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secretsfromwholecloth · 4 years

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Dragon Age: Origins, day 5.

OK, you know what, let’s head for Haven and start working on getting to the Urn. Bringing Alistair, Zevran, and Morrigan with me, because I apparently hate myself and/or love drama. (And the sooner I can get Zev some experience, the sooner I can polish up his lock-picking skills.)

...besides, I did promise that this Warden would like Morrigan more than the last two, didn’t I.

For now, though, I’m condemning myself to a lot of “Insufficient skill” messages. *sigh*

Ah, Alistair and Morrigan bickering about the merits of the Circle like there isn’t a Circle-trained mage standing two feet away.

Creepy village is creepy, yes.

Why is my spirit healer girl reduced to asking Morrigan if she can do anything for Genitivi’s injuries?

OK, this was a good party for dialogue purposes, but if Zev doesn’t learn to pick these locks sometime soon I’m going to have to come back and do a sweep of the place with Leliana.

You know that thing in DAO where you click on a companion by accident when trying to loot something, and it turns out it was time for a priority conversation so you can’t just go “whoops, not now”? Well, here’s Zev begging Isaura to be friends with him and let him stay after they’re done with the Blight. Proper begging, the poor love, since she likes him OK but doesn’t quite understand that he’s at the point of actually wanting to stay with her. And her past MO of flirting/pretending to take things as innuendo is out of the question with Alistair, who she’s apparently actually dating now (Maker help her, how does she get into these situations), standing right there.

Oh, hi, dragon. With a level 11-13 party, I don’t think it’s quite dragon-slaying time yet.

Isaura will maintain to her dying breath that she did the best she could for Jowan. Even if only about 90% of her is convinced.

She’ll go on a weepy tirade if she wants, Zev, you don’t get to tell her shit.

Alistair, don’t. Nope. None of this “should’ve been me who died” business in front of your girlfriend, she’ll give you what for just as publicly as you said it in the first place. And do you really want Morrigan and Zevran watching that?

Heh, this is the David Gaider Talking To Himself party, isn’t it?

Being deemed ~*~worthy~*~ is very nice, yes, now can Isaura put her clothes back on? This is really not how she wanted to be getting naked with Alistair for the first time. Maybe back when it all started she could’ve broken the tension with some jokes about orgies, but...

Actually, it apparently is dragon-slaying time. Though that got really hairy—Isaura and Zevran both went down, and Morrigan was lucky the dragon stayed occupied with dear old indestructible Alistair and didn’t come after her.

I’m sorry, “Pure Bitch Braid” will never not be funny.

Sten, please, get it through your skull that Qunari gender roles aren’t universal before this becomes an issue.

You know, the kind of awkward thing about this game is that all the VAs seriously brought their A-game and did all this wonderful, nuanced, moving work—and then the character animations are just too limited to keep up. I spend a lot of time averting my eyes from the screen and imagining the acting just the way I want it as I listen to the dialogue.

Right, speaking of averting my eyes, the kid’s been devirginized. And the conversation afterwards got him to +100 approval, first out of all the party, bless. I look forward to the others’ smart-ass comments.

So, back to Redcliffe to drop off those ashes.

“This is a non-combat mission, I don’t need a second melee character. Let me give Wynne and Leliana some attention.” *cue darkspawn ambush*

The great thing about two healers in the party is that if someone is in need of healing, they won’t stay that way for long.

And Wynne just had her little fainting episode. Hey, Wynne, is this a prelude to you actually giving me your quest at some point?

Between Alistair’s paternity going from mildly interesting bit of trivia to overshadowing their entire future and then seeing Jowan all but offer himself up for execution, Isaura is having A Day.

I miss when party banter used to be a thing that happened.

OK, when I paid off Wade to make that drake scale armor faster, I didn’t realize it’d be “just about enough time to go for a jog around the market district” fast.

How about a DLC break before we go after the Dalish? I’m in a Return to Ostagar kind of mood.

...I could probably have planned this better. Alistair/Wynne/Zevran is a party I’ve brought here before, and I don’t know what kind of time Zev will have with any locks we encounter. We’ll see.

And a certain baby boy can now get out of his Templar armor. Kind of awkward to have him wearing that for so long, all considered.

Oh yeah, second specialization time. Arcane Warrior, here I come.

Wynne, I realize needling Alistair is delightful fun, but carrying on like that about taking him to bed is a little much with his girlfriend standing right there.

Oh, hey, there’s Wynne’s quest. Excellent.

Ah, that conversation. Alistair, dearie, you and Isaura aren’t going to get very far if it’s just the two of you, Wynne, and the dog. For one, you need a rogue in the party, so pick which of Leliana and Zevran you distrust slightly less.

Since we’ve already managed to take out a high dragon, let’s try going after Flemeth. Bringing Alistair, Sten and Leliana with me, and hoping I don’t regret my life choices.

That went nicely. Good job taking her down, Sten.

Back to Denerim, then, now that we know where Marjolaine is.

She’s creepy and all but promised she’d come back to hurt Leliana if left alive, so we’re going to not do that. Bye-bye, creepy lady.

And I think this is a good place to pack it in for the night. Probably more DLCs tomorrow, I don’t feel like heading for the Brecilian Forest quite yet.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #isaura amell

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dwarrowdams · 6 years

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As Free as My Hair

Summary: Wardens Gilan Cousland and Tirzah Aeducan come together over tangled hair and shared hardship. Very friendshippy; set not long after Lothering.

