#twice bitten curse of strahd

[levelheaded-mediator]

By popular demand...

(comission posted with permission of artist: Senshilandia)

[nirikeehan]

"aftersome adj. astonished to think back on the bizarre sequence of accidents that brought you to where you are today — which makes your long and winding path feel fated from the start, yet so unlikely as to be virtually impossible." for Thaliaaaa perhaps?

Okay, listen. This one is weird, but maybe I'm planning a Dragon Age/Curse of Strahd crossover and sometimes you just wanna smush two blorbos from two different pieces of media together and see what they do. Like introducing cats.

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 1202

Metrion belongs to the incredible Curse of Strahd: Twice Bitten podcast which, as far as I can tell, has absolutely no fanfic to its name. Until now I guess 🤷‍♀️

---

 “Sit, and we can make you presentable, yeah?” 

Thalia sits. The cottage is ramshackle and abandoned, one of many in this desolate Nevarran backwoods, the misty, wild place known as Barovia. 

“If he knows you by the tattoo,” the man says, “we can take away the tattoo, easy peasy.”

He’s a strange man, the one whose company she has found herself in. Young like her, she thinks, with tan skin and dark hair. He used an affected posh accent she saw through right away, which he has since dropped. What remains — a cockney reminiscent of Free Marcher peasants, is more authentic. He speaks in a nervous mumble almost always. There are times she thinks him selfish — when they fought wolves together on the road he dove for the bushes and shot timidly with a crossbow — but others, like now, she detects a hint of what could be compassion. 

“Did you always want to be a magician?” Thalia asks, eying the array of stage makeup he sets out on a rotting table. 

He shrugs, not looking at her. “You do what you’re good at, right?”

“I suppose.” Thalia chews her lip. “But what I do and what you do seem a little different. I could never just travel around, doing magic tricks for entertainment.” 

Metrion smirks. “Why not? Cause you’re a highborn lady?” The posh accent is back, mocking her own inflection. He reaches out, takes her chin. “Here, look this way, love.” 

His fingers are long and thin, hands covered by black gloves that must be needed in this constant damp chill. She frowns at an odd patch of magenta poking out between sleeve and glove on his wrist. Thalia is forced to look away, staring deep into his unsettling yellow eyes. 

“It’s not that,” she says as he scrutinizes her complexion. “In my neck of the woods, real mages weren’t allowed to roam free at all.” 

“You sayin’ I’m not a real mage?” Metrion shoots back, feigning hurt. 

Thalia tries not to roll her eyes. “You’re an actor, that’s clear as day.”

“Can it only be one or the other?” A twitchy smile. He has long incisors; one is inlaid with gold and seems to wink at her in the dim light. 

“Are you inviting me to join your act?” Thalia asks playfully.

“Yeah. Definitely. We can be Metrion the Magnificent and Thalia the— the—”

“Thrilling?” she supplies. 

“Yeah. I like that.” He frowns at his makeup kit. “Right. You’re paler’n me, so I’m gonna have to do some blending, but I should be able to manage it. Gonna need you to hold real still, though.” 

Apprehension threads through Thalia. She remembers the day, many years ago, she had to sit very still for another man, one who had needles and ink instead of sponges and pigment. “—Won’t hurt you,” Metrion adds quickly, as if sensing her discomfort. “I’m a real pro with this stuff, I promise.”

“Yes. Of course.” Thalia shifts in her seat, wringing her hands. Her palms begin to sweat. She thinks of the long series of bizarre events that led her to this moment, in the hands of someone who should, by all accounts, be a charlatan. Yet the touches on her cheekbone and brow are light and practiced, and against her will she relaxes. 

“It’s quite a piece of art, this ink,” he murmurs, perhaps to put her further at ease, but Thalia only tenses. He blinks. “Sorry. Meant it as a compliment.” 

“I know,” Thalia breathes. “It’s not you.”

“I’m a bit of an amateur tattooist myself, but ah, never did nothing like this.” 

With each swipe of his sponge, Thalia imagines the tattoo disappearing from her face, leaving her right eye unmarred for the first time in a decade. “I didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter.”

Metrion’s hand freezes. “Seriously?”

“I mentioned that in my neck of the woods, mages couldn’t just roam free.” She chews her lip. “We were confined to a place called a Circle of Magi. This was the security measure in mine, to make sure we didn’t escape.” 

“Shit.” A long silence. “You really ought to come to the Sword Coast, we don’t have nothing like that there.” 

Thalia lets out a slow breath. “It’s all right. Things have changed there, somewhat. Mages have more freedom now, though there’s always reminders of the old ways.” 

“Yeah. I get that.” Metrion continues dabbing and swiping at her face, brow furrowed with a troubled line between them. “And I know a thing or two, about things done to you against your will.” 

“Do you?” Thalia says skeptically. “You don’t… strike me as a man who would stick around for that sort of punishment.” She pauses. “No offense.” 

Metrion bows his head over the makeup kit, eyes obscured by the hair falling into his face. Peeking out from the headband he wears are wisps of hair that shine white in the torchlight. He’s awfully young to be going grey, she thinks, but then again, she can’t speak to the life he’s lived, no more so than he can for her. 

“’S that a polite way of calling me a coward?” The hurt in his voice, this time, is real. 

Thalia tries to protest, but he cuts her off. “No, no, maybe you’re right, a little bit. Or a lot. I dunno. Fuck. I never wanted to be in this place. It’ll wear you down, break you, faster’n you can run. We been told the devil knows our every move, that it’s all a game to him. That we’ll stay alive as long as we keep things interesting. But I dunno if painting your face would make much of a difference in the long run, if he’s got an eye on ya.” 

Metrion sounds mournful, apologetic, as if trying to break bad news as gently as he can. Thalia reaches out, with a pang of sympathy, and touches his elbow through his long overcoat. He freezes, dares to meet her gaze only briefly before averting it again. 

“He must have a weakness,” Thalia says. “Everyone does.” How can she explain to him that she once stood down a man who would be god? What’s one more vampiric tyrant, in the face of someone like Corypheus? 

“Dunno about him,” Metrion mumbles, sighing. 

“Still,” Thalia insists, trying to smile, “I appreciate that you’re trying.” 

“Yeah. Yeah. ’S all we can do, I guess, in the long run. Lie down and die, or try to live.” He shakes his head as if to clear it and snaps shut his makeup kit. “On that cheery note — you’re all set, love.” 

“Thank you,” Thalia says softly. “Have you got a looking glass I can borrow? I’m… curious.” 

He gives her a small hand mirror caked with layers of dust and pigment. Thalia squints past it, to the pallid face beyond. Her cheeks look gaunter than she remembers, her eyes a ghostly blue. But the tattoo has vanished as if it never existed, and she turns her face this way and that in wonder. 

“Maybe you are a real magician after all,” she whispers, and he looks at her with eyes so raw she worries he might cry.

