#thank you dagna!

[greypetrel]

"Meryden, play the Pina Colada song, please!" "Why do you have a baloon?" "It's all part of the plan!"

The plan.

I'm pretty sure Varric didn't foresee them singing in chipmunk voices when he called Hawke to Skyhold, and he has now mixed feelings about it. (everyone has mixed feelings about this duet but it's the Inquisitor...)

*Cassandra fangirling in a corner and ignoring her ears bleeding*

[midmorninggrey]

Tagged by @inquisimer to create my OCs in this picrew, and their swords in this picrew. Thank you! I've never done a picrew before - so many choices. Shout out to the artists who put them together!

Gillian Hawke - If she's going to kill people, Gill figures she might as well use a fancy knife (rubies and gold preferred.)

Celeste Trevelyan - I think this sword design is something crazy Cece would draw up to show Dagna. She has the tastes of any self-respecting teenage necromancer: bats, purple, and moss. Luckily for an Inquisition that is already struggling with a questionable image, the young Herald decides to stick with her bow and staff.

Marcus (AKA Cal) - The sword with personal significance! It's supposed to have a carved griffon head on the pommel, but I thought the sunburst was nice. Marcus' silverite arming sword was a gift from Warden-Commander Duncan. Given his status as a mage, Marcus didn't need to learn swordsmanship, but he pursued it with a tenacity that earned him grudging respect from his fellow Wardens. However, his friend Magaleth the Mapmaker wasn't terribly impressed by his skills, so she enchanted a Lightning Rune into the sword.

---

Tagging onto @samseabxrn (I've been sending a lot your way so no pressure) and whoever else wants to look at all these snazzy character creation choices.

[thelearnedsoldiertoo]

Deagna(Dagna) the Wise!

As the final entry(for now) in the set of four(technically five if you count my current pfp Granis) goddesses for my original Tiefling-heavy setting, please enjoy Deagna the Nerd Wise! She's the patroness of scholars and the arcane(the latter of which have waned somewhat lately in prominence, leading to a diminished role in the pantheon)--she's also the Goddess of Mercy and Temperance, and is frequently found in a counterbalancing role to the more fiery Uisabhean! She's one of three goddesses usually depicted as 'Corbaggan', or 'short-horn' Tieflings, who are the children of Tieflings and other races, usually elves and humans, the others being Slíariann the Forge-Mother(She's probably going to be my next commish!) and Gránéas(Granis), who despite her colourful appearance, has the shorter-horns and humanoid feet of a Corbaggan, she just has more Tief than Human in her(ba-dum--)! Thanks so so so so much to @cadhla182 for the outstanding work, as always! Next up for me is the winner of the Sexyman Showdown, Kadi Kidiss!

[shivunin]

Aaaaah for the OC codex prompt… 👀✨

3 for Maria 6 for Arianwen 13 for Emmaera 15 for Elowen 16 for Salshira

(of course, feel free to choose/skip some!)

Ooooh okay, I am going to do them each in separate posts for organizational reasons, but thank you for the prompts friend!!

(Codex Prompts)

6. Something written by your OC in response to an honor they've been awarded

The Morning Post

(299 Words | No Warnings)

A series of letters on the Warden-Commander’s desk, each neatly stacked in the tray for the messenger to take in the morning: 

Dear Lady Hartley,  No, thank you.  —Warden-Commander Tabris

Lord Horleth:  If you are going to build an orphanage, you should name it after someone who will pay you for the honor of having their name on the building. The messenger will provide you a contribution from the Wardens, which serves to do the opposite.  Regards,  —Warden-Commander Tabris

First Enchanter Irving, 

I can honestly say I am glad to hear you’re well. We don’t get much news about the Circle on this end of the Calenhad. I hear it’s being rebuilt, though I can’t honestly say if I’m glad or not to hear it. Better to raze the thing to the ground, I think.  To the matter of your letter: Yes, I suppose I will allow it, but only because it was Dagna’s idea. I hope she fares well, too. At the very least, it sounds like she’s among people who appreciate her. If she thinks it is a good idea to fund this scholarship, I suppose I agree. Let the messenger know where to leave the funds.  —Warden-Commander Arianwen Tabris

Alistair,  No. Absolutely not. If you commission a commemorative snow globe of the defeat of the Archdemon, I assure you that you will not like the bits of it I leave in your quarters to find later. It sounds funny now. It will not sound funny when you’re picking shards of glass out of your toes, you utter fool of a man.  You’d better be doing well. If not, tell me who is to blame for it. I’ve been too long idle in this keep and need some time to stretch my legs.  —Wen Oh—your humble servant, etc etc. Take care of yourself, you buffoon

[partystoragechest]

A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting invites four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, Lady Trevelyan returns to Skyhold.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 2,726. Rating: all audiences.)

Chapter 36: Lady Trevelyan's Folly (Reprise)

The Frostback mountains stood vigilant over the road to Skyhold. Low cloud, and its gentle snowfall, obscured the very peaks. But their presence, nonetheless, was felt.

Trevelyan pulled her cloak a little tighter around herself. This cold was a far cry from the milder climes of the Dales, from which her cart and retinue now returned.

Though her fingers were already numbing, Trevelyan would not give them respite. She held tightly onto the parchment in her hand, her parting gift from Varric: his very own notes on red lyrium. Through every lump and bump upon the road, she read, over and over and over.

“Anything in there?” asked Dagna, sat beside her.

“I have some theories forming,” Trevelyan muttered in reply. She flicked back to the start again. “I’m not sure, I—”

“Hey—confidence, remember?”

Trevelyan smiled. “Confidence. I’m certain I’ll find something.”

“That’s more like it!” Dagna smiled in turn. “You know, I should find a way of bottling confidence.”

“I think they already have something like that.”

Dagna laughed. “Well, maybe we could use a less intoxicating version.”

“Now, that would be useful. You could name it—”

“Halt!” called the captain of the guard. The cart shuddered to a stop.

Trevelyan and Dagna’s concentration broke at once. “What’s going on?” Dagna asked.

The driver of the cart nodded ahead, to movement at the side of the road. “Traveller in distress, looks like,” he said. “We’ll check it’s legitimate.”

The idea of it not being so chilled Trevelyan even further. She settled down into her seat, and tucked her papers away. Everything would be fine.

Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced in the direction the driver had indicated. One of their guard had dismounted her steed, to approach the figure ahead.

They stood beside a large riding horse, of black mane and dappled grey coat. With their back turned, and body obscured by a travelling cloak, there was little Trevelyan could divine of them. But the approach of the guard caught their attention, and they looked round.

The glimpse Trevelyan caught of their face made her brow flick upward.

The traveller was feminine in feature, though their fine black hair was cropped and ruffled. Their beige complexion, in this cold light, was earthy in tone, but turned to warm as the sun broke through. Cheeks bunched, as their face came to a smile.

They were not quite what one might expect some kind of bandit or ruffian to be. But then, what better bait, than someone so eye-catching?

“Ah, how lucky I am!” they called. “Are you Inquisition?”

“We are,” replied the guard who’d approached. “May we assist you?”

“Thank you, yes! I am headed to your fortress, serah—but my reins have snapped.” They showed the broken ends. “Must be this cold! If you have any rope to spare, I could fashion something temporary and be on my way!”

The guard nodded, and glanced back to the cart. “Cut some rope, would you?”

“Thank you!”

