#arc. arl of amaranthine.
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@stormlit asked: ❝ you’re alive! oh, you’re alive! ❞
"Oh, my love -" The words left him in a heavy sigh, relief washing over him as he moved close enough to embrace her. Arms tightly around her shoulders, he buried his face in her hair, and he held her there, taking a few moments to convince himself that, yes, she was safe in his arms. Sometimes, it felt as though being an arl was more trouble than it was worth. It wasn't the first time there had been an attempt on his life and it surely would not be the last - an exhausting thought, if there ever was one. As if Howe and his treacherous ways had not been enough.
"It was nothing," he said, as if it were true. His sleeve was torn, and the attack had been close enough to have drawn blood but he would survive. As it turned out, Balfour Cousland was a difficult man to kill. "Look, look at me, I'm well." His hand came to her cheek, touch soft, to make Georgie look up at him now. "Are you well?"
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My DA Worldstates
uhh this is just notes for me to keep everything straight because i have two worldstates now and i'm notoriously stupid
Worldstate One
Elves
HoF: Mahanon Tabris; transmasc/warrior/kills connor/saves the mages/kills werewolves/puts bhelen on the throne/defiles the ashes of andraste/reaver arc/spares loghain/fucks off immediately after the epilogue and disappears with his goth gf Morrigan
Warden-Commander: Elyon Andras; transmasc/warrior/dalish/estranged husband/dead kid/orlesian courts/arl of amaranthine/recruits all the wardens/lets the city burn and returns to defend vigil's keep
CoK: Garrett Hawke; transmasc/mage/purple+blue/friendmances Fenris/sides with the mages/spares Anders(?? still working on him)
(featuring Laurent Surana, who romances Sebastian and tags along as a companion arc)
HoA: Iveani Lavellan; transmasc/rift mage/dalish/somniari/partially blind/recruits the mages/makes briala the puppet leader of orlais/does not disband the wardens/does not try to redeem solas he's not stupid
Worldstate Two
Skywalker-level Dysfunction
HoF: Naoise Cousland; transmasc/rogue/duelist/kills isolde/saves the mages/barters peace between elves and werewolves/puts bhelen on the throne/does not defile the ashes/does have a threesome with Zev and Isabella/keeps Alistair as a warden/Anora rules alone/becomes warden-commander with long distance bf Zev
(featuring Jurian Amell in the Awakening era; apostate/mage/shapeshifter/pretty boy era/prettiest boy dare i say/says people wrote poetry about him/mistaken as one of the swan-swain/is out to steal your girl)
CoK: Trystan Hawke; transmasc/warrior/red+purple/possible andersmance/andersmancers don't get excited its not gonna go the way you want/still working out details
HoA: Arlan Trevelyan; transmasc/mage/FUCKING ANXIOUS WRECK THAT'S ALL I KNOW FOR NOW
ok ty bye :3
#yes all of my ocs are transmen#leave me alone#auhghhg#akira!!!#i love my elves sooo much#worldstate two is also hilarious just for the fact that its like#they're all somewhat related cousins in my headcanon#like naoise and arlan are SO FAR REMOVED#but still technically cousins#iconic chefs kiss#if anyone has questions i'm happy to elaborate#this is just a little point of reference for me hehe#dragon age#dragon age origins#dragon age awakening#dragon age 2#dragon age inquisition#cas meta#cas worldstates
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Brain is tired and I can’t fully articulate my thoughts, but I’m having Nate/Moira AU feelings again.
Basically, it’s the AU where neither of them become Wardens, but
Nate surprises Moira by coming home earlier than expected and instead of stopping in Amaranthine, he goes to see his Best Girl first because years of exchanging letters and missing from a sea away are just too much to stay even one night away.
This is, unfortunately, the night that his father attacks Highever, 100% unaware that his eldest son is home. Nate and Moira (and Gilmore because if I’m doing an AU, Moira’s BFF Rory lives, GDI.) escape and are absolutely gutted with grief and feelings of betrayal
Something something “my father needs to be stopped”/“your father needs to be *destroyed*”/“that too” coping with the aftermath and figuring out what to do next leads them to Ostagar, where Moira’s brother was last headed to.
Meets Alistair and the Warden, can’t find Fergus, decide to head up north to Lothering before the horde sighting. Meet back up with the Warden & Co. and decide to join forces. Moira and Nate are nobles, they can gather allies in Redcliffe before moving into Denerim while W&Co. head to the Deep Roads
“Oh hi, fancy meeting you here” in Haven after checking in at Redcliffe = the Arl needing Andraste’s ashes and Team Highever already on the trail. Brief team up before splitting back in Redcliffe after curing the Arl. Game plan is for Team Highever to head to Denerim and gain favor while W&Co. take on the Brecillian forest.