[werewiire]

anyone on this webbed site listen to the twice bitten CoS podcast

[noctvrnal9999]

Ascended Astarion, Blood Brides & vampirism

After seeing this post by @missbaphomet (who asked to be tagged, so here you go) I decided to do a semi-deep dive into what it's all about.

Now I'll preface this that I'm more knowledgeable in Vampire the Masquerade tabletop than DnD but if there's vampires I'll be there.

For the purposes of this post I have looked into various guides, e5, Van Richten's guide to Ravenloft, briefly skimmed Curse of Strahd and consulted not one, not two, but three Dungeon Masters. So take my post as you will.

More under cut, this will be long.

It is well known that Astarion is aware of Strahd even before he's Ascended. We get his line that is basically "Strahd wouldn't put up with this shit." So, while it's only a subtle nod to von Zarovich, we still have it in game as canon line.

Now, I find this a very curious line in and on itself. Not only Astarion knows Strahd, he says the line with anger, which is clear indication that he sees Strahd as someone to look up to in one way or another. If you don't know Strahd I encourage you to google and at least read his wiki, he's a very fascinating man and very important in vampirism as a whole in DnD. He's THE vampire, THE villain. But moving on...

So Astarion definitely sees Strahd as someone who would not let himself be disrespected, it's obvious that Astarion if not aspires to be like Strahd, then definitely sees himself as capable (or capable in the future) to be as "revered" as von Zarovich is. That's a tidbit I want you all to remember.

We don't know just how much Cazador spoke to his spawn about vampire politics but they weren't just beasts locked in cages, they were going out, although to get victims for Cazador, they were still out and about. They talked to people, to each other and most likely ran into other vampires or spawn along the way in the centuries that they have been doing Cazador's bidding. This is just simple logic.

So how much Astarion and other spawn could know about Strahd, for example? There's very good reason to think that Strahd's escapades were known in Cazador's palace, as well as among other vampires. We know that Astarion likes to educate himself with whatever might benefit him ("Meanwhile, I think I'll spend some time studying the art of infernal negotiations." Act 2). It's also proven when he desperately wants to have Necromancy of Thay in hopes of finding a way to free himself from Cazador. Astarion seeks knowledge. Again, it's just pure logic to conduct that he knows more than just Strahd's name and that he's a vampire. Otherwise, why would he have the line comparing himself to him in a way that reflects that in some way Astarion reveres Strahd at least to a degree.

We established that Astarion very very likely knows a lot about Strahd, as well as other spawn alongside him. Which leads to this:

Astarion very likely knows about different ways to turn mortals into vampires.

While his own "becoming" has been a simple Spawn creation (with draining blood, burying and needing to dig oneself out), he must know about creation of Blood Brides (and Grooms, but for the sake of less words I'll use she/her and Bride but rituals I'm about to discuss can be done on any sex). Why? Because he must know about Strahd taking brides. If not, his own curiosity about his condition would have led him to learn about different rituals anyway. So based on Astarion's nature and the fact that he seems not only to be aware of Strahd but know the man to a degree of respect, I have no reason to doubt that Astarion knows about Blood Brides.

Keeping this in mind, let's move onto the night of Tav's "becoming". The scene is very clear: whatever path you choose, gentle or not, Astarion bites Tav twice in the cinematic. To become a Blood Bride one needs to be bitten trice, then given blood from the vampire. It's a whole ritual of draining her to delirium, then giving her blood. Now the vampire in question needs to fight his new bride off otherwise she will succumb to madness permanently. Astarion openly mentions he gave Tav "one drop" and seems he bypassed the need to fight her off him by most likely holding her down until his new Bride fell into a coma that leads to death. Generally the feeding is allowed from the neck but Astarion mentioning "one drop" indicates he's trying to be smarter than other vampires. Now this is interesting because to be a spawn one doesn't need their creator's blood. And they do get buried as well, just like Astarion was, while Tav never gets buried. I'm not going to detail how Larian strays from lore such as that vampires still need the dirt they died upon to rest, but we're going here by facts that should align with DnD.

Since we established that Tav is not just a normal Spawn, she was not created in a way other Spawn were, not even Astarion himself. So what IS she? Answer is right here, after all. Not only Astarion chooses her as his partner, he also ensures that she remains as such forever. Remember: Astarion does actually believe he is bestowing a gift when he turns Tav into his Bride - the gift of freedom from aging and death and to be by his side forever. "You are beautiful and you will be beautiful forever" (paraphrasing here).

I see DnD loremasters already shaking their pitchforks at me: can Astarion even do it? On a night of his own transformation? Creating a Blood Bride is something that vampires with a label of Ancient and up can perform, and even then not always successfully. Creating Spawn is much easier than creating a Bride (or several, if we're looking at Strahd). Well, what is an ancient vampire varies from version to version, but ultimately it does not matter. Why? Because Larian homebrewed an entirely new breed of vampire: the Vampire Ascendant.

Larian did not bother to explain in full what does that mean and what actual changes Astarion is going to see in the future once he becomes more accustomed to his powers. But it's completely reasonable to believe he's capable of creating Blood Brides. Simple because a - he attempts it already and succeeds (Tav is turned into one). That's it. Astarion follows the Bride Ceremony and indeed ends up creating a Bride. Not only he performs the ritual in exact way it's described in lore (we see part of it but his words the morning after confirm the rest), he also is capable of doing so because Larian made it canon by letting Tav become a Bride, successfully. She gains the Bite, confirming her transformation and there's not a single conversation piece indicating that Astarion CAN compel Tav in any way. He simply says "Why would I need to?" without establishing that the rules are different for Tav. He also hammers on that point several times: "Spawn is an ugly word, I really do prefer consort." and confirms that Tav will drink his blood without any implication that it's going to be just one time thing. Astarion obviously believes in drinking each others blood as a form of bonding and love.

Tav is not merely his Spawn, she's his Blood Bride. Every fact in game and DnD lore confirms it. And not even once Astarion actually tries to compel Tav (or is able to). Not even when confronting Elder Brain, he has a line encouraging Tav to control the brain, trying to convince her to take the power, instead of compelling her like Cazador used to compel him. There's not a single instance were Astarion controls Tav so the conclusion is simple - he can't. Tav can even argue with him at the epilogue party if she wishes so. That's not behavior of someone controlled, abused and manipulated. She has her free will to the point that she can talk back to him without being punished (something unseen with Cazador, for example). If she can leave him, well, that's another topic altogether, but I'll just say this - I think she can leave him, but he won't let her, not because he can command her to stay but because he's possessive of Tav.

Anyway, here it is, my semi-deep dive into the topic. Keep in mind I'm not a Dungeon Master.

Useful resources:

http://thecampaign20xx.blogspot.com/2016/02/dungeons-dragons-guide-to-vampires.html

https://www.worldanvil.com/w/barovia-billorileycyrus/a/bride-ceremony-article

https://www.dndbeyond.com/posts/1467-playing-as-a-vampire-in-d-d

http://mojobob.com/roleplay/monstrousmanual/v/vampire0.html

https://www.reddit.com/r/CurseofStrahd/comments/126n5yd/creating_vampire_brides_and_grooms/

[mirror-lock]

Hi, I'm Kaiya.