Trevelyan helped another guard to find it, buried amongst their things. He drew his blade and sliced a segment, that was then handed over.

The traveller accepted it graciously. “Thank you,” they said. “I have not yet reached your hold, but shall already have stories of your kindness to tell back home.”

The guard offered help with the knots, and asked, “Where is your home, traveller?”

“Ferelden.”

“You are of Ferelden, but you travel from Orlais?”

The traveller nodded. “I had business there for my family, the Orroats of East Coldon.”

Trevelyan’s ears pricked. She had previously been listening only out of curiosity; now she listened with purpose.

Another soldier called over, “You do not travel with a guard?”

“Oh! Should I?” The traveller seemed quite genuinely startled by the notion. “I had assumed the Inquisition keeps its roads.”

“We do,” answered the guard assisting them, “but these are unprecedented times. Best to be prepared.”

“True enough! Though if this is proof of anything, it is that I have always been a reckless sort.” The temporary rein was finished, and secured around their horse’s head. “Admittedly, I was so excited by my invitation, that I took very little care in making my preparations.”

The guard nodded, and shook their hand. “Then it is well we came along, ma’am.”

“It is. I thank you.”

With a glance back to the retinue, and signal of approval given, the guard told the traveller: “You are welcome to travel alongside us, though it may prolong your journey—Skyhold is an hour at our pace.”

The traveller still smiled. “I would be a fool to reject such an offer—so long as it is of no mind to you.”

“No, ma’am.”

“Very good.”

The traveller mounted their horse—‘twas not a small beast, yet they were up onto it with ease and no assistance. They were shown their place amongst the retinue, as it began to form up once more. The tension of the air had dissipated; the soldiers once again returned to calm vigilance.

The order was given to march on, and so they did.

But Trevelyan’s gaze lingered upon their new companion. Curious, she moved to the other side of the cart, and leant over the edge.

“Pray, you wouldn’t happen to know—or, perhaps even be—Lady Hul Orroat, would you?” she called.

The traveller looked over, their eyes—a beautiful onyx that reflected the snowlight—widening in surprise.

“Hulnes, if you please,” she said, with a smoothness of voice that caught Trevelyan quite off-guard. “Hul is an atrocious name, and there is but one person in all of Thedas I allow to call me by it.”

Trevelyan grinned. “Lady Erridge?”

If she had not already confirmed herself to be Lady Orroat, her reaction would have done so sufficiently. The Lady beamed at the mere mention of the name.

“Yes,” she said. “Marcher accent… are you Lady Trevelyan, by any chance?”

“I am!”

“A pleasure to meet you!”

Lady Orroat guided her horse closer, but a guard closed rank. He looked to Trevelyan; with her nod, he moved away again. Orroat was permitted to draw in.

Her Ladyship was ever more handsome up close. She stretched out a hand, and Trevelyan took it, expecting to shake. Yet, Lady Orroat drew her hand up, and pressed a small, warming kiss to the knuckles. Trevelyan smiled. She knew someone that Lady Orroat could teach a thing or two.

“Lady Erridge has said so much about you,” Trevelyan told her.

“And you also!” Orroat concurred. “Thank you, for being such a good friend to her. She is such a sweet soul—she struggles, sometimes, with finding people who will respect her, given her wonderful silliness.”

“That is a shame, she’s one of the kindest people I know.”

“Indeed, I can gladly say the same,” Lady Orroat agreed, with exactly the smile Trevelyan had expected.

“Was it she who invited you?” she asked.

Orroat shook her head. “No, it was the Commander, curiously. Said he wished to meet me, and for Lady Erridge to see her dear friend again.”

Trevelyan blinked. Firstly, how in all of Thedas did the Commander know who Lady Orroat was? Secondly, why in the name of the Maker was he inviting her to Skyhold?

“The Commander?” she questioned.

“I was as baffled as you are, your Ladyship!” said Orroat. “Though he seemed quite eager to meet me.”

Trevelyan suppressed a look of confusion.

“Anyway, would you kindly introduce to me your companion, there?” Lady Orroat asked, nodding toward Dagna.

Trevelyan remembered herself, and introduced her. She was treated to the same gesture Trevelyan had been, which she certainly did not seem to mind. Talk continued, of Skyhold, of Lady Erridge—Orroat was, in particular, keen to hear of her time there—and of the journey ahead.

But all the way, in the back of Trevelyan’s mind, she was attempting to square the circle. Why had the Commander invited Lady Orroat? What had happened, in her absence, to cause such an event?

She was soon to find out, as they travelled slowly down the mountainside, and the great grey shadow of Skyhold began to loom. Stubborn and magnificent as she’d left it.

Trevelyan’s eyes drifted from the castle to Lady Orroat, whose mouth had fallen open in awe. She watched this reaction with something like pride, strangely glad that Orroat found the place as impressive as she ought to.

They trundled along through the riverbank encampment—which Trevelyan attempted to ignore the sight of—and up the winding slope that led to Skyhold proper.

“One would never expect to find such a place as this in the mountains,” Lady Orroat murmured, as they came upon the fortress’ facade.

Trevelyan smiled. “And yet it stands.”

There were calls and orders on the battlements, as they crossed the bridge. With a rhythmic clanking, the portcullis raised and locked into position. The warmth of the lush and lively courtyard beyond was as a siren’s call.

The retinue entered, breaking apart as it did, each rider finding their way to a waiting stablehand. The cart halted, and the driver jumped down, a hand up and ready to help his passengers.

Trevelyan took it, finding her way to the ground. She almost stumbled as she did, for her eyes were on the structure around them. Back in the embrace of the keep and its walls, she felt a comfort that had been lacking on the road. That hum of magic that always maintained the place brought her into its equilibrium, and she felt a tranquility suffuse her.

The Lady Orroat rode alongside, and dropped to the ground. She laid her cloak over the back of her horse, the latter of which a stablehand arrived to guide away. Orroat thanked them.

Trevelyan was finally able to take her in, properly. Lady Orroat, besides her refined features and somehow perfectly-mussed hair, wore a tight-fitting outfit reminiscent of a huntress. A bodice and trousers in dark leather, with a sheathed dagger at the waist. Maker.

Trevelyan’s confusion only grew at the sight—though this time, it was sheer wonderment at how Lady Erridge had not contented herself with her prospects in Coldon.

“Lady Orroat!” came a cry. Speak of the demon.

Trevelyan glanced to its source, and saw stood upon the landing outside the keep, one beaming Lady Erridge. She immediately broke into a run, hurrying down the stairs.

“Lady Erridge!

Orroat raced to meet her. They collided at the bottom of the stair, Erridge leaping into Orroat’s arms, Orroat spinning her through the air. When they slowed, and Orroat set Lady Erridge’s feet upon the ground once more, their foreheads came to touch.

“Oh, my dear Lady Orroat, how I have missed you,” Erridge breathed.

“And I you,” Orroat replied, brushing a curl behind Erridge’s ear. “My heart has hurt every day without you, my dear Lady Erridge. I have not known warmth since you left.”

“Oh, Hul…”

It was at this point Dagna came up alongside Trevelyan, and commented, “They seem like very good friends.”

Trevelyan concealed a smirk.

The pair finally broke apart, and Lady Erridge at last noticed Trevelyan was even there. Her face lit up.

“Lady Trevelyan! How good to see you!” she said, hurrying over for a hug. Trevelyan gladly gave it. “Oh, have you already met my dear Hul?”