Pit stop in Amaranthine to check in on Nate’s siblings, keeping a low profile to get a reading on the city’s mood re: Rendon Howe
Something something “oh hi again” while trying to free Anora. Big boss battle with Rendon. “How could you turn on me, I loved you!”/“No, father. Bryce loved me like a son. You only loved the idea of what kind of status I could bring to you.”
More fallout from Big Boss Battle re: revenge and most of Moira’s original story arc. They gladly turn Amaranthine over to the Wardens since Gwaren is without a Teyrn and oh HEY, what do you know, you have two people who’ve been trained since childhood to run a teyrnir!
More tying up loose ends go here before The End. Some full circle moments with “Eleanor would be a nice name, should we have a girl.”/“I don’t know. I think this one should have a fresh start with their first name. I would like to use Bryce as a middle name, should we have a son.”/“I think that’s a fantastic idea.”
#don’t mind me#just having Emotions over 10+ year old characters#and setting up future meet cutes with Tristan Howe and Marian Trevelyan
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Denerim
Denerim is the capital of Ferelden as well as an arling of the kingdom and the seat of the annual Landsmeet. It is built around the base of a mountain known as Dragon's Peak. The Drakon River crosses the city from west to east before ending in the Amaranthine Ocean.
It is considered a holy city to worshipers of Andraste, as it is the place of her birth.
Denerim originally began as an outpost of the ancient Tevinter Imperium. Its mages rose up a dark tower from the side of a mountain, a symbol of the Imperium's power. As the Imperium faded, the tower passed to the hands of the teyrns that ruled the region for a millennium. Today that tower still stands as Fort Drakon, immediately recognizable to any ship that approaches the rocky coast. The city that has sprung up around it has almost been carved out of the side of the mountain it rests on, and during the Dragon Age, its population has grown beyond the city's ability to cope.
[This is part of the series “Playing DA like an archaeologist”]
About Denerim there is little to say in terms of architecture and statues. The most impressive one among the modern structures is the Chantry
Like the one we saw in Haven [here], it shows all the iconography of thorny suns and small semi-circular arcs with “sun rays” that could be interpreted as thorns [this recursive element present all across the game].
Another place with interesting objects is “Wonders of Thedas” the magical shop of the city.
There, we will find those curious objects we saw in the Tower of Magi's basement [here] or in many places where Tevinter experiments were performed, like in the Brecilian Ruins [here]. There is also wooden dragons.
Along the many corridors and alleys of the city we found more of those statues that can be interpreted as elven if we strictly follow what the Dalish camp has taught us [here] .
In this case, in the Black Alley, we find three statues of what we think is Sylaise, the elven god of domesticity. It's curious how this interpretation doesn't strike too out of place [Denerim is a pretty homey city]. In one of these back alleys, we found Gaxkang, the unbound, one of the Forbidden Ones [See related post], ancient demons of all times.
The lore found in notes written by unknown authors says that the contact with these demons allowed the knowledge of the blood magic to be known by humans.
If we focused on the Arl of Denerim's Estate, we will find in the exterior of it four statues we never were taught about. Due to the similarities with Andruil, we can think this is a non-agressive version of her.
From the Arl's Estate the most shocking one is the backyard:
where we find these statues, that so far, have been related to where Darkspawn was beginning to conquer a region. This is the most strange thing we found here. The fact that they are in the back of the Estate, not visible unless you go there, hidden, is more than suspicious. Deliberated choice or truly accidental place of statues? Could this be related to the Blood Mage quest? Nobody knows.
Inside the Estate there is little to say: a lot of Ferelden iconography, paintings, and statues that can be understood as Sylaise or non-agressive Andruil, shields, weapons, etc
The most interesting piece found in this part, in my opinion, is this tryptic:
The first panel shows a kneeling man, before a deer-like creature and a werewolf on it. Pretty close to the Dragon's head, one can see a wolf as a companion of the werewolf.
The central panel displays a human, a moment before sinking their sword into a dragon's head. Maybe a Grey Warden allusion of killing the archdemon.
The last panel we see a woman with a baby in her arms, safe in the background, wile a warrior is hitting the werewolf, which is screaming on the ground while two or three wolves [not mabaris] are biting its legs.
Details about Drakon Tower can be found in its related post.
Details about the Blood Mage quest in Denerim [here].