Nice to meet you all, Tumblr! I'm a writer, editor, game designer, and performer in the indie TTRPG space.

You might know me as the creator of Her Odyssey, a solo journaling game where you follow the journey of a wanderer trying to find her way home - or find a new home. Built on the Caltrop Core system by Titanomachy RPG, this contemplative game is played with just a deck of cards, a handful of d4s, and a place to record your journal entries. Her Odyssey has received almost six thousand downloads and is coming to print with all-new art on May 5th!

Or perhaps you've heard of one of my other indie TTRPGs:

Pearl & Provenance, a two-player game about two nameless demigods fleeing the ruin of their old world and creating a new one together

Galatea, a solo journaling game about a living masterpiece struggling to live up to their creator's unrealistic expectations of perfection

Untitled Moth Game, a solo journaling game about a cursed were-moth seeking to rescue her true love (written as a present for cassimothwin)

You, Beyond the Pale, a solo journaling game about being a monster living alone in the wild, bewildered by a world full of mortals

DIY Identity, a one-page two-player game about missed paths in life. Must be played in an IKEA store.

The Traitor Princess, a one-page multi-player game about coping with upheaval and subliminating emotions. Must be played while donating your clothes.

I've also created my own SRD, Aspire, for both experienced and first-time game designers alike to write TTRPGs with! Aspire is built from the design principles that went into my first few games and is set up to provide a framework for narrative-driven RPGs with turning points that change both the stakes and the rules.

And if you're more on the D&D side of things, you may know me as the player of Lilissen, the secretive and frail half-elf from Curse of Strahd: Twice Bitten. Twice Bitten was a 100% Rules-As-Written Curse of Strahd campaign, played by five former CoS DMs and DMed by DragnaCarta, best known for his popular Curse of Strahd: Reloaded guides. The campaign is fully complete as of February 2022 and can be found on YouTube or wherever you listen to podcasts.

You can find all my games on my Itch page, and you can find more about everything I do (including voice acting, interviews, TTRPG design advice, Lilissen's epilogue, my mailing list...) on my website.

[theluckywizard]

Hello! 👋🏾 For the fandom asks, how about:

5. something you see in fics a lot and love

13. your favorite type of fandom event (gift exchange, ship week, secret santa, prompt meme, etc)

23. the fandom you're curious about because of a mutual

5. something you see in fics a lot and love

I have no idea how widespread this is, but in the fics I read? I love seeing OCs have meaningful flaws and make mistakes.

13. your favorite type of fandom event (gift exchange, ship week, secret santa, prompt meme, etc)

Definitely Secret Satinalia. I had *such* a great time creating a number of pieces (fic *and* art) for this past year's one for the Dragon Age Fan Fiction discord server!

23. the fandom you're curious about because of a mutual

Definitely SWTOR (I don't even play but I love my friend @monocytogenes's fics) and Curse of Strahd/Twice Bitten (same thing-- I love my friend @nirikeehan's fics!). I could also add Doctor Who (9th Doctor) thanks to @crackinglamb's Fluffuary fics!

[recklessattack]

NEW RECKLESS A-TALK

We are joined by S. Kaiya J., game designer extraordinaire and player of Lillisen on RAW actual play Curse of Strahd: Twice Bitten.

This episode is filled with goodies for TTRPGs and life - thoughtful discussion on characters, writing, and reflective gameplay design.

Links in comments!

[finncakes]

started listening to twice bitten so i'd feel more ready to run CoS, these are how i've been picturing the party 8^)

[diceprophet]

D&D 5e | “Curse of Strahd” Game #5 Notes

Session 5: Into the Woods

Last time, the quirky quartet accepted an escort mission from the son of the recently departed burgomaster’s son, Ismark! [Link to Previous Session Notes] The good-natured noble tasked the crew with escorting his twice-bitten adoptive sister Ireena westward to Vallaki. With this introduction the PCs learned more about the plight of the natives against the nefarious and enigmatic Strahd Von Zarovich.

Part 1: Westbound on the Svalich

The journey to Vallaki would take them beyond Castle Ravenloft and deeper into the dark lands. Everywhere they looked, potential enemies watched them from the shadows. Which ones worked for Strahd? Which ones had their own agendas? Trusting the wrong person could lead to death, or worse. After witnessing the tortured existence of the sired vampire youth Doru, the PCs did not dilly-dally, and took to the road with haste.

Part 2: Road Rumble

As they cut through the woods, they encountered a shattered wagon belonging to some Vistani. The travelers had been viciously slaughtered by a pair of skeletal minotaurs, which also attacked the party on sight. The dwarven cleric Thrund shone his holy light upon the foes as the aasimar wizard Eva scorched them with her magic. Salazar and Eva almost fell in the ensuing frantic melee, but in the end the PCs stood triumphant over the scattered ashes of their foes.

Part 3: The Hermit

The party made camp to recuperate from their injuries. As usual, Eva resumed her scholarly studies and Thrund maintained his weapons. The gnome druid Emong explored the surrounding wilderness and came across a mysterious recluse. This hooded fellow was wreathed in plant matter, as if the vines were growing out of him. In a serendipitous twist of fate, this hermit had previously contacted the member of Emong’s tribe. Eager to track down her kin, Emong brokered a deal with the stranger: for information regarding her friend’s whereabouts, she would give him nearly anything. Little did she realize that he took nonconventional spell components. After relinquishing her sense of taste, he pointed her towards Mount Baratok and continued about his eldritch business.

Part 4: Cards on the Table

The party encountered more friendly faces when they came across the Tser pool encampment. The Vistani there offered them free food, wine, and company, which the PCs gladly accepted. They also met with Madam Eva, who read them a their fortune. The party heard several cryptic and grave omens that could spell their destiny, or their doom, in the days to come.

Part 5: Dungeon Master’s Closing Thoughts

One of these days I’m gonna finally bring them face-to-face with the Dark Lord of Ravenloft. But I don’t think they’re quite ready just yet. In the meantime, I’m gonna keep building up the world and adding some personalized touches, too (the hermit was made up on the spot, BTW).

Follow the Dice Prophet Twitch Channel for more tabletop gaming streams! Until next time!

[sutibusart]

Ireena Kolyana, the twice-bitten bride 2 be in our Curse of Strahd campaign

[nirikeehan]

2023 fic round up

I have decided to do this because why not.

