitality, Champion.” Hawke had known exactly what she was getting into when she followed him into the Circle, but it was still embarrassing that he couldn’t offer a parting meal to a woman who had spent the night with him. Not a situation that came up often—Orsino was not a cook himself and never much lamented the lack of a kitchen in his quarters—but it did feel like something he ought to be able to do.

               “I think you’ve been quite hospitable, first enchanter,” the Champion said, the smile growing into that toothy grin. Orsino’s ears felt hot, as if she were chiding him for playing the young man, sneaking a girl into his room at night and plying her for morning sex as well. Could she blame him? It could be another two decades before he was with a partner! Well, at the rate things in the Circle were going, he was likely to be dead before finding someone else with whom to pass time.

               “I’m glad you feel that way,” he said, not quite able to meet her eyes yet.

               “I’ll see you around then,” she said, strapping her daggers back on. She went up to him, and there was a terrifying moment Orsino thought she might try to kiss him goodbye. There was no need to worry—she only tweaked the tip of one of his ears, making him twitch at the simple audacity of the gesture (to tweak the ears of the elven first enchanter!). “Thanks for the tour. I feel like I know Kirkwall’s Circle better than ever.”

               “It was my pleasure, Champion,” he said, giving her a formal bow. “I hope it has been illuminating for you.”

               “Most illuminating,” she said, smirking as he engaged with her game. “I feel positively philosophic.” A smile tugged at his lips and he gestured towards the door.

               “Please, allow me to show you out.”

               “I’m not scaling down the wall of the tower?” she asked.

               “I think we can find an alternative route,” he said.

               “Tsk. I brought my crampons for nothing,” she said, shaking her head.

               “Next time,” Orsino said as he opened the door, thinking only of their empty banter and not the suggestion.

               “Will there be a next time?” the Champion asked, stepping out of his quarters.

               “I suppose that’s up to you, Champion,” he said, meeting her gaze.

               “I suppose it is, isn’t it?” she replied. “Unless you plan on sneaking over to my house under the knight-commander’s watch.” She laughed. The idea was too ridiculous for Orsino to hold back a snort.

               “I like you, Hawke, but I’m not looking to lose my head anytime soon,” he said.

               “That would be unfortunate,” she agreed. “We’ll try to keep that off the table.”

               “Thank you, I appreciate that. Meredith never seems to do me the same courtesy.” Finding a way to slip the Champion out of the Circle was even more of nightmare than getting her in. The feverish excitement that had possessed him was gone, and the mages were far too used to monotony not to pay attention to absolutely everything new in their midst. He tried to take the least populated routes to the exit, but still had to rush Hawke past several curious parties. At last, he was able to push her out into the fresh air.

               “It’s been a delight, first enchanter,” she said as she stepped out into the cool Kirkwall morning.

               “Likewise, Champion,” he said.

               “Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you,” she said.

               “I always do.”

               “See you around!” She gave him a jaunty wave and bounded down the front steps, leaving Orsino to stand at the entrance to the Circle and watch her stroll off into town, wondering what he would do if he were able to follow.

[lasatfat]

The Witch Child

Prologue | Sanguis

“Then Medine cast the spell, like we practiced. Within the phial, the blood churned, and grew bright in the presence of the mage to whom it was bound. It was done. Another phylactery, another link forged. He was leashed to the White Spire.”

- From The Memoirs of Enchanter Reva Claye, 8:72 Blessed

Ferelden, 9:40 Dragon

Morning breaks in the Hinterlands. The first pale rays of morning sunlight struggle through a viridian canopy and sprawl across the land beneath. Birds rouse from their resting places, and begin to sing a morning chorus.

Sigyn wakes early, as always, blinking the afterimage of a sunburst out of her eyes. She sits up slowly, folding down the lip of her scavenged bedroll and looks around at the inside of the small cave. It’s one of the many hides she has, littered about the woods, and one of her favourites. A fissure in the rocks above leads all the way up to the sky. She can watch the stars on clear nights, or light a fire when it’s cold, so long as she keeps it small and contained. The one from last night has long since burned out. Even the embers have fallen cold.

