♟: Patching up a wound for Meresino? 🥺

This prompt made me smile, because my very first Mersino fic technically fits this bill to a tee (just with, uh, more sexual activity). So, it was most delightful to have an opportunity to return to my Meresino roots! --- Scratching the Surface

Sometimes, Orsino can almost convince himself that Meredith’s hatred of mages is an elaborate façade, nothing more than a convenient excuse to gain power. But then, there are times like these.

He watches on in bemusement as Meredith stitches her wound shut, the only sign of the pain she must be surely suffering evident in the furrow of her brow, lines of her face even deeper than usual.

“You know I could help with that,” Orsino teases, gesturing theatrically at the knight-commander’s arm with his spare hand. It’s not that he even wants to lend her his assistance, not really. There’s a small part of him that revels in her pain, and not to mention an even larger part that believes she deserves it. It’s just that he could. But she won’t let him. He’s expecting the knight-commander to ignore him completely. It’s one of her favourite past-times, second only to shouting (predominantly at him, but often at others as well). Instead, Meredith surprises him. “You are helping, mage,” she answers flatly. But most importantly, not angrily. His hands instinctively clench: one forms a fist and the other, tenses against Meredith’s bare wrist, where he’d been helping hold down her arm as she’d tended her wound and had been dutifully attempting to notice as little as possible.

He tries not to think about how warm her skin feels against fingertips.

Rolls her words around in his mind instead. Mage, she’d uttered, like it was punctuation.

Like it was a curse. And therein lies the rub, doesn’t it? Even though with just a mere wriggle of his fingers, he could take her pain away, leaving her skin blemish-free as though it had never been so much as scratched before, she would never let him. Because she did truly believe him, and everyone like him, to be cursed, as though he would sooner transform into an abomination and devour the entire world than be of any use to her, or indeed, anyone at all. Magic exists to serve man, or so the Chantry claimed, but the knight-commander seemed to find even his divine purpose intolerable or lacking. “If this is all the help I can provide,” he complains, pressing his fingers down harder against Meredith’s wrist as though tempted to see just how much he can get away with, “I might as well be a doorstop.” Meredith scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous, Orsino.”

For a moment, there is nothing but silence. Deafening silence. He can feel Meredith’s heartbeat under her skin. But any futile hopes that Orsino might have held that the knight-commander might have finally forgone her infamous obstinance are instantly dashed when she hastily snaps, “A doorstop that can follow instructions.” The words rush out of his mouth before he can stop himself and think. “I could enchant one for you.” With a hiss, Meredith pulls her arm away.

All at once, Orsino’s fingers are freezing. Freezing and empty. Why, he wants to ask. Not why don’t you want an enchanted doorstop, but rather, why are you so scared of us? Why are you so scared of me?

“Goodbye, First Enchanter,” the knight-commander says. It’s one of the frostiest dismissals Orsino endured in weeks. His question dies on the tip of his tongue as he meets her gaze and realises that he doesn’t want to learn the answer. [non-sexual intimacy prompts]

sorry, I have to do this...Gwydion fab Dôn for the unhinged character bingo? (and also Gwyn ap Nudd)

gwydion please stop doing things. yes yes you're very clever and very magical but why don't you just drink some nice warm milk and go to sleep ok

ye olde classic messy dao sketch dump which is how you know life is kicking my ass

Knowing the lore of Rendon and Bryce makes the whole human noble origin hit different

Still mourning the complete lack of a personal response from the Cousland Warden when it comes to meeting Nathaniel </3

I have accumulated enough WIPs over the course of a year or two I felt like I could dump some of them. My little warden commander

HOF hairstyle meme found here!

it’s extremely standard drama but i’ve always really enjoyed the idea of a cousland who was in love with oriana. for any level between courtly love doomed admiration from afar or the full soap opera gambit of an m!cousland who is oren’s father

Mal Cousland + siblings! (and brother-in-law) Some messier sketches, mostly.

His twin sister, Briana, as always belongs to @adhdalistair . Obviously, when she marries Alistair, Mal is the best man, and we've discussed a few times what the bachelor party he'd arrange for Alistair would look like: mostly just a pub crawl through Denerim with Mal, Alistair, and Fergus where even Mal gets uncharacteristically tipsy and there's a great deal of merriment and bad singing.

I haven't settled on a way to draw Fergus that I totally like so you get two different ones.