Tagging: @monocytogenes | @delicatefade | @theluckywizard | @rowanisawriter | @oxygenforthewicked | @bluewren | @exalted-dawn-drabbles and anyone else who would like to participate!

words posted: According to AO3 - 139,622. Which seems awfully high for how badly my output tanked in the second half of the year.

additional words written: Idek. but i do know I have at least 14k of my Dragon Age/Curse of Strahd crossover I'm probably never going to post. So that's how I'm rolling these days.

grand total of words: A lot, supposedly.

fandoms: Dragon Age, and I can never tell if I should count Twice Bitten as its own fandom, or stick it under the umbrella of Curse of Strahd, or stick both under the umbrella of Dungeons and Dragons. But that.

highest kudos: Through a Glass, Darkly, aka nightmare au, with 84.

highest hit oneshot: A Brief Respite, an extremely short and fluffy piece about Thalia and Cullen taking a nap together, lol. 470 hits!

new things I tried: A weird AF, extremely self-indulgent crossover.

fic I spent the most time on: Through a Glass, Darkly, I think. I updated 7 chapters!

fic I spent the least time on: All those wips that didn't get updated at all this year....

favorite thing I wrote: No contest. It's Thalia and Metrion. Every damn scene. They play off each other so well. I definitely didn't mean to get into an extremely obscure DND podcast and give Thalia a new best friend, but I did and here we are.

Second place is probably Samson taking a literal shit, though. And the continued adventures of Cullen and Samson as Templars in Kirkwall is a close third.

favorite thing(s) I read:

• ceasefire by @rowanisawriter - absolutely beautifully written, heartbreaking second chance romance between Cullen and an Inquisitor who made him keep taking lyrium.

• the words of the prophets (are written on the subways halls) by @inquisimer, a gift fic she wrote for me about Cullen and Samson's troubled friendship and IT IS GUT-WRENCHING AND DELIGHTFUL

• Aggressive Negotiations by windwalker57, a gift fic he wrote for DAFF OC Swap featuring Thalia in a fantastic action/adventure at the Hasmal Circle.

writing goals for 2024: Finish a wip before I have to ghost fandom in anticipation of Dreadwolf probably. Kingdom Come might be the closest to actually being finished, but I put the most brain power into Through a Glass, Darkly, so maybe that one. That seem ambitious, though.

new works: Too much assorted nonsense to name here. Feel free to peruse my AO3 if you're curious.

Template under the cut.

words posted:

additional words written:

grand total of words:

fandoms:

highest kudos:

highest hit oneshot:

new things I tried:

fic I spent the most time on:

fic I spent the least time on:

favorite thing I wrote:

favorite thing(s) I read:

writing goals for 2024:

new works:

[nirikeehan]

20 questions for fic writers

thank you @rowanisawriter for the tag!

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

*gulp* 60!!! HOW DID THAT HAPPEN???

2. what’s your total ao3 word count?

348,147. I repeat the question. (Almost a third is one fic, though.)

3. what fandoms do you write for?

I have written for Dragon Age, the Star Wars sequels, a teensy bit of the Witcher... and I GUESs now an obscure actual play DND podcast no one has heard of 🤷‍♀️

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

The Force's Will (Star Wars sequels, Reylo)

Tactical Maneuvers (Dragon Age, Thalia x Cullen)

Through a Glass, Darkly (Dragon Age, Thalia x Cullen, Thalia x Samson)

Stealing the Light (Star Wars sequels, Reylo)

Forbearance (Dragon Age, Cullen & Dorian)

5. do you respond to comments?

Always!

6. what’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Bold of you to assume I finish fics. But among the one-shots Hiraeth (Cullen x Thalia) and Save Me a Dance (Blackwall x Thalia x Cullen love triangle) are sure in the running.

7. what’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Lmao idk. Maybe License to Lick (Cullen x Thalia)? It's very silly and I was deliberately trying to write fluff. (It's hard!)

8. do you get hate on fics?

Not yet, fingers crossed! I did get a spam comment once about one of my chapters of Through a Glass, Darkly supposedly being AI generated and just laughed. I was like, joke's on you, you WISH AI could come up with shit this weird. I think that was just (ironically) a bot programmed to hit any new updates at a certain point in time, though, because scores of people were getting them at once.

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

I guess so. The kind that's often awkward and imperfect, but hopefully still satisfying?

10. do you write crossovers? what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I wrote a Dragon Age/Witcher crossover exchange fic once where Cassandra Pentaghast kissed Geralt of Rivia. And um, I am currently *checks notes* writing a Dragon Age OC adventure crossover with the DND campaign Curse of Strahd, also featuring at least one character from Curse of Strahd: Twice Bitten, that aforementioned obscure actual play DND podcast. Because Metrion is fucking amazing and there's nO FIC ABOUT THIS SERIES AT ALL AND IT'S MURDEIRNG ME DEAD

I had the idea while high on drugs. Sue me.

(Literally. I wish I could say they were the fun kind but I was prescribed some allergy meds that really FUCKED ME UP for awhile.)

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of!

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I know of!

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

Sort of! Pravinquisition AU is a collaborative series between me and @monocytogenes, but we generally write different fics in the same timeline, not like, one fic together.

14. what’s your all-time favorite ship?

*blank stare* I have to pick one?

15. what’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

The Star Wars ones, currently. Once I started running a Star Wars ttrpg campaign, all my SW mojo went toward that, unfortunately.

16. what are your writing strengths?

Dialogue, plot-heavy stuff, coming up with weird af canon divergence aus, writing relatable characters and campy villains

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

Finishing literally anything

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

hot take maybe but I think there's almost never a good reason to do so. you're basically just othering whatever culture it is you're trying to represent.

19. first fandom you wrote for?

Ironically, Star Wars.......... when I was 10. Unless you count Barbie as a fandom (which, maybe we are now?). Then I was doing that when I was like 7.

20. favorite fic you’ve ever written?

I'm a broken record when it comes to this, but it's probably A Little Grace, and Some Elegance. Cullen has a near-death experience overdosing on lyrium and then tells Thalia some key backstory between him and Samson via flashback. Started my Cullen & Samson doomed friendship obsession, and is probably some of the whumpiest whump I've ever whumped.

Tagging:  | @oxygenforthewicked | @monocytogenes | @inquisimer | @bluewren | @little--abyss | @theluckywizard | @melisusthewee

[nirikeehan]

Happy Friday dearest!! YASSS HORROR PROMPTS how about #4 (?? I’m sorry if this is not the correct number) from the Eldritch Aesthetic list: “Something pretending to be human”

Forrrrr Thalia and Dorian??? Or Thalia x Cullen uwu

Well. She mentions Cullen.

Who's pretending to be human? One of these two characters and it's not Thalia!!!!!! ahahaha

You know what the real horror is? The class struggle, that's what.

More Curse of Strahd crossover; I can't be stopped

Metrion is borrowed from Curse of Strahd: Twice Bitten, the best DND podcast you've never heard but absolutely should, it's fantastic

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 2281

---

“They don’t like me. They don’t trust me.” His words are slurred, the wineskin in one hand, the long leather coat trailing off one bony shoulder. “They don’t want me here.”

Thalia surveys him, her strange, new friend in this strange, new land. He’s drunk. This has happened three nights in a row, and it’s beginning to worry her.

“It’s not that,” she says, trying not to wince. “They’re grateful you brought me back safe. You’re just a little—” Rough around the edges, she tried to say to Pravin, who laughed and told her that was a delicate term for a charlatan. What is it, Thalia, about those peasant accents that make you want to do charity work? Her chest still aches from the insult. “Look. There’s not a lot of people around here we’ve been able to trust. Their suspicion is understandable, isn’t it?”

