#this is @the writing not @varric for the record

[imakemywings]

"Solas needs someone to sell him another option," says Varric and then proceeds to offer no alternative options

[varggies]

Okay wait no that post i just reblogged

Why THE FUCK is Varric chasing after Solas instead of rescuing his best friend from the fade??? I get the stopping Solas/stopping Anders parallel is there but uhh??????

Im sorry but no. Nope. Not at all

If Varric is chasing after Solas instead of settling down, then he 100% has gone into the fade and dragged his bestie the fuck out of there.

If he hasn't given up on talking Solas down after TEN YEARS, you bet your ass that man has brought his bestie back. He would've done that the moment the bullshit with Corypheus was over. I cannot, and will not accept a world where this two things coexist okay? Guy is either ride-or-die with his best friend or he's not. He's not chasing after Solas first. He's not going to give up on Hawke and then say he's not going to give up on Solas straight afterwards.

Solas is his friend 100%, but he aint Varrics BEST FRIEND. And if you're off saving your friend, it means you have already gone and saved your best friend. Make it make sense

[kaija-rayne-author]

Did not think I could possibly dislike Epler and his 'hate/revenge on Solas Fanfic', more, but I actually could.

Read some confirmations of some of the rumors about, yeah, he really does hate Solas, and the entire game was based on that. (Anyone with two braincells can see that.)

But Varric dying, the blood magic fooling of Rook, soooooo much of it was used just so the player would hate Solas. Epler is on record several places actually saying those things. I'm not pulling it out of my ass.

Anything sympathetic is locked behind certain characters and certain interactions. And there isn't that much empathy to start with.

Is it wildly disturbing to anyone else that a supposed professional lets their own viewpoint of a fictional character in a game ruin a whole 250 million dollar project?

Because it's pretty obvious at this point that DAV has tanked soooooo bad. I've said all along that I was shocked that Trick wrote Solas like that. But maybe it's really the best Trick could get past Epler's hatred? IDEFK. I could still be giving Trick more credit than deserved because I actually trusted Trick to write a good story that didn't villanize Solas. It was half the reason I even played DAV. I know Trick can write better than what we got. They've said they love Solas too.

But that is not what we got. We did not get a well-written story where the writer obviously loved the character.

I want to stop thinking about Veilguard. But it was a special interest for years, and the absolute destruction of that makes it almost impossible for me to move on. I keep trying to figure out whyyyyyy? This would be (one of) the negative portions of having an autistic special interest, for anyone following along.

Is Epler the reason they scrapped Joplin? Was it too sympathetic to Solas?

Would it actually have required deeper storytelling that made Solas and the elves' rebellion a sympathetic cause?

Argh.

Bad writing annoys me to start with, but having something I love as much as Dragon Age (and Solas) besmirched this way really pisses me off.

Whoever put Epler into the position where he could have that much control over a game franchise people really loved made a huge mistake.

I was starting to wonder if I was blaming the wrong people, but no. It looks like Epler does actually just hate Solas. Is irritable because people didn't like DAV, and has gotten pissy on main about it. Grow the fuck up.

As a professional creative? You're supposed to make a product most consumers who love the thing will at least find acceptable. Not... this.

We deserved better and so did Dragon Age.

[scuttlingcrab]

Mages After Midnight

Summary: No one knew what would happen when Rook and Emmrich finally got together, or the fact their coupling could destroy the entire Lighthouse.

Notes: This was inspired by @lkblackham's post here, and @vonspe's post here. Both have been living in my head rent free for WEEKS. Thank you for the crack fic inspiration, I will bow before you both for all eternity, and hope you guys enjoy hehe. xx

PS: This was also my first attempt at writing a wee bit of smut lol. *blushes, coils hair around finger*

A snippet below, and the rest can be found on AO3!

***

Oh shit. OK, this is it. Be calm. Be. Calm. 

This whole courtship business was new to Rook. She had never been with another mage before. And if she was being completely honest, her previous track record with relationships was a bit… fruitless. Intimacy? Absolutely fucking not. Forget about it. She had no stomach for such things, and it kind of made her skin crawl from the inside out just thinking about it. 

Even when there was someone she had fancied in the past, like that stunning Qunari woman she met at a pub in Cumberland or that one brooding assassin she crossed paths with after a job went sour in the South—things only escalated to sloppy kisses, foreheads aggressively butting, and hands fumbling in the dark for breasts and groins and Maker knows what else. It always ended the same, no matter Rook’s approach—she’d ultimately find herself stumbling back to her room, or tent, or into the nearest alley, alone, cradling the strongest liquor bottle she could find to wash down the mortifying encounter. 

Sure. Fine. Yes. Rook weighed over the idea of what it might feel like to have her body explored, cherished like a precious ancient artifact—having another’s touch elicit moans so loud the neighbours three floors down would be able to hear her and squirm with jealousy. She especially lingered on the notion of what it might feel like to be loved for once, rather than discarded like yesterday’s serials. Any brush with that phantom sentiment in the past only left her feeling exposed, almost as if she was standing stark naked in the middle of a battlefield, with nothing to protect herself with save her magic and a bloody rock.

She couldn’t be arsed dealing with someone else’s expectations either—catering to their wants and needs, answering their questions about what she sought under the sheets or in the privacy of candlelit chambers. She barely knew what she desired in this life, let alone what made her happy, aside from her solitude and remaining unseen—entering and exiting a crowded room in the comforts of the shadows. 

To the Void with it all, Rook had once believed—muttering it to herself like a daily affirmation from one odd job to the next, staring at her distorted reflections in cracked mirrors and puddles. It was all just a foolish fantasy, daydreams to distract her from the constant stream of horseshit that forced its way onto her plate.

It wasn’t the same as being in charge though, and things were pretty different after Varric found her. Everything was easier than she thought, slotting herself into this new leadership role like she was always meant to take the reins. Rook knew how to give orders, how to strategize and infiltrate, coordinating soldiers on and off the front lines. She could disappear into the chaos of combat and still get the job done, no matter what was thrown at her. It was her bread and bloody butter after all. Varric knew exactly what he was getting himself into recruiting her.

Rook wasn’t bothered when her team approached her for random favours, hoping to pick her brain about what she thought of Solas’ dumb memories or the best way to clean blight off her armour. She’d do anything to help the Grey Wardens and Veil Jumpers and practically anyone in Thedas get out of a bind if it meant it was closer to defeating the Evanuris. And kicking Solas out of her head once and for all. She didn’t fear darkspawn or the Ventatori soldiers who tried to control her with blood magic. Those threats were all tangible—she could track their movements, cut them down with spells, behead them if she wanted to, throw their bodies off cliffs and into flaming pyres. 

It was love that covered Rook’s heart in an icy glaze, causing it to harden and fall to the pit of her stomach, where it would shatter into a million tiny pieces. Love was a force of nature, a black cloud growing in the distance, threatening to strip Rook down to her very core—the gusts of wind scattering her remains like ashes across the Waking Sea. Love was unpredictable, as untouchable as a wisp. When she was on the cusp of grasping it, the sensation slipped through her fingertips like blood pouring from a gaping wound. Yes. Love was a lesion that would never fully heal, something she’d never be able to recover from. Rook was terrified of her frenzied appetite, of what it might do to her composure. But would she actually enjoy it? When it was finally hers to seize, to share? Love was…

“Rook, dearest?”

Emmrich’s voice pierced through her lingering worries, severing any other apprehensions from forming. Her gaze refocused on the man snuggled in the bed beside her, his own brown eyes devouring hers in full. They both rested on their sides, face-to-face and feet loosely entwined, their nude bodies hidden underneath silk sheets. One of Emmrich’s hands caressed the outer curves of her body, his touch ghostly, ephemeral, while the other slowly palmed her breasts—moving back and forth between the two mounds in equal measure, as he planted another delicate kiss on her lips. Rook couldn’t help but lean her hips forward, pushing her groin closer towards his frame in response to the affection. He smiled against her cheek, his breath tickling her skin like a soft summer breeze. 

