#valorcorrupt

[mercysought]

for Anora: 5 times betrayed

five times _____ // accepting // @valorcorrupt (with a cameo from @nobroth)

I

   "There is no reason to fret my darling."

He says it so easily and loudly, as brightly as the chirping birds outside of Denerim's castle. It would be easy to be swayed just by tone alone. The King spoke it and it was true, and yet Anora found herself sinking further and further onto herself - trying hard not to feel the biting of the disappointment in her mouth.

   "It's nothing but a small hunting trip with my uncle and a few other fellows!" he waves towards the entourage behind him, some who noticed her presence bowed. Others, while noticing, simply continued on their conversation, not even glancing in her direction "There will be a lot of mud. A lot of rough housing, it is no place for a Lady such as yourself!"

   "Cailan," the Queen starts, huffing with a small incredulous smile and her voice lowering "you are being ridiculous." Cailan's brows arch and his smile falters, body shifting at her words "I'm not going to break for being outside. And especially not from a hunt," he would know this. Much as he seemed to forget more often these days, she too had killed those giants with him. Much as Eamon liked to tell the story as Cailan's single achievement. Anora holds his arm, her voice lowering further and brows arching "I've been craving to leave the Castle - please."

His hand covers hers and at first she feels relief. Relief at the squeezing and at his fingers around her soft palm. But he holds it tighter, prying her hold from him, holding it between both of his hands lightly.

   "We can't both go! I promise you we'll both go on our own hunting trips once this is over." he speaks but the tone is wrong. His eyes wander over his shoulder to the group of equally young men and his uncle. They talk loudly, they do not care about what the King and Queen speak about, and yet from Cailan's shoulders, she can tell he is worried. Worried about what?

Anora doesn't know, and even as her light eyes fall on the group, she cannot find it.

   "I just need to..." the words dissipate and his attention returns to her, but barely. He smiles and waves his hand "get some air. Outside of Denerim. Clear my head, release the weight of being a King for a few weeks."

Get away from you. Is a thought that completes the sentence, though he does not speak it and Anora feels a dread that it fits all too well with the way his face twists upon looking back at her with an easy smile. She tries her best to do the same when he kisses her forehead. Then her lips.

His eyes level with hers and she tries, she truly tries to muster a smile even from the growing pit in her stomach. But all she can feel is how he wants to go, to let go of her hands and to turn his back to her.

   "Plus, you are so great at this, even without me around. I trust you." she opens her mouth to speak but his hand lifts to press against her lips; Cailan's mouth on hers follows one last time. It is brief. And it is cold. It leaves her feeling cold "I leave Ferelden in your trusty hands. I'll be back before you know it."

Her eyes watch him for a moment. The golden armour in the sunlight. She feels like just a girl again, but without the knowledge, the certainty that she knew what her place was anymore. It hurt, and whatever hurt could not be so easily named. Her eyes follow him for a few more moments as her hands close to a fist, and then they fall on Eamon who stands taller than the rest of the boys that will accompany the King.

The Queen knows, even at this age, what young boys and soldiers do when they are off on hunts. What they expect. And the hurt within her grows sharper as her eyes narrow against Eamon's eyes.

II

   "You promised me, Cailan," she tries to keep her voice from faltering. Her tone from raising into the shout though her mouth forms the shape and her teeth become too sharpened "You promised!"

She hears her voice slide off her stabled edge and shatter over her lips, just as she feels the tears burning at the corners of her mouth. Cailan does not look at her, he withdraws as he always does and she follows in her warm dress. He wears the crown and she has long since placed it down, since the beginning of the conversation.

He doesn't look at her. And she holds his arm, keeping him from withdrawing further into the door. Her lips twitch as he starts to pull, her voice raises to a shrill, tears now falling down "YOU PROMISED BEFORE THE MAKER AND AND—"

   "I AM YOUR KING!"

His voice rings, rings across the room they share - it roars above the flames and it stuns her into silence. Mouth hanging open in half disbelief and half trembling from the air being pulled from her lungs. Cailan does not look at her, but he pulls his arm from her grasp all the same. His breath shakes as the silence shakes. The ferocity of the statement, its shock, clear on his face too.

   "I am your King, Anora." he repeats, firm, light eyes still down cast but finding hers.

Her mouth hangs open. He is her King, he says. And his eyes say that she should be quiet. That she should be thankful. His eyes are downcast and she looks at this man for the first time it dawns of her that she doesn't know who he is. She hates this man. There is something within her that breaks. The tears keep flowing but her mouth shuts "But just because you have grown cold towards me, because you are a frigid woman—" he looks at her as he presses the hot knives into her.