[Index page of Dragon Age Lore ]
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The reason TRoT starts off at the Awakening expansion is also that the concept of the Surana Origin combines so amazingly with the Arling of Amaranthine Arc - She barely is considered an adult, never left the circle in her life, and already gets catapulted in a situation where she goes from outlaw to saviour of the Kingdom to high-ranking noble in less than 1 1/2 years. She’s barely out of her teens and a quasi-cult and runs a fucking miniature kingdom. It’s splendid and speaks to me on a profound level
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i was like should i put my warden on my multi and @victorybird was like yes and i’m like okay so now i’m gonna add her
anyway here’s her dl her name is faye cousland
bastard child of bryce cousland, but permitted to live within castle cousland
very proud of her lineage, her family, and her home, but knows she stands apart. she’s treated differently than the rest, but she doesn’t see herself as anything but a cousland and one day she’s gonna Show Them
bold, proud, determined, almost physically incapable to Stop For A Second while growing up
but then castle cousland was attacked by howe’s men and she was the only one to escape on her and fled on her own
developed an alternative identity to keep herself masked from political enemies as she makes her way to amaranthine to kick arl howe’s ass; goes by fawkes to the public
eventually duncan tracked down the cousland disaster and he found her in a village outside amaranthine and talked sense into her about how she’s unlikely to be able to infiltrate and kill arl howe on her own and how she doesn’t Really have an exit strategy, but instead offers her the position of a grey warden
she accepts it because having the title of a grey warden will likely be Hella Helpful to kill her enemies, and it’s as good of an exit strategy as any
accepts her grey warden duties joyfully because it’s much better than sitting in a castle, trying to be a lady, being sneered down upon, etc
and it’s really satisfying to stab darkspawn
faces the idea of killing the archdemon with an attitude of ‘fuck yeah come at me bitch’
will not Stand for disrespect, carries the cousland name proudly, asserts herself in her noble lineage
may also drink too much and flirt too much but it’s fine
has never once backed down from an arm wrestling match
doesn’t Really think about the future, only the step right ahead of her
flirts with babies like alistair and cullen and any men who get flustered around women
eyes emojis at leliana
wrestles with dog
‘how can you fight when your hair is in your face?’ ‘to make it a fair match for you’
will accept being called faye or fawkes or warden or Your Highness
character arc in which she sort of becomes an assassin akin to assassin’s creed assassins where she’ll assassinate for Justice and bc it’s Right??
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The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 18 - Divisions
It is the spring of 9:32 Dragon, and Ferelden is gripped in the midst of a bloody civil war. Driven by fear of an old enemy, the traitorous Loghain Mac Tir has stirred the people against the king, and every day new factions vie for power, waiting to take advantage of the chaos now that it is certain a new peace can only be won with swords.
In the north, Arl Howe of Amaranthine has seized control of Highever, and only Rosslyn Cousland, last scion of a slaughtered noble house, stands in the way of his greed. Aided by King Cailan’s uncle and his bastard half-brother, Alistair, she is determined to seek justice for her family’s murder and right the wrongs done to her people.
But politics is a complicated game. War has a cost; nobility comes with obligation; and beneath the machinations on both sides of the conflict, an even deeper threat stirs, biding its time to come into the light and bring Ferelden to its knees.
Words: 4208
Chapter summary: Rosslyn tries to escape her new title, just for a little while, and Alistair faces a decision as the king's plan becomes clear.
Chapter 1 on AO3
This chapter on AO3
Masterpost here
The main road through the village bustled with soldiers and camp followers as well as the local population, with impromptu stalls set up in the gaps between houses selling everything from good luck charms to seed potatoes and cured pelts. It was rowdy, but not disorderly, and it seemed so far that the army was sticking to Cailan's injunction to leave the villagers in peace. Rosslyn, relieved now that the effects of the guelder tea were finally taking hold, allowed herself to be borne along by the current of people, enjoying the rare chance to absorb the ambience of a market day without the presence of guards to set her apart from the rest of the crowd.
One middle-aged woman she passed hollered out deals for her fruit stall, vaunting the quality of her produce at such a volume her voice could be clearly heard over the general hubbub of everyone around her.
“These apples look very well for the season,” Rosslyn commented, stepping out of the flow with Cuno at her heels. The fruit was stacked in neat pyramids, glossy, stippled yellow, and looking as crisp as if they hadn’t spent several months stored in a cellar.
“Oh, thankee very much, Ma’am,” the woman chirped, after a moment of stunned silence. “I grow ‘em meself – and these hazelnuts, and them dried pears ye see owa there, on’y those don’ keep so well in the winter months. Would ye mebbee like to try one?”
Rosslyn chuckled and reached for the small purse of coin she carried with her. “No need, Messere. I think some of those apples would do nicely, if you’d fill one of those small bags for me.”