“I have,” Trevelyan confessed. “I am sorry, I know you wished to introduce us.”

Erridge giggled. “Oh, I am far too happy to be sad about that! That you have met at all is enough for me”—she looked to Orroat—“and Lady Trevelyan is quite lovely, is she not?”

Orroat, hovering close to Erridge, nodded. “Very lovely.”

“And fine marriage material, I think you’d agree.”

Trevelyan’s brow flew up; Lady Orroat’s contorted downward.

“Um, of course!” she said, politely.

“Lady Erridge,” Trevelyan interjected, “you should introduce the good Lady Orroat to the other Ladies! Oh, er, Samient and Montilyet, I mean. I am sure they are excited to see her.”

Lady Erridge clapped her hands, thankfully distracted. “Oh, yes, yes! Let us go see them!”

She grabbed Lady Orroat—still somewhat bewildered—by the hand, and began to lead her off, up the stairs. Trevelyan turned back to Dagna.

“I should go and see them as well.”

Dagna waved her off. “Heh. You know what I think. I need to write up the report, anyway. See you in the Undercroft later!”

“Absolutely!”

Trevelyan waved, and hurried off to follow the Ladies Erridge and Orroat, who were already charging far ahead. She caught them on the stairs to the Great Hall, and entered just behind.

The Great Hall swallowed her up, and drowned her in familiarity. The smell—of the citrus and herbs used to clean the statues, mixed with the burning logs of the open fire—put an arm around her shoulder, and welcomed her in as if family. The ambient noise, the hustle and bustle, seeing the servants and soldiers to and fro—it all felt so right.

“I left Lady Samient in the garden,” said Erridge, marching off in its direction.

“I take it, then, that this is the way,” teased Orroat, in tow.

Trevelyan laughed to see it, and followed them along. Lady Erridge shoved open the door, and headed on through. Orroat came after, then Trevelyan—who was quite excited to see the place again, and the Lady Samient that was promised within.

Her face fell.

The garden was there, sure enough. Lady Samient was there, sure enough. But she was not alone.

The Commander—

Lady Samient stood beside him, laughing and talking. Laughing. Talking. But they’d said—they said they wouldn’t—

Why was she—?

Lady Erridge and Lady Orroat continued on without her, finding their way over the garden path to join the conversation. But Erridge had said—

There was no awkwardness, in their meeting. They joined together seamlessly. Erridge’s giddy little voice echoed around the place, and Samient’s Orlesian tones came in turn.

But Trevelyan stared at the Commander.

And as he shook Lady Orroat’s hand, his gaze left her. It shifted across the garden. And it caught upon Trevelyan.

His hand fell limp, and withdrew. His stance changed. His mouth fell a little ways open, as if he was to speak.

He began to back away from the group, but Lady Erridge called out, “Commander, where are you going? There is still so much to discuss.”

The Commander muttered something in response, and with one final glance at Trevelyan, he escaped, striding for the battlement stairs.

Lady Samient followed the direction of his last look, however, and finally spotted Trevelyan. Though her face lit on first notice, it quickly dimmed. She took a step. Trevelyan turned.

She didn’t need this right now.

She returned through the door with haste, closing it before Samient could follow. The smell, the noise, they hit her again, and scrambled her already-muddled mind.

Trevelyan did her best to hide from it all, as she crossed the space, and went for the opposite door. To the guest chambers, she fled.

The stairs she did not even have to look at, by now. She knew her way up them. As her hands began to shake and tears clouded her vision, she made her way with nary a stumble.

The corridor she entered, eager to find her quarters. But as she went for the door, her movements attracted attention. A shape, emerging from one of the bedrooms, manifested within the hall.

“Lady Trevelyan?” said Baroness Touledy.

Trevelyan looked to her in disbelief. She dried her eyes, if only to ensure this was no hallucination. But it wasn’t. The Baroness stood before her, alive, and glamorous as always.

Trevelyan collapsed into her arms, and held her tight. “You’re still here,” she murmured, into the Baroness’ dress.

The Baroness stroked her hair. “I am. Val Misrenne still stands, for now. The tide of battle has turned. I wait in hope of victory.”

Trevelyan clutched tighter, hopeful of the same.

“What of you?” the Baroness asked, guiding her to part. She took Trevelyan’s hands, and ran her thumb in circles over them. “Was your trip a success?”

Trevelyan smiled, as her tears began to fall again. Slowly, but surely, her head began to shake.

“We failed,” she cried. “We failed.”

[theheraldsrest]

if you folks dont mind, could one of you write for an inquisitor that maybe romanced krem? i know hes not romanceable in game but man. i need more content for this ship, if possible. no pressure of course! have a wonderful day you two!

“Krem Romance Headcanons”

You got it, dude! From talking with others, I think a lot of people fell for Krem the first time he was properly introduced. Can’t blame them. This got long way too fast, oops.

-Lord Lex

-Absolutely fell hard when he first met you. He kept his cool though, only a flush on his face giving him away

-When you came to fight with them, he tried to show off a bit. Iron Bull was wondering why he kept getting hurt much more than usual

-Oh god, Bull. Chief tries to give him advice and tips on how to whoo a woman when Krem tells him about his crush. He regrets it.

-At Haven, he’ll try to strike up conversations with you more, coincidentally giving you a flower that he picked while gathering herbs

-At Skyhold, you caught him standing up on his chair looking around and, when spotting you, dropped to sit on the head of the chair. Told you it was just to keep an eye on things. 

-He really wanted to ask you to dinner or to drinks, but was a little afraid of what you might say when he told you he was trans. Of course, he eventually did tell you and was so relieved to see you had no problems with it. 

-It was actually when you got back from a mission that he asked, quite smoothly, if you’d like to get drinks with him. By smoothly I mean his hand missed the counter and he fell down to the ground.

-But you said yes. Holy shit, he’s way too excited and forgot he was on the ground. When you met back up with him at the front of the bar, he didn’t lead you inside but instead up the stairs next to it.

-On the roof of one of the towers, Krem had set up a blanket, some food, and drinks for you two. Tried to make it romantic and kept asking if this was alright. 

-He never really leaves your side unless both of you have seperate things that need to get done. Will always offer you his hand and act like such a gentleman to you

-Dating Krem also means being around the Chargers more often and learning that all of them had been giving him advice. Yes, including Grim. 

-You also learn that there are a lot more puns for Krem’s name thanks to Bull. If you use any of them when talking to Krem, you’ll see him flush before he tells you to hush.

-Whenever you're free or need to de-stress, he’ll take you up to the tower. Get you away from the hustle-bustle from down below and star gaze. Knows a lot of constellations, surprisingly.

-Great with cuddling. Finds all the pillows and blankets and makes a nest on your bed for you two to hide in. Holds you close in his lap while you two just talk or joke.

-Krem can cook and it’s pretty good. Whenever he makes something new, he tries to have you be the first to taste test it. Has also shown you his favorite recipes and how to make them.

-Every time you go on one of the major missions, Krem always gets worried for your safety but he knows you’re strong and capable. Plus, you got the Chief with you. Not sure if that makes it better or worse.

-Always finds you little trinkets when he travels so that he can give you a present when he gets back. 

-When he leaves, he always takes your hand and places a gentle kiss to your knuckles, promising to come back safe for you. When he does come back, he picks you up in a hug.