Gilan shut the door to his room, glad to have some quiet time to himself tonight. They’d chosen to stay in an inn tonight in order to get some decent rest before they had to spend several more nights in between towns sleeping in tents. Gilan was grateful for this, at least: he wasn’t accustomed to going for so long without a proper bed and planned to enjoy every minute he had of sleeping in one. He strongly suspected that he wouldn’t have an opportunity like this for a while, so he was going to change into his sleeping clothes and go to bed a bit early. Even if he couldn’t sleep so early, he’d welcome the relaxation associated with lying down for a while.

Someone knocked on his door just after he’d changed out of his armor and into comfortable sleeping clothes. Gilan opened the door and found Tirzah standing on the other side, dressed for sleep and cradling a brush between her hands.

“Hi,” she said. “I kind of have a favor to ask.”

“Sure,” Gilan replied as he motioned her into his room. “Is something wrong?”

“Can you help get this out?” she asked, gesturing to the tangle at the back of her head. “There’s a massive knot somewhere back there and I can’t get it out myself—one of the many joys of having curls.”

“Sure,” Gilan said. “My brother’s son has—had—curly hair and he was awful at keeping it tamed, so I’m pretty decent at untangling hair without making people cry.”

“Perfect,” she replied as she sat down on the bed. “Normally, I can handle it myself, but I’m worried I’ll tear my shoulder out if I keep reaching back at that angle.”

“No worries—just let me know if it hurts too much, okay?” he asked as he positioned himself behind her, carding his fingers through her hair to find the knot.

Tirzah chuckled softly. “Believe me, you’ll know if you’re pulling too hard.”

She sat quietly as Gilan worked through her hair, holding her back straight through the pain. Even as he worked through the knots in her hair, Gilan couldn’t help but notice how regal she looked. He’d never doubted her status as a princess—ex-princess now, he supposed—but Tirzah’s poise in even the smallest of matters made her past clearer than she knew.

Then again, Gilan had spent most of his life studying that kind of poise as he tried (and failed) to mimic it himself. Tirzah’s status might not be so obvious to others, particularly since the first thing they’d notice about her was the fact that she was a dwarf rather than the fact that she had impeccable poise. Even when Gilan was tugging at her hair.

He continued to work in silence for a while, starting at the bottom of each knot and moving his way up as he tried to loosen and undo them.

“You okay?” Gilan asked her after he’d worked through a particularly nasty knot.

Tirzah murmured something in the affirmative. “You’re good at this,” she said. “For how much of a mess it is, I figured this would hurt more than it does.”

“Don’t speak too soon,” Gilan warned her. “I still have to get to the worst of it. I’ll be as gentle as I can, but…”

“I understand,” Tirzah said. “At least you have an idea of what the fuck you’re supposed to do. I can’t imagine any of our other companions would be much help.”

Gilan nodded in agreement. Since he was the only other member of their group who didn’t have perfectly straight hair, he could see why Tirzah had asked him before anyone else. “It helps if you have family who knows how to treat curly hair,” he said. “Lucky for you, I do—well, I did.”

Tirzah nodded. “I got the hair from my mother, I think—she passed away when I was small, so I can’t remember her much,” she said. “Fortunately, my younger brother would help me fix my hair when I couldn’t get a knot out and I’d do the same for him.”

“Sounds like a good bonding activity,” Gilan replied. “Plus, if you’re mad at each other, you can pull a little too hard and make it look like an accident.”

“I’m not that diabolical,” Tirzah said half to herself. “Bhelen was, though. He was good at pretending it was an accident—most of the time, at least.”

“Siblings always are,” Gilan said as he put the brush aside and began to work through the knot with his fingers. “I’m probably going to make a mess of this next bit, so I hope having some uneven ends doesn’t bother you too much.”

“I’m sure I’ll find some way to survive,” she replied drily.

“Excellent,” Gilan said cheerily. “Because the only thing I have that could even them out are my daggers and I’m pretty sure that those wouldn’t work too well on hair.”

“Yes, I can definitely live with a few more split ends,” Tirzah muttered. “And even if I couldn’t, I’m sure we could find someone somewhere in Thedas who sells scissors.”

“Good to know.”

Gilan carefully worked away the knot, trying to make as little damage to Tirzah’s hair—and the comb—as possible. After a few more minutes of brushing, he’d managed to work through the remainder of the large knot and had eliminated several small tangles as well.

“There—I think we’re all set,” Gilan said as he ran his fingers through Tirzah’s hair to get out any remaining tangles. “Do you feel any others in there?”

“I don’t think so—it feels perfect,” Tirzah replied as she twisted her hair over one shoulder and carded her fingers through it, checking for any knots that Gilan might have missed. “I definitely couldn’t have handled this alone. Thank you.”

Gilan shrugged the compliment away. “No worries—I may as well make myself useful for something other than fucking everything up.”

“You aren’t the only one,” she said. “Neither of us is cut out to travel around and interact with commoners like this. Thank the ancestors we have Alistair to help us.”

Gilan noticed the softness to Tirzah’s voice and the upturn of her mouth when she mentioned Alistair, but decided not to mention her fairly obvious crush at the moment. “I’m glad he’s with us too,” he responded. “I can’t believe that even after living in Ferelden for my whole life, there are so many things about its people, its weather, its terrain, that I still somehow don’t know.”

“You still know much more than I do,” she said. “You understand their culture, even if your day-to-day lives differ.”

Gilan sighed. “Sometimes it feels like nothing,” he admitted. “The way that commoners live is nothing like how I did. Living in a castle, not having to worry about where I’d get food or where I might sleep...nothing I’ve experienced before is anything like that.”