She builds it up again, enough to heat a small cauldron of water with which she can wash herself. While she waits, she has a small breakfast of blackberries, nuts and her last piece of salted mutton. She will have to hunt or trade again today if she wants more meat. She might have prayed to the Maker for luck, years ago, but it had never done her any good. Now she only hopes.

After she washes and dresses, she packs up her bedroll, cauldron and water skin. Her bow and quiver sit against the wall of the cave. The bow is relatively new; it had taken her years to save away the money for it. It’s a simple instrument of white wood, with strips of blackened leather wrapped around the grip. She hooks the bowstring onto the bottom limb, and pulls it to meet the other notch. A cold shot of fear that the bow will break, before the string snaps into position, and all is well.

She leaves the cave with everything she owns upon her body. Clothes, pack, water skin and weapon. All she’s had for the past decade. All she’s needed. Sharp, dark eyes pick out the lines of bracken in the undergrowth, the shadows of the morning sun filtering through the canopy. The air is still and warm with the beginnings of summer; hopefully the lack of wind will make her hunt easier.

She begins to pick her way east towards the river. She keeps a constant watch for movement, for something to hunt. The morning is idyllic. A bright, blue sky stretches out above the treetops, the sun is warm on her skin, and the sounds of gentle birdsong and buzzing insects fill the air. When she arrived here, many years ago, the forest had just seen a Blight. The trees were burnt and bare, and the ground, in places, was stained black as pitch with blood and muck. There had been little to eat in those days. She can still barely believe she survived. Now, however, almost all signs of the darkspawn are gone, at least to her untrained eye. Aside from a dead tree here and a sealed-up chasm there, you would think this place was untouched by such horrors. Instead, the grass is green, the brambles are tangled thick between the trees, and the wildlife is flourishing. All looks right with the forest.

A squirrel darts up a tree ahead of her. If she were more desperate, she might kill it, but she has been lucky of late. Better to find a meal with a little more meat. Something larger rustles in the bushes, and she freezes. Her eyes dart over the undergrowth. Slowly, she takes an arrow from her quiver, and nocks it. The bowstring creaks ever so slightly as she draws it back. The rustling in the undergrowth has fallen silent. She analyses every inch, seeking any sign of life. She’s spooked it into silence. Eyes locked and open, she takes a deep, silent breath. Energy tingles through every square centimetre of her skin.

Concentrate, concentrate.

It happens in the time it takes to blink. One moment she is there, and then, gone. Invisible. Intangible. Undetectable.

A minute passes in silence.

Something bursts from the bracken. She fires on it. The arrow whistles. Then, thud! The fennec flops, dead, into the undergrowth.

It takes a little longer to melt back into visibility. Her form seems to shimmer in the air, like heat from exposed ground. She’s solid again by the time she picks up the carcass. She’s caught her meal for the day.

By the time the Sun has reached the peak of its arc, Sigyn has three fennecs and a nug strung across her shoulders. She cuts their throats, and hangs them up to drain. One she can eat today, and the rest will be ready to be skinned and dried tomorrow. Water is far easier to come by. Her rain traps have caught her enough to fill an entire skin.

In the afternoon, she walks to the roadside. Sometimes, traders will travel that way, and she can exchange her furs for things she cannot make herself. Seeded bread and new bowstrings, and such. Once she saw a strange, reptilian creature pulling a cart laden with cages, each containing a different, brightly-coloured bird. They were beautiful, of course, but she couldn’t imagine their purpose. They were far too small to be eaten, or to be taught to hunt, and far too conspicuous to carry messages. Perhaps some odd kind of pet?

There are no travellers on the roads today. There haven’t been for many months. But it never hurts to try.