“There you are. Wherever did you go?” 

Rook cleared her throat, warmth surging straight to her cheeks. As if they weren’t red enough already. 

“Sorry. Just uh—just a little nervous.” 

“Ah.” Emmrich stopped his movements, retracting the hand that cupped her breast. Rook nearly let out a flustering sigh at the absence of his touch, not realising how much she’d miss it. Crave it. Oh, c’mon, Rook! Get a fucking grip!

He shifted slightly, lifting himself up to his forearm. His brows contorted, a frown forming on his lips the longer he observed Rook. “Shall we conclude for this evening? There’s no need to rush on my behalf.” 

Rook bit her tongue, hiding her face in the sheets. She couldn’t bear to look at Emmrich, at what she might find staring back at her. She shivered with embarrassment, her stomach twisting in discomfort at the onslaught of repressed memories that poked through the surface—disappointed lovers, faces that judged her body, lips that mocked her blatant lack of performance. Rook spoke into the sheets, hopefully loud enough for Emmrich to hear. 

“No! No, it’s OK. I want to. I do! I’m not really used to… this, Emmrich, to everything. I’m sorry. I know I’m killing the mood. Such an idiot.”

“Utter nonsense, Rook. Please.”

Rook felt a weight on her side, followed by a light squeeze—a touch from Emmrich, a consolation. 

“There’s absolutely nothing to be apologetic for. It would be my greatest honour to fulfil your every desire, but only when you are willing. I’m content to wait, to savour just your kiss, the warmth of your bosom against my flesh, if that’s what pleases you.”

Rook peaked through the top of the sheets, suppressing the urge to burrow herself further into the grave she had dug herself. She stopped, however, when she found Emmrich smiling softly at her, his expression brightening when she lowered the rest of her covering. The bloody man was so composed, patient with Rook, unnervingly loyal to not only her, but the entire team, and above all, he was kind. An attribute in Thedas’ population that was lacking in the recent months. The more Rook gawked at Emmrich, the more she believed he was truly thrust upon her from the Void itself, crafted from sheer perfection with the eddies of the Fade. It was the only logical explanation. He can’t be fucking real. No way. 

“Maker, Emmrich. You and that bloody tongue of yours.”

“Well, darling, the tongue is one of the more powerful muscles in the body. Did you know…” Emmrich murmured, pausing to move a wayward strand of hair that had fallen in front of Rook’s face, placing it behind her ears with practiced ease. 

Rook swallowed hard, her mind fuzzy as it tried to process the expectations that lived in between the silence of each word. She cocked her head, making sure she wouldn’t miss the next thing that came out of his mouth, and all at once, Emmrich’s expression shifted into something primal, dangerous if it ever grew untamed. His eyes glimmered, a speck of emerald growing in the centre of his iris’, like a star—pulsing, waiting, watching. Emmrich leaned in closer, but not too close, and still, Rook inhaled sharply. 

“It’s composed of eight, smaller muscles—making it quite pliable, versatile even, and allowing it to serve a plethora of functions. Some of which, I’m indeed quite thankful for.” 

Emmrich briefly brushed his lips against Rook’s, pulling away in one smooth movement. 

“For instance, without one’s tongue, speaking would be next to impossible. Words are paramount, they’ve aided me in escaping some rather tricky predicaments, and in turn, guided me towards more… revelatory excursions.”

His next kiss was with more fervour, parting her mouth slightly with his tongue, but like the first, he withdrew before Rook could even think about matching it.

“I…Emmrich…”

“Chewing, as well as swallowing, is essential to life itself. Without partaking in sustenance, our mortal species could never survive. Although... of all the tongue’s abilities, I’ve always been particularly fond of the gift of taste most of all. What I lon—”

This time Rook didn’t wait for Emmrich. She smashed her lips against his in the only way she knew how, out of desperation and desire—all this talk of tongues and tasting and whatever else he was on the verge of going on about only increased her starvation. It was so close, Maker, right in front of her— she wanted to sample it for herself, of what she’s been dreaming of for years.

Rook wasn’t sure how long they'd been going at it tonight. It was impossible to pull away from Emmrich, even if she wanted to—what had started out as innocent cuddling in front of the fireplace, quickly turned to heated snogging, hands testing their crumbling boundaries as they slowly undressed, fondling their way to the comforts of Emmrich's bedchambers. 

Maybe it was an hour, or three—time seemed to merge together when they returned to the Lighthouse after another date in the Memorial Gardens. The couple frequented the Necropolis more as of late, finding solace alongside the wisps that seemed to grow in numbers with each visit—hovering around Emmrich and Rook like a flock of birds, guiding them with flickering lights as they meandered the intricate mausoleum pathways. It was all a brief escape from the world above, from Rook’s worries on the fate of her companions, and the burdens of her guidance, most of all.

In the early days of their affair, Rook had insisted on planning their engagements, mulling over concepts of afternoon strolls in the Arlathan wilds, to perhaps dipping their toes in the warm waters of the Rivain coast. However, on one occasion, Rook’s hopes for an evening sipping wine and nibbling snacks in a Trevisian canal boat were short lived—no sooner had they undocked than they were ambushed by a group of Antaam. Worst of all, Rook couldn’t even watch Emmrich rebel against them, swirling his deft hands around like an artist, painting the air with his pristine spellcasting. It entranced Rook in battle, but never enough to distract her from the fights at hand. 

Rook had taken a step back, out of reflex, in order to dodge a hefty attack of spit-fire. She shrieked in alarm when she found no solid footing behind her. She fell into the icy canals, her chest filling with equal parts water and panic, as a very important thought suddenly occurred to her: she couldn’t swim. Not once did she take a second to ponder the possibility of actually falling into the canals when arranging their outing. Rook had tried to learn how to swim once, but decided against it, never thinking she’d need to, for whatever daft reason. Nope, not in her line of work. She quickly sank to the bottom of the canals, the weight of her armour and numerous blunders the final seals on her tomb. Although it wasn’t very deep, the surface seemed leagues away as she flailed her arms about. She watched the distorted waterline above her, green blasts covering the top like fireworks, as it soon grew blurrier, fading away into oblivion. 

The next thing Rook remembered she was on her back, wet in all the wrong places, and with Emmrich on top of her. He removed his mouth from hers and she gulped for air, lungs burning as she spewed out the remaining bits of canal water.

“S-so… d-does this count as our second kiss?” Rook coughed out, trying to keep up her playful facade. She slicked back her wet hair, eyes stinging from the near-death experience. 

Rook immediately regretted the joke when Emmrich refused to laugh, not even rolling his eyes as she’d come to expect from him after one too many bad puns. He huffed back instead, turning away from her, the panic still clinging to his face. 

“Do be serious, Rook.” 

After that day, Emmrich made two polite requests of Rook: that he teach her how to swim, and that they set all future dates within the confines of the Necropolis—at least, until the threat of the Evanuris was removed from their agendas, life regaining some sort of normalcy. 

Rook agreed, fearing if she didn’t, or if she showed just a moment's hesitation at such a simple ask, she’d sour yet another relationship. Emmrich took Rook’s hands in his, holding her like she was the most precious thing in this mortal existence, a flower that could wilt at even the slightest touch. He kissed her knuckles, lips slowly tracking up one forearm when he had his answer. “Thank you, dearest.” His look softened with satisfaction as he moved on to her other hand. 

Any apprehension Rook had of the arrangement soon turned into a growing fondness for Emmrich, reverence blossoming for their new routine. She had never kept to one practice for so long without growing restless, hastily moving on to the next village, itching to seek a fresh start as soon as she felt herself getting too comfortable—she had no constant in her life, save for her own crippling shame that refused to stop haunting her, the ghosts following her across Thedas and back. 