“You didn’t mention the lot of them is nobles.” Metrion appears not to hear her, pacing between the space of two trees. They’re camping by the shore of Lake Zarovich, with intel that Vallaki is too dangerous politically and the woods too dangerous physically. The tree line is as far from camp as he is willing to wander, and he points accusingly back in the direction of the tents. “You didn’t mention you’re some big shot lady, neither.”

“They’re not all nobles,” Thalia protests. “Blackwall isn’t. Hawke barely is, he grew up poor and had to go on a whole quest to restore his family’s—” She realizes Metrion probably doesn’t want a recitation of Tales of the Champion right now. “And I’m the Inquisitor. So what? I don’t understand why any of that matters. It doesn’t matter here least of all, in a world where Strahd von Zarovich is in charge.” 

She watches him physically recoil at the sound of his name. He shakes his head and takes another pull from the wineskin. “I don’t belong here,” he mutters, looking at the ground. 

Thalia blinks. “None of us do, you said so yourself.”

“’S not what I mean. This is a proper retinue, innit? For you and your very important friends.” 

Thalia recognizes the self-loathing in his voice. She’s heard it before and it hurts just as much as all those other dark moments — in the dim light of the Val Royeaux jail when she visited Blackwall, in Cullen’s office on the bad days, in the nook of the rookery library as Dorian told her of the sins of his father. “And if I said you were a very important friend?” 

Metrion chuckles bitterly. “You don’t know me, love. Not barely.” 

“I know you could’ve left me to die to save yourself and you didn’t.” Thalia crosses her arms over her chest. “You helped me hide and disguise myself so Strahd wouldn’t recognize me again. I’ve plenty of practice with people selling themselves short in an attempt to push me away, Metrion.” She swallows hard, trying not to think of Blackwall sitting in camp, avoiding her with his steely eyes. “It’s not going to work this time.” 

Metrion sways on his feet a little. He looks at her with a helpless expression, then leans against the tree trunk and slides slowly to the ground, legs to chest, the wineskin resting on his knees. His yellow eyes are distant.  

Thalia chews her lip. The silence stretches.

She’s turning to go when she hears him ask softly, “What d’you mean, ‘this time’?” 

She looks at him again, her throat tight. “It’s a long story.”

“Yeah, well. We got all night, don’t we?” He holds up the wineskin, jiggles it at her, laughs nervously. “All our lives, supposedly.”

Thalia takes a breath. “If I tell you, will you promise to tell me why you hate nobles so much?” 

His jaw works back and forth. She catches a glimpse of his long gold incisor. “I’ll think about it.” 

Thalia snorts. “Not good enough.”

“All right, yes, fine. Story swap time. Just sit down and have a drink before I change my mind, yeah?” 

She sits. The grass is cold and damp beneath her trousers. She inches closer instinctively, for the warmth. She takes the wineskin and hesitates. 

“Does m’lady wish to have it poured into a golden goblet first?” Metrion asks, affecting the false posh accent.

“Oh, shut up.” Thalia takes a deep swallow. The wine tastes like a dry red, not as robust as some she’s tasted, but will do in a pinch. She licks her lips and hands the wineskin back. Again she sees the flash of bright pink sticking out from between his gloves and trench coat sleeve. The tunic underneath doesn’t look that vibrant, but he never takes off the coat, so it’s difficult to say. She can’t blame him for wearing several layers in this chill. “So. Where do I start?”

“Beginning’s usually a fine place.” The wineskin is already back to his lips. 

“Right.” She sighs, casts a glance over at the camp. “You met Warden Blackwall.” 

“Yeah. Thought his eyes might cut me in two.” 

“He’s like that. He, ah.” Thalia takes the wineskin back, swallows to summon the courage. The rim tastes like the makeup he’s slathered on her face, and she tries to work it off her tongue, wondering how she managed to get it there. She worries her finger at the bit of tan pigment she can see there. “He and I… well…” Her cheeks warm.

“Fucking hell.” She can feel, rather than see, Metrion’s raised eyebrows. “Him? Right old man, ain’t he?”

“It’s not like that. Well, I mean, I thought it was, or would be, at one time.” Thalia feels mortified, saying all this out loud. “I didn’t mind that he was older. He’s one of the best fighters you’ll ever see. I always felt safe with him around. And I thought he wanted me. But it never really… happened.” 

Thalia looks up, and Metrion is fixing her with one of those looks she has a difficult time parsing. Skepticism, she thinks, in the cocked brow. His eyes are narrowed, almost dangerously. And yet, he seems sad. “They always want something,” he says, almost too softly for her to hear. 

Irritation flares in her. “Now you sound like Cullen.”

“Who’s Cullen?” Metrion shoots back.

“My… I don’t know what you’d call it. Boyfriend?” 

Metrion snorts. “Hope he’s closer to you in age.”

“He is. You’re sounding awfully protective for someone who insists he’s not my friend, you know.” 

“Look, love.” Metrion takes the wineskin back and takes a purposeful swallow. “Don’t need to be a friend to tell you to be careful. With men like that, it’s always gonna be about how much power they can get over ya. But go on, tell me more about how noble and shit this Warden Blackwall is.”

“That’s the thing.” Thalia stares down at her hands. “I found out he’s not a Warden. He was lying. He was lying about everything. His name’s not even Blackwall.” 

She feels Metrion tense beside her. 

“He’s… he was…” She swallows. She can’t say the words that lodge in her throat. Criminal. Murderer. Traitor. “He was wanted for treason in Orlais. They were going to hang him.”

Metrion says nothing, taking another slow sip of wine. He looks past her, to the faint flicker of firelight in the camp. “Did he do it?” 

“Oh, yes.” Thalia blinks, and her vision blurs from the tears that come without her permission. “He definitely did.” 

Metrion watches her, then hands her back the wineskin with care. She sniffles, wipes at her eyes, smears more of the makeup, sighs. She drinks once, twice. “Sorry, I— it still hurts, you know? I saw so much good in him, I saw how he was trying to make himself better — I didn’t care about all the lies, I really didn’t — but here was everyone, everyone in positions that mattered, saying what he’d done was unforgivable. And worse, that he seemed to believe that himself.” 

Metrion is silent for a long while. When he speaks again, his voice is a raw mumble. “And this is the bloke you’re comparing me to?”

“No. Yes. I had to save him, don’t you understand? I couldn’t let him die. But he hates me for it.” 

Metrion scoffs. “Don’t think that’s true.” 

“And why not?” Thalia retorts. 

“I seen the way he looks at you.” Metrion takes the wineskin back. “Trust me, I know the difference.” 

Thalia opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. She feels as though he kicked her in the chest. She grasps clumps of wet grass and yanks them from the earth with a pained tug. Metrion drinks deeply beside her, coming up for air with a near desperate gasp. 