She finds a cave in which to spend the night. It’s rare, these days, to find a cave not filled with bones. She builds a modest fire, just enough to keep the worst of the chill away. She cooks small pieces of fennec meat, and eats them with elfroot. Tomorrow will pass in much the same way. It’s a hard life, self-sufficiency, but there is little else for her to do.

She has not counted the days. She does not know she has lived this way for ten years now.

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Kirkwall, 9:21 Dragon

Sigyn was a mage. She’d heard of mages before, living in the alienage. They were bad and scary and everyone hated them, even the Maker. That’s why He cursed them with magic. Sigyn hadn’t thought she could be a mage. But Mama always said she was bad, and the Maker must hate her if He took her Papa away. So she must be one.

She told Ser Thrask all of this, while they were sailing to a place called “the Gallows.” She tried not to cry, but it was very hard. Ser Thrask held her hand again, firmly, but not tightly enough to hurt. That made her feel much better.

Any “better” she felt, however, quickly shrank away when they reached the fortress. Six identical statues flanked the pier, towering over the little boat, holding huge bowls of fire. Sigyn could feel the heat on her skin. She could feel the statues’ eyes on her even more. It felt so real that she wondered if they might start walking.

Two more strange men tied the boat. They wore simple clothes, not armour, but they bore the same symbol: a sword surrounded by wavy lines. She didn’t know what it was supposed to show, but it must mean they were with the Templars too. Ser Thrask left the boat first, and then helped her onto the dock. The solid stone under her feet felt strange after being on the water. He smiled at her, kindly. Ser Mettin ignored her.

They stepped through a stone archway into a courtyard, and Sigyn’s blood ran cold.

Two bronze ravens flanked the gate. Each had a viciously sharp beak and a pair of dead, staring eyes. But the ravens looked downright welcoming next to the other statues of the courtyard. Strange, angular shapes were mounted on each pillar. Sigyn didn’t know what they were supposed to be, until she saw the face of the nearest one. A scream of silent agony. They were statues of people, hanging in every direction she looked, twisted into impossible forms. Who were they? Why had this happened to them?

Was she next?

She whimpered, and huddled closer to Ser Thrask. His hand was warm on her shoulder.

They turned off to the left, passing underneath a large, iron gate. Sigyn fixed her eyes on its spiked teeth. They looked ready to descend on her, and crush her underneath them. But Ser Thrask led her forward, and they went on, unscathed. Down a long corridor they went, and she wondered if they might be lost, but finally Ser Thrask stopped in front of a pair of dark, wooden doors, and took her inside.

It was lovely and warm in here, not like her old house in the alienage. Thrask knelt down in front of her. He patted her shoulder, and smiled kindly. “I have to go now, Sigyn. But the people here will look after you,” he said, quietly. She nodded. She didn’t want Ser Thrask to leave her behind, especially not in a place like this, but she always did what she was told.

She was told to stay in bed, which she liked. A roaring fire spit and crackled away in the grate, which she liked even better. There was one other person in the room. An older girl with long, dark hair drawn back away from her face with a red scarf was lying in the next bed in the row. She also had dark skin, though not as dark as Sigyn’s, or her parents. She didn’t speak at all, just stared at nothing in particular. Big tears occasionally dribbled out of her vacant eyes.

Someone called “Knight-Templar Samson” was ordered to watch them both. Sigyn thought that was a very unusual name, but she didn’t like to say.

She liked him best of all. She knew he wouldn’t let Mama get to her.

After a little while, another stranger entered the room. He carried a large bowl of something hot that smelled delicious. Sigyn barely even noticed the smell, though, so entranced was she by the man’s robes. Long and black, they seemed to sparkle a little in the light of the fire, as if the threads were pulled from night. But underneath the black, and on the inside of the hood, there were layers of warm red, and olive green climbing up his neck to stand against the other colours. The sleeves and collar were decorated with a gold trim. Sigyn thought he must be important, to wear such fine robes.