Dragon Age players, especially players who marry a Cousland to Alistair:

Do you think your Warden's status strengthens or weakens Alistair's claim to the throne? I ask because of how high Cousland's status would influence much of the Landsmeet. Many of the nobles might see it as a strong family supporting the royal family... but many others, I feel, would see it as a way to seize power from that Theirin lineage.

Oh, before I forget: We are not discussing any other characters potentially weakening/"stealing" the throne for their own family here. I do not want to see comments in the notes about similar arguments with other characters even though male Couslands could easily face a similar argument as female Couslands. This is about bastard princes only.

ANYWAY, I repeat my question, because thoughts and headcanons about this are something I really am curious about:

(If you haven't played Origins, please use the "non-Cousland player" options the same way someone who primarily plays another origin would.)

All reblogs are appreciated, especially with ideas and headcanons about Alistair and the Cousland Warden. Reblogs with commentary as tags or in the body of a post are both great in this situation, I think.

In All But Name - Brothers

“It will all take time to arrange,” Alistair said, poring over the figures littered across his desk. “If we can keep back some of this year’s harvest and next year’s is good, we should have enough to make generous gifts across the city and farmlands.”

“Or,” Teagan suggested, “and I hesitate to say this, given how long we’ve all been waiting for this very moment, but you could have a smaller affair.”

Alistair grinned. “Not a chance. Besides, we’ve all worked hard to make Ferelden prosperous after the blight, and the breach, and the mage rebellion, and the million other things that have tried to destroy or beggar us… It’s high time we all celebrated the fruits of our labours.”

“What a coincidence then that you should happen to get betrothed just as the country is prosperous enough to support such a lavish celebration!”

“Isn’t it? One might almost think it had been planned.”

“Was it though?” Teagan said quickly, immediately taking the opening he had given him. “Come on, Alistair, you’re betrothed to her. Now, surely, you can tell some of us the truth?”

Alistair adopted an air of nonchalance only because he knew it would annoy Teagan the most. “I don’t know what you are referring to.”

“Yes, you do, you little…”

“Careful,” he interrupted, unable to stop grinning broadly again. “Threatening a king is treason, you know.”

Teagan muttered something under his breath that might have sounded like ‘I wasn’t threatening the king, I was threatening an ass’ but Alistair chose to ignore it.

“So, you’ll see about saving the extra from the harvest?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Teagan said, offering him an exaggerated bow along with the sarcasm.

“Good. Now, let us…”

But before they could return to planning the lavish celebrations that were to accompany the royal wedding – the size and scale of which all needed to be decided before an actual date could be set – they were interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Sorry,” Fergus said, poking his head into the room. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. But I think Ren mumbled something about you wanting to see me privately as soon as Elissa was out of the way?”

Alistair’s initial smile on seeing the man who had become one of his closest friends over the years quickly faded as he recalled his reason for asking Ren to send Fergus to him in confidence.

“I did,” he said, arranging the papers on his desk into a neat pile just to give his hands something to do. He’d found over the years that it was a particularly useful means of covering any inconvenient nervousness. “Thank you, Teagan. That will be all for now.”

Read the rest on AO3

Read the full series here

➔ DRAGON AGE: ORIGINS I REPLAY (3/?)

“Don’t worry son. You’ll get to see a sword up close real soon, I promise.”

Choosing violence ❤ number 7, 20 & 21?

7. what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them? okay so i already answered this question here, but rereading my answer there made me remember that there is yet more violence within my heart. before i start, a disclaimer: i cannot remember for the life of me if you also mass effect, so if you do not, apologies in advance for going on a rant for which you have limited context. that being said, the first character that immediately comes to mind is reyes vidal. andromeda fandom was only even really active for like, three months, but the amount of flare ups that happened that were centered on this one man...! who i will admit is quite fascinating, not that you would know it given the way most of his fanbase acted. because god forbid anybody characterise this man, who styles himself as the charlatan, who canonically tricks Ryder into doing his dirty work, be portrayed as maybe a tad manipulative or having goals that are a little bigger than banging his girlfriend. oh yeah. i said it. it was, for the most part, the femeryder fanbase I witnessed acting atrociously; while there were some wild takes on the mreyder side as well (like people saying that nobody should romance reyes with their female ryders), for the most part it was really justified salt due to the lack of mlm romance options compared to all other combinations. but the femryder side? they were eating their own, getting embroiled in popularity contests only one side knew they were even competing in, and it was a whole shitshow!!! anyway, as i said. fascinating character, would love to rotate him in my brain a bit, but sometimes recalling his existence makes me want to chew glass. maybe now that enough time has passed i should do a proper me:a replay and rewire some happier memories over those shit ones. (the funniest(?) part of this was that i was never really a reyder shipper--i was happily hanging out in my rydam corner--but seeing the way some of my friends were treated made me wary of bioware fandom for years to come lol. and yet did i learn? no.) 20. part of canon you found tedious or boring answered here! i have no backup answer for this one alas, i suppose my dragon age hot take is that i actually enjoy most of it 😔 21. part of canon you think is overhyped the ending of here lies the abyss! it's not exactly the canon moment itself, but rather the fandom reaction to it? people often treat it as a big dramatic moment of omg having to choose, but i don't know if it's because I'm a fan of Blorbo Suffering™, or I'm not convinced that whoever remained in the Fade is actually dead (can anybody in thedas truly be killed in a way that matters?), but idk. I just don't find it as emotionally impactful as other Big Decision moments in the series I suppose! (e.g., the Landsmeet, Anders's fate-- they always have me holding my breath, at the very least!) [choose violence ask game]