“’S that what you want to do to me?” he asks with a sudden, venomous edge to his voice. “‘Save me’?”

“No. It didn’t work with Blackwall; why would it work with anyone else?” Thalia forces a smile. “Besides, what’s there to save you from? An alliterative stage name?” 

Metrion chuckles, but she feels no mirth from it. “Right, yeah. Metrion the Magnificent — ’s a little over the top, innit?”

Thalia is surprised by the criticism. Pravin never approached his stage persona with anything but the utmost pride. “I think it gets the point across.” 

“Sure it does.” Metrion clutches the wineskin in his lap and studies it. “You said— this Blackwall fellow, he was trying to better himself.”

Thalia blinks. “Of course. That was the whole reason he wanted to join the Grey Wardens.”

“What if I said I’m not tryin’ to do that?” He looks at her, and his eyes seem glassy, though from the wine or grief it’s hard to tell. 

“I… don’t know.” She gets the sense he’s fishing for an answer that eludes her. “Why would you need to? You’re just an actor.” 

As soon as she speaks, the doubt comes, because he’s glancing away, sniffing, rubbing at an eye. 

“Aren’t you?” Her voice is small. 

“O’ course. Yeah.” Metrion grimaces against the lip of the wineskin. “Just not the kind your friend Fidencio would approve of.” 

Thalia takes a breath. She feels off-kilter, like they’re somehow not talking about the same thing, despite their words. “Metrion, I know what I must look like to you. But I’m not a wide-eyed innocent, or a dainty lady, ignorant to the ways of the world. And because of Fidencio, I’ve met some colorful types when it comes to the stage. Nothing about you — shocks me, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“How magnanimous of you, m’lady,” he sneers, and she flinches. 

“All right, fine then.” She snatches the wineskin away from him and drinks. It’s nearly empty. “I bared my soul to you; it’s time you returned the favor. Why do you hate the aristocracy?” 

Metrion snorts, letting out a slow, drunken laugh. I shouldn’t have let him have more, she thinks fleetingly.  “You’ve got it all wrong in your pretty little head, pet. I don’t hate ‘em. I don’t think about ‘em much at all. Except for their money.” He waves his arm with an exaggerated flourish, as if to take a bow, and clenches his fist. “And how it can be mine.” 

Realization dawns. “So you’re a thief.” 

Metrion shrugs. “Don’t really like to nail myself down to one thing.” 

“A swindler, then. A huckster. A snake oil salesman.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Never tried to sell any sort of oil, nah.” 

Thalia tries to work this through her head, which the wine has made light and warm. She feels suddenly sleepy. She sighs, eyes his shoulder, and slowly leans closer, resting her cheek against it. He doesn’t resist, but doesn’t move either, instead looking straight ahead. He really is quite bony, beneath all the layers. 

“Okay,” she says, yawning.

“Okay?” 

“Okay. You’re a real knave, I guess. You run scams on people, is that it? I just told you I was in love with a man who almost got executed for treason.” She giggles. “You can still be my friend. I don’t care.”

There is a confused silence. “You’re not… afraid I’m gonna make off with the family jewels or nothing?” 

“Joke’s on you.” Thalia smirks. “I left all my jewels back at Skyhold.” 

“Well, shit.” 

They snicker in unison, and Thalia thinks things might finally be settling between them. 

“That wine isn’t bad, you know,” she ventures.

“’S the only thing gettin’ me through, love.” Metrion takes the wineskin back, drains it in one gulp, and drops it at his side opposite her. 

She worries he’s going to suggest they go back to camp and get some sleep, but he doesn’t move. Thalia has no desire to go back either, to face the others: Blackwall’s grim visage, Pravin’s disapproving looks, Hawke’s devil-may-care bravado. She can sleep right here, she thinks, as long as he doesn’t move, which he seems to have no intention of doing. She feels a strange sort of comfort from that, if not exactly affection. 

“Metrion?” 

“Mm?” He sounds half-asleep. 

Thalia wrinkles her nose and sniffs. “Why do you smell like shoe polish?” 

His eyes pop open, the yellow irises sliding toward her. He stretches his long legs out and wiggles the toe of one boot. “Gotta keep ‘em looking proper, you know.” 

“For your magic act?” She can see him on a stage, conjuring cards from thin air. Summoning rabbits. Drawing applause, passing a hat around. Enough money, maybe, for one night, or two, or ten. She feels as if she’s on the cusp of understanding something, and it makes her terribly sad. 

“Yeah,” Metrion mutters. “For my magic act.” 

[theluckywizard]

Hi lucky!! 23 and 24?

23. the fandom you're curious about because of a mutual

Probably the closest thing I have is 'Twice Bitten' or 'Curse of Strahd' from @nirikeehan and her delightful Dragon Age crossover she is writing! And I always enjoy @monocytogenes writings for the SWTOR fandom! how has fandom positively impacted your life?

Oh gosh, it's given me such a huge creativity and growth outlet! I get so much satisfaction from interacting with people equally hyper about Dragon Age games and working to help each other become the best creators we can! And just kind of farting around and having fun has been so needed for me? I'm an extroverted stay at home mom living in a pretty rural area so it fills a social need for me in a really important way. 🥰

Thank you for asking!

[nirikeehan]

Word Search Tag Game!

I got tagged by @theluckywizard to find five words in my fics and share a snippet from each.

Gasp: from A Fool's Errand, about Thalia and Cullen's failed attempt at getting busy on his desk lmfao

“Right. Um. Hang on.” He rolled to the left, exposing the seam at his side where the two plates of metal fastened with a comically high number of leather straps. Thalia gasped as his weight shifted, pinning her even harder against the desk. The hard mahogany wood dug painfully into her lower back. “Can you reach that?”  “Sure,” Thalia lied, trying not to wince. She wriggled beneath him, struggling to free an additional arm. “Could you stop leaning on my shoulder, please?” 

Blood: from Two Songs; Truth, Sadness, Sacrifice, about a night on the town in Kirkwall gone wrong for Cullen and Samson (featuring THE BOOT KNIFE)

Cullen slammed into him, knocking the boy’s cap off. A second later, he had Quno by the hair, standing behind him with the dagger to his neck. Quno let out a truncated squeal that Cullen silenced by pressing the blade closer to his scrawny throat.  “You’ll consider Samson’s debt paid,” Cullen rasped, “or else—” “Fucking—” Quno held up his arm, another ball of magic swirling in his hand, but Cullen concentrated on the lyrium in his blood and summoned a dispelling force. The spell went out with a hiss, like a torch dropped in a bucket of water.  Only then did Quno understand. Cullen felt the boy’s body tense with terror. “You— you’re a fucking Templar?” 