In the Necropolis, walking hand-in-hand with Emmrich, there was a peacefulness that draped itself around Rook’s shoulders—exploring the quiet halls together, watching in awe as chambers morphed around them. The mausoleum itself was ancient, a breathing entity, providing them with new viewpoints into the expanse of its eerie landscapes—unlocking private quarters that housed some of the most precious paintings she’d ever laid eyes on, and stumbling into royal crypts, where its skeletons were gilded and artfully displayed in rich tableaus.

In truth, Rook could never tire of this life, it was bespoke, crafted to perfection from their trust and adoration for each other. Even if it was fleeting, if it would all go up in flames tomorrow, she wanted to cling to it, to him, for as long as humanly possible. Her core burned hotter for him, at his unadulterated worship of her.

Rook thought of Emmrich when she charged into battle, his face bringing her newfound hope, courage—his affirmations were her own call to arms, echoing along the front lines as she sliced down hordes of darkspawn, Venatori, and anyone else who opposed her. She was loved. She was his. And she would survive, for him. At least, she would try. Together. And if Rook ever happened to be struck down, bleeding out alone amongst a sea of corpses, she wanted her last thoughts to be of Emmrich, clinging to her silly hopes of one day being reunited beyond the Veil. Rook thought of Emmrich as she fell asleep, her heart aching for their time together to carry into the Fade, where they would pretend to continue their waltz for eternity, uninterrupted by the demands of their companions, of their harsh reality. 

“Oof!” 

Rook’s kiss brought her teeth crashing against Emmrich’s, cheeks tingling, head ringing like a cursed Chantry bell as the odd sensation travelled to the tip of her skull. 

Emmrich immediately drew away from Rook, and she recoiled in turn, landing on her back. Her bottom lip stung, pulsing, a salty, sweet taste filling her mouth. She brought her fingers to her lips, lightly touching the sensitive area. When she removed her hand, a spot of blood coated the tip of her fingers.

“Ow, shit.” 

“Rook.”

Rest on AO3! *disappears into the void*

[inquisimer]

Arlow and Viago “can you hear my cry, an old lullaby drifting through the sky?” >:]

HELLO MY LOVE I am kissing you on the lips, I put that one on the list and was like "this is an arlow & viago prompt", thank you for reading my mind

Arlow de Riva & Viago | 808 words | for @dadrunkwriting - da4 spoilers, Viago ruminates (regrets?) Arlow's absence from Antiva

-

Viago missed Salle.

Not that the accommodations in Treviso were lacking—his apartments here were more than sufficient. But they were suffocating without Arlow there to fill the empty spaces where she usually was. He wished things were such that he could lock the door and flee to his villa in Salle.

But the Antaam remained. And he had no right to be missing Arlow, when he was the one who sent her away.

As she deserved, he reminded himself. If she had simply thought before launching herself at those Antaam, they would never have been in this situation. Yet, the ache in his throat remained.

Treviso’s skyline was bathed in the pink and orange hues of sunset. From the balcony, it was easy to imagine that the city was still theirs, and that Arlow would be tripping off a zip line any moment, reporting in on this contract or that surveillance. Smirking and insufferable, but alive and there.

“You’re brooding again.”

A Qunari war horn blasted Viago’s reminiscence to pieces. His fingers tightened on the railing. “I’m always brooding. You like it.”

Teia’s bare feet padded softly against the slats and Viago wrinkled his nose. Off the top of his head, there were half a dozen poisons easily concealed in wood stain and best absorbed through the skin. But she didn’t care about that—or, at least, she knew that he had the antidote for any toxin that could touch her only a whisper away.

“it is not half so attractive when you are truly troubled,” she murmured, propping herself as close to his side as she could without touching him. Her hair fell loose and unruly over the collar of his shirt. But even that only just hitched the melancholy tune of his thoughts. “You miss her.”

Viago huffed. “She is the most competent assassin in my House and we are under an occupation. It is like being without my best blades.”

“Do not pretend she is nothing more than a weapon to you,” Teia chided. “Lie to yourself, if you must, but do not lie to me.”

Viago’s nostrils flared, as they always did when Teia saw straight though him. He was learning to trust the tightrope she asked him to walk, but after a lifetime without a net, it was a hesitant process. Luckily for him, she had a penchant for hard cases.

“I have never sent her off for so long, nor so harshly,” he admitted. “And I do not know when she will return. It is… difficult.”

“You could know,” Teia suggested. “You could summon her back.”

“She has a contract.”

“And how will she know if she’s allowed to report in on it if you do not tell her that Antiva is open to her again?”

“You read my letter?” Viago raised a brow, but Teia’s smirk was unabashed. She shrugged and his gaze followed the fluid motion of her exposed collarbone.

“I wouldn’t have recommended leading with ‘idiot’, but she’s probably used to it.”

“If she wasn’t such an idiot all the time, she wouldn’t be,” Viago muttered. He looked down into the murky canal below and frowned. “She did not write back.”

Teia laughed, which only deepened his scowl. “Did you expect her to?”

“If the job was done, yes,” he snipped. “But it has been months.”

“And you sent her on an open-ended contract. I’m sure if anything drastic happened, Varric would write. That is why you hooked her up with him, no?”

Viago pursed his lips. “He has a track record of pulling asses out of fires. But I am not confident in his definition of drastic.”

“He is perfectly competent, as you well know. You’ve never let your conscience get in the way of logic before, don’t start now.” Teia laid her hand out, palm up on the railing. After a beat, Viago laced his gloved fingers with hers and she squeezed.

“If you want her back, Vi, you will have to face the other Talons and tell them so. Tell her so, in no uncertain terms. This is the corner you have painted yourself into.”

Viago glowered at the neighboring building. He hated few things as much as he hated Teia being right in a way that grated on his nerves. She could have at least done him the courtesy of acknowledging that he was not the only party at fault in this scenario.

“She will tell me when the job is done,” he said stubbornly. “When the job is done, and her lesson is learned, then we will bring her home.”

Teia sighed and shook her head. The sun slipped below the horizon and a familiar cloak of darkness covered them both. Covered Arlow, too, in the east. In Tevinter.

His throat tightened. Use it well, he thought. Use it well, and come home.

[aldisobey]

Somehow I missed the fact that your Rook is named Worne Thorne. What a fuckin NAME. What a son you have made for yourself. Amazing fic btw, I read it on my break and cackled. 😗

Your word inspires. Words inspire. Your voice in stories and meta got me writing again. It got me sharing for the very first time. You inspire again. Now I can use Worne in the fic. Tiny fic time. This one's for you. Here's the origin of the name. Appreciate the muse you handed me to write it out!

“He told you where he got Rook?” Davrin asked.

Emmrich nodded. “On our first trip to the Memorial Gardens.” Though he still doubted the veracity of the tale. The rogue laughed so hard at the end when describing his chess victory against Varric the words never quite made it out, and he refused to answer any clarifying questions. Rook had been only six, he hadn’t really eaten a…

“Must have been some date.” Davrin broke the rumination. Chuckled as he adjusted his grip. Rook draped snoring on his back like a bloody cape. 

Emmrich gave a sharp tut, “Trip, back then it was…”

“He didn’t share that with me.” The mage could hear the smirk in warrior's tone. Went silent. But Davrin was smiling, wincing at the loud snoring in his ear, but happy. Words seemed eager to hum. “He wouldn’t mind then.”

“Wouldn’t mind what now?” 

“Me telling you the other name.”

“Thorne?” Emmrich’s brow raised.

“Nah that’s what the Templars dubbed him. It went on the records at Weisshaupt but we called him something else.” 

Countenance furrowed. Rook had seemed perfectly fine with Thorne, mentioned it was shared among those he was closest with in Kirkwall. Perhaps he’d been softening the tale then? He looked now at the rogue passed out on Davrin’s back. Rook had spoken plenty of violence, even more of running, ‘I was being a prick’ he had laughed.

But the eyes had grimaced hadn't they? He could spot it now, and recalling the memory...it was similar to the look the necromancer received while healing the man today. Fingers had traced to knit new scars across old only minutes ago. Emmrich still trembled at the sight, refused to let it become familiar, had perhaps used a touch more of the necrotic to induce the deep sleep. But the body needed to do its work, required its rest. 