-Boy will pick a fight with any noble that looks at you wrong. Imagine the mixed reactions with Krem Aclassi as the Inquisitor’s date to the Winter Palace.

-After the battle with Coreypheus, highly debates whether to sticking with the Chargers or by your side. Eventually decides on traveling, but knows that he'll always come back to you

-When you do lose your hand, he’s by your side offering his own to help you with anything. Even suggests getting an arm made by Dagna. He trusts her…Definitely.

[theluckywizard]

In the Shattering of Things, Ch. 47: Coming Clean

Chapter summary: Dagna has finally arrived to work on cleansing the lyrium remnants in her shoulder, Rose reads Cullen's report on Samson and the Red Templars and invites him to share more off the record, and later blithely surrenders to a probable shellacking in a chess match against him.

Special thanks to @bluewren for helping me sort out Dagna’s red lyrium cleansing method! You’re the best!

Fic summary: Lady Rose Trevelyan's idle, aristocratic life blinks out in a haze of irrelevance when the breach destroys the Conclave. She may be soft and coddled when she joins the Inquisition, but there's a fierceness inside her she's yet to fully recognize. Armed with only a few relevant skills and the mark that makes her a legend, she is thrust onto a path delivering hope where it’s long been scorched away and finds comfort in the grumpy, handsome stick in the mud charged with her protection and training. As she stumbles her way across southern Thedas, she begins to realize she's tangled at the center of machinations she barely understands, and she's not alone in that. Enter Hawke.

Excerpt:

“Check,” he says, a victorious smile breaking across his face.

“Are you always this smug when you’re winning?” I ask him, my king on the run across the board. He answers me with another playful raise of his brow. He’s chasing me down with his Queen and I’m trying to avoid being cornered in a string of turns in quick succession. When at last he traps me, I sigh long, slumping low in my chair and smile back at him.

“I believe the game is mine,” he says, leaning back with an insufferable grin. If this minor spark of indignance weren’t rankling, I might think more about kissing it off his face.

“It’s truly unfair that you can play this and talk at the same time,” I gripe while he resets the board.

“It comes with practice,” he says with a little smile and to anyone else, his self-satisfaction would be infuriating. “If you play enough it doesn’t require as much thought to find the patterns.”

“Well now that we’ve a score to settle, it’s only fair that you lose your shirt to me in a game of Wicked Grace,” I say and even in the firelight I can see his blush. I can’t decide if I intended to be so direct. “At some point.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever played,” he admits. “Gambling was frowned upon by the Chantry.”

“Were you so good at following the rules?”

“I was. To a fault. Following rules, following orders. I suppose I needed it at the time. But I almost lost everything to it,” he says and he purses his lips, troubled by it.

“I’ll teach you then. Since you are no longer bound by the strictures of the Order.”

“I’d like that,” he says, his surprise earnest.

“Me too,” I say and then curse my awkwardness. I venture a little more bravely. “I’m enjoying our trips to the lake in the morning.” He smiles in astonishment as if it weren’t painfully obvious, his eyes wide but dark in this light, lingering on me. He looks back at the board, a little timid.

“Rematch?”

“Seems a little self-serving, don’t you think?” I ask, reorganizing the pieces on the board.

“You have no idea,” he says, the smug lift at the corner of his mouth returning.

“We play again but this time you point out whenever I make a horrific mistake,” I propose. “That way you can have your bloody inevitable win but at least I can learn a thing or two.”

“All right,” he agrees, and I swear I see those dimples of his emerge.

Read the rest here

Read from the Beginning Here

DAFF TAG LIST:

@warpedlegacy @rakshadow @rosella-writes @effelants @bluewren @breninarthur @ar-lath-ma-cully @dreadfutures @ir0n-angel @inquisimer @crackinglamb @theluckywizard @nirikeehan @oxygenforthewicked @exalted-dawn-drabbles @melisusthewee @blarrghe @agentkatie

My own illustration of Cullen x Rose from an earlier chapter. I love them 😍

[broodwolf221]

happy friday! dadw prompt: perspicacious from the rare word list, with sera (any pairings up to you!)

aaaaa thank you jazz! this was So Fun omg perspicacious - having keen judgement or understanding; acutely perceptive @dadrunkwriting 688 words cws: red lyrium; fears of red lyrium contagion; honestly might be an ocd trigger re: germaphobia

“Should you really be messing around with this shite?” She asked, wrinkling her nose at one of the ‘experiments’ on the table.

“Don’t touch that!” Dagna called out to her, Sera turning to face her just to roll her eyes. “Okay, so I guess you weren’t going to. Sorry. Habit.” She shrugged a shoulder and grinned and Sera resisted the urge to walk over and kiss her. She was still busy, after all. “Anyway... maybe I shouldn’t but it helps. And it’s good to know how things work!”

“Yeah, but this? No one needs to know how this works.” Sera jerked her thumb over her shoulder, towards the eerie glow of the covered red lyrium. Dagna sighed.

“The Inquisitor does.” She moved past Sera to examine the shard, frowning. “And so do the people who are trying to remove it. How does it work? Will it get into their equipment? It’s a mineral, right, so-”

“You’re so lucky you’re cute,” Sera groused, Dagna turning to grin brightly at her.

“I am, aren’t I?” Dagna shot back, Sera snorting.

“Lucky, or cute?”

“Take your pick!”

“Uh-huh. Like I said, you’re lucky you’re so cute.” She crouched down so she was looking up at Dagna, who smiled much more sincerely and bent forward to kiss her. “Mm,” Sera began as the other woman pulled back. “And a good kisser.” She made a point of looking across Dagna’s body. “There are some other experiments we could try. I promise they’d be more fun than this.”

Dagna laughed, but it was a little uncomfortable. Not about the sex, Sera knew that much. They’d had it. It was good. It was really good. She just... always wanted to finish her work, and Sera was distracting her, and-

Well. She knew the drill.

She levered herself upright with a sigh, stretching. “Yeah, okay, I’ll see myself out. But it’s just...” She glanced back towards the glow with a frown. “Seriously, don’t touch that. I don’t care about knowledge, I care about you. I don’t want you getting all gunked up with red lyrium.” She grinned, although it felt a little shaky. “You’re cute as you are, but I don’t think awful shards stickin’ out of you would really do it for me.”

“Sera...” She shook her head, trying to cut off Dagna’s lecture before it started.

“It’s fine. I get it. I do. It’s important. But it’s scary, too, yeah? I mean... it gets into everything. Rocks. People! I don’t want it getting into you. Changing you, making you...” She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. What the Inquisitor and Dorian had told her about that fuck-off awful future, about the lyrium growing out of people. How would it start? Just a single tiny little flake making its way into you, and then what? Would they become strong and weird, all twisted up like the red templars? How much did it take? How long did it take? Would she have to start watching Dagna, make sure there wasn’t some red glow deep in her pretty eyes, that she wasn’t getting short-tempered and distant, that-

Fuck. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t bear to think of her getting all messed up on a tiny shard of lyrium. A flake. Hell, if that’s all it took, she might have it in herself already. She gripped her arms tighter, nails digging in, remembering the nothing she’d seen in the Fade. Was that why it was her fear? Because nothing was growing in her, because a tiny shard she’d inhaled once was taking her over, or-

Shit. Fucking shit.