The stranger set the bowl down on the table beside Sigyn’s bed, and placed a hand on the weeping woman’s forearm. “How are you, Marjorie?” he asked, quietly. She didn’t respond.

The strange man seemed disheartened, but smiled kindly at Sigyn anyway. “It’s Sigyn, isn’t it?”

It was, so she nodded.

“Sigyn. Welcome to the Circle of Magi.” He tried to sound warm, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. She wondered why he was so sad. “I am First Enchanter Orsino. I look after the interests of the mages here.”

Sigyn couldn’t help but look at Marjorie. He hadn’t looked after her very well, it seemed.

First Enchanter Orsino must have understood what she was thinking, because he sighed heavily. “Marjorie lost her child,” he explained. “There are things that I can’t protect you from, however much I wish I could.”

Well, now Sigyn felt bad for mistrusting him. She felt even worse for Marjorie. It had been hard enough losing Papa, and he always told her that he loved her more than she could even think. She couldn’t imagine how awful it would be to lose a child. That must have been how bad Papa felt right now.

“I’m sorry,” she said, lamely. Marjorie didn’t say anything, but First Enchanter Orsino patted her hand.

“Now, Sigyn,” he said, “there are a few things I need to explain about the Circle.”

First Enchanter Orsino talked for what felt like a long time to Sigyn. He explained why the Circle was formed, how it was meant to help protect mages from possession. Possession was where a demon took over a mage’s body. Sigyn had never heard of such a thing before. Templars, like Knight-Templar Samson, kept watch over the mages, and had special powers that could dispel magic. Sigyn was an “apprentice,” but one day she would be tested in a Harrowing, and then she could be a proper mage. She rather liked the sound of that. A proper mage.

“Do you understand what I’ve said, Sigyn?” he asked, eventually. Sigyn wasn’t entirely sure, but she nodded anyway. She didn’t want to be any more of a nuisance. First Enchanter Orsino smiled, and nodded back. “If you have any other questions, I’m sure the other apprentices can help you. And you can always come and find me.”

He stood up, the patterns on his robes shimmering in the candlelight. “I’m afraid I have to go now, Sigyn. Knight-Templar Samson will look after you.” He gave Knight-Templar Samson a very dark look, and walked out of the room.

Sigyn looked up at Knight-Templar Samson. He’d been standing beside her for hours by the time she got her stew. Surely, he must have been hungry. Papa was always hungry too, until Sigyn let him have some of her dinner.

She leaned over, and tugged hard on his robe. He ignored her. She tugged again, bottom lip sticking out. He still ignored her. The third round of tugging finally got him to take notice, though he still didn’t speak. She dipped her spoon into her soup, moved her free hand underneath, and held it out to him.

Knight-Templar Samson looked down at her. Through the slits in his helmet, she could see him frowning, and she hunched her shoulders. She didn’t want to think about how much it would hurt to be hit by a fist covered in armour.

“You’re offering me some?” he said, incredulously. She nodded.

He gave the doorway a furtive glance, and Sigyn braced herself, but he didn’t hurt her at all. Instead, he pulled off his helmet.

“If I eat it, will you eat your dinner?” he asked.

Sigyn nodded, quickly. “Oh, yes, ser. I promise.”

Knight-Templar Samson seemed to consider this for a moment, before he shook his head, with a resigned sort of sigh. “I shouldn’t be doing this,” he said, quietly, but he knelt down beside her bed anyway. He opened his mouth wide, and Sigyn gave him the spoonful. He rolled the stew around in his mouth, thoughtfully, before he swallowed and nodded. “It’s good. Good to eat. Come on, kid, finish it up.”

Sigyn smiled at him, and he smiled back, so she thought he must have had enough. She dunked her spoon back into her bowl, and took an experimental sip. The taste seared across her tongue. It hurt her mouth and made her throat prickle like an itch, but it was good. She had another mouthful, then another, and another. She was so hungry, she had barely even realised. A strong hand grabbed hers and forced the spoon back. She started, but another hand had already steadied the bowl of stew.