“Worne.” Davrin grinned

Emmrich blinked wide at him.

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Rook ‘Worne’ Thorne.” Davrin hitched his grip again, stirred a loud snore from his passenger. 

“Nothin sharp about him.” The hunter laughed even louder than the snore. Worne might’ve smirked in his sleep, but no. There was no waking consciousness there. 

Necromancer and warrior shared a brief chuckle, moved into quiet thought for some long moments after. Only footfalls and sleeping sounds heard. Then Davrin looked back at the soft face drooling into his shoulder, fresh lines marred a cheek. “And he’s been through it.”

Emmrich felt the bite. Almost paused in step as he focused on the man covering Davrin like a worn cloak. Skin tanned, wrinkled with scars like leather that was comfortable in a way only time could make it. 

“Worne.” A new tone passed his lips.

A tiny sigh escaped the rogue. Emmrich’s eyes took a shine. He’d only known the man a few months.

“It fits.” whispered thought.

Immediately.

[rederiswrites]

Bitten

Have some hurt/sort of comfort. Still pre-relationship. [read it on AO3]

“Son of a bitch,” Arden grumbled. “Can't believe I let a shitty little deep stalker tag me.”

“You were fighting two Antaam at the time,” Taash pointed out. 

“And it's the stupid cave lizard that got me.” Arden freed the last of his leg armor and carefully peeled off his pants, hissing through clenched teeth. “Kaffas,” Arden swore. “Could be worse. Not bleeding enough to have hit anything important.” He lowered himself into the stream, hissing as the water hit his thigh. 

“Do we need to stop for the day?” Lucanis asked.

“Hang in there.” Arden bent over to examine his inner thigh. “Don't think so. A couple of these are deep, but they missed the arteries. Just let me get this wrapped up and we'll keep moving. No good stopping this near Antaam.”

Lucanis noticed Arden limping that day, and the next as well, but he still fought well enough to finish the mission and get them all back to the Lighthouse. A day or two of rest should see him on his way to healed. 

The next afternoon found Lucanis perched on one of the floating bookcases, cataloguing the contents as best he could. Bellara and the professor had expressed an interest, but only Lucanis had the acrobatic skills to comfortably reach the higher bookcases. He was trying to decide how to record a book in a script he did not recognize, illustrated with diagrams he also did not understand, when Arden emerged on the balcony below. 

Lucanis hadn’t seen Arden yet that “morning”, and assumed he'd been resting off the injury. It was unusual for him to skip his morning run. He looked rough, though. Dressed in a sweat-stained shirt and underwear, limping more than Lucanis remembered from the day before. Unaware of Lucanis, he turned down a hallway that led to one of the empty rooms. As Lucanis recalled, it contained only a few ancient cots and some storage. He frowned after him for a moment before returning to the puzzle of the book. Spite crouched on the balustrade below, also watching Arden’s back.

Lucanis had just begun to write “unidentified magical tome, possibly Neromenian” when he heard a muffled crash echo back down the hall below. 

“Rook…wrong,” said Spite.

Lucanis agreed. Setting aside the book, he leapt down from the bookcase, grabbing the balustrade to shift his momentum up and over. He headed down the hallway Arden had taken, Spite prowling behind him. 

Arden was pulling himself to his feet, or trying to. Books and papers were scattered around, spilled from the bookcase he must have knocked over. He was mumbling inaudibly, and did not immediately notice Lucanis, busy with trying to get his legs under him. 

“Smells wrong. Bad smell,” Spite announced, grimacing at Arden from a few inches away. As Lucanis came closer, he smelled it too.

“Sepsis. He has an infection. The leg.”

Arden looked up at his voice. This close, Lucanis could see that he was flushed and sweating. 

“Here,” he said, holding out a hand. Arden was larger, but Lucanis managed to get him settled on a cot. He felt like a furnace.

“‘M Fine,” Arden said, quiet enough to make Lucanis grateful for sharp hearing. “Just gotta little bit infection. Just going to clean it out. Varric…help.”

“Yes. Let's do that,” said Lucanis. “Stay here while I get Taash.”

Mercifully, Taash was in their room, and could quickly grab extra bandages, a bowl, and some liquor. The two of them were back in minutes, but Arden had gotten up again, and was teetering over one of the cots.

“Come here, you” Taash said, grabbing one of his arms and taking most of his weight. “How bad is it?”

Lucanis stood in front of Arden, grateful that the other man seemed able to focus on him well enough. 

“May I look at your leg?”

Arden nodded, head bobbling a few times too many. Lucanis crouched, carefully peeling away the stained cloth wrapping his thigh. The smell and the spreading yellow stains gave him a pretty good idea what he'd find, but he still hissed when the last wrap pulled away. 

The wound was a near-perfect bite mark, a round series of punctures perhaps an inch across each. Some were little more than angry scratches, but a few looked deep. The skin around the worst of them was tight and glossy, the angry red of sepsis. Worst of all, there was a tracery of red spreading down towards his knee and up into the hem of his underwear–a sure sign that the infection had spread into his system. 

“Rook. Is hurt?” Spite asked, crouching next to him. 

“It's bad,” Lucanis said. “Infection's spread.”

“He's got a roaring fever,” Taash replied. “Idiot. Why didn't you ask for help?”

“Not stupid,” Arden protested weakly. “Came to Varric. No need…bother you.” 

Taash and Lucanis exchanged a worried look. 

“Let's get him to his room and clean this up,” Lucanis said. He moved to take Arden's other arm, and between them they managed it. Spite paced along backwards, examining Arden, and kept his silence. 

“Got worse so fast,” Arden said. “‘M sorry.”

Once Arden was settled on his cot, the packing crate he used as a table set with bowl and bandages, Lucanis took out the smallest of his knives.

“This is going to be unpleasant,” he said.

“I know,” Arden said.

“Seen it before,” said Taash, bracing Arden against their chest and getting a firm grip on his arms. 

Lucanis held Arden's gaze until Arden gave a little nod. “Ready,” he said. 

It was unpleasant. Very. Arden didn't cry out, but he growled between clenched teeth, body rigid, his free foot scrabbling at the bed. When Lucanis glanced up, he could see the veins in Arden's neck standing out with the effort of control. Taash held on tight, their face twisted up at the smell of infection. Lucanis worked as quickly and carefully as he could. 

“I am sorry, friend. Brace yourself.” He probed into the worst of the marks with the tip of his dagger, eliciting a single shout of pain. “Ah.” He twisted the dagger slightly, and carefully pulled out a jagged object, ivory under the blood. “Tooth. Must have broken off.”

“That'll do it,” Taash said. “Vashedan.”

“He'll mend if we can keep it clean and get him to rest.”

“Promise,” Arden muttered between labored breaths. “I promise.”

“My mom has a tea she makes when I'm sick. We might have most of the stuff for it. I can go when we've got him cleaned up?”

Lucanis nodded, carefully rinsing the wound. Arden writhed as Lucanis flushed each tooth mark with Taash's rum. By the time Lucanis secured the last bandage, Arden’s shirt was soaked with sweat and his face was burning red. Taash lowered him gently and left for the kitchen. 

Lucanis cleaned up the mess of dirty bandages.

“I'm sorry,” Arden whispered. 

Lucanis looked up. “For what? We all get injured. I let you get overwhelmed.”

“For not taking care of it. Making it your problem.”

Lucanis smiled gently. “There are enough problems to go around.”

……

Arden was asleep when Taash returned with the tea. He had already pushed his blanket off several times, but Lucanis stubbornly pulled it back up. Better to let the fever do its work.

“Think he'll be alright?” Taash asked. “I told Lace and Davrin, but I said not to come by just yet.”

“He should be, given a few days.”