a drawing i did for my nathaniel/cousland political marriage au (after nate and luce do a little revenge)

messy messy ✌️💕

The Couslands of Highever

From left to right:

Fergus, Eleanor, Mason, and Bryce Cousland

A family portrait of my Warden Mason's family taken when he was little. Something that was miraculously saved after Castle Cousland was sacked, now it hangs in the Royal Palace at Denerim.

I was trying to do something a little different and out of my comfort zone with this one! I worked on it on and off over a couple months and never really felt great about it but that is OK! I also wanted to redesign the Couslands with a more historical costuming... IDK how I feel that went for poor Bryce x'D

In the future I would like to do an accompanying piece of Mason's family with Anora.

Commission info

Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins Characters/pairings: Alistair x Cousland Chapter: 3/? Rating: T Warnings: None Fic Summary: The story of the Fifth Blight, in a world where Alistair was raised to royalty instead of joining the Grey Wardens.

Read it on AO3

--

Cloudreach, 9:29 Dragon

The Couslands ate breakfast together every morning, by tradition. Compared to the dinners in the great hall it was an informal event taken in the library, at a round, walnut table draped with embroidered linen, with the morning light streaming through windows that looked north over the sea. After setting the places, the servants retreated to have their own meal, and, left to the privacy of each other’s company, the family helped each other to platters of eggs, cooked meat, and fruit. The dogs – Bryce’s Mallard and Rosslyn’s Cuno, still with the gangliness of puppyhood – also had their place, tucking into their own breakfasts on leather mats laid out to save the priceless Rivaini carpets from the ravages of slobber and grease.

If not for their grand surroundings, the Laurel motifs decorating the furniture and the rich weave of their clothes, they might have been any ordinary family, with ordinary squabbles. The battle on this particular morning raged around Oren, who had inherited the strong Cousland jaw and his mother’s onyx-dark eyes. He sat high in his cushioned chair, digging through his bowl of porridge for the dried apple slices hidden in its depths and ignoring the entreaties from both his parents to behave.

“I’m three-and-a-half,” he insisted, when Oriana dipped her own spoon into the bowl to try and coax at least one proper mouthful.

Across the table, Eleanor levelled a disapproving stare at her grandson. “When your father was three-and-a-half he knew the benefit of eating everything on his plate,” she told him. “How do you think he got to be so tall?”

Oren’s eyes went wide, turning on his mother. “Is it true?”

“Yes, pequeño,” Oriana replied, ever-patient. “We want you to grow big and strong.”

“And Aunt Rosslyn too?”

Rosslyn glanced up from her book. She had taken to bringing one to breakfast in recent months to keep her own company while the rest of the family got on with their business – there was no one else to talk to, after all, and if she kept herself occupied with such volumes as The Travels of Ebullient Ser Claremore of Stannis it distracted her from the reason why misery gnawed at her like a mouse, stopped her dwelling on the fact that it was her own bloody fault no letters had come from Denerim since the Landsmeet.

“All Couslands eat their porridge,” she replied mildly. “Haelia and Mather started the tradition when they drove the werewolves out of the North.”  

A white lie, but the renowned twins, heroes even among the famed and fabled ranks of Cousland ancestors, had held Oren’s imagination like little else could since he heard the story, the illuminations in the family book weaving him tales of wild chases through the forest and daring battles waged against fang and claw.

“I wish you wouldn’t read at the table,” her mother chided, as if she had only just noticed.

“Aldous wants me to broaden my horizons.”