“Hey!” Sigyn flinched, expecting a smack, but it never came. “Slow down, alright? You’ll make yourself sick like that.”

Sigyn slowed down. She didn’t want to be sick. More than that, she didn’t want to upset Knight-Templar Samson. Maybe he could be her friend, if she was nice to him. She’d like to have a friend.

 That night, Sigyn was taken down into a dungeon. It must have been underground, it was so deep, and there were so many stairs to walk down. First Enchanter Orsino greeted her, along with several other mages. He was holding a knife.

She wished Ser Thrask would help her.

First Enchanter Orsino made a small cut in the crook of her arm. She tried not to cry, but it hurt so much, and it made her feel weak and her head feel fuzzy. He held a small bottle up to her wound, and thick, red blood trickled in. She remembered he looked concerned by it. When the bottle was full, First Enchanter Orsino brought it over to the other mages. Sigyn wanted to sleep, but instead, she watched. A woman waved her hand over the bottle. The blood inside bubbled and boiled in a way that made her want to be sick. The glow built slowly. At first it looked like a candle, where the flame had just been blown out and the wick was still hot. Then her father’s eyes shining in the darkness, full of fear and pain. The light of magic dancing in and out between her fingers. Fire burning in a grate. Mama didn’t let them light the fire often, not even when it snowed outside. She was always so cold.

The phial of blood went dark, and Sigyn fell into sleep.

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

The next morning, Sigyn wakes, washes and dresses in much the same way as yesterday. The Sun is out, but has yet to rise over the steep hills to the east. The forest is held in an odd limbo between dawn and darkness. The air is already growing warmer, however; it will be another hot day.

Before she sets out, she takes a minute to sift through her pack. Dried meat wrapped in leaves. A small wooden box for herbs. A tied bundle of kindling for emergencies. A small pouch full of coins. A single book; a birdwatcher’s almanac she’d scavenged from an abandoned camp. Everything just the same as the night before.

She opens the book, and flips through the pages until she finds what she’s looking for. Two pieces of folded paper. They are her most precious possessions.

The first piece is older and more worn, but was much better quality. She tucks it back into the book. The second piece is brown and crinkled, more like the scraps of paper she can scavenge from abandoned cabins and bags. There is a small hole in one corner, and an addressee inscribed on it in a sharp, yet tidy hand. The Lady Archer.

She smiles to herself. She’d heard the name years ago, when she was trading for bread with a travelling merchant. “They say there’s a spirit that guards these woods,” she’d said, her hazel eyes wide with conviction. “My friend, Seggrit, was riding through and almost got killed by a bear. He said right as it was about to strike him, an arrow came from nowhere. Hit the beast straight in the eye and it fell down dead. Can you believe it? ‘The Lady Archer,’ he called it. But how can a spirit be a lady?”

Sigyn didn’t remember anyone called Seggrit, specifically. What she did remember was a young man on a sand-coloured horse, and the dead bear that had been about to end his life.

She’d come away from the merchant’s cart with a loaf of seeded bread, and a little bubble of happiness in her chest. She’d never been a guardian before. She’d done her best to live up to it in the intervening years, helping lost travellers or leaving little gifts for the needy. She’d started leaving notes, when she had the paper for it. It was one such note that had led her to the author of the letter.

She unfolds the letter, taking care not to rip the paper. He’d sent others, before and since. But this one is special.

My lady,

 I hope…

A stick cracks outside her cave. Sigyn drops the letter, snatching up her bow. Only two things break twigs as they walk: bears, and people. She darts to the mouth of the cave. She can hear voices – though she can’t pick out the words – and the clinking of moving armour. As she creeps towards the sounds, she can start to pick up on the conversation itself.

“Damn. Little magicker gave us the slip.”

Sigyn ducks beneath the line of the bracken. No small task, for someone of her height, but she’s learnt to do it over the years.

“She didn’t go far. I can still sense her. What about her phylactery?”