“Guess he kinda had me fooled,” Taash said. “Always figured if he said it was okay, it was okay. I dunno. I mean, not that I thought he couldn't get hurt, that’s stupid. Just…”

“A commander's duty is to inspire confidence in the people he leads. He knows this.” Lucanis set the tea on a packing crate, waiting for later. 

“Sure, whatever, but it's all vashedan, right? I mean, we know he's just a guy, really. We should know. You go pretending he's more, and shit like this happens.”

Lucanis nodded. 

“Hey, what if he goes wandering again?” Taash asked. “Not a great place to sleepwalk.”

“I will stay with him,” Lucanis said. 

“Alright, well…fine. Stinks in here now anyway. You know where to find me.” Taash took the bowl full of dirty bandages and left. Spite shooed her out, repeating, “Stinks. Stinks!” Alone, Lucanis allowed himself a small smile at Spite’s antics. 

……

Arden slept fitfully, in the grips of the fever. Lucanis had just begun to doze off when Arden started talking. Lucanis straightened up, angry at himself, but Arden's eyes were still closed. 

“‘M sorry, Varric. Sorry. I can't…” Whatever he said next was too jumbled to make out.

Lucanis felt a wave of discomfort at seeing something so personal. He knew of Varric Tethras, had even read some of his work. And he knew from Harding that Arden rarely spoke of him since his death. Lucanis understood the privacy of pain. 

“Can't! I can't do it any more! Please, Varric, it's too much!” Arden twisted in his cot, and Lucanis had to brace a shoulder against his hip to keep him in it. “They'll die. My fault. Not strong enough. Please.” Arden subsided again, quietly whispering “please” one more time. Once he was still, Lucanis straightened the blanket. 

“Rook give up?” Spite asked, face twisted in confusion. “Weak now?”

“No,” Lucanis replied quietly. “Not weak. Just hurt and sick.”

“Make Rook better.”

“I will try.”

[anextravagantliar]

We always see Varric resolute in his search for Solas, is there a particular moment between post-trespasser and the actual events of Veilguard where doubt fully is allowed to settle on his shoulders? Did he ever come close to just giving up or did the "talking folks into bad business" weights too heavily on his head? (it's funny I am asking this question as I have maxima's reply already seated on my drafts fully written but don't worry about that for now!)

So, before I get into the thick of some things later, I did find a few spare knives I keep in this drawer by my sick bed. It's a classic 'in case of emergencies' thing.

Varric is on record in the comics talking about bad deals and teams stabbing him in the back - he's talking about two mages here. Charter didn't exactly order it; the Inquisitor did - but I digress that Varric is an adult man and could have walked out of the tavern with the very valid excuse that he had Kirkwall to worry about, granted his comic appearance is very much there to move the plot ( the comic writers are on record stating they would go back and use him to write over things they need - such as Isabela being out on the seas again or Fenris with his mission in the north ).

The other reasons are straightforward:

1. Solas deserved to be heard by someone - If anyone was going to sell a deal, wouldn't you want to send a salesman? Granted, a lot of talking to each other didn't happen during that exchange. Rather, they were talking at each other and to other people ( Anders and Felessan, I'll come back to this later ) in an off-kilter cadence; go listen to it again if you must, but it's not a conversation more is it a speech meal-pieced to the other, knowing something like this would happen as Varric also does not give up on lost causes ( Kirkwall, Hawke, The Inquisition at one point, the entire back half of The Missing ).

b. Varric was the only inner circle member who could go. He doesn't dream, and with the addition of Harding, it is very strategic to work with people who cannot dream ( Evka ) to minimise damage and risk, not only to himself but to the people around him. Varric's place in the inner circle, a known liar who traded barbs with the Dread Wolf - as just a guy and showed him up. Makes sense to me. Why does he slog through the mud, that's -

Last. I could just say narrative foils be narratively doing things like this, but that would be wrong. It is personal, it is personal to the Inquisitor and they are his friend ( or family in the case of Asharen and Dhavi ), so it's personal in a way of figuring out some sort of ending. An ending well deserved for all of them, granted he doesn't enjoy running around in the muck, but it helps that he is doing it for someone he cares about. In the case of Sidri, it is also about endings. Still, it also is a chance to settle a debt in the case of @hoboblaidd - as Varric feels very strongly that Solas gave him much more time with Sidri and while Charter still brings the information, Varric isn't ordered but instead chooses and ends up going as there is a debt to pay and a very good friend talking himself into a very, very murky deal. It also leads into my facet that I don't think Varric was against Solas and his objective. Still, he was not for the ritual as it posed too much risk, like an unsteady market - it was too many lives to gamble with for Varric's comfort, which is very much striking of the power imbalance as a former general and a former Viscount basically talk at each other like the mirror image of who they need to see is there.

[lizzarts]

I saw this trend and I simply had to. For the record, I did not intend to end up with a worldstate featuring 3 elf rogues, but my wife and I keep getting attached to our boys. We've got:

Nevyth Tabris. He/him. City elf. Ranger. Warden-Commander; Hero of Ferelden; the most horrible little man you'll ever meet. The ciggie is permanently attached. Loves Zevran. Respects two people and two people only: Anders and Shale.

Garrett Hawke. He/him. Human mage. Champion of Kirkwall. Purple as can be. Incredibly powerful, unbelievably silly. Loves Fenris very much, even more than he loves bread.

Arthyr Lavellan. He/him. Dalish elf. Lord Inquisitor; Saviour of Orlais (begrudging); Honourary Avvar. Loves his Mam. Genuinely terrifying assassin rogue (people really underestimate a man with an overbite and a Welsh accent). Married to Dorian Pavus. The Iron Bull is their boyfriend. Cole is his boy best friend.

Lorant Aldwir. He/they. Veil Jumper: originally a city elf from the Starkhaven alienage. The tiredest looking twink you've ever seen. On a """break from their studies""". Definitely not a missing person back home, don't even worry about it!!! Very good at talking his way out of situations; better at talking his way into them. Wants to be Emmrich's controversially young spouse.

(Arthyr and Lorant are not related for the record, Arthyr just takes one look at this sleep deprived 22 year old and puts them straight in the Son Zone. Poor Lorant (a known Old Man Enjoyer) is too busy trying not to call him Daddy to protest.)

Transcript because my writing is small. Top to bottom:

Hawke -> Arthyr: Can I offer you a dog in this trying time? (alt: Rather you than me, man)

Arthyr -> Hawke: would

Hawke -> Nevyth: Oh shit, Anders' sugar daddy!

Nevyth -> Hawke: You should've let Anders do more terrorism

Hawke -> Rook: I can't look directly at you or I think about Varric and start crying

Rook -> Hawke: I can't look directly at you or I think about Varric and my head hurts?

Nevyth -> Arthyr: lmao

Arthyr -> Nevyth: SECOND WORST GUY I'VE EVER MET* I HATE YOU

*The title of First Worst Guy Arthyr has ever met goes to Grand Duke Gaspard.

Nevyth -> Rook: Why are you 12? (derogatory)

Rook -> Nevyth: L + ratio + old + blighted

Rook -> Arthyr: i think i hauve the blight

Arthyr-> Rook: 🎵YOU ARE MY SON🎵

[kirkwallguy]

while we're doing solas haterism i have to go on the record saying that one veilguard criticism i disagree with is the idea that solas killing varric is ooc and epler forced weekes to write that in so he'd be less sympathetic. varric is some coworker that he hasn't seen in a decade and who he once compared to a severed arm because he didn't see him as a full person. i think he's definitely capable of stabbing him in a high tension situation.

[awardenandacrow]

Hello! This blog is by Tabitha “Purrmage” Cummings. I’m a traditional mixed media fantasy character artists based in Connecticut, USA. This blog is for me to post my art, screenshots/recordings, and fanfic snippets (and maybe eventually an actual full length fanfic? 👀👀) relating to my first Dragon Age: The Veilguard playthrough with my Grey Warden Rook, Naimeryn “Naimy” Thorne, with whom I’m completely obsessed. She’s romancing Lucanis Dellamorte! This blog WILL feature spoilers for Dragon Age: The Veilguard, if you haven’t played it/if you make different decisions. I’m mostly making this because I started posting snippets to Threads, but Threads doesn’t actually organize it’s… threads… very well and people were having trouble reading. I hope this will alleviate that issue!