The woman grinned toothily. “Aye, right away, Ma’am.” She reached for one of the reed-net pouches hanging from a nail hammered into the post that held up the awning.
“How much for them?”
“Oh no, Ma’am, I couldn’. Ye’ve already done me a good by coming here an’ ev’ryone seein’ ye. They’ll be clamourin’ now.”
“And what if they also see you refuse to take payment?” Rosslyn asked, leaning closer. “They might get ideas.” She watched the fruit seller suck on her bottom lip, undecided, and added, “It’s only a few coppers. Take it with my gratitude.”
“You’ve a reet canny tongue in your head, Ma’am,” the woman said, handing over the bag and holding up three fingers to indicate her price. “It’d be bad luck to refuse such a thing. Maker keep ye –” She glanced around warily for eavesdroppers and muttered, “And the Lady, too.”
“The same to you, Messere,” Rosslyn replied, smiling as the woman turned away to address the queue already forming at the other end of the stall. She could imagine how the boasts would go now, and took a small sort of pleasure in knowing she had done something, even if did nothing to lessen the mountain of her other worries.
On the other side of the road, a messenger guided her weary-looking horse against the flow of traffic. Her leathers were stained with dirt, the colours faded so her allegiance was hard to discern, but from the grit of her scowl, her mission was both urgent and serious. Rosslyn let her go. Given the probably sensitive nature of the news, it would be madness to try and waylay the messenger in the middle of a crowded street – and whatever had happened, she would likely hear about it soon enough anyway.
She stepped off the road and onto the muddy path that led along a low ridge above the lists, towards the stables, absently tucking in to one of the apples. The crunch took her away to the crisp autumns spent in Highever’s orchards, chasing through the groves with Fergus and the labourers’ children, playing Heroes and Werewolves until the afternoon shadows grew long and they were called back to the croft, where her father would have his sleeves rolled up to take his annual, ceremonial turn at the cider press. The would be her duty now, along with a thousand others. If the croft still stood. If she lived long enough to ever see home again.
Unconcerned with the future, Cuno trotted at her side. He glanced pitifully between her and the net bag in her hand, as if he hadn’t already devoured an entire haunch of goat that morning, and wagged his stubby end of a tail when he saw her watching.
“You won’t like it,” she promised. “These are for Lasan.”
He whined.
Below them, the day-to-day routine of battle training ground on, with the smart tramp of soldiers marching in formation punctuated here and there by the dull ring of a sword on wood, or the bark of one of the arms masters correcting a stance. Gideon was busy in the riding ring, giving a lecture to a line of fidgeting cavalry officers who one by one were called forward to ride through a slalom of tall poles, guiding their horses only with their knees. The results were… mixed.
Alistair was nowhere to be seen. She didn’t realise she had been searching for him until his absence sent a swoop of disappointment coursing through her stomach. She cursed herself for even looking. What would she do if she did see him? Should she expect him to drop everything to greet her on familiar terms, or to smile tolerantly while she stumbled through a conversation just because she found herself the victim of some unwelcome, childish fantasy? And then there was the other matter, the truth she had tried so hard to avoid since the night after the battle, the one she feared would blurt out at the first opportunity.
He had lied to her. Every stripe of blood she had cleaned away from his face as they sat there together in the infirmary had confirmed it, the resemblance between him and the king so uncanny despite the age difference that there could be no doubt of who he truly was. The pieces of the puzzle fit so perfectly now she knew the final design – his resentment of nobility, the reason he always tried so hard to deflect attention away from himself, why the subject of his childhood was never discussed. Imagining what he must have suffered growing up as an unacknowledged bastard made her heart clench every time she thought of it, but so did the insidious voice that never failed to remind her it was a truth she had not been trusted with, either. He hadn’t wanted her to know – and that was before, when she wasn’t yet the Teyrna of Highever, one step down from the king and what must surely be the seat of his resentment. How wide that gap yawned between them now. People like me tend to avoid the ones sitting at the top end of the table.
And what was she to do? How could she look him in the eye, knowing she held a secret she was never meant to keep? Better that they not meet, better not to see his repulsion when he found out that she knew.
But what if he were acknowledged? a querulous voice asked in the back of her mind. She had dared to think it, on the nights she woke up after dreaming of him, entire conversations carried out in her head as she tried to work out the best way to rid herself of her unease. But to draw him out, to force the issue of his parentage when he so clearly didn’t want it just to satisfy her own selfish wants would only prove right every rotten opinion he had about the nobility, and that was a painful thought.
She had no right to pry. She had already promised herself not to impose upon him. She would keep her knowledge of his secret, even from him.