She didn’t want to think about this. She didn’t want to reflect on how little it’d take to destroy her, to destroy Dagna, to destroy the whole world. “Just... be careful, yeah?” She muttered as she headed for the door out of the undercroft. She vaguely heard Dagna call out an affirmation as she let the door shut behind her, scrubbing at her face - then wiping her hands frantically against her shirt before scrubbing at her face again, worried she might’ve gotten some of the fucking lyrium on her.

[justjasper]

Secret Project [M] [3093 words]

Dagna is delighted when Dorian commissions something special from her.

— — —

“Alright. I do trust you, Dagna. Seems I can't help trusting mad dwarves, between you and Cadash.”

“I'm glad to hear it!” She giggles. Madness hasn't always been used as a compliment, but it certainly sound affectionate most of the time these days. “It could take a few months, I have to prioritise stuff for the Inquisitor and Fiona.”

“That's fine. Thank you very much.”

“It's no problem at all. It's gonna be fun!”

— — —

You can find more of my fic on my blog tag or Ao3. also on Twitter or Discord (Quan Tea Co & Adoribull Holiday) if you want to hang out!

[pinayelf]

Immy for the Dragon Age OC questions thing:

Essentials: 2 and 3! Life: 2, 4, 6, and 12! Party: 6 and 7! And Codex: 4!

Thank you sm ❤️

Essentials

2. What class do they belong to? How did they initially train and learn their skills?

Immy is a mage! Since she was being trained for to be the Keeper, Immy didn't know much offensive and combat magic. She knew spells to defend herself, but was not combative in the beginning. She learns more combat magic from Vivienne and Dorian, and from Commander Helaine when Immy became a Knight-Enchanter.

3. What race do they belong to? What are their opinions on the other races of Thedas?

Immy is a Dalish elf!

- Immy is always the most cautious around humans at first (because you know lol), it's why sometimes Cullen (her fave shemlen) will be with her if she feels unsafe around a human initially. She will fully trust a human once she gets to truly know them (the Rutherfords, her friends from the Inquisition). The first humans Immy fully trusted were the fog warriors because they kept her clan safe from Tevinter slavers.

- Sort of off-lore, but Immy is most familiar with Qunari. Her clan is from Seheron so she has met and befriended Qunari there before her clan left. Bull became one of her friends easily (despite him being wary of the magic thing) because they bonded over Seheron. Immy also helped Bull be less afraid of magic because ~Friendship is Magic (lol)

- Immy didn't know much about dwarves until she met Varric and other dwarves in the Inquisition. Her clan came across some surface dwarves and traded with them, but Immy didn't really feel one way or another - she found it interesting to learn about Dwarven castes.

Life

2. What social class were they born into? How did it affect their upbringing?

There were really no social classes in Immy's clan, nor does it really apply to Dalish Elves, but it can be said she grew up somewhere that valued community. Her clan was pretty much "the village" in "it takes a village". While she didn't get along with everyone, Immy's way of living is more community-minded, so being Inquisitor to her felt weird because there were things that were only for a certain group of people.

4. Describe their family. Who were they close to? Were there any particular childhood friends?

Immy is from a family of four, her mom Adrila, dad Thrilan, and older brother Iefyr. She's the closest to her dad as they're both mages and he nurtured Immy's softness and her love for alchemy. They're also both very squishy people lol - she looks more like him. Immy's childhood friends are another Danae, another mage and Liranael, a hunter. Immy and Liranael ended up being together for bit but she broke it off with Immy after some time, which left Immy incredibly broken-hearted and sadly ended their friendship.

6. Which aspects of the culture they were born into holds the most significance for them?

Community! Immy is used to always having that strong community in her clan. It's why it was so incredibly depressing for her when she first got to Haven, she felt isolated and it seemed like people were more individualistic when it came to things. Immy was used to being someplace where people would come cook and bring meals to someone who was sick, or where people got together to make sure kids were watched.

12. How efficient are they with things like crafting potions or repairing their own armor?

Immy is an expert at potions, she even sort of had a friendly rivalry with Adan about it. Repairing armor was new to Immy, and didn't know much about it. Cassandra (and Cullen ❤️) helped her learn quick fix-its but she'd rather bring it to Dagna or Harritt if it was something too big to fix by herself.

Party

6. Do they have a love interest? How did their relationship start?

Cullen ❤️❤️❤️ (lol). It was a bit of a slow-burn, Immy definitely did not trust Cullen at first. They ended up meeting a lot at the gardens and ramparts at Skyhold because Immy has bouts of insomnia and Cullen was struggling with nightmares. They began talking and they just clicked...and became very good friends (and Immy was like "oh he's cute 😳). Cullen then joins Immy during a month-long mission at the Western Approach and that's how they realized they were in love. During the mission to the Shrine of Dumat, Cullen saves Immy from a Red Templar Shadow and gets badly injured. Immy helps ease the pain later by performing a healing spell later and they confess their feelings and kiss.

7. How did their relationship progress? If they’re a canon romance option, is their story different from the way the game presents it?

The love confession is much different than in the game, like I answered above, their relationship begins as a friendship first and the love confession finally happens when Immy helps heal Cullen. They don't end up together until they're sure they love each other.

Codex

4. How do they feel about the Fade, spirits, and demons?

Immy did study a bit about the Fade during Keeper training, and while she doesn't mind spirits too much, she is incredibly cautious and nervous around demons. While Immy has decent control over her magic, she's someone who feels deeply and strongly - she can get emotional and she knows that's something demons can feed on. So she treads lightly with it.

--

OC Questions

This got v long lmao. Ty for sending questions, I always love to yap abt my fave girl, and I think I answered some lore about Immy I haven't posted about yet ❤️

[greypetrel]

WIP Wednesd-FRIDAY

Tagged by @shivunin, thank you very much, friend! :D

As every week before Christmas, I had clients waking up from their slumber, and stuff I can't show to finish. So, it's a little doodle I did today. Moby Dick!Aisling taking a nap on the armchair. Also! Some writing under the cut, same AU. :3

Tagging: @whimsyswastry @melisusthewee @morgandarcyarts @theluckywizard whom I didn't bother today and YOU who are reading and have something to show!

🐳🐳🐳🐳

Everything was all but fine.

She flopped on the gunnel, staring at the letter held between her fingers and reading the elegant cursive again.

And again.

Everything was all but fine, and all she wanted to do was going right back home, slip under the covers and cry.

But if what the letter said was true, she couldn’t allow herself to. She couldn’t afford to skip a day.

Right now, it was of the utmost importance that she got right back on her feet, allow Isabela to move on, and do her job, do it quickly, do it better. But her hands won’t stop trembling and her vision blurred.

“Do you need a moment?”

It was Cassandra to reach her, placing her hand on her shoulder and squeezing, tight enough for her to feel under all the layers she had on. Nantucket was that much colder than her home, and today she missed the heat of the Mediterranean. She blinked tears away, and took a deep breath. She did need a moment, and she did need Cassandra’s determination, seeing a problem and solving it.

She shook her head and forced her legs to stand, smiling at the crew around her every woman looking at her with different shades of worry she had learnt to read as such in the months they’ve been working together.

Cassandra’s worry looked like her acting and taking command to solve the problem. Isabela’s looked like her being attentive and careful to the person she was worried about, with a joke to cheer them up or an ear to listen. Merrill’s was in compassion and encouragement, Hawke’s in an easy joke and in her doing your job for you. Sera was in sticking up close and helping you before you realised you needed help, and Dagna would ask her if she wanted to speak. She loved them, and she was grateful that they were there with her.