“Still. It’s much more of a start than I have.”

“There are books you could read to catch up,” Gilan said. “We couldn’t exactly carry them around with us, but I’m sure we’ll wind up at some place with books eventually. The local Chantry might have some, even—I’m sure we could check before leaving tomorrow.”

Tirzah chewed her lip, turning her eyes away from Gilan carefully. “I’ve had trouble reading ever since I can remember,” she admitted. “The letters always mix around, so it takes me forever to get to the end of a line—if I can even remember where I started. When it got too difficult for me to pretend, Bhelen would read to me and I would help him with numbers in exchange. The only way we made it through our schooling was together—by helping each other.”

Sne paused, sniffling once. “It’s strange,” she murmured, a slight tremor in her voice. “Even with everything I’ve lost, it’s the small things that hurts most.”

Gilan nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“I lost my home, my family, my whole life, but it’s always the small things that make it hurt the most. Like realizing that my nug-humping brother can’t be there to untangle my hair.”

She sniffled aggressively, trying—and failing—to wipe the tears from her eyes before they made their way down her cheeks.

“C’mere,” Gilan said as he pulled her against his chest.

He held her as she sobbed into his shirt, gently stroking her hair as she did so. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her cry—they’d both been sobbing wrecks when they’d been new recruits in Ostagar—but it was the first time she’d sobbed like this in front of him and there was something oddly affirming about that. He had never had a sister—but he was beginning to see Tirzah as one. The two of them had bonded over their shared pain and had begun to move towards healing as they talked and worked together. Despite their differences, they had come to support and complement one another as they gradually moved through this journey together.

He held her close until after she stopped crying, gently stroking her hair until she moved away.

“Sorry,” she sniffled, gesturing to the wet spot on his shirt.

Gilan sighed. “Tirzah, in the past few weeks I’ve lost my family, my home, and most of the order I was supposed to join was killed by a traitorous teyrn. You don’t need to be sorry about crying on my shirt. We’ve both been through too much to worry over things like that.”

“I suppose,” she said. “I just...feel bad for leaving a big tear-stain on one of your comfortable shirts.”

“It’s fine, really,” Gilan said. “I’ll need to figure out how to wash things properly in the near future. Besides, I’m fairly certain that tear stains won’t do any permanent damage—either that or whoever did the laundry back home dreaded washing my shirts.”

Tirzah made a sympathetic noise. “I hope they weren’t all sad tears, at least.”

“Not all of them, no,” Gilan said. “Some were from allergies. And some were from laughing too.”

“Good,” Tirzah muttered. “I was worried for a moment.”

“No need to worry about that,” he replied. “I’m just as good at crying over the good things as I am the bad—well, almost as good. I’m sure I’ll sob on your shoulder at some point in the future.”

“That doesn’t sound especially comfortable,” she murmured, sniffling as she wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes.

Gilan nodded. “Your shoulder isn’t exactly the most comfortable height for me,” he pointed out. “But I’m sure I’ll cry in front of you sooner rather than later—we’ll worry about finding a comfortable place when the time comes.”

Tirzah let out a strangled laugh through her tears. “Okay,” she mumbled. “Just not my hair—it’d be more of a mess than it is now.”

“I think I can handle that,” Gilan said. “Neither of us would want to comb through the mess that would make.”

Tirzah shook her head in the negative. “I think we’ve both been through enough tonight,” she replied. “Thank you again—for untangling my hair and dealing with...all of this.”

Gilan shrugged. “You’ve done so much for all of us already. Being here for you tonight is the least I can do.”

Tirzah leaned over to give him a one-armed hug. “Humans might not always make sense to me, but I’m glad you’re one of the humans I know.”

“Good to know,” he said. “But if you want to know about them, I can tell you about humans myself. It won’t be as accurate as the books, but hopefully it’ll be at least a bit more entertaining.”

“Thanks,” she murmured. “I just want to stop feeling so lost all the time. I dislike feeling like I don’t have any control over my life.”

Gilan nodded. He didn’t share for Tirzah’s need for control, but he understood how demoralizing it could feel to be adrift in a strange world. Even being adrift in a familiar world was proving itself more difficult than he’d anticipated.

“It’s all just a massive adjustment,” Gilan said. “Fuck, a few months ago I never would have imagined that I would be here.”

“Neither did I,” Tirzah replied. “Everything’s different and it doesn’t help that I can barely sleep. The dreams—that is what they’re called, isn’t it?—are horrible.”

“Fuck, that’s right—dwarves don’t dream,” Gilan said. “I can’t imagine what it must be like to go from nothing to seeing these horrifying images when you’re trying to sleep.”

Tirzah nodded. “It’s awful,” she whispered.

“You can sleep with me tonight, if it’ll help,” Gilan suggested. “I don’t know about you, but I always have an easier time sleeping when someone’s next to me.”

Tirzah sniffed in amusement. “And how many people have you lured into bed with that line?”

“Not that many, actually,” Gilan said. “I had a friend back home—one of the knights at Highever—who had a bad time sleeping as well. She wasn’t interested in me—or in men at all, actually— but when one or both of us was having a bad night, we’d sleep next to each other and it did help.”

Tirzah nodded slowly. “That might be good,” she said. “But if you expect anything other than sleeping…”

“Don’t worry,” Gilan said. “You’re gorgeous and wonderful, but I think there are about a million reasons why us having sex would be a terrible decision.”

“That seems like a decent estimate,” Tirzah said, her mouth quirking up into a smile. “At least we’re on the same page about that.”