PLEASE NOTE: I write down fanfic snippets as they come to me, and so they aren’t in chronological order as far as the game is concerned. Additionally, I have not actually finished my first playthrough of Veilguard yet, so there may be edits later to account for things I’m misremembering/things that don’t actually make sense with the actual game, etc etc. this is not an AU, this basically is just my headcanon for how the game went for my Rook, filling in blanks, embellishing scenes to fit her character more, etc.

SPOILER ALERT. If you are not as far into the game as I am/have made different decisions and don’t know what happens if you make the opposite choice, there may be spoilers for you within what I’ve written, drawn, or screenshotted/recorded. Please read at your own discretion.

CONTENT AND/OR TRIGGER WARNINGS: I will try to put any relevant CW/TW information at the introduction of each snippet [I do an introduction to each scene in brackets like this for my own reference, and hopefully it will help readers as well]. I’m not an erotica writer, so if I mark something “mature” it’s likely steamy but not spicy (if I try my hand at spice, I’ll be sure to indicate that, but generally it’s just gonna be steamy. I think that fits the innocence of the relationship between my Rook and Lucanis, anyway, personally). In general, you will likely see mostly a strong language tag, though there is one snippet that very, VERY vaguely hints at SA (it’s intended to be implied, but nothing explicit is said). I hope this will help everyone read and enjoy comfortably!

ADDITIONAL NOTE: Taash’s story arch in the game included them coming out as non-binary. However, before they come out to Rook, they use she/her pronouns. I write in third person, from my Rook, Naimeryn’s, point of view, so the reader only knows what Naimeryn knows, and so, just as in the game, before Taash comes out, she/her pronouns will be used, and then they/them pronouns will be used once Naimeryn is aware that Taash is non-binary. I will also include this disclaimer before any snippets in which Taash is referred to by she/her pronouns.

ABOUT NAIMERYN

NAIMERYN’S RELATIONSHIPS

NAIMERYN FUN FACTS

SCREENSHOTS

FANFIC SNIPPET MASTER POST

LINK TO FANFIC AS PUBLISHED ON AO3

[transdreadwolf]

hiiii! for thedas weekend, maybe "A future historian’s analysis of Rook’s actions (Bonus: featuring a relevant primary source)" for Soren?

Hi! Thank you so much — I had such fun with this prompt. It got away from me a little bit, actually, but I enjoyed the process.

Written for @raptortier & @thedasweekend.

Little is known about Soren Ingellvar’s early life, and even less about his parentage. Mourn Watcher records tell us that the infant Ingellvar was found in the depths of the Necropolis, alone, though how he got there, or who left him, is a question that has never been successfully answered.

He was given the name [REDACTED] Ingellvar by leaders of the Mourn Watch soon after he was discovered, though how or why these names were chosen is still a mystery. What we do know is that young Ingellvar was raised in the Necropolis by the Mourn Watch as a whole, rather than be send to one of Nevarra's many orphanages. This was an unusual arrangement, and one must wonder what it was about Soren Ingellvar made the Mourn Watch so interested in him at such a young age.

One must assume that Ingellvar had an unorthodox childhood, but few records remain. We do know that he manifested his magic around the age of thirteen, and had an affinity with wisps and spirits of all kinds. Around sixteen years old, Soren chose his new name after affirming his identity as a man to his friends and guardians.

It wasn't until Ingellvar was almost twenty-three that he left Nevarra for the first time, after an incident during a skirmish contemporarily known as the War of the Banners. In the course of ending this minor civil war and saving lives, Ingellvar destroyed many notable corpses. It is after this event that he left Nevarra for the first time, in order to allow the Nevarran nobility to cool in their anger toward him.

How Ingellvar met Varric Tethras is unknown. What is known is that they arrived in Minrathous some nine months later, on the trail of an elf known variously as Solas, the Dread Wolf, or Fen'Harel, an ancient mage who many believe wished to free the elves of Tevinter and bring about elvhen supremacy, at any cost.

In the course of stopping this mysterious figure, Tethras was killed, and Ingellvar vanished along with his companions.

Where they went, and how they escaped, has never been discovered.

From contemporary sources, we know that they found some kind of safe haven in the Fade, known as the Lighthouse. As Mourn Watcher Emmrich Volkarin, later Ingellvar's husband, writes in his journals:

It is quite strange to live in the Fade. As comfortable with spirits as I am, I find that even I am having trouble adjusting. Wisps are even more common here than in the Necropolis, and they seem quite fond of one of our companions, a detective known as Neve Gallus. Manfred seems to love it here, however, and expanding his horizons is good for his development. Rook* seems extremely fond of him, and even our companions who are wary of him are polite enough. There is another entity living existing here, known as the Caretaker. He (they?) helps us navigate the Fade, though he can do little to defend us against either the Fade's guardians, or the interlopers, such as the Antaam. He reminds me somewhat of Vorgoth, though that may only be because they are both more spirit than flesh and bone. As I write this, Rook and two of our companions, Bellara and Harding, have gone to Arlathan Forest. I look forward to his safe return.

In the next chapter, we will explore Ingellvar's role as a rising leader, and his efforts in making connections throughout Northern Thedas.

*Ingellvar was known as "Rook" to his contemporaries.

— From The Veilguard: A Comprehensive History

[gyrovagi]

34 & 43 for ur hawkes!

(hawke questions)

34. If Bethany/Carver is alive, how is their relationship after so many years like? And how is it after Leandra's death?

quick context: seongmin is not literate. (quite possibly dyslexic but he just never learned. early parentification in generally unstable family circumstances will do that to you.) pre-leandra's death it was bethany and leandra writing to each other while bethany had very little to say to seongmin, and seongmin never knew what he could say to her in a letter that might possibly Fix It. he loved her and wanted to keep her happy more than anything and this was exactly what made her resent him, so maybe the best thing to do for her now is just to let go (< guy who is now sister-projecting onto merrill so much it's embarrassing).

after leandra's death they almost entirely fell out of touch, it was varric receiving the sporadic bethany updates (she's not writing to gamlen.), though at some point on bethany's end it was more force of habit than genuine resentment. she didn't know how to reach out again, it feels impossible to Get Into It through letters especially when she'd have to make varric act as intermediary. nightmare. their relationship does eventually recover, post-game - bethany fully goes awol from the wardens to accompany anders and seongmin on the run and i don't think she ever looks back. they really are just glad to be alive and with each other again, after everything.

something crazy is happening in rina and bethany's relationship always. when leandra dies rina basically shuts down, she blames herself and redirects the blame onto aveline and lashes out at everyone else (regression into her act 1 aggression my beloved <3). and bethany is horrifically isolated in the circle, with rina kind of incapable of even thinking about her, as cruel as that may be. rina eventually refocuses on bethany as her last family member and Her Responsibility after being named champion, though this is not necessarily a good development. she operates as meredith's right hand and leverages the position to ensure bethany's treated well while refusing to see any problem with how other mages are treated.

they never talk about it but bethany Knows that there's a moment at the end where rina considers letting meredith run her through and finally freeing herself of the burden she's carried her whole life, the little sister she loves and loathes in equal measure. and the fact rina defends her is as much out of love as it is rina trying to justify it all to herself - she's not a monster. she still loves her sister. she does this for her <3 and then rina becomes viscountess and the exceptionalism gets worse!! bethany can't afford losing rina's protection. she would be dead or worse without her sister. how could she not love the sister who saved her. how could she love her sister who's done all this. I don't know what happens to bethany after rina dies and if i think about it too much i might throw up

(carver thoughts pending because i need to actually replay the game with a mage hawke and like. Remember him. before i get into it. my so-min playthrough in high school is just blurs in my mind)