“He broke it, didn’t he?” The male Templar jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Makes everything harder. Come on.”

He claps the woman’s shoulder, and the two start rummaging through the brush. Sigyn smirks. Such a foolish mistake. She expected a pair of Thedas’ finest to know better.

The first arrow hits the male Templar without either one noticing. It strikes him in the neck. Blood bubbles up and out of the wound, soaking his armour both outside and in. Disoriented, the Templar halves his remaining lifespan by tugging the arrow free. He collapses in the dirt, spasms twice, and dies.

The woman raises her shield, and draws her sword, but the male’s actions have left the trajectory of the arrow a mystery to her. Her head darts from side to side.

“Show yourself!” she demands, in just about the right direction, but Sigyn has already slipped away. She uses the noise of the shout to dart to another tree. Killing her will be the easy part. She just has to get close enough to do it. She waits for the Templar to look away, then quick as a flash, fires an arrow in no particular direction. It crackles through the bushes. The Templar’s head whips around. Sigyn darts to another tree. Edging closer, closer, close enough to touch. A twig snaps under her foot. She slips into intangibility.

The Templar looks around, brows pulled into a tight line of confusion. “Who’s there?” she barks, but Sigyn has already moved from her line of sight. As if she could see her anyway. Now she’s behind her. She snatches the sword from the woman’s belt. She turns around, but of course, she sees nothing. Sigyn thrusts the sword through the Templar’s armour, and then materializes.

The Templar’s eyes blow wide. Her breath freezes in her throat. She chokes out a mouthful of blood, and then she’s gone.

Shame, really. That was a good sword.

Sigyn looks down at the two bodies, and wonders if she ought to feel anything other than contempt. Probably, she decides. Still, no use letting their things go to waste. She has no use for the armour – it’s far too heavy for her – but they have money, food, and small weapons she can sell. The man has a knife strapped to his belt, which she detaches with a satisfied smirk. Her old one sorely needs replacing.

Mmm-hmmf!

The muffled little noise catches Sigyn’s attention. She scans the clearing, looking for any sort of movement in the undergrowth. She isn’t scared, far from it, though at first she doesn’t realise why. Another similar sound comes from her right, and she realises. It’s a sob.

To her right is a rock formation, a crystal grace plant standing sentinel at the mouth of a small cave. This forest is littered with the things, hiding everything from bears to bones. Sigyn strips off her quiver, bow, pack and outer coat. With the knife on her belt her only protection, she slips into the crevice.

It’s dark down here, but her eyes quickly adjust to the gloom. She sees the girl’s eyes first, wide and white and terrified. Her skin is covered in cuts and scratches, the great cloud of her hair littered with twigs and leaves. Frankly, she looks like she’s been dragged through a hedge backwards, and to be fair, maybe she has. She’s pressed against the back wall of the little cave, hands clapped over her mouth, tears cutting shiny lines down her cheeks.

“Oh! Oh, no, no, it’s alright. You don’t have to be afraid,” Sigyn splutters. “Here, see?” She takes the new hunting knife off of her belt, and sets it to the side, holding up her empty hands.

The youngster doesn’t seem convinced. Sigyn wracks her brain for some kind of plan. The Templars said that this girl has a phylactery, which must mean that she’s a mage. A mage that had once been in the Circle, more specifically. Perhaps the girl thinks that she’s a Templar in disguise? Or, more likely, a villager that will hand her over at the first opportunity.

Ser Thrask had told her to use her magic only sparingly. But Ser Thrask isn’t here, and Sigyn no longer fears the Templars.

“Watch this,” she whispers, with a smirk. She takes the cap out of her water skin, and allows a little to drip from the neck. She waves her hand over it, and the water freezes in mid-air. The newly-formed icicle sticks upright in the dirt. Another gesture is all it takes for the ice to melt, and the water to harmlessly soak into the soil.

The girl gasps, and Sigyn looks up to see that some of her fear has also melted away. “You’re a mage too?” she asks, voice full of wonder.