Gilan nodded. Truthfully, he had no interest in sex at the moment—the recent tragedies he’d faced had drained away his normal sexual appetite and left him with little time and energy to indulge any feeble sparks of desire that he might experience. Even if his sex drive had been functioning as it normally did, Gilan doubted he’d have any interest in Tirzah. In the past few weeks, he’d come to view her as the sister that he never knew he’d needed.

Tirzah slid closer to the edge of the bed, surveying it critically. “Do you have a side you prefer?” she asked.

“Not really,” Gilan said. “Although there is a good chance I’ll just wind up curling around you no matter what.”

“That actually sounds kind of nice,” Tirzah said as she laid down on the bed. “I never liked how sleeping next to someone is all tied up with sex.”

Gilan nodded in agreement. “Having someone to sleep and wake up next to is nice, whether or not there’s sex involved.”

Tirzah murmured something in agreement as she curled onto her side, drawing her knees up to her chest. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m glad you understand.”

“Of course,” Gilan replied as he laid down on the other side of the bed and slid under the covers. “Sorry if I snore—there’s not much I can do about it, especially with all of the pollen.”

Tirzah chuckled as she pulled the covers up to her chin. “Can’t be worse than sleeping next to both of my brothers,” she said. “There were times when I worried the ceiling would cave in.”

“Just wait until springtime,” Gilan said, leaning over to blow out the candle. “You’ll wish I hadn’t made it through the Joining.”

“I doubt that,” Tirzah murmured. “I’m glad you’re the one who made it.”

“I’m glad you made it too,” Gilan replied. “Can you imagine me and Alistair trying to stop the Blight all by ourselves?”

“Oh no,” Tirzah murmured. “Ancestors, no. That would be a disaster.”

Gilan murmured something in agreement.

He heard Tirzah shift, rolling onto her other side as she nudged one of the blankets on the bed towards him. “There—now you won’t wake up in the middle of the night with no blankets,” she mumbled.

“Thanks,” GIlan replied as he wrapped the blanket around himself. “You really are the best. Now get some sleep.”

“You telling me to take care of myself?” Tirzah said, her voice already tinged with the heaviness of sleep. “That’s new.”

“Get used to it,” Gilan said. “I’m here to take care of you just as much as you’re here to take care of me. Well, almost as much.”

Tirzah laughed softly. “Night, Gil,” she murmured.

Gilan leaned over to blow out the candles beside the bed before laying back down, finding himself surprisingly at peace. He and Tirzah might always agree, but he was glad that she’d come tonight—her presence was a welcome distraction from the darkness that often haunted him at night.

At least tonight both of them had some company: a factor that would make the night pass more smoothly for both of them.

#dragon age origins #dragon age fanfiction #cousland #aeducan #noble trash duo #I've been chipping away at this for ages #it's been done but I've forgotten to post it so HERE IT IS NOW #I need to write more friendshippy things about these two #they're like...my ultimate brotp #Brynne for ts

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pikuna · 6 years

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Let’s start the new year with the first sheet of my Dragon Age Characters. My Warden is fairly new, just one month old actually. Over the years I got more familiar with the lore and such, so I decided that a Dalish Warden would be actually interesting and I really did enjoy playing with her.

Riza had a lot of problems drawing the lines for the armor and I can understand that, hard to get a good screenshot of it. It took me too a long time to color this, tho I’m very satisfied with the result. (But the details…*sobs’) First time using textures, really hope it has the desired effect.

Lineart © Riza23 (dA) Colors © Me/Pikuna

Character Sheet Template

More infos under the Cut

Anra is a little trickster and loves to play pranks or outwit others. After many incidents she stopped doing those things with her own clan members, but continues so with other people. Later on she also doesn’t mind doing dirty mercenary jobs, also she does them only with Zevran as company.

Unlike most of her brethren she doesn’t mind humans that much, as long as they don’t insult her or her people in front of her. She is curious about the customs and traditions of the other races, while participating in her own only on special occasions. (Like Tamlen’s funeral.)

Despite Anra appearing rude and nonchalant towards the world, her community sense is still big, helping those who are in real need of it and cares deeply for those she calls friends. At first she wasn’t so keen on being a leading figure in the fight against the Blight, but she soon realizes that she hasn’t much choice and sees it as a chance to follow in her father’s footsteps as a leader.

Relationship with Companions

Alistair: They go along rather quickly and well, since they are both person who like to joke around most of the time. After the battle of Ostagar, Anra develops a kinship with Alistair, given that they are the only surviving Wardens of Ferelden and giving him comfort when he mourns Duncan and the others. She doesn’t care much about Alistair’s royal blood and respects his wish not to become king. Soon they develop a sibling-like relationship, with Anra teasing him and giving is self-esteem a push here and there, while he tries his best to prevent her from doing rash/stupid decisions.

Morrigan: Like everyone else, Anra has a hard time approaching Morrigan, but she isn’t very deterred by the behavior of the witch and thinks it’s best to have her on her good site. While Morrigan doesn’t approve of Anra’s tendency to help every second person, they bond over the fact that they both were raised outside of society, spending their childhood amongst woods and animals.

Leliana: Anra loves to listen to the stories and songs from Leliana and also to learn more about the religion of the humans. They would often sit at the fire deep into the night, exchanging tales and facts about their people. Besides showing Anra some combat techniques, Leliana also teaches her to sing. Anra also thinks that Leliana is very attractive and has not only once offered her to join her and Zevran in their tent.