43. How does Hawke react when Varric publishes the Tale of the Champion? Have they read it?

so seongmin DOES start learning to read by late act 2, in my mind it's him and fenris going okay i guess we're doing this fucking thing together and making sure the other actually commits to it. however post-game he is actively a fugitive so it takes a while for word of the insane rpf varric's published to reach him, and i don't know if he ever gets his hands on a copy of it. his reaction is equal parts 'why would he do this? when did he even get the time??' and 'of course he would fucking do this.' i don't think he ever seeks out a copy - i think he understands and appreciates it as varric's effort to set the record straight/cast seongmin as the Hero of the story, but he'd be way too uncomfortable trying to read it.

varric sent rina his first draft and she sent it back with comments on every page like 'i did not fucking say that. keep it in it sounds cool.' circling and underlining any time she gets straight-out described as attractive or if varric is just dedicating a little too much time to making her sound hot. occasionally writing something flirtatious in the margins (< she just got married to sebastian). the sincere or emotionally vulnerable annotations in the tragic parts were scratched out so intensely she nearly tore through the page. later she asked him if she could get that first draft back as a keepsake ('i think i wrote enough in the margins to be counted as co-author') and varric refused.

i'm assuming varric publishes the tale of the champion a year+ after the end of the game, by which point so-min's emotions about the whole thing are somewhat more... settled and i think she mostly views it as funny. it's a little bit of a deflection thing to avoid dwelling on any lingering regrets or resentment from kirkwall, but she does also genuinely think it's funny. she gets very drunk with isabela at one point and they read it through together and she doesn't actually remember any of her thoughts on it afterwards.

bryn rivals varric ^_^ and so i think finds out about the tale of the champion and is not especially impressed. like seongmin, they're capable of understanding it as well-intentioned on varric's end, but they're a lot more skeptical about its effectiveness. it's another biased narrative in a sea of biased narratives. i do think they're more likely than seongmin to seek it out at some point just out of curiosity - they're more capable of emotionally distancing themself from Varric's Hawke and they do want to know what bullshit he said about them, though i don't think they finish it. either they tap out after leandra or realize they actually can't handle confronting varric's opinion on their killing anders (as much mercy kill as genuine judgment and execution and as intentional martyring)

[championofthefade]

happy friday! how about "Here's the thing: any time you say that we're fine, it means that we're not fine." for whoever you're feeling tonight?

Happy Friday! | @dadrunkwriting

This one was a fun one to write as I adjust to changing Marian to Augustine! Wanted to spend some time in the Chantry Hates Them-Verse, so we get some Deep Roads Expedition.

Words: 282

“This is fine!” Francesca called from ahead of them, Augustine and Varric had made up the back as Esther and the others went ahead with Bartrand. “We’re bonding.”

“Here’s the thing.” Augustine used her staff like a walking stick, avoiding the rubble of the Deep Roads as they continued to follow. “When you say that we’re fine, it’s usually not fine.”

That was the thing about Kirkwall, everything seemed to go wrong ever since they stepped foot in the City of Chains. 

Augustine was almost reluctant to go to the Deep Roads. It was already off that the expedition didn’t have enough funding, which Francesca and Esther wasted no time in milling out odd jobs to make ends meet. Finding the Grey Warden that Varric had mentioned had its own problems, people in Darktown nearly jumped at the chance to pick a fight to protect the healer. 

Though, the alternative was to stay home with their mother and the twins. And she would rather be lumped into some underground tunnel looking for riches untold than suffer through whatever theatrics that their mother could come up with. 

“Cheer up, Auggie.”

“Do not call me that.” Augustine huffed, rubbing her forehead. “I want to go on the record of saying that this was a bad idea.”

“How bad can it be?” Varric patted Augustine’s arm, moving ahead as the company came to a stop. They would make camp for the night, no doubt Varric would be bothering Anders about looking at the maps to see where they were heading. 

“One word. Darkspawn.”

“Don’t worry about the darkspawn, little Hawke. I’ll protect you.”

Augustine scoffed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the dwarf.

[mortal-ethos]

The lore of the NevexRook fic I've been working on has... Grown much deeper than I had anticipated and I need a word for when the story writes itself even when I hate it and it hurts me but I can't interfere with canon events?

But anyway. How do we feel about a personal quest for Rook (separate from the whole Varric sitch) that traumatizes them so badly that they start to present their trauma in a way very similarly to Neve, and she tries to help them through it like they do for her in her canon romance. And they do this simultaneously for each other because they're at each other's beckon call no matter how terrified they are of the other getting hurt because of them, until it distills into a single moment of:

"Why can't you take your own advice for once?"

And they both realize what they've been doing the whole time and they panic because they're both idiots in love in the exact same way and are oblivious to it while the rest of the Veilguard is begging them to just confess already.

I mean that's happening whether anyone likes it or not because again. I can't interfere, I am simply the method by which the story wishes to be transcribed, not begrudgingly but certainly painfully.

I almost started crying at work while folding a damn skort. Do you realize how broken one must be, this is my child that I need to mentally watch SUFFER and then must RECORD IT ON A PAGE AND EDIT IT OVER AND OVER, IT DOESN'T GET EASIER.

I also presented my Rook with a forked path, similar to the other companions' quests, and Maker's breath I *think* I know which choice he's going to pick? but... I'd be lying if I said I knew

[some-small-mercy]

Harding - Drowning in Memories

Harding isn't the first time that a character's whole personality and vibe were basically scooped out and replaced between games to make them a better companion - but it's a bit odd, when the whole reason she's a companion in this is what a fan favorite the old her was in Inquisition.

Full text below the cut

Heritage and Memories

Lace Harding was, if I remember the fan reception of Inquisition a decade ago accurately, a surprise fan favorite when she first appeared. To the point that she was pretty clearly elevated to the status of ‘next game’s main cast’ at the end of Trespasser in large part because of how much everyone already loved her. Ten years later, and despite a total lack of ideas or enthusiasm, they finally had to follow through

Okay, that’s too harsh. Secondary characters being promoted to full companion status and getting an entirely new personality and character design in the process is hardly a new thing in Bioware games, and I love Merrill fair too dearly to complain that much about it. Still, it is striking how much the Lace Harding of Veilguard just comes across as an entirely different person from the Scout Captain of the Inquisition. You can argue that a whole decade has passed, of course she’s changed - I would be somewhat sympathetic to this if you could look at her (or any returning female character, really) and possibly guess she’s supposed to be at absolute minimum in her mid-late thirties. See also the fountain of youth Isabella apparently found and then didn’t bother to share with Varric. 

Leaving the discontinuity (and the fact that she also talks and feels much more like someone in their twenties than someone who was accomplished enough to rise to commanding the Inquisition’s entire scout corps without notable nepotism or patronage a full decade ago) aside, Harding’s writing is working under a heavy burden. Two of them, actually. She is simultaneously the vessel for a bunch of exposition and revelations about dwarven lore and for all the fanservice nostalgia calling back to southern Thedas and the cast of Inquisition. Between the two, it’s a bit of a struggle for Lace as a character to really shine through. 

Harding’s central internal conflict is, as the game presents it, that she’s something of a people-pleasing doormat who doesn’t voice her opinions or fight for her preferences to avoid making a scene. Which is, frankly, a trait that is much more told than shown outside the specific couple of scenes dedicated to it. This unexpressed frustration and anger is made something everyone needs to care about when she becomes the first dwarven mage in recorded history - which is to say, she can move the occasional block of rock around as you explore the map. Otherwise it never really comes up - and begins feeling echoes of the howling, vengeful rage of an awakening titan in the Deep Roads below Tevinter. 

Harding is not a woman who felt much of a connection to her dwarven heritage, by all accounts. Family that has lived on the surface for long enough to have a stable inherited farm, religiously Andrastian, considers herself Fereldan more than anything else as far as nationality goes, has devoted herself body and soul to first the Inquisition and then hunting Solas for the better part of her adult life - prior to the sudden empathetic connection to the titan (and the revelation about the origins of dwarves as a species and what Solas did to the titans) we never get a sense it was a subject she spared any real thought for. 