Her father’s eyebrow lifted, amused. “I doubt Aldous meant for your studies to get in the way of your table manners, Pup.”

“It’s not like anyone’s here,” Rosslyn pointed out. “And besides –”

The door to the library opened, cutting off the rest of her protest to admit a human page in a woollen surcoat of deep Laurel blue.

“Calmett?” Bryce turned at the intrusion.

Calmett bowed. “Forgive me, Your Lordship, but a letter just arrived by courier. I thought you’d want to read it.” He offered over a square envelope of thick, cream-coloured paper on a silver tray and Rosslyn saw the flash of a scarlet seal on the back when her father took it.

“‘To His Lordship, Bryce Cousland’,” he read.

Fergus, who was closer, peered at the direction. “That’s rather formal for Alistair.”

The air squeezed from her lungs. She did not miss the curious glance her brother sent her across the table, nor how Oriana’s brow furrowed; it would be one thing for the king to write to the teyrn himself, formal and aloof, but Alistair knew them as well as family and had long since grown out of the shrinking need to call his foster-father by his title.

Cheeks warming, she dropped her gaze to her plate of half-eaten jam toast, though not quite fast enough to avoid catching her mother’s eye. It was a steady look, a shared confidence; it reminded her of the noble’s mask she had been taught, the blank face required to stare down your worst enemy and make them flinch first. She straightened her shoulders. As her father read the letter she watched with a face of mild, polite interest, taking in the downward pull of his brows as he went on, the way the corner of his mouth flattened into the greying edges of his beard.

“Well? What does it say?” Fergus asked.

Startled, Bryce looked up. “He’s being sent to Starkhaven. From Denerim. King Cailan wishes him to be an aide to the ambassador.”

Fergus clicked his tongue. “Surely Cailan would have allowed him to travel from Highever if he had asked.”

“It isn’t for you to second-guess the king,” Bryce chided, his voice unusually severe. “There might be any number of reasons why the ship left berth at Denerim.”

For a moment, the table stewed in the tension chafing between the teyrn and his eldest child, until Fergus turned his head away with a nod and a sigh and picked up his spoon again. Unnoticed by either of them, Rosslyn frowned at the paper in her father’s hands, the guilt that churned in her stomach for driving Alistair away aclash with a growing anger at his lack of loyalty, his cowardice. Ever since he had first gone to Denerim, no correspondence had ever come back to Highever without at least a small note addressed to her. Did he think no one would notice the change? Did he fear her so much, or put such value on his injured pride that he would shield himself behind the king’s will to neglect his duty to her family?

“May I see the letter?” she asked.

Her father gave her a long look, but passed it to her all the same, as gently as if the paper itself might bite. Curbing her annoyance, she unfolded it and scanned the lines. The unmistakeable scrawl that Aldous had tried so hard to smooth out in their lessons was unchanged, the words short, signed at the bottom with a formality out of place for the person she knew. Despite this, glimmers of humour shone through the stiff, careful style, pulling a traitorous twitch from her lips as she read:

Your Lordship –

I hope you’ll forgive me for bringing you this news in a letter instead of coming to tell you in person. King Cailan has requested that I go to Starkhaven to assist the ambassador there, and since he requires no delay, I’ll be sailing from Denerim as soon as the ship is loaded and the tide is with us. It’s likely I’ll pass by Highever at the same time this letter reaches you – just in case, I’ll wave from my cabin and keep my eyes towards the castle.

If all goes well and I don’t make a complete fool of myself stepping off the ship at journey’s end, it may be some time before I can return to Ferelden, and so this is – for now – a farewell. This is a great opportunity for me to ‘cut my diplomatic teeth’, as my brother keeps on telling me, but I could not leave without at least writing to thank you for everything you have done for me. Without your kindness I don’t know where I would have been by now, but it certainly wouldn’t be here, and I will be forever grateful for that. I hope in return I’ll be able to do you proud.

In my own hand,

Alistair Theirin

It took two days for a courier to take a message from Denerim along the coast, maybe less if the relay used good horses, but half a day less still to cover the distance by water. He would be out on the open sea by now, with Ferelden a smudge of green on a distant horizon.

Starkhaven. It was a place she knew by reputation and court gossip more than anything else. Nate had spoken of it well enough since leaving to become a squire to one of the knights there, and in his own quiet way had painted a picture of exotic markets and gilded palaces merry with the splash of fountains. At least he would be a familiar face to help Alistair orient himself, such a long way away from home.

She wished he had written to her.