But it wasn’t the moment to lean on them. Not when they all leant on her instead and she was about to let them all down.

She smiled and nodded, crunching the letter in her hands.

“Sorry, I was just tired. We can go, I’m ready.”

Nobody was convinced, but she insisted, and finally Isabela ordered for moors to be unleashed, and for the little sloop they had to be brought to sea.

That was easy. She just needed to do her job.

Easy.

When the best they spotted that day was a group of pilot whales that kept their distances and didn’t let them approach, it wasn’t that much easy.

She didn’t even take one dive, that day, and it weighted on her shoulders more and more, as the hours passed and the ocean remained empty. She pushed them all to stay extra hours. She loved them all because everyone understood, and the worst complaint she got was worry and people asking her if everything was all right, they could talk. She felt even worse, and just shook her head and pushed through, looking through her spyglass with more effort. Just one sighting. Just one.

Cullen would have gotten back home by himself. He would have understood, no doubt.

[natsora]

WIP Meme

Thank you for tagging me! @heroofshield

Tagging @wickedwitchofthewilds @vorchagirl @barbex No obligations

Staring up at Hellen with a gentle smile, she said, “I can’t wait to see what you’ve planned for the weekend. Our wedding anniversary…”

Hellen chuckled. “I will be the best weekend you ever have,” she promised. She leaned in and kissed Aega’s brow and tucked in her. “I’ll see you tomorrow, love.”

“Love you, babe…” Aega slurred her words.

Muffled gagging noises came from Dagna’s side of the room. Hellen ignored it. She tucked her wife in before going to Dagna’s side and did the same. “Stop gagging. You’re too old for this kind of behaviour.”

Dagna snorted. “Never.”

[howlingwolf23]

Can you give me an idiots to fake dating to lovers with your choice of Dai characters

I can't pick one so your going to get 3

1) Sera and Dagna - these 2 seem perfect for the idiots\fake dating\lovers as they both horrible at reading social cues, could easily miss the hints from the other, think the other doesn't like them, would need to do something as convoluted as fake dating for no good reason, and then realize they love each other

2) Krem and Lace - not so much idiots but they are both great for the fake dating for undercover intel missions to the point that always get assigned together until they develop feelings

3) and of course Varric and Cassandra - Varric playing the idiot and Cassandra being an idiot to supress her emotions. Fake dating again for a mission.

As they dance at the ball, Varric tells her sweet nothings just loud enough for others to hear. This of course gets Cassandra to blush ridiculously bright red. If they weren't undercover, she would have yelled at him for being dumb or ludicrous but she just has to dance with him and take it.

Little does she know he means every word. It's not until a new chapter of Sword and Shields does she read a seen matching the dance perfectly and showing the Knight Captains dance partner secretly has feelings.

She storms over, finds Varric, drags away from whatever he is doing and finds the most secluded place in Skyhold.

She slams the book down and demands to know what this is about. Varric, again playing the idiot, says it's a book. She trys not to strangle him as she turns the book to the dance scene.

He admits that he based the scene on their dance. She flips a few more pages which exposes the hidden feelings, "and this?" She demands, "is this based on real events?"

Varric stumbles. He sent an edit to his publisher that apparently they never got or ignored to remove that scene.

It takes a moment and admits his feelings. She yells at him that she's no good at read signals from people and "so maker help, Varric. If you are lying to me, if you are playing one of your jokes, I will-" Varric gently grabs her hand and starts repeating the book's lines, saying all the sweet words, "and I meant every word of it."

She is blushing bright. "oh. Well. Good then. I, you too. I accept. Thank you." She doesn't know what to do and storms out only to briefly return to give him a kiss and storm out again.

Varric is left there, partial dumb struck that she said yes, partial just enjoys watching her leave. "Ah Seeker. You are a tough one to get close to but I see you are finally taking off your armor around me."

That was longer than I meant to write but those 2 are the easiest for me to write for

[shivunin]

9 & 16 for the fandom asks? :3

Thank you so much for asking! <3

(Love Your Fandom Asks)

9. a ship that isn't your OTP but that you enjoy

Ooh, Cullen/Josie and Merrill/Isabela and Sera/Dagna and Cole/Maryden!

16. a tiny detail in canon that you want more people to appreciate

The little girl in the alienage in Origins (Amethyne) says she's missing her friend Sara who went away and I am 100% convinced she's talking about Sera. Idk if this is just a detail or a headcanon or a theory but. I have strong feelings about it

[partystoragechest]

A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, Trevelyan has a lot on her plate.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 2,512. Rating: most audiences. Warnings: discussion of war and death.)

Chapter 29: Ostwick's Calling

It was a wonder how anyone worked in the rookery.

Located at the top of the rotunda, one had to face an excessive amount of stairs to reach it—only then to be greeted with a balcony view of the terrifyingly long drop back to the bottom.

Rumour had it that the Inquisitor had once leapt from this balcony with no means of stopping the fall, yet landed upon the ground with nary a scratch. The claim was dubious. And likely the invention of Varric Tethras.

Height, however, was perhaps not the worst aspect of the rookery—for in this regard, its residents were certainly competitive. The Inquisition’s birds, kept suspended from the ceiling in iron cages, cawed and crowed as much as they pleased. In other words: near-constantly.

Birdsong was not something Trevelyan had heard too much of, in the Circle. But Maker, right now, she did not feel as though she’d missed much. Then again, if she’d become used to the endless cacophany of the Undercroft, then she supposed one could get used to this.

The scout she spoke to seemingly had, given his entirely untroubled demeanour as they conducted their business.

“You’ll know as soon as anything changes,” he said, handing Trevelyan a report on the Dales. Agents had been sent to scour the area chosen for the red lyrium experiment, just in case—fortunately, it seemed quite at peace. For now.

“Thank you,” Trevelyan said, adding the document to her collection. “And do you have the location of the clan I asked about?”

“Which was that, sorry?”

She concealed her irritation. “Clan Sumara.”

“Right! Right. I remember now. Your mage friend, eh?”

He referred to, of course, the lie she’d told to get her information. Well, she couldn’t simply out with it that an Orlesian noblewoman was elf-blooded and planning to run away from home. So, instead, Trevelyan had concocted a story in which a friend of hers from the Circle, who’d been taken from the clan as a child, was said to have returned to it after the rebellion. Quite natural, she thought, to wish to seek out one’s friend.

The scout had apparently agreed, though he was limited in his capacity to help: “Sumara was last seen in the Free Marches,” he explained. “Can’t be more specific than that, I’m afraid. They don’t give out locations so easily these days, with what’s been happening in Wycome.”

Trevelyan sighed a little too noticeably, for he followed this with:

“’Spose you could ask about it. Who do you report to? Commander, Ambassador, or Sister Nightingale?”

A curious question, for Trevelyan had never fully considered the answer. Though Dagna seemed to report to the Spymaster—the Sister Nightingale of which he spoke—Trevelyan had barely spoken two words to the woman.

“Ambassador,” she told the scout, unsure even as she said it.

“Ask her about it,” he suggested, “she’ll be able to give her approval.”

Ah, good. Another bloody permission slip.

“Thank you,” Trevelyan said regardless.

“Don’t mean to fob you off.”

“I quite understand”—Trevelyan indicated the thick pile of documents she already carted about—“I’m rather used to protocol, at this point.”