Sigyn smiles at the girl, kindly. “It’s alright. You have nothing to fear from me.”

It takes a little coaxing, and a few more simple spells, but slowly, the girl seems to lose her fear. She scrambles closer, watching Sigyn’s reaction with some apprehension, but trusts her enough to let Sigyn help her out of the cave. Sigyn steps between her and the Templars’ bodies, moving her quickly away and out of sight of them.

“Shut your eyes,” she says. “I’ll tell you when you can look.” Camile looks apprehensive, but she takes Sigyn’s hand, clutching it tight, and walks with her past the slaughter. A child shouldn’t see such terrible things.

“My name is Camile,” the girl says, eventually.

Sigyn smiles down at her. “I’m Sigyn. Sigyn…Thrask.” She’s surprised she doesn’t feel guilty about lying, but then again, it doesn’t seem much like a lie.

Camile gasps and smiles. “Sigyn is such a pretty name!”

Sigyn is taken aback. She can’t remember ever receiving such a compliment, let alone from a relative stranger. She can’t help but grin. “I think Camile is a pretty name too,” she replies. Camile giggles and hides her face behind their entwined hands. Perhaps she’d never had a compliment like that either.

“Where are we going?” she asks, once the giggles have subsided.

“Well, we’re going back to my camp.” Sigyn gestures forwards. “And we’ll pack everything away. Then we can find somewhere safe to sleep.”

Somewhere safe. Her eyes prickle a little, but she blinks the feeling away.

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

Fire crackled and whooshed in the corridors. The air was rent with sobs and screams. Footsteps thundered outside the door and on the upper floors. Then the knocking came. More like thumping. They were trying to force the door open.

Papa’s arms tight as a vice around her. Mama’s angry screaming, pounding on the door. Fire in the grate. Let me in that fucking room!

“Sigyn!”

Marjorie’s hands were tight on her shoulders, dark eyes connected with her own. “Sigyn, you have to hide. You stay under that bed, and you don’t come out for anything.”

You stay here. You move an inch, and I’ll make you regret it.

Sigyn did as Marjorie asked. She crawled under the bed, curled up and shivering. Marjorie gave her a smile, a sad smile, like the one Ser Thrask had given her a week ago. She wouldn’t let Mama in. But what would Mama do to her?

“What about you?” Sigyn blurted.

Marjorie’s smile almost slipped.

“You don’t need to worry about me.” And she pulled the covers down, leaving Sigyn in the shadows.

The door finally burst in with a deafening crack. Sigyn wanted to press her hands down over her ears, but she was too scared to move at all.

Marjorie spoke. “You have one chance. Turn around and walk away now, and I won’t kill you.”

Several people laugh. “You’d kill us?” a woman sneered. “Seven of us, and one of you? I’d like to see you try.”

Marjorie laughed, but she wasn’t happy. “I’m more than willing to show you.”

“Enough bullshit, mage. We…”

But then Marjorie shouted above the racket. “Sigyn! Make it go cold! Now!”

Sigyn did as she was told. She always did what she was told.

 It might have been minutes, or hours, or even days, but eventually Sigyn heard voices in the corridor outside.

“What are you moaning about?”

“Marjorie Barris. She’s dead.” She knew that voice.

“Shit. They’ll have to hand over the boy now.”

Sigyn didn’t hear anything more over the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears. Marjorie was dead. The bad people had killed her. And Sigyn had let them do it.

She didn’t realise she’d been crying until a pair of armoured hands lifted the bed covers, and Knight-Templar Samson appeared, blurred by tears. He swore loudly, and he reached for her.

“Close your eyes, kid,” he said. “I’ll get you out of here. Just hold on to me.”

Knight-Templar Samson pressed her face uncomfortably against his shoulder, blocking her view of the room. She didn’t see the ash and scratches on the walls, or the burnt corpses littering the room, or the remnants of a red scarf still tied to the head of one of them.