Gently: from It's Never Sunny in Barovia, my unhinged Curse of Strahd crossover WIP that no one asked for, featuring Metrion from Curse of Strahd: Twice Bitten which everyone should listen to so I'm not flying this blorbo flag alone

Thalia tries to protest, but he cuts her off. “No, no, maybe you’re right, a little bit. Or a lot. I dunno. Fuck. I never wanted to be in this place. It’ll wear you down, break you, faster’n you can run. We been told the devil knows our every move, that it’s all a game to him. That we’ll stay alive as long as we keep things interesting. But I dunno if painting your face would make much of a difference in the long run, if he’s got an eye on ya.”  Metrion sounds mournful, apologetic, as if trying to break bad news as gently as he can. Thalia reaches out, with a pang of sympathy, and touches his elbow through his long overcoat. He freezes, dares to meet her gaze only briefly before averting it again.  “Strahd must have a weakness,” Thalia says. “Everyone does.” How can she explain to him that she once stood down a man who would be god? What’s one more vampiric tyrant, in the face of someone like Corypheus? 

Sky: from Chapter 1 of Through a Glass, Darkly:

The sky hung low like a threat. It pulsated emerald green, punctuated by swirling dark clouds and detritus. His mouth tasted of ashes. The courtyard was choked with dead grass and fallen rock. Cullen blinked at it dumbly. His eyes hurt, even in the dim light. The near-total darkness of his cell had been all he’d known for weeks beyond count. 

Sharp: from the in-progress next chapter of Through a Glass, Darkly:

Some time later, Thalia returned to her tent, a bitter aftertaste lingering in her mouth. She felt a bit off-kilter, but relieved. Blackwall sat where she’d left him, his whetstone sliding along the edge of his blade in long, slow strokes. His eyes were on the fire.  Irritation stirred in Thalia’s chest. “That must be the sharpest sword known to man by now.”  His eyes snapped to her; his hand paused. Thalia felt a strange pang to behold him like this. Terrible memories churned in her mind: Blackwall’s sudden disappearance, his impassioned speech on the gallows in Val Royeaux, the way he’d looked at her through the bars of his cell. This is why I told you we couldn’t be together, he said, with perfect loathing, while her heart rent in two.

Tagging it forward to:

@bluewren | @monocytogenes | @inquisimer | @exalted-dawn-drabbles | @demarogue | @kiastirling-fanfic | anyone who wants to play!

Words for you to find: broken, tooth, stroll, civilization, satisfied.

[nirikeehan]

❛ i’ve formed the habit of liking you. ❜ from F. Scott Fitzgerald prompts and 'exulansis n. the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it.' from Obscure Sorrows for Thalia & Metrion

*DEEP BREATH* All right, fine.

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 2232

CW: Discussion of sexual abuse/exploitation

Also major major spoilers for Metrion's storyline in Curse of Strahd: Twice Bitten if that's something anyone cares about

---

“Metrion? Are you up there?”

Some indistinct mumbling as a reply. Thalia sighs, shifting her weight at the base of the tree. The afternoon is damp —  it’s always damp, always overcast in Barovia. 

He’s stormed away after an argument. Another argument, the kind that seem to brew out of nowhere and rip the party in two, becoming more and more frequent. The origin point is always absurdly small. This one, it seemed, came from Pravin and Blackwall’s disapproval of certain methods employed to procure supplies in Vallaki. Was it that Thalia’s face was flushed with success, the thrill of some forbidden pleasure? It’s not her fault that she can play off Metrion’s silver tongue so easily, nor that the markup at the Stockyard is so absurd as to drive desperate travelers to employ underhanded means. 

Unkind words bandied about, more innuendo than outright accusation. Seniority amid the older men asserted, at which Metrion balks. (He hates authority with a burning passion, Thalia has noticed.) Crude but accurate insults levied, Hawke standing by trying to mediate — and then. 

What had Blackwall said? 

You seem to enjoy thievery a little too much, my lady. You and your boy whore. 

Words aimed to cut, and so they had. Thalia reeled as if slapped, but as she rushed to defend him, Metrion whirled on the heel of his boot and took off. 

How dare you, Thalia said. 

Blackwall spat in the dirt. Sounds an awful lot like an admission to me. 

Well, yes. That’s why it hurts, doesn’t it? Metrion, who will argue about grass being green just to get a rise out of someone he dislikes, has no words against such an accusation. A cultivated accusation, built by a number of incidents, including some off-color jokes, some nervous laughter. (When she’d leaned against him and he’d done nothing — just tolerated her, like medicine. Like someone who hasn’t properly paid for his time. Maker, what has she done?) 

She eyes the trunk of the tree. “If you think being up there will stop me, you ought to know I’m quite adept at climbing.” 

Silence. Uncharacteristic for him, usually so garrulous. The lad can probably talk his way back from falling off a cliff, Hawke observed at one point. Thalia sighs and grabs a branch, hoisting herself up. 

She finds him midway up the tree, nestled in a crook of branch and leaf, staring off at some indistinct point. She is relieved he has not seemed to have broken out the wineskin. This will be much more difficult if he’s drunk, which seems to be a nightly occurrence. Thalia settles at a safe distance, a yard or so away, arranging herself as gracefully as she can on an adjacent branch. He doesn’t look at her. 

“It’s sort of nice up here,” she observes, hoping to crack the ice. “Safe from any wandering wolves or undead, at least.”

Nothing. 

She sighs. “You’re lucky I’ve formed the habit of liking you, Metrion. You can make it difficult to be your friend sometimes.” 

“Right,” he sneers. “I’m the one who’s so bloody lucky.” 

Thalia will take venom over silence. “I came to apologize on behalf of my retinue. Blackwall was way out of line.” 

Metrion shrugs. “It’s clear what they think of me, ain’t it?”

Thalia bites her lip. Say it isn’t true, Metrion. Tell me he got it wrong. She finds it difficult to breathe. She wants to touch him and make him look at her, but doesn’t dare. “They don’t speak for me.” 

“Yeah?” He laughs, though nothing is funny — the small, brittle giggle that makes him sound so young. Younger than her, maybe. He told her once he doesn’t know his own birthday. He swallows, painfully. “Why not?” 

She flexes the hand with the anchor, its magic grown so dim and ethereal in this strange realm. If not for the gash on her hand, she’d still be locked away in the Ostwick Circle, a caged bird singing for her supper. Perhaps not so different from a street magician — someone whose livelihood depends on his performance. Her stomach twists. “At the Circle, we supposedly wanted for nothing. Everything was to be provided for us. But it never was, not really. There was never enough of anything to go around. We were fed enough, and clothed, sure, but there’s so much you’d never think would be difficult to get until someone withheld it from you. Extra quills. Parchment. Little trinkets like hair combs. Just… things a free person would never think about twice.” 

He’s turned toward her, head cocked slightly, lips pursed. He’s listening. At least there’s that. 

Thalia takes a slow breath. “There were rumors, of course. Things a mage could do… favors. For certain Templars. In exchange for special items.” Her hands are trembling. She’s never told anyone this. It has seemed impossible to voice before now. “In a storeroom, usually. Or some back corridor no one used.” She sighs. “They were always men.” 

Metrion is looking her full in the face, slack-jawed, gold eyes glittery with an unexpected fury. “And?” 