She should be lucky. Lucky that she is his Queen. That he still deigns to visit her. That he only has a handful of mistresses and that he does not flaunt them quite so openly as other nations. Though the words at Court cut deeply, the whispers strangle her as much as the shame. But not as much as looking at Cailan's face and not recognising him anymore.

Hadn't they loved each other, once?

   "It should not mean I should be kept from seeking that comfort elsewhere."

The door slams. And she lets him go. It is one of the many nights that follows that she so much as doesn't fall asleep as she sinks into the burning fatigue of the tears. Sinking into an anger that remains alive and well in the morning as she rises. In the steel she puts on when her crown is worn in her head.

III

   "I have a lot of work to do." Anora speaks plainly, not looking up from the parchments over her desk. Cailan had deign himself as a point of contact for the Wardens that had come to visit Denerim and it seemed that every other matter was to be attended by her. It was not uncommon, it no longer bit into her with sharpened teeth. This was an old ache, one that kept being filled. Light eyes lift from the desk and she confirms it is her father that approaches from the darkened doorway "And I'm not good company at present, even for you. Please."

But he doesn't leave. He hesitates and she sighs. With annoyance and impatience. By the looks of the burning candle she would still be at this for a few more hours, she did not need the distraction if she was to still look presentable in the morning when the meeting with the Warden Commander proper was to happen.

Her father hesitates, and he never does. Her eyes fall on his hands as she sees a few sheets of parchment. Letters by the look of them. Anora shifts in her chair. Fine "What is it?"

   "We must speak, Anora."

She scoffs. Yes, that much she had understood. And yet he doesn't match her expression, as he approaches the light from the fireplace and the candle she only sees deeper lines. However, it was one aspect that worried her: her father's growing health concerns, he was no growing younger and, at times, she worried about some comments he made. A thought, a concern, best left for when she had more time.

   "Well, it can wait until morning." the Queen finally speaks, her eyes and attention returning to the work at hand before the interruption "I wish to be left alone."

   "No darling girl," Loghain's voice lowers to a whisper, placing down opened letters on top of the parchments she had been writing. The Queen's brow arches - first at the broken wax seal that she recognised - one of King's Cailan personal exchange. Her eyes immediately glance up to her father whose eyes do not waver from hers. This was treason.

Anora's eyes glance back down to the letters, now focusing on the wax and handwriting that she too recognised: The Valmont lion, the gold in the wax. Celene's handwriting. She feels cold. Cold as a wave of rage starts to burn at the edges of her lungs, her heartbeat growing in intense in her ears as her shaky hands reach for the letters.

What have you done, Cailan? "It cannot wait until morning."

IV

   "In these troubling times, upon Queen Anora's request," his father's words ring, and she wishes to glance in his direction. She hopes she can eat the bewildered expression that threatens to crack her carefully placed face "I shall take the role of Regent."

He announces it to the court and the whispers that raise from them make her stomach churn. In her mourning garb, Anora feels herself grow smaller. Smaller still. Not even with Cailan gone she would be able to stand in the light. Loghain had explained to her. Times would be hard. The onslaught of the darkspawn at Ostagar had been beyond belief and Cailan had done nothing but parade himself and his wardens like a peacock.

Anora had said nothing, nothing beyond the shock of knowing that Cailan was gone. After loving him and hating him for twice as long, he was gone without even a body to burn. Her father had told her that they would require a general to lead and the people looked up to him.

Did they? After Ostagar? After what she had heard of what he had done? The words died in her mouth. All she could do is believe. Believe he was looking out for her, only wishing to shelter his grieving daughter from the worse that was to come. But she didn't feel sheltered. She felt shoved, shoved once more out of the role that she was born to play. First by her husband. Now by her father.

Loghain continued.

   "To protect Ferelden, from both Darkspawn and any nation or organization that might want to seize her independence."

V

   "I didn't want to be King - I still don't but if that's what it takes to see Loghain get Justice then I'll do it! I'll take the Crown!"

Anora feels her heart beat loudly in her chest. Her eyes fleet in wild panic between Alistair and Inara. Her father had been defeated, he had yielded to the Wardens. She had brought up even that the Wardens could easily be a death sentence too to some! And yet Alistair continued to push to make sure that her father's blood would be on Denerim's castle floors. As if they hadn't had more important matters to attend! As if he himself hadn't made it a point to say that the Wardens were not meant to take royalty roles. As if he was not a bastard, himself with no real claim to the throne (or wish!) except for the pushing of a rotten man.

Anora's eyes find Eamon's in the crowd and he looks at her. She wishes she was a better person, she wishes to the Maker that she could be stronger than to think that he was better off dead.