Sten: At first Anra was rather intimidated by the large Qunari and also questioning her decision to take him along. But she soon learns to trust his word and also proofs herself to him. Still despite her curiosity about the Qunari in general, Anra has not much patience to converse with Sten much. Instead she amuses herself with the delight of him getting delighted by the cookies she brings him.

Wynne: Anra would never speak it out loud, but she is glad to have person along that has the wisdom of age and can provide guidance. Even when it appears that she isn’t really listening to Wynne’s advice or scoldings, Anra takes them to the heart and tries to follow them. She always gets sad, whenever Wynne starts talking about her being so old and soon to be dead, since Anra has come to see her has mother figure and often seeks comfort from her.

Zevran: Maybe Anra wasn’t swooning over Zevran, but she still was charmed from the first moment on. For one thing, she was glad to have another elf in the group, especially one that was raised in the cities. For another, he wasn’t judging her for the more unethical choices/things she does and gladly accompanied her on some shady jobs. While Wrynne tried to teach Anra some manners, Zevran made it his job to show her how to act in human society, often resulting in little desasters, but also a lot of laughs. Like him, Anra saw their relationship just as having fun together, but the more she learned about Zevran, the more her heart ached to show him what a good life he could have, hopefully together with her. One of the main reasons why Anra later decides to agree to Morrigan’s ritual was because of the promises she made to Zevran, to not leave him alone and that they together would visit her clan.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dalish warden #elf warden #mahariel #anra mahariel #pikuna colors #character sheet #My Chars

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nulfaga · 6 years

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“a couple of things about nyna tabris, in no real order (and using no consistent verb tense)

-she cut her hair, immediately. IMMEDIATELY. the instant she and duncan were out of the alienage and away from cyrion's judgment, she took her beltknife to it, and then huffed when it turned out you can only cut your hair so short that way. raked her fingers through what was left with a curling feeling of a job unfinished.

remembered the frilly fucking wedding dress she was still wearing. tersely asked duncan if they could stop somewhere for armor or decent clothes or bloody anything at all. spent her last coin on leathers and a haircut.

-nyna never returned the sword she borrowed, the one with which she killed the rapist noble and saved shianni. it slips her mind, and by the time alistair notes that the wraps on the hilt remind him of duncan's, they're on their way to light the beacon and will not see him again. so she keeps it after that, sword in one hand, a dagger from the dalish camp in the other.

-grey wardens don't often bother with multiple names, let alone middle names, but post-blight (if she lives; haven't decided) when warden-commander tabris has to start putting her name to all sorts of fancy documents she always signs "N.A. Tabris". nyna adaia tabris.

-the joy she felt when the dog from ostagar came bounding toward her, a big strong well-bred mabari hound like she'd always wanted, was indescribable. of course she was too proud to start skipping around and dancing like a fool in front of alistair and everyone, but when she asks him how people usually name their mabaris it's with none of the hostility she showed him before and will show him afterward.

"maybe a family member?" he suggests, half-jokingly, but then he says everything half-jokingly. she decides immediately to name it soris, but doesn't use the name out loud until she figures alistair has forgotten his crack about naming the dog after family. soris himself will never find out.

she feels less homesick afterward.

-morrigan doesn't seem to like the beast very much, but nyna recognizes the defense mechanism of haughtiness when she sees it, and so she asks again in private.

"is it so incredibly important that i coexist peacefully with your mongrel?" morrigan blurts.

"i am very fond of him." they're both still learning to be less prickly, at least with each other. "and i know you are used to animals. does he bother you so much?"

"i. . .its constant, incessant enthusiasm for everyone and everything. i find it grating. reminds me far too much of alistair or leliana."

"i thought that too." it's silly, but nyna understands. the suspicion that any genuine cheerfulness or kindness is a joke or otherwise dishonest. even from a dog, she supposes. "but he really does love me. he'll love you if you let him."

morrigan shakes her head. she will be kinder to soris in the morning, even deign to feed him a treat. nyna's heart will feel full.

-nyna's voice is rich and deep, especially for her size. her laugh is rarer than dragonscale, but huge when coaxed out. it becomes more common as she and morrigan spend time together, but no less infectious.

-she loves to sing, but generally doesn't like the vulnerability of putting effort into it. but there's nothing better than the bone-vibrating solidarity of screaming along to a tavern song with a drink in hand.

-in the best possible timeline where nyna lives, she and morrigan will sing together to a baby kieran; morrigan, she thinks, has the loveliest voice in all thedas. nyna carries the tune, loud and strong if nothing else, and morrigan floats around it with thick, smoky harmonies. how miraculous that nyna gets to listen to such a voice so often.

-nyna sometimes thinks of nelaros, of how he introduced himself gently smiling, how silent and disappointed he was the last time she saw him alive. how she later found out her ring was forged by nelaros himself, a smooth gold band painstakingly wrung from scraps somewhere in highever. sometimes she feels a pang of guilt for the way she treated him. and then she gets violently angry with herself. surely she wouldn't have stopped hating him if he hadn't died. so why blubber now? it's cyrion's fault anyway; all of this could have been avoided if he'd only listened and picked out a woman for her!

. . .though, she wouldn't have met morrigan if none of the other shit had happened. that, single-handedly, makes it worthwhile.

-nyna thinks she believes in the maker. very secretly. not in the chantry and not in however they've twisted andraste's words. but in Him as a power. she doesn't know what to make of the creators, either, but praying to them gives her as much peace as anything from the chant of light. . .