Lasan was grazing in the paddock as she walked up, completely at ease with a couple of geldings she didn’t recognise, his tail swishing idly at flies, and she put her own worries out of her mind. At a distance, she checked her horse’s condition, noting how he bore weight easily on his injured hoof, and how patches of thick winter fur were starting to give way to the sleek roan marble of his summer coat. When she whistled, his proud head arced up with a whinny, and she watched as he started towards her. He walked solidly, with equal weight on both sides, and when one of the geldings tried to overtake him he squealed and bucked, breaking into an airy trot in order to reach her ahead of the others.
His head bobbed as he smelled the apple she held out for him as a greeting gift. Velvet lips plucked the offering from her palm with a soft blow of welcome, leaving her free to slip between the bars of the fence as he crunched it down. The other horses kept a respectful distance but she watched them all the same. As laidback as Lasan was for a stallion, he was often jealous of human attention, especially around food, and getting caught in the middle of a dispute between two animals that alone could easily kill her would not help with her pile of paperwork.
She cleaned his foot as best she could without a pick and checked it for signs of bruising. His new iron shoes still had their shine, so he must have only been out loose recently, but the poultices the horsemaster used seemed to have worked.
“A few more days, and you can get back to showing off for everyone,” she informed him with a clap on the neck.
Lasan snorted turned to regard her with one warm brown eye, then promptly scraped his head against her side with such force she staggered backwards. Apparently his nose itched.
“Oi!” She pushed back against him, but chuckled and moved her hands to the familiar spot on his withers that made his lip twitch with pleasure. Years ago, she would spend afternoons in the stables with Fergus, breathing in the musty scent of horse and helping the grooms so they could avoid the gatherings of uptight nobles who flocked to the castle almost every other week. And then Fergus had met Oriana and the hours in the stables became hers alone, a way to hide from her mother’s friends and the seemingly endless supply of unmarried sons they paraded before her.
But something always drew her away from those brief interludes of peace, and even now, as she found a twist of grass to work over Lasan’s back in place of a curry comb, she spotted a scout in Redcliffe colours jogging towards her from the direction of the village.
“Teyrna Rosslyn!” the boy puffed, saluting.
“Get your breath back first,” she advised, giving her horse one final pat before slipping back between the fence slats.
“Yes, Your Ladyship – thank you.” He breathed deep and started again. “Arl Eamon sent me to find you. We have news – a messenger has just arrived from South Reach with news from Arl Leonas. He says forces from Gwaren have taken Denerim.”
Her eyes widened. “But our last reports put him in Gwaren. How could he slip past South Reach undetected?”
“I don’t know, Your Ladyship,” the scout replied. “Only that I was sent to fetch you.”
“I’ll come at once. Was there something else?” she asked, when he hesitated.
“I’m sorry, your Ladyship, only Arl Eamon bid me find King Cailan as well – there was a private letter for him, from the queen, I think – but I don’t know where he is. I asked some of the royal guard, but all they said was His Majesty didn’t want to be disturbed.” The scout wrung his hands in front of him, his gaze fixed on her feet, already flinching from the expected reprimand.
Rosslyn shook her head. “Cuno can sniff out His Majesty.” If nothing else, it would give a her a few more minutes out in the sun, free to imagine a life not embroiled in politics. “I’ll see he gets the message. Go about your duties.”
“Yes, Your Ladyship – thank you!”
Alistair’s hands were clasped behind his back, his brows furrowed in concentration as he listened to Cailan talk and tried to work out where best to punctuate the speech with affirmative nods. It had been his attitude for the better part of an hour now, as the pair of them wandered through the rows of orchard trees mantled with blossom and alive with the humming of bees. Inwardly, he was doing his best not to panic.
The king’s hands were expressive, his face open and smiling in an almost infantile manner, but his blue eyes were lively and intelligent, and from the first moment they met Alistair felt like a bull in a show ring, appraised and judged for purpose. He had tried to hide his resentment, though it turned out Cailan bore little resemblance to the spoiled child in his memory. He was courteous, if stilted at first, as if he were uncertain of protocol, but once the most awkward enquiries were out of the way, his smile widened and his shoulders relaxed, and Alistair found himself completely wrong-footed.
“Of course, your current wardrobe just will not do,” the king was saying now. “It’s a shame I had to leave my tailor behind in Denerim, but time was of the essence and the old fuddy never did do well on horseback – we’ll just ask Bann Ferrenly nicely if he’ll spare his man for a suit or two.”