   "Listen to this! You can you see how disastrous a King he'd be - putting his own selfish desires above the needs of his country!" her eyes fall to Inara, her eyes bewildered in hope that she would say something. Anything. When she sees her blank expression, the soft panic in her stomach grows into a simmer fire. Her eyes turn instead to her father and then back at the crowd of nobles. The Queen's hand pointing at the bastard "You can't seriously support him!"

And Inara keeps quiet. Only the whispering of the crowd grows. As well as her panic. Her light eyes find her father's and she wishes she could take a step forward towards him.

   "And I thought you weren't going to stab me in the back." Alistair looks to Inara, continuing speaking a poison that Anora knows too well "Funny how nothing ever turns out like you thought it would."

   "Alistair, compose yourself." Anora sneers, taking a step toward the warden, standing between the two of them.

   "Fine, you want Loghain in the Grey Wardens so badly?" he sneers and it is in that moment that it is undeniable to her who he was. Who truly had been this boy's father. Cailan's brother. The sneer was the same "Then I'll be leaving the Wardens to marry Anora."

She hears her heartbeat in her ears. The Queen looks to Inara only to be met with silence. It's this or you will lose the throne. These people are going to support him, a bastard over you - they have shown you this. Do not get sidelined.

And so she agrees to go with it. Sidelined once more. By the man she thought she loved and loved her. By her father. By a friend. By a bastard. Sidelined once more.

[theharellan]

[ approval ] + killing Iander when she's asked

Approval Meme | Selectively Accepting

Greatly disapproves.

When Wisdom died, it had been Ian's voice that stayed his hand.

And now?

Now, it is Ian's voice again. Only now it is a memory.

Only it is without the comfort of his touch to soothe how mercy burns cold. Colder than vengeance. Colder than-

"I am sure she convinced herself it was no different than putting down her blighted brothers at arms. Or perhaps she, slayer of monsters, believed him one already- for what is more monstrous than a mage in the Maker's eyes?"

It does not matter what she told herself, or what he told her. What matters is that there is a needless hole in the world. That another elf's future has been stolen by human hands. Ian had feared the Templars who tried, and loved the Warden who succeeded.

Monstrous grief claws up his throat, and he feels his teeth sharp in his mouth. Sharp enough to devour the world. Through the muzzle of his hand over his lips, he curses her,

"May she suffer a cold, lonely death in the darkest depths of the Deep Roads. May misery hound her until she draws her last, hopeless death. Nadas din'lan. May she find no friend when death claims her."

[duete]

" Yes, well, this time I haven't been tortured for days whilst blood mages dig around in my brain with an icepick after systematically killing every friend I'd ever made. "

" So yes, I'm feeling a bit better. "

[hoboblaidd]

Never have I ever killed my friend and then puppeted his corpse to manipulate someone else

ask memes | never have i ever

"It was an accident." He doesn't take the shot, partly because his metaphorical fingers are in his metaphorical ears, and because in fairness, while he may have suggested the recurring appearance of not-Varric, he let Rook's severely traumatized and injured brain do the rest.

[avrorean]

꧁ @valorcorrupt.🚶 ↳ npc roundup!

EVUNE OF CLAN IROSYL Circle Apprentice. Nanna's first love.

For all the monotony the Circle promised to provide in its day-to-day, Evune felt electrified. Her steps carried the restrained bounding energy of newfound purpose as they carried her into the library, barely touched by the first rays of the sun. Still quiet, basically empty save for a few early rising bookworms locked between the pages of their books and notes. None of them interested her. Evune was only interested in finding her bookworm.

And there she was. Studious and pretty and tucked away in one of the little secret hovels between the bookcases. Evune felt her heart leap in her chest.

Today was the day. 

“Nan!”

Violet eyes shot up at her half-whisper cut sharply through the morning silence, smiling at the elven girl as she crawled in beside her, but Evune paused when caught the slight wince when she’d turned her head too quickly. The bruise was still a dark shadow across her face. 

“Does it still hurt?”

Nanna winced again, but more at the acknowledgement than in response to any pain. Her eyes turned back down to her book, though Evune doubted she was taking any of it in. “It… will heal soon, I am sure.”

“I am sure.” Evune repeated the words, but with little of Nanna’s mustered conviction. It would heal, but it would still take time. So instead of reacting, she took the other girl’s face in her hands and gently turned the wounded cheek towards the scarce morning light. Evune almost thought to lie, to playfully declare that it was already barely noticeable, but it wouldn’t do even as a joke. The bruise was still as angry and dark as the sky at dusk, and a pool of red still threatened to break the surfacejust under the soft curve of her cheekbone. No point in the lie then, even if it was kindly meant. 