-as pushy and ruthless as she is (as she sometimes needs to be) in the human lands, nyna seems to transform on her first visit to the dalish camp. she addresses the elves respectfully, listens rather than speaks, will even apologize immediately for making a mistake or saying something ignorant. the other party members collectively exchange "???" looks behind her back.

-in fact she and zevran are completely captivated by every scrap of tradition, every fable, every lost piece of history they can glean. like (points at the vallaslin inks) what are these for??? (points at a statue of andruil) who is this to??:0??? in the camp they both listen to the storyteller like he's telling them the secret to eternal life. "creators," sarel laughs, "you two are a marvel to tell tales to. you pay closer attention than the youngest ones!"

-varathorn has exactly one pair of embroidered dalish bracers in stock. nyna and zev agonize over who should take them for hours and hours

("you wouldn't even wear them, you're a warrior!" "well--your arms are too skinny anyway!" "they are made for skinny arms! you are the exception to the rule, you sublimely muscled fiend!")

until they run into the haunted camp in the brecilian forest and pass out from the spell. when they come to, a bleeding and extremely pissed-off morrigan is holding up a ratty pair of gloves which do look dalish, but not fereldan. zevran, despite having the stronger claim to the brand-new bracers, graciously settles for those.

-on the way back from orzammar, soris the dog gets badly mauled by a bear, and has to stay at camp. nyna's party is about to pull out again (with sten replacing soris) when alistair confronts her about how he's a warden too and why is he last choice behind the bloody qunari and and

"i think you'll take the best care of soris," nyna says, biting her lower lip hard. "you know dogs and things."

alistair shuts right up.

-by the time the blight ends, calling nyna and alistair “friends” would be a stretch, but not a big one. “warm acquaintances”, maybe. which is a huge step up from arch-nemeses, and all because of soris the dog.

because scrubbing darkspawn blood from the fur of an unruly mabari is a two-person job. because filling in the pits soris digs all over camp is extremely fucking annoying. because the next time soris gets bitten by a wild animal, the wound infects, and morrigan tries to treat it with some sort of abrasive-smelling herb paste, but soris thrashes out of nyna’s grip and darts away, whining. and the commotion makes alistair look up at a very done-looking morrigan and a quietly-freaking-out nyna.

“hey--all right, tabris?”

and nyna doesn’t snap for the second time ever since their first meeting. “we’re trying to disinfect his scratches but he won’t sit still and he doesn’t understand how sick he might get if he--”

alistair holds up his hand. he slowly approaches the sulking mabari, scoops him up and brings him back to nyna and morrigan. “now, soris, i hear you’ve been a very bad dog.”

soris whines.

“yes, well, i’m not the one you should be saying that to. you know she’d never do anything to hurt you. in fact,” he gives nyna a meaningful look, “she’s going to specially-for-you explain what that green shite is and why it’s important.” they pick up on how you feel, he whispers to her. if you’re calm, he will be too.

nyna looks at morrigan. morrigan rolls her eyes. “i hope you realize what a worthless undertaking it would be for me to explain my craft to the dog.”

“come on,” alistair gently squishes soris’ pappy face, “how can you resist these eyes? he’s so curious! he looks up to you!”

“please, morri.”

and morrigan sighs and lists the ingredients of the paste, and their effects, and nyna feels herself relax. “all right,” she tells soris, “can we try again?”

she wraps her arms around the mabari and holds him tightly. he whines again but doesn’t pull away, and morrigan succeeds in cleaning and bandaging the scratch.

and nyna gives alistair a terse thank-you, and offers to buy him a few ales the next time they pass a tavern, which, from prideful nyna, is practically a love confession.

#nyna tabris #ignore me #my writing

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valerie-royeaux · 7 years

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Get into JOHN COUSLAND

I had been previously tagged on this by @gugle1980 and @ladydracarysao3, and I answered this awesome post for my muse Junia Cadash. Now, @ellenembee tagged me (Thank you so much!!!), and I’ll do it for my Warden OC, John Cousland!

NAME: John Cousland

AGE: 22 at 9:30 Dragon, the beginning of the Blight.

GENDER: Male

ORIENTATION: Straight

PROFESSION: Before the Blight, he was a professional spare heir knight. Although his track record involved very few battles and a lot of tournaments.

BACKGROUND: John had always lived a life of luxury and enjoyment. Without even the responsibility of inheriting the Teyrnir of Highever, he and his twin sister Gwen pretty much roamed through life living it to the fullest. They would often be seen as a pair playing in taverns and reunions, and would spend the first month of spring on the Storm Coast sailing with their grandfather. When they got older, and specially after Gwen’s first love, Lucille, passed away, he would travel the tournament circuit, and Gwen would go to Orlais.

In the early spring of 9:30 Dragon, John was in Starkhaven when he received a letter from Fergus beckoning him to come home, because Gwen had involved herself in some nasty business in the capital. It involved king Cailan and queen Anora, as well as bann Alfstanna of Waking Sea, and arl Urien Kendells of Denerim. Things were so serious, that Bryce, their father, would march with 10,000 strong to Denerim to pick her up - and Fergus wanted John to meet them at the Denerim. John immediately went.

When crossing the Minanther river, the ship he was in was assailed by pirates. In the fighting, he was knocked on the water, and managed to make it to shore, only to be captured by bandits. It was pure luck that had this bandits rest in the same Chantry Junia was spending the night in. With an eye on the ransom she would ask for John, Junia saved him, and decided to take him to Highever herself.