“Your Majesty, I –”
Cailan stopped him with a hand on his arm, his smile shrinking into more sympathetic lines. Alistair had been prepared for a scolding, or an order to keep his head down. This was something he could never have foreseen.
“It’s a habit, I know,” the king said, “but you must start using my name. We are brothers, aren’t we? You must admit, our likeness is uncanny! Why, I could almost be looking into a mirror back in time.” His grip pressed harder in what he must have thought was a reassuring squeeze. “Our father never told me the reason he hid you away, but fate has brought us together nonetheless and I wish to make redress for past mistakes. It’s time to claim the birthright that should always have been yours. What say you, brother?”
Alistair swallowed. The king’s eyes were too bright. How many years had he spent hoping for words just like these? When his mother died, he had dreamed that Maric would spur through Redcliffe’s gates on a great white charger to claim him as a second son and carry him away from the life of drudgery expected from the bastard orphan of a kitchen maid. Even when Teagan had taken him to Rainesfere to be a knight, there had been a faint hope at the back of his mind that it was his chance to prove worthy of the father who had never noticed him, the man whose shadow had fallen across him all his life.
It was the past. What he was now, he had earned through hard work and merit, not because of Maric’s name.
“You Majesty,” he said again. “I’m just an ordinary soldier, nothing more. I’m not even sure I have matching socks on today. With due respect, are you entirely serious about this? I mean, what does an heir to the throne even do?”
Cailan threw his head back and laughed. “That’s your worry? Come, we are not Orlesians to sneer at one who does not have a conventional background. The people will love you – you understand them, and you have fought for them, and won a rousing victory to boot! And as for the rest, well –” he waved his hand vaguely and wrinkled his nose – “We can see to that. Will you at least think on it?” he asked, when Alistair still looked uncertain. “Most people would jump at the chance to be royalty, or so I’m told.”
With a sinking sense of premonition, Alistair straightened his shoulders and nodded. “As you say, Your – oompf!”
Something heavy slammed into his waist, nearly doubling him over. When he managed to get his wind back, he looked down to see a slobbery, tongue-lolling smile and an absurdly wiggling rump trying to press itself against his breeches. Panic seized his limbs. After a week, an entire week of hoping and having those hopes dashed, of all the places she could have turned up, why did it have to be here, now?
“Ho, now that’s a familiar face!” Cailan laughed. “And if I’m not mistaken, when this one appears, the other isn’t far behind – and yes, here she is!”
Alistair followed the point of the king’s finger as Rosslyn strode into sight along the path ahead. Heat leapt up the back of his neck. There were bruised circles under her eyes, her boots were muddy, and the quilted, slate-grey cotton of her shirt was dusted by a fine covering of reddish hair, but if anything that lack of polish just emphasised the grace of her walk, and the economy with which her warrior’s muscles moved under the form-fitting lines of her clothes. And her hair – it gleamed like a raven’s wing in the sunlight, braided back from her face but long and loose down her back, just as it had been in his dream. Cuno stretched up to lick his chin, his full weight against Alistair’s legs. He gladly took the distraction and bent over to fuss the dog, the better to hide his flaming cheeks while he tried to rein in the wandering line of his thoughts.
“Teyrna Rosslyn!” Cailan cried, with genuine delight. “Of all the blossoms out on this fine morning, you are surely the most beautiful, if not the most expected.”
Alistair’s ears burned. He remembered what she had said in the barracks room, about the king and his charm and how they grew up together.
“Ever the flatterer, Your Majesty,” she replied easily. With his eyes fixed resolutely on the grass, Alistair imagined the way she held her hand out for the king to take, the way the king took it and brought it to his lips. “Tell me, has a large, excitable dog wandered across your path recently?”
“Why, yes. I believe he’s just making himself acquainted with…” He trailed off when he noticed Rosslyn’s start of surprise, and Alistair sheepishly looking up to return her gaze. “You know each other?”
“Ser Alistair was the one who found me and my troopers at Wythenshawe,” she explained. “He was kind enough to take care of me.”
Alistair bowed, his hands still trailing through Cuno’s fur, and searched her face for any sign of partiality as he made his greeting. “Your Ladyship.”
Her expression remained neutral, though he thought maybe her gaze lingered on him a beat longer than strictly necessary before turning back to the king.
“Oh I will have to hear all about this, I’m sure,” Cailan was saying. “But tell me first, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”
Her voice lowered as she explained her errand, her head bowed respectfully, but every so often her eyes flickered to him and back, as if uncertain whether to include him in the conversation or not.
Cailan’s easy smile collapsed in a frown. “I must see to this. But first I must apologise for having disturbed your walk, my lady,” he said, tilting her a winning smile. “Since the two of you are acquainted, would you mind terribly if I left you here together?”