So with no one else around, Evune pressed a kiss to the wounded cheek, turned the girl’s head back toward her, and the two shared a kiss in the dim light between the bookshelves. It was a small one, but the chilly, dimly lit corner of the library seemed warmer for it.

“Better?”

That seemed to brighten Nanna's expression; she smiled wide, and a reddish color darkened the tips of her ears as she giggled. Evune took her hand in her own. She loved that sound. 

“Good. You’ll need that positive attitude for what I have in store.”

“And what would that be?” Nanna teased, stacking her books together as she readied to replace them on the shelf. “Stealing my history notes again? Since you so excelled in examinations last month.”

“Even better.” Evune may not have risen to Nanna's teasing, but did tug pointedly on her ear for her cheek. Then, suddenly, she drew close and the elven girl lowered her voice drastically. “Listen. Get what you need and meet me here again tonight. I finally found it.”

Nanna’s smile faltered somewhat, her eyes darkening ever so slightly with the pooling of quiet confusion. “Found…what?”

Evune squeezed her hand, and didn’t seemed bothered by Nanna’s sudden hesitance. She grinned wide enough for the both of them. 

“Our way out.”

[anextravagantliar]

Your brand is literally being Varric. Being likable. Perhaps in charge. Large friend group of dangerous people. Writing friend fiction. Grabbing knives that then sometimes kill you. (Reversible)

what is elisa's brand?

I don't have icons anymore, but I used to have the Bill Wurtz icon, which is a made-up icon. But you know what? My brand, being a grumpy, short old man, is not the worst thing.

I do like to play with knives.

[p4ranxoia]

I was bored !!

[redemptior]

@valorcorrupt is weighing her options

"DO YOU hear that? time's wasting, warden. how is the cure coming along?"

[mercysought]

Tell us about the strangest gift Cailan ever gave Anora

unprompted, my beloved // always accepting // @valorcorrupt

Oh I had a terrible idea which I might expand on later, but let's go for a short version: I can totally see one of his lovers being a lower noble from the southern of Ferelden with an animal in the crest or maybe even an orlesian lower noble with a bird for a crest or something. And that lady (or lord, I guess)'s name started with an A, as well.

The important part is this: Anora is not a woman for jewelry. Not ostentatious, this is still a nation coming from occupation and rebuilding, literally basically out of the woods so to speak (before the blight comes along peeking through rip).

So I'm going to go with a large necklace or headpiece with an "A" on it, with a large red or whatever colour the crest is alongside an engraving of the animal (let's say, for example, a swan). I think it is likely someone saw the present in the King's Quarters and took it to Anora's chambers, assuming it was for her. She would have probably found it strange. Odd.

Until much later realising what happened.

This would have been really towards the end of their relationship and before his death but uh let's say that argument was something that could have likely been heard in the kitchens.

[theharellan]

Say Inara somehow is not dead and ends up as Rook. Would Solas be more open with her than a default Rook, or feel like he needed to be MORE manipulative?

semi-random asks | always accepting | @valorcorrupt

I think the most important thing to address is that for Solas openness and manipulation aren't conflicting states of being.

He is pretty open with Rook when he wants to be, but it still feeds into the manipulation. He wants them to regret, so he uses his own history with loss and leadership to both prepare them for their own losses and prime their mind for taking them as hard as he does. Not to say that he's always open with Rook, but I digress.

His manipulation of Inara would be more precise. He knows her better, for one. Solas has done his research on Rook, and knows them well enough to use their relationship with Varric to blind them to the truth. He also has a higher estimation of her abilities, generally. Rook is untested, unproven, and it is only later in the game they can earn his respect (potentially, while in-game it is guaranteed you earn his respect I think for rp it depends on the Rook). Inara, for all his grievances with her, is tested. She has united a country, commanded. If he were to pick a mortal to test against two Archdemons, it would be her.

Unfortunately, he doesn't think any mortal can truly triumph (ironically Veilguard proves him somewhat right in that regard).

This knowledge of her would mean that he would think his best course of action would be to manipulate through a more open dialogue. They are both commanders who know loss. The south, Ferelden, the very land she laid her life on the line to defend is now in ruins because of her. He understands that feeling, he can use it, nudging it so it likely becomes the linchpin of his escape rather than Varric. He may not even bother lying about Varric at all, especially in a verse where Ian is dead by her hands. There are better threads to pull, and they both know one another as killers.

Two final notes:

I know in some situations Inara is supportive of Veilfall, but unfortunately I think in that scenario Solas simply would not trust her and would instead prefer to switch places and trap her through deception than honesty.

Also, while I think Solas didn't intend to leave Rook (or Inara) in that prison forever, in verses where she killed Tranquil!Ian she can rot as far as he's concerned.

[duete]

"You ever think about how much like Anders feather thing your little fur cape looks?"

" I do not think about Anders. "

That's a lie.

" No. Inara. I don't think about that. It's a mantle. He had feathers, this is fur. I've seen more people wear them around here."

[hoboblaidd]

You’ll hear it tonight. When you’re supposed to be asleep.

If you’re awake, you’ll hear it right away. If you’re asleep, well. It might wake you. It might not. We’ll see.

It’ll start slow. A flicker of noise that you can’t place. Something that tickles the edges of your senses. You should roll over, go back to sleep. Close your eyes and ignore the commotion. But you won’t, of course. You’ll explore. That’s in your nature.

As you move, you know you should turn around. The floor is cold against your feet and the air holds a chill that penetrates deeper than skin. You should go back to bed. But you follow the noise, the crackling almost-something.

There’s a soft light coming through a door you’ve never seen before. You should turn around, something tells you. You should go back to sleep. Your heart will thunder as you reach for the door. You should turn around. YOU SHOULD TURN AROUND.

If you go into the room, the horrible feeling will swell in your chest as the door closes with a power that you cannot stop. You can grab the handle; it won’t turn, won’t move. The seam of the door no longer exists. The chords will strike.

A man’s voice you’ve never heard before rings out, proclaiming that you’re no strangers to love.

Solas can count on one hand the number of times he has dreamt unconsciously. It typically took powerful magic to sever his command of the Fade.

When he wakes this morning, it’s not with a start, but it is with a frown. He glances at the elfroot he’d inadvertently left burning last night, he glances at the bottle of honeyed brandy he and Varric had probably drank too much of, and finally, he glances at Dhavi, who’s doing her hair.

He shakes it off as an unfortunate side effect of the Western Approach’s heat and sun exposure, and goes about his morning. But damn if he can’t stop humming that song for the rest of the day.

[avrorean]

Bad Fanon Takes: Straight. Hair is silky smooth. Carried her own Old God Baby. It was Solas.

This is the worst series of words I have ever seen in my life, thank you.

[coryphcus]

@valorcorrupt continued from here

“You too, huh?” The laugh she offers is hollow. She’s on her back, staring up at what is currently the sky and, in a few moment’s time may be the floor, or the wall, or a thousand miles away.  She hates this place.  And yet, somehow, death in it escapes her. It’s been– fuck, she doesn’t even know. But hunger doesn’t scrape at her ribs. Exhaustion does not pull at her eyelids, except for in the way that languishing boredom and resignation to an eternity here does.  Her head turns towards the hulking has-been magister, the twisted and angry thing that joins her here in undeath. No matter how many times they leave each other’s company, somehow… they wind up face-to-face.  She should have thrown Hawke at that fucking spider. Shoved his whole head in its mouth, planted her foot in his ass. How goddamn dare the Inquisitor leave her– to fix his mistakes! It was almost disappointing how easy it was to kill the fucking thing. Sometimes, she still gives the hulking corpse that does not decay another stab, when she’s particularly angry. “Your whole fuckin’ thing is how you were so strong, you broke in here once. Why can’t you break out? Weak.”

She looks pathetic.

Wardens were known for better. If that's even what she still considered herself at this point.

Maybe if she was any bit blessed, Corypheus thinks, she'd submit to the calling soon enough and death would take her. That is, if the passage of time even occurs in this place. The darkspawn is inclined to think otherwise.

Inara would feel a tap at the back of her head, caressing the very edges of her consciousness with his influence, and merely hovers that power over her like a weight he threatened to drop down on her at any moment.

His arms remain held behind his back, standing tall amid the space between them. The giant spider has yet to be anything else. It's revolting, with all of the gaping holes within it, looking nothing short of something infested and heavy laden with disease.

He didn't care for the ever changing environment. Whatever sense these spirits tried to make out of the world outside of the Fade, they were doing a terrible and shoddy job.

This was just surrealism hell.

"Patience is the key amongst all of this."

Keeping an easy distance from her, he remains unfazed. This place was maddening, but his mental fortitude remained strong.

"It surprises me none that you lack it."

[theodosiani]

Romantic Partner for Ghilan'nain: Arl Eamon Guerrin. She can eat him

Match My Muse || Accepting || @valorcorrupt

Eating him is a waste of resources. He’s got perfectly good limbs and organs to harvest. Not the face though, that’s going right in the trash. There’s not much redeeming about that but we make do with what we’re given.

[relentlessgrief]

BOOOOOONE