Now, not to say you can’t do a story about someone forging a connection to heritage they’d not really cared about previously as a mature adult. But the game never really seems interested in digging into what a change this is. Harding is The Dwarf on hand, and so gets deeply, passionately angry about the injury the elven gods did to the titans literal millenia ago (and if you play an elf the game awkwardly invites you to apologize on behalf of the entire elven people, for some odd reason). Over her quests, you get a lot of revelations about the origins and metaphysical nature of dwarves and their relationship to the titans, which she mostly accepts with awe. Which is frankly rather odd - you would expect at least a bit of fear or resistance to the revelation that your entire species was at one point the hive mind/physical extension of eldritch primordials. But the game doesn’t seem to even let Rook seem nonplussed by the idea, let alone Harding. 

(It’s not at all the game Veilguard is, but you could do a decent gloss on the sudden link to the titans as ethno-nationalism; suddenly becoming deeply angry at a powerless minority for mythological crimes against your people they have some genealogical connection to, the subsuming of individual identity into being extensions of a spiritually and metaphysically greater and more significant corporate body, going from having never heard of a body of traditions and rituals to being incredibly invested in them over the course of a few weeks. You see my vision.)

That self-discovery and the very light gestures about anger issues aside, Harding’s arc is really at least as much about the Kal Sharok dwarves as it is about her. Which is something of an issue, because they were clearly supposed to be a full faction with at least Mourn Watcher/Lords of Fortune levels of content at some point before that was cut and the assets only used for Harding’s personal content. This was probably the correct decision - the very last thing the game needs is another faction and hub area with barely anything to do in it or connection with the rest of the game - but it does mean that the final reveal of this mysterious thaig that has been built up for literally the entire history of the franchise ends up feeling more than a bit bathetic. Apparently they’ve really gotten over all the violent, vicious isolationism in the past decade, having happily taken Shaper Valta in and made her some sort of preeminent religious authority and now also being more than happy to welcome Harding and Rook in to come see her.

Kal Sharok’s whole central mysteries - how they survived the collapse of the Deep Roads and the centuries of darkspawn attacks since, what their society looks like, what sort of terrible secrets are they hiding, whether their society as institutionally horrifying as Orzammar’s - are either ignored entirely or glossed over in a few seconds of dialogue. Which is forgivable, given how limited the screentime they have is, but you do end up being left slightly wondering why bother . There’s one particular point where there’s an ominously vague, implication-laden answer to ‘how did the thaig survive’ that feels like nothing so much as the setup to a real revelation later on - but the whole subject is then never touched on again. Many such cases, I suppose. Still, I can dream of a game where all the resources that were wasted on the Lords of Fortune went towards them instead and the combined effort gave you enough content for one semi-complete faction plotline. 

Harding’s ties to the Inquisition and Southern Thedas writ large are also - not necessarily bad on their own, but they do make her by far the most obvious example of how much different parts of the game’s writing doesn’t agree with itself. She’s going to go camping back ini Fereldan or see her mom in her idyllic little farm, you say? Weird, that missive from the Inquisitor just told me that the entire kingdom is basically one giant blighted apocalypse. But in Harding’s defense literally everything is better if we pretend those southern front missives don’t exist, so. 

Harding’s memories of the Inquisition feel - well very nostalgia-pandering, honestly. But more than that, like a causality of the game’s decision not to bother with imported worldstates or save files. Still, she would have been the idea character to actually go into the meaning and significance of the choice to disband the Inquisition or not (a choice which otherwise comes up literally not at all, if I recall correctly) and provide some texture and backstory to what the last ten years of hunting for Solas has looked like - but no, her reminiscing is strictly waving the names of characters from the last game in front of you and saying she missed them. 

Speaking of those ten years - of everyone in the cast, Harding should be the one with a real and significant preexisting relationship with Rook. The two of them were Varric’s right and left hands, they’ve been working together for years before the game began. Unfortunately, the game barely even gestures at this after the prologue, and does nothing at all to make your friendship with Harding seem like it has any particular history or existing texture to it. 

A New Beginning

Given full free rein I would, being totally honest, probably throw out Harding’s entire story and replace it with something totally new and different. But that’s not really what this exercise is about. 

So, assuming we are limited by the requirement to keep things in the same general shape? I would lean heavily into Harding being an Inquisition agent - it is the faction the game tells you she’s a part of every time you look at the party select screen. Make her come across as more of a mature professional soldier, someone who's been fighting and spying for more than a decade now, with the life-or-death commitment to the cause that implies. Frame the people pleasing as less a matter of fear and insecurity, and more a matter of devaluing her own preferences compared to avoiding conflict on the team and potentially hurting their chances of success saving the world (give her a slightly unbecoming martyr complex about this). Add a conversation or two where she bites down arguments or doesn’t speak up about things that frustrate or inconvenience her on a level even slightly more significant than ‘pretending to like coffee’ and ‘getting annoyed with how many books a friend is bringing on a camping trip’. Before her arc, the general impression should be a friendly smile and focus on the mission hiding a spring so tightly wound it’s one bad day from exploding. (This sort of characterization would probably make the apparent age difference between her and Taash as they romance start shading into Something That’s Talked about. Dealer’s choice whether that’s reason to cut it or keep it, honestly - they would at least be able to get some good dialogue bonding over the whole ‘falling in a gap between two cultures and legacies’ thing). 

The sudden connection to the primordial essence and wellspring of the dwarven race would be significantly less welcome, at least at first - she would lose control of her powers and either threaten to or actually do some real collateral damage before she learns to get it slightly under control and goes looking for answers - something that she wouldn’t be at all eager to do in the first place. If you’re giving her a conflict-avoidant, people-pleasing personality then going on a whole remote trek to make contact with a violently isolationist thaig is not something she’s going to suggest or advocate for on her own behalf. You can either provide the actually-quite-valid excuse of finding out more about the titans being helpful to fight the gods that killed them the first time, or just guilt trip and brow-beat her into it. In either case, the reports of the earthquakes imperiling Kal Sharok would be what finally motivates her to go find a solution in a titan. 

Which is to say, make Harding’s quest feel like a bit of an expedition - a longer single quest without easy ways to escape halfway through. You’re in the deep roads, make it feel different than everywhere else with their convenient elven teleportation mirrors on hand. Which also helpfully adds a bit more variety to the experience of playing through all the companion quests, especially as hers would begin rather further into act 2 than most of the others’. 

The fact that what we see of Kal Sharok seems to be half-overrun by darkspawn and this doesn’t even seem to be a cause for panic or much of a crisis is less than ideal, on a few different levels. Rather than making Valta an honored religious authority with her own whole throne room, instead present her as a remote mystic, staying further in the depths and closer to the heart of a titan - make seeking her out a bit of a quest in its own right. Which neatly justifies as much spelunking through inhospitable and poorly laid out caverns and slaying hordes of darkspawn as desired. 

The boss fight against ‘the titan’ is one of the more interesting things in any of the companion quests, mechanically speaking, and definitely worth keeping. Though I would make the boss fight much more like Harding , rather than just being a rock-mage using her face. Summon some golem meatshields and hit Rook with those nasty status-effect arrow tricks! 

In any event, her struggle as a character would in this case be between being a loyal and reliable agent of the inquisition on one hand, and an inheritor of the titans on the other. She’d react to the revelations of what dwarves were and what the stone sense is with a sort of horror at first, especially when she realizes what that means about her abilities and the ever-increasing rage boiling within her. It would be up to Rook to help her decide which side of things to embrace, and have more significant effects on her character and her resolution either way (if she suppresses the titan’s anger, do something like replace the final scene with the Kal Sharok shaper with an Eluvian conversation with Dagna, maybe?). 

And, okay, just two of these left! Going by which of them I can think of more to say about, next is Belara I guess?