The scout gave a sympathetic nod, and thus, their dealings were concluded. With the cawing beginning to grate, Trevelyan bade him farewell, and made for the stairs. She would not be trying the Inquisitor’s method of departure.

But she stopped. For as she turned to leave, she saw nearby another visitor to the rookery: the Baroness Touledy.

The Baroness had made herself untypically small, standing off to one side, where she would be in no one’s way. One hand rested upon her cane, gripping the handle ‘til her knuckles paled. The other held a note—small enough to have been carried by bird—which she read with a face of stone.

Trevelyan intended not to disturb her (she hardly had time for such diversions even if she wished to), but her gaze must have lingered upon the scene a moment too long. The Baroness, feeling her stare, looked up.

“Lady Trevelyan,” she greeted, countenance relaxing as she approached.

“Baroness Touledy.”

“How are you? I did not see you all of yesterday, nor this morning—you were not even at dinner last night.”

Trevelyan thought back to the previous night. No, she hadn’t been at dinner. But she’d eaten. Had she eaten? Yes, she’d eaten.

“I have been busy, with the Undercroft,” said Trevelyan, in the understatement of the Age. Between the Undercroft, and Samient, and Sudton, and Ostwick, Trevelyan had not had a single waking moment of peace. Nor a sleeping one, for that matter.

“I quite understand. You are here receiving a message?”

“A report,” Trevelyan told her, “which I should be getting to the Arcanist as soon as possible, so—”

“Val Misrenne is under attack.”

Trevelyan quieted at once. She stared at the Baroness, whose face remained stoic. Her eyes instead dipped to the note in Touledy’s palm. Touledy clutched it so tight, it could have turned to dust.

Trevelyan stammered, “What—what do you mean?”

The Baroness tipped her head towards the stair. “May I walk with you, to the Undercroft?”

It was hardly a request Trevelyan could deny—and so, she nodded. The Baroness fell alongside, and together, they began the winding descent into the library.

“You recall the bandits I spoke of at the banquet?” she muttered, beneath sounds of whispering scholars and shuffling papers.

Trevelyan nodded. Well-organised, defeated in a skirmish—that’s what she’d said.

“They were not bandits,” Touledy confessed. “They were Red Templars.”

A raw feeling, akin to the sting of a cold dagger, pierced Trevelyan’s chest. The subsequent stumble in her steps she managed to hide, but her gasp she could not:

“What?”

“They struck little more than a month ago,” Touledy explained. “My guard was able to fend them off, but… not without loss. I was unsure of travelling so soon afterward, but we believed, foolishly, that would be the end of it. But, after I arrived here, they returned.”

Those urgent letters for the Baroness. Trevelyan had been curious of their contents at the time. She could well imagine what they said now.

“Much of my guard still recovers. Yet the Templars’ encampment, I am told, holds a force large enough to destroy Val Misrenne even if they were standing. I have attempted to entreat my fellow nobility to assist us, but the bulk of their troops remain in the Exalted Plains. The banquet was my last opportunity to muster support. Even so, I do not believe I have enough.”

Trevelyan shook her head—disbelief or denial, she did not know which compelled her. “But—what of the Inquisition? Could they not help?”

The question was spoken as if it had not been considered long ago.

“I confess, I thought I would find enough aid elsewhere,” Touledy mused, as they entered the Great Hall. “My own pride prevented me from seeking the Inquisition’s.”

Light poured in through the stained glass, and scattered prismatic patterns across the floor. Touledy swept her hand through, and broke the rays.

“Though I do not perceive them as an extension of the Chantry, the Chantry does. They would take it as an invitation to return.”

Principled to the last. One with such strong conviction was required to oust the Chantry in the first place. The weak-willed do not provoke the ire of the Divine.

“Besides,” Touledy added, “that time has passed.”

And so they returned to the message the Baroness had been reading in the rookery. The dagger in Trevelyan’s chest twisted, as she repeated its contents:

“Val Misrenne is under attack.”

“Yes,” Touledy confirmed. “I received word of movement the day after the banquet. It is why I wished to speak to you. But, as of this morning... the siege is begun. Red Templars have surrounded Val Misrenne; they raise farms, and accost travellers. They intend to starve us out.”

She stopped a few paces before the door to the Undercroft, just out of earshot of the guards. Trevelyan faced her, expectant of some fear in her expression, or even sadness. But, most painfully, she was perfectly tranquil.

“What will you do?”

“We will hold as long as we can,” Touledy told her, “and I will keep trying. But… it may come to pass that I return home. I cannot let Val Misrenne fall without me.”

Trevelyan’s eyes widened; her head shook. “But if you do that, you’ll be—”

“I know. But at least I will see my home one last time.”

A single tear rolled down the Baroness’ perfect cheek. It was the first time Trevelyan had seen her cry. And, as it pained Trevelyan to think, it would be the last.

“I am sorry to tell all of this to you,” Touledy said, holding out a hand. Trevelyan took it and gripped it tight, unclear as to whose reassurance this gesture was for. “But I wished you to know, should the worst happen. And I wanted to say farewell—”

Trevelyan bit back her own tears. This, this couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t real. Had the lack of sleep finally come to haunt her?

“No—”

“You have been a delightful friend to me, Lady Trevelyan. I am glad to have met you.”

“Please, don’t…” There had to be something they could do.

“I wish you a happy life—and that this mysterious journey you prepare for, whatever its purpose, is successful.”

Trevelyan winced. She looked to the door of the Undercroft, for she could not look at the Baroness—not whilst knowing what slept beyond. Potential salvation, lying dormant. Waiting upon pieces of vellum to be passed around, and for tests to prove what they already knew.

Why couldn’t it have been ready earlier? How many would die before it was?

The feeling of the Baroness’ loosening fingers beckoned Trevelyan’s attention back to the woman before her. Trevelyan attempted to hold fast, but the Baroness retreated.

“I will let you return to your work,” she said.

“No, please…”

But she was already stepping away. “Thank you, Lady Trevelyan,” she said, “and farewell.”

She did not wait for Trevelyan to say it back. She knew Trevelyan had not the strength to. Instead, with her usual confidence and poise, the Baroness Touledy strode away.

Trevelyan watched her to the very last moment, ‘til she slipped through a door and was truly gone. The world expanded in that instant, and the presence of the Great Hall around her was felt for the first time since she had entered it.

People went about their daily tasks, some milling, some bustling. The clank of a jug somewhere, the sound of laughter elsewhere. That was the cruelty of life. No matter who suffered, no matter how many—the world kept moving, same as the day before, and every day before that, and every day after.

Trevelyan turned and withdrew, beyond the door of the Undercroft. It muffled the noise, gave her a moment of quiet, and dark, and reflection. She wiped the tears from her face, gave a half-hearted effort to pat her apron dry. Her papers, she saw into order; her skirts, smoothed. With a deep breath she straightened her back, and began the descent.

Like the world above, this one below slowed for no body. Air, thick with the heat of the forge and the fumes of potioncraft filled Trevelyan’s lungs. The sounds of labour, and the shouts of many, likewise flooded her ears.

In this maelstrom of people, she sought out Dagna. She was not as hard to find as one might expect—for in this place, all chaos sprung forth from her fountain. Like bees swarming the queen, people circled and left her station with the rhythm of a droning hum.

Trevelyan joined their number, and awaited her turn.