On the way a lot happened (and it still happening, if you are following Blood and Dust. So, spoiler alert, from this point on). He and Junia needed to fight their way south, and fell in love as they did so. John discovered Highever’s fate when they arrived in Kirkwall - and sailed with Junia to Waking Sea, to where most of Highever’s fleet managed to flee during the attack.

After a major sea battle (coming soon in Chapter 6!), they found out Gwen and Duncan were on their way to Ostagar. They hasted to intercepted them and John intervened - he would not allow her sister to be made a Grey Warden, even with the Right of Conscription. But Duncan had saved Gwen’s life, and on his dying breath, Bryce Cousland, their father, had sworn Gwen to the wardens.

Gwen told John of what really happened between her queen Anora and that what happened in Highever was caused by that. John realized that Gwen and queen Anora, along with their friend, bann Alfstanna, had the most chances of restoring the Couslands, and stopping Loghain and Howe. Thus, he volunteered to change places with Gwen. Duncan accepted willingly, as all he wanted was a skilled recruit. Junia could not believe it, and walked away in very bad terms with John.

PHYSICAL

Body type: Stout and strong. He was trained as a knight since he was very young, and squired for his grandfather, Fearcher McEanring, bann of the Storm Coast, known as the Storm Giant. He has the body of someone who can lift a lot, and has never dieted to achieve that.

Eyes: I have @fereldenpeach to thank for knowing how to name it. Xanadu gray!

Hair: A dark shade of auburn. He was a fiery ginger as a child, and his hair got dark as he aged. His beard is bright copper.

Skin: Pale, with freckles on cheeks, elbows and knees.

Height: 1.74 kg - 5′ 9″

Weight: 90 kg - 200 lbs

SKILLS (S.P.E.C.I.A.L + M)

Strength: 9/10 - John spent his life training as a knight from a very early age. He’s apt at being part of shield walls, javelin launching, cavalry charges, and takes part in recreational barrel toss.

Perception: 4/10 - He is not perceptive. At all. Once focused on something, he is virtually deaf to everything around him, and he can get jumped on simply from being too focused on reading. He does have a keen eye to detail though - although that would require ignoring even more of his surroundings. Alistair had a companion in stepping on traps.

Endurance: 6/10 - John avoids pain and feeling bothered as much as he can. But through his resolve, he is able to withstand a lot. And he is devoted to his role as a Warden. Seeing the Blight through pushed him to the lengths needed to become more and more resistant.

Charisma: 8/10 - He is a jolly good fellow, which resorts to humor in tough situations, and will often laugh in face of adversity. He is overall a good company to keep around.

Intelligence: 9/10 - The same thing of his focus applies applied to his intelligence. He is not witty, but he is very smart. He is educated, literate, and has learned from the best tutors in Ferelden. But he needs to concentrate and apply his focus to solve a problem. Without focus, he is prone to making a lot of mistakes.

Agility: 3/10 - He is not agile nor fast. He is knight, and fights as one, relying on keeping a position and relying on his equipment and armor. He is also a good wrestler and a heavy puncher.

Luck: 8/10 - Bad things happened to him. And in all this times, something was there to save him or make his life easier.

Magic: 0/10 - He is a normal human, with no magic whatsoever.

LIKES

Colors: Blue, in almost all of its shades.

Smells: Musk, sweat, sandalwood.

Food: Roasts and roots

Fruit: Berries, mostly.

Drinks: Mead. Although he never drinks enough to be inebriated.

OTHER

Smoke: John never managed to. It is a mistery, and every time he tried, he coughed and lost his breath.

Drugs: No. He believes that using them to achieve different levels of consciousness is dangerous, as it may let magic in.

Driver’s license?: He is a superb rider, and can charge mounted into battle with only his knees.

Tagging: I will tag the same crowd as the previous times, as most have awesome OCs I would love to know better. @mapplestrudel, @gwen-cousland, @ankalime, @acaranna, @amell-on, @senros, @kirkwallgirl, @novamm66, @fuck-the-council, @fereldenpeach, @captainceranna, @crashed-down-in-a-hurricane, @roguelioness, @bearly-tolerable, @thesecondsealwrites, @elfsplaining, @sloth-draws, @dalishious

#John Cousland #Warden #Cousland #Warden Cousland #My OC

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apprenticebard · 7 years

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This is part of a longer piece, but I think it works as a standalone scene, too, so here. Warnings for implied/discussed rape + depictions of violence. (It’s all stuff from the canonical city elf origin, and it’s less explicit than the game itself.) I’ll put it on Ao3 when I finish the rest of it.

---

The events of the morning fade almost too quickly. As soon as she gets over the initial shock of being conscripted, Aria Tabris is all questions, wanting to know everything she can about the Wardens. She exhausts Duncan's store of standard information by mid-afternoon, and then moves on to other questions—are there other elves in the wardens? Women? Dwarves? Mages? Are they paid for serving? Do they have professions outside being wardens? Not that it matters, but are any of them married? What do darkspawn look like? Are they really corrupted magisters, like the chantry says? Can they all use magic? Are the magic ones connected to the fade? Can they strategize, or is it all just rushing towards the nearest person? What about lower-level tactics, like parrying blows? If some of them can use crossbows, doesn't that indicate a level of intelligent thought beyond that of, say, cats, or are things like that more innate than learned when it comes to monsters? Has he ever stopped to consider the relative intelligence of cats, and how difficult it is to measure something like that? (He has not.)