Alistair saw his panic mirrored in her eyes. To be alone with her – after so long spent thinking about it – but with so much between them now, what could he say?
“If Her Ladyship doesn’t object?”
“I don’t – unless I would be intruding?”
He smiled at their stumbling clash of words. “Of course not.”
“Excellent.” The king pressed a light kiss to Rosslyn’s knuckles that managed to be charming rather than pompous, already moving towards the village. “I will see you soon, my lady, and we’ll see what this business is about. And you also, Ser Alistair,” he added. “Remember you’ve promised me you’ll think about my offer.”
When he left, the easy atmosphere left with him, and for a tense moment neither of them spoke. The only sound apart from the spring birds was the contented panting of the dog as he rolled all the way over onto his back to allow Alistair better access to his softest parts. The sight made Rosslyn fold her arms across her chest and frown, but she had to bite her lips to keep from smiling.
“Absolutely pathetic.”
Alistair gasped in mock outrage. “Don’t listen to the nasty lady, boy. You’re a good dog.”
Cuno righted himself and tried to boof him on the chin.
“You’re looking well,” she offered, after another lengthy pause.
“Oh it’s a miracle,” he replied, giving her a distracted wave. “For a while, I was afraid I wouldn’t pull through, and that I would depart this life without having accomplished my dream of growing a really fancy moustache.” He ducked his head and ran a nervous hand through his hair, heart pounding. “I was, uh, lucky I had such a good nurse.”
“Mhm, that mage – Amell, is it? – is rather pretty, isn’t she?” came the easy reply.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He pouted, to cover his mortification. How could he expect anything but a deflection from such a clumsy compliment? “I don’t remember picking on you when you were still an invalid.”
“You wouldn’t have dared,” she told him, but the smug tilt of her lips faded, her fingers going to fidget with a ring he hadn’t seen her wear before. “I’m sorry for not coming to see you.”
You sleep like a bear. I was worried.
It was a dream, not real; he shrugged it away. “You’ve been busy. And I hear you’re officially Teyrna now,” he added brightly. “Is there a special curtsey I should be aware of, or anything? I heard somewhere it’s a custom for knights to lay their coats over puddles for noble ladies to step through.”
She frowned. “Wouldn’t the water just seep through the fabric, or overflow at the edges?”
“See, that’s what I thought,” he replied, glad to get at least a small reaction from her, but unsure what to do with it. He wanted to ask how she was, if she needed anything, what she would do now the army was moving south, but he didn’t dare.
“Either way, I wish you wouldn’t.” the lop-sided smirk flashed briefly at him. “I trip over enough protocol these days without having to contend with somebody’s coat. Besides,” she added, “I’m not the one lofty enough to have private meetings with the king.”
He dropped his gaze, rubbing at the sudden itch on the back of his neck. He needed to tell her, even if nothing came of it. The words bunched in his chest, struggling for order, a way to bring it up without just blurting out that he’d been lying by omission since their first meeting. And maybe, he realised, if she knew, she might have advice about Cailan’s offer to acknowledge his claim to the throne.
But when he looked back at her, his confession ready on his tongue, he found she had turned her attention to the branches of a nearby tree, and was running her fingertips along the dainty white blossoms, the pink buds yet to open. When she bent her head to inhale the scent, her features set in wistful lines, it was an image he wanted seared in his brain forever.
“But that’s none of my business,” she told him quietly. “Forgive me. To be honest, I came out here to get away from politics for a while.”
His mouth snapped shut.
“I should head back. No doubt whatever is in that message for His Majesty will involve me soon enough.”
“Of course,” he replied. “I ought to return to my duties as well, if you wouldn’t mind the company? We could talk about things that have nothing to do with politics.”
“Oh? Like what?”
“Well, I heard that the Avvar make a particularly fine cheese from the milk of dwarven battle nugs, and I would like your opinion on the matter.”
He was a coward. As he fell into step beside her, the dog a barrier between them, he felt the moment pass, and mourned it. What good would it do her to know who he really was anyway? The secret had never caused him anything but trouble, and giving it to her would just be another burden to add to shoulders already strained with responsibility. No, far better to keep his father’s name to himself and not risk her pulling away from him completely – or worse, treating him with a deference that was never meant to be his. Making her smile was enough. Besides, who was to say that this idea to make him a prince wasn’t just some passing fancy of the king’s, a way to create intrigue among the nobility for some as-yet undiscovered reason?
Even in his own head the argument was less than convincing, but he kept his silence nonetheless.