“There you are!” Dagna said, upon spotting her. “What did the scouts say?”

“The area is clear, for now,” Trevelyan replied, a shaky hand producing the report she’d been given. “They’re monitoring it. And, the, um, horsemaster says he has the horses ready—the quartermaster said they’ll pack the cart tomorrow.”

Dagna grinned. “Sounds like we’re nearly there! Come with me—we’ve been busy, too!”

She was off before Trevelyan could say another word. There was little else to do but follow.

She led Trevelyan to a chest, one that Trevelyan recognised. They had, mere days ago, escorted this chest to Skyhold’s deepest depths. And, as a result of their success, they had returned it empty.

Yet it was empty no more. As Dagna lifted the lid, a soft blue glow lit her face. A new device, better than the last, lay within. Its metal was smoother than its predecessor, shinier. Lambent runes, familiar in appearance, were carved into its surface. All their work had led to this.

And yet, it was pointless.

“Why must we do this test?” Trevelyan murmured.

“Huh?”

She looked to Dagna, firm in her gaze and voice. “If the device is ready, and we know it works—why can we not test it in the field?” She scoffed. “I am certain we could find a group of Red Templars deserving of it.”

There was a glint in Dagna’s eye at the suggestion. “I wish! But this is the way we have to do it.”

No. Trevelyan did not like this way. This way took too much time. Time she—they—did not have. Speaking with such urgency, she asked:

“Why? Why must we wait? This—this device could save lives. So many will die whilst we wait for ink to dry on forms of approval and pointless reports!”

“I understand,” Dagna spoke softly, one eye glancing to the growing glow of the runes, “but if we do this wrong, and it’s not safe to use, we’ll only put more lives in danger. It’s a hard bargain, but… it’s one we have to make, if we want to make any difference at all.”

Trevelyan shook her head, voice trembling: “It’s not fair.”

For what difference would they make now? There wasn’t enough time to make any difference. All of this would happen and there was nothing that could change it.

Dagna reached for her arm. In almost a whisper, she asked, “Are you okay?”

Trevelyan grimaced. Of course not! Of course she wasn’t! How could she be? Lady Samient needed escape. The Baroness faced her death. Their device was useless to those it was created for. And every moment she had spent in this Void-forsaken fortress was worthless, for at the end of it, no matter what she did, she would return home to the loathing and resentment of her parents regardless!

Trevelyan bit her lip, determined not to cry once more. She needed time. There wasn’t enough time.

Not for the Baroness.

Not for Samient.

Not for her.

“Do you want to maybe step out, for a minute?” asked Dagna.

Trevelyan straightened, and wiped her eyes. “No,” she said. No time, even for that. “I need to get back to work.”

[theheraldsrest]

hear me out, fantasy rubix cube

let's say Dagna invented it

gimme the inner circle plus Harding and Krem trying to solve it

perhaps not all of them succeed

“Inner circle (+Harding and Krem) react to a rubix cube”

Rubix cubes are the bane of my existence. Thank you for the question anon! And sorry I've been dead a lot lately

-Lord Lex

Cullen

-Oh he HATES it. He said that he didn’t have time for puzzles at the moment, yet you did catch him pondering it (pondering my orb) and looking it over. You also saw him 6 hourse later still looking at it, hair a mess, angrily turning it before throwing it at the wall. He seemed more frustrated that it didn’t break.

Josephine

-Ya girl LOVES it. It’s actually quite convientant for her since she works at her desk most of the day and if she needs just a short small break or to take her mind off of certain matters, it’s right there for her to try her hand at. Best part, if she solves it she can mix it up all over again and solve it once more. She’s gotten scarily good at it.

Leliana

-Surprisingly, she’s more annoyed with it than anything. Yes, she’s good with puzzles and supposed to have most memorized but that’s usually because it’s needed, not just for…fun. She tries it at least once but she also doesn’t give it her full attention so that after a few turns she just gives it back.

Vivienne

-The Ice Queen has a fondness for pointless puzzles and this is the exact thing to fill the void. Madame Viv thinks it’s actually quite intriging and has a fun design to it. I know, FUN. She enjoys fun! She’s one of the people who quickly figure it out but keeps it with her. Not to solve it but mainly to look at it’s design and mess with other nobles when she asks them to solve it.

Varric

-It’s….neat, he guesses. Honestly he likes that it’s a little puzzle and has these symbols to match. But he doesn’t have that much interest in it. Like Josey, he just picks it up every once in a while and messes with it. Keeps the boredom away at least.

Cole

-Doesn’t matter what it’s made of, he will tell you its story. Looking at the different pieces of wood from the same tree moved and placed and turned to be made into a useful item. Yes, a useful item. It helps empty or fill a mind while trying to figure out the puzzle and he thinks it's brilliant. You’ve even seen him whispering to the little piece of wood, asking if it will tell him the answer.

Solas

-Man loves himself some puzzles, this one included. Of course he’s going to be complimenting the work and thought put into this project and the craftsmanship is superb. It only takes him a few minutes before he solves, the next being a few seconds. It’s because of him that Dagna started making bigger and even more complicated ones for him to solve.

Cassandra

-One of the people who find it pointless. For one, you’re already solving about 20 different puzzles from different locations, you don’t need another one. Two, there’s no point to it. You just turn it and spin it until the symbols match up? And who in the world would waste time on trying to figure it out? It’s her, Varric keeps handing it to her and asking if she's able to solve it for Cole.

The Iron Bull

-Adores the tiny little metal box. There was a wooden one but he was a little too rough with it. He likes to keep it around, not to solve, but instead to turn the pieces when he’s thinking. Helps keep his hands busy when he’s thinking up plans or thinking up precise solutions. When he does finish with it, he hands it over either to the Inquisitor or the one of his Chargers to solve.

Dorian

To say it keeps him entertained is an understatement. It started out as fascination, different solutions and never the same answer. Then it turned to him and Dagna thinking of more ways to improve it. By improve I mean make it more complicated. It’s because of these two that all of Skyhold is introduced to wooden puzzles other than the rubix cube, such as balancing games or the puzzles that involve fixing random shapes into a cube.

Sera

-Main uses for this thingy ma bob: Confusing people, distracting people, throwing it at peoples’ heads. She can’t figure it out and is even more mad when Cole or Vivienne figures it out. Does not get it and doesn’t find it useful but she does enjoy mixing them up with Varric and handing them over to Cassandra just to watch her get irritated. 

Blackwall

-Kinda chuckles, tries it once but gives up. It’s not something he usually focuses on and not something he’d have an interest in. Puzzles aren’t his fortay and, though he may have the patience for it, it just feels as if he’s wasting his time. Does find it funny when some of the others come up and ask him to mix it up, even when he only moves it twice and they’re still confused.

Harding

-Lace carries one with her wherever she goes. It’s a good thing to help her pass the time, but she and a few other scouts have incorporated the symbols into a secret code. Simply has to turn it into a set and she can warn any others near her if danger is coming or if they should be on the lookout. They also try to see who can solve it the fastest.

Krem

-Sweet Maker, give this boy strength. He hates it with a burning passion and yet he can’t stop himself from trying to solve it. It’s a horrible loop of Boss handing it to him, trying to solve it, before putting it away out of frustration, only to pull it out again to figure it out. Doesn’t help that Grim is able to solve them very quickly. Also distracts him when he’s talking to Bull but Bull keeps messing and playing with it.