It isn't until nightfall that the shadows press in around her and seep into her dreams. She wakes up sickened and disoriented, her mind clawing at images of Vaughan's face and Nola's corpse. She remembers the stench of death. The sick, slippery feeling of blood on the floor. The sense that her emotions were too large to fit in her body, as she became a shell devoid of anything but movement—beyond anger, beyond fear, beyond uncertainty. The way her ill-fitting, stolen armor glinted in the sunlight when she raised her hand, calm as a statue of a saint, and said it was my doing. She had not been afraid. She was not capable of fear, by that point. She'd been staring her death in the face, and she wasn't going to give death the satisfaction of seeing her cower.

Only she isn't dead, not yet. She clings to life like a sick person who, despite having no chance of recovery, has not yet actually vacated the premises. Sometimes death is lazy; sometimes the valkyries deliberate. Sometimes one is left between states, too weak to live and too strong to die (or, perhaps, the opposite).

Somehow she staggers off her bedroll and manages to lean against the nearest tree. She hasn't eaten enough in the past day to vomit up much more than acid, but her whole frame shakes for minutes afterward. She makes very little noise while she cries. Eventually, she becomes aware that Duncan is watching her.

"I wasn't running," she bites out, when she can speak. "Just had to take a minute."

"Peace, Tabris," he answers. He offers her a canteen. She nods her thanks before drinking, though it takes another minute for her to finish centering herself. He waits.

"I don't get it," she says, at last.

"The world is a violent place."

"I know that," she snaps. "I meant you. Looking for recruits to fight the blight and save the world, I understand that. But why the alienage? Elves aren't even allowed to carry weapons. You can conscript anyone at all, and you pick the people who can't recognize the sharp end of a sword."

He is silent for a long moment. She senses that there is something he isn't telling her, but he takes the question seriously, offering her what he has, wisdom passed from the dead to the dying. "No man controls the circumstances of his birth. Whether he is elven or human, rich or poor, mage or not. The same cannot be said of heroism and nobility of spirit. They are often found in unlikely places."

"Maybe," she answers, but says no more.

The days that follow are calmer, as Aria settles into the rhythm of waiting for the last piece of death to set in. She does not complain, either about their pace or their less-than-appetizing travel rations. They pass through various small towns without stopping for the night, but they do buy more supplies, and Aria is allowed to spend some of her meager savings on a few balls of yarn. It's cold in the south, and she doesn't have much in the way of warm clothing. Besides, it keeps her hands occupied. As nervous habits go, at least knitting is a useful one. Duncan worries that it leaves her distracted and open to attack, but he gives her the choice up front, rather than issue a blanket ultimatum: either continue knitting and be on guard, or put the project away and focus on the road. She decides to continue, and later dodges his attack without trouble. The next day, he offers to pay her to knit a new pair of socks for him. When she protests that the offered price is too much, he laughs at her.

She doesn't think much about the fact that she won't be allowed to see her family until after the blight (if it is a blight), mostly because she doesn't expect to be here that long. She doesn't think about anything much, except the wardens and her yarn and the wedding that did not occur. Occasionally she finds herself holding Nelaros's ring in her hand, examining it. It's beautiful—not high-quality gold, even she can tell that, but it's covered in delicate designs that resemble wings, almost reminiscent of the patterns on her face. She supposes Nelaros must have been told about the markings before he agreed to marry her; perhaps he meant for the ring to reflect the same meaning as the markings, though he could not possibly have known what that meaning was. She closes her eyes and tries to remember his face. She thinks she sees it properly, handsome features blushing as he's introduced to his bride. Better this than the other image, the image of his dead body lying on the floor.

Aria opens her eyes. Soon, she knows, she'll forget what he looked like. Not much later, she herself will pass away. The ring and its markings will remain.

"There are rings in this world that contain great power," says Duncan, at one point. Her eyes snap up. His face is impassive. "However, I doubt that this is one of them."

"He's dead," she says, responding not to the words but to what she supposes is the question behind them. "He died for me. He knew he might, but he came anyway."

"And that was brave of him, certainly. But tell me, is it truly Nelaros you mourn?"

She hesitates. She thinks they would have been happy together, but she didn't know him, not really. Maybe she can't mourn him properly. "Second chances, maybe. He's not going to get one."

Duncan nods seriously. "Few people do, and yet here you are."

"Here I am," agrees Aria.

By the time they can see the broken stone walls, she's knitted one sweater, a pair of gloves, a hat, two pairs of socks, and most of a third. Her thoughts change again as they make their final approach toward Ostagar. She remembers Nessa's concerns about being surrounded by human men who haven't seen a woman in months. It is not a pleasant thought, certainly, but things could be worse. At least Nessa herself won't have to deal with Ostagar. At least Soris and Shianni and Valora and Cyrion are all momentarily safe. She supposes the human soldiers must have similar groups waiting for them back home. Human wives, human children, aging human parents. People who matter to them more than their lives. She tries to remember this similarity as she and Duncan draw closer to the high stone walls.

The fortress is massive, and visible from a long way off. Duncan's pace does not increase, but he walks with even more purpose now. When they do reach the fortress, a man in gold-colored armor greets them. Aria's never seen the king, despite living in his city for her entire life. She has no time to prepare herself—one moment Duncan is saying your majesty, and before she's had a chance to adjust to this, her king has fixed his eyes on her.

Some tiny sliver of her is excited, but most of her is convinced that this is a terrible thing to have happen. Ordinarily, when a nobleman deigns to notice one, this is a sign of pressing danger, and the best course of action is to be an unremarkable part of the scenery until he loses interest and moves on. What's the least-interesting personality for a female elven soldier to have? Too deferential and she could be marked as an easy target, too abrasive and someone could