“I couldn’t do it,” Thalia confesses, chest tight. “I thought about it for awhile. Thought maybe I could handle it. Thought it wouldn’t be so bad. But I didn’t want any Templar to know who I was, for any reason. It’s dangerous to be singled out like that. In the end, I wasn’t brave enough.” 

Again, that sad, knowing laugh. Metrion averts his gaze. “It’s not bravery, love.” 

That’s confirmation enough. Thalia closes her eyes. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing to me? That sounds like a real shit place you were in.” He’s angry, really angry, on her behalf. 

“Metrion.” She sighs, exasperated as much as sorrowful. “I don’t mean for this to be about me. I just wanted you to know — whatever circumstances you’ve been in, I understand. And I’m not going to judge you for it.” 

Metrion mumbles, “Yeah, well, maybe you should.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Thalia demands, aghast. 

“Just that — look.” A strange statement, as he’s looking anywhere but at her. His hand is in the pocket of his oversized leather coat, drawing out the wineskin. “Your story’s very sad, gets me right in me heart. But you were in prison, yeah? Mage jail or whatever. You didn’t have much choice.” 

Thalia reaches out and slaps her palm over the lid of the wineskin before he can drink. “And you’re saying you did?”

He meets her gaze, finally. He is quite handsome, in an exotic way, with the olive skin and messy hair and unusual eyes, the elongated incisor tipped in gold. A bit too slight, perhaps, for her tastes, and she’s gotten the sense his eyes linger less on women than on men — but deserving all the same. Her stomach clenches, thinking of people who would see these qualities as a commodity. Who might get angry if he didn’t perform as promised. 

He pulls away from her grasp, scowling. “Maybe once I didn’t.” He takes a hefty swig. “But how many times do you have to keep at something before it’s sort of your own doing?” 

Thalia looks from him to the wineskin. “There’s reasons why it’s more difficult to stop some things than others.”

Metrion smirks and shakes his head. “You do what you’re good at, you know? I’ve tried other things, don’t get me wrong. We had a real go of it in the shop, you and I. But when the coin’s so easy, and the other hustles are hard…” He shrugs, drinks again. “Your fake warden’s right, is what I’m saying. Guilty as charged.” 

“All right. Okay. I don’t care, Metrion. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” Thalia watches him sadly. “But you do. I’m not sure why.” 

He snorts, affecting the posh accent he saves for marks — and perhaps other sorts, she realizes, anguished. “Grand lady inquisitor and her loyal attendants: the Champion of Kirkwall, a Grey Warden, the most renowned thespian on the inner continent… and this.” He gestures to himself with a sweep of the hand.

“Metrion the Magnificent, celebrated magician and my friend,” Thalia cuts in, stubbornly. “We don’t have to tell anyone the other part, if you’d prefer.”

“You still don’t get it, do you?” His voice has taken on a vicious edge. “There is no other part. I’m not that person at all. My name’s not even Metrion.”

Thalia opens her mouth and closes it again. She had assumed all along Metrion is a stage name, but that’s not what he means. “You told me,” she says slowly, “you had a magic act. You were traveling to a new city for a patronage, and then you woke up in the mists.” She swallows hard. “Is all of that a lie?”

“Metrion had a magic act.” He drinks and he drinks. “He was just a lonely old man, looking for company.”

A flash of anger hits her. “Paid company.” Thalia huffs. “Don’t make him the victim in this.”

“And if I stole from him when he was asleep? Took the money, took his cart, took his whole livelihood, so I could have a cover and get out of town? Who’s the victim then?” 

“I’d still say it’s you.” Thalia crosses her arms. “You want to talk about choices? It sounds like he had a lot of them, and you had very few. Am I wrong?”

He pauses, glancing sideways at her. “D’you always go out of your way to give excuses for shit people?” 

Thalia bites her lip to keep from smiling, in spite of herself. “I’m told it’s a weakness of mine, yes. The problem is, I don’t usually see them as shit.” 

He’s quiet for a long moment, his eyes staring, unseeing, at a far distant point. Then he looks at her and the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you curse, m’lady.” 

Relieved, Thalia laughs softly. “I think maybe you’re rubbing off on me, whoever you are.” 

“Morninglord forbid.” He joins her in a hesitant chuckle. “’S what they’re scared of, innit? At the end of the day. That my wanton ways will sully you by association. High class fucks always think like that, but they’re often real quick to sneak in the back and pay extra for your silence.” 

“I think you’re right,” Thalia says. She leans back against the trunk of the tree and thinks of Blackwall’s smug face, and the way Pravin had sided with him for once. “And they’re jealous,” she realizes. “I’ve relied on them both for so much for so long. That I could have a friend like you… I think it threatens them.” 

“Sure it does.” He smirks. “We could have a whole con act going if we wanted. You’re not bad, you know.”

“Neither are you.” Thalia ponders that for a bit. “It might be easier if I was the one who offered you a job, though.” 

He cocks an eyebrow. “I’m usually more of an independent contractor, if you catch my meaning.”

“Not that sort of job,” Thalia cries, a little flustered. “I’m just saying. Your skillset would fit what my spymaster is looking for.” Leliana would be impressed, of that she has no doubt — if she could keep Pravin from going apoplectic. “And you wouldn’t have to do— any of that other stuff anymore. If you didn’t want to.” 

“You want to hire me as a spy?” 

“Why not?” Thalia asks. “I think you’d like Skyhold. There’s a well-stocked tavern there, for starters.”

“All right, now you’ve got my attention.” He straightens, taking a deliberate sip from the wineskin. “One problem, though. We’re in here and your Inquisition is out there.” 

“Yeah. Minor obstacle,” Thalia concedes. “It’s nice to think about, though. It’s really beautiful there. When you’re on the battlements and the afternoon sun hits the keep from above the mountains, you can see for miles.” 

“Heh, yeah. Never thought I’d miss the sun so much.” The man who isn’t Metrion sighs, stowing the wineskin back into a coat pocket. “I’ll think about it, I guess. Assuming we don’t die here. Or your retinue pulverizes me at the suggestion.” 

“I don’t think they need to know about it yet.” Thalia smirks. “Can I ask one thing, though?”

“Maybe.” He shrugs noncommittally.

Thalia clicks her tongue at his cheekiness. “If your name isn’t Metrion, is there something else I should be calling you?” 

He goes quite still. “My given name ain’t very flattering. I don’t really like it. Other names have come and gone; I’m not much attached to those neither.” He shrugs. “Metrion’s fine for now.”

“Well, if you think of something better, let me know.” She smiles tentatively. 

“You’ll be the first, love.” He leans his head against the tree trunk, closing his eyes. 

 Thalia chews the inside of her cheek. “I can leave you alone now, if you’d like.” She has to face the others, sometime. 

“You can stay,” he mumbles, and for a second she’s not sure she’s heard right, until he peeks at her from behind the trunk between them. “If you want.” 

A bit of warmth spreads across her chest, a welcome respite from all this damp chill. “All right.” 

She settles into the crook where the branch meets the tree. They sit there for some time, in silence.