#dragon age#dragon age: origins#alistair x cousland#alistair theirin#cousland#rosslyn cousland#cailan theirin#king cailan#ferelden
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OVERVIEW
This verse is set in the world of the DRAGON AGE video game series. It is OPEN to plotting with any mutual followers who are interested, at any point on the main Dragon Age timeline (Origins, Awakening, DA2, and Inquisition). The following info is all subject to tweaking as I continue exploring Rey’s character in this universe.
BASICS
Race: Elfblooded (half-elven, half-human)
Class: Apostate Mage
Spell School(s): Arcane
Specialization(s): Force Magic, Arcane Warrior
Unusual Traits: Dreamer/Somniari
Affiliation: Grey Wardens (Post-Fifth Blight)
BACKGROUND
Rey does not remember much before watching the ship leave Amaranthine with her family aboard. She was left behind—purposely, as she later discovered—in the custody of a human man named Agnar, who wasted no time in using her to further increase his profits as a seller of rare artifacts and hard-to-find resources. It turned out she was small enough to slip through gaps in ruined places that Agnar’s men could not.
Over time, Rey was allowed more independence in scavenging, so long as she brought the best materials to Agnar. Anytime her interest strayed, he would remind her that she owed him for feeding and clothing her, and that he was the only one with information about her family. Ten years passed as Rey grew increasingly resteless, until the day Agnar made her an offer: If she could retrieve one final artifact for him, he would give her the information she wanted so badly, and finally release her from his service.
But something went wrong as soon as Rey touched it. An explosion of energy that shook the room around her and caused the walls to crumble, knocking Rey unconscious and trapping her at the same time. When she woke, her cries for help went unanswered. Agnar and his men had abandoned Rey for dead, and she would have to find her own way out. She gathered what valuables she could find and, after debating it for some time, took the coveted artifact (carefully wrapped in a cloth so as to avoid touching it again).
After she escaped, Rey returned to Agnar’s shop. Her intention was to trade what she’d found for the information she’d been promised, but she knew better than to bring the artifact he’d wanted most. She hid it elsewhere and showed Agnar only enough that he’d believe she had it, and told him he could have the location of the hiding place after he gave her the clue to her parentage that she sought. Angry that she’d play any sort of game with him, Agnar let loose with a laugh before revealing that the information—the lead he’d held over her head for ten years—was…nothing. He’d been lying to keep her under his thumb, and she’d been foolish enough to believe it.
Perhaps his intention was to throw off Rey’s balance enough to take her by surprise, overpower her and find a way to make her tell him where the artifact was. He never got the chance to try. There was another burst of energy, this time from Rey herself. Magic had awakened inside her, and it threw Agnar clear across the room and overturned a few shelves. Rey seized her chance to grab as many useful resources she could find, and left Amaranthine after a short stop to retrieve artifact. She’s been traveling ever since.
SUBVERSES
HERE LIES THE ABYSS. Taking place during the Fifth Blight, Rey has been recruited to assist the Warden. As a companion, she is a formidable melee fighter with her staff, and becomes better as she learns to control her magic. She has been stricken with the Blight sickness and does her best to hide it. The Warden can save her with the Joining after the Landsmeet, in which case she joins the ranks of the Grey Wardens going forward.
FROM THE ASHES. In which the Warden accepted Morrigan’s offer of a dark but lifesaving ritual. The Archdemon is slain and all is well for a time. Despite her bad memories of the arling, Rey joins the Warden at Vigil’s Keep in Amaranthine. After the events of Awakening, she travels surreptitiously on Warden business, which eventually brings her to Kirkwall. (Timeline arcs tba.)
WHAT PRIDE HAD WROUGHT. After witnessing the veil tearing open in the sky, Rey sought out the source, and eventually offered her assistance to the Inquisition—keeping her status as a Grey Warden primarily to herself. At least, until the Order’s unsavory deals begin to be uncovered, at which point her investment in the Inquisition becomes twofold.
* IN UTHENERA NA REVAS. In which the Warden did not accept Morrigan’s offer, deciding instead to take their chances against the Archdemon. With a suddenly renewed sense of purpose, Rey prevented the Warden from dealing the final blow, and sacrificed her own life in their place. However, due to quite a few magical traits all converging in her, Rey instead fell into something remarkably similar to the Elvish Uthenera, the Waking Sleep, and found herself wandering the Fade. It wasn’t until Coripheus tore a a giant hole in the veil that Rey was able to find her way back—and now, she’s got things to do.
* Threads in this verse will be mainly by request/with plotting, as it is a self-indulgent version of events that I don’t plan to force on anyone unless they’re into the idea of losing Rey and then finding her again in like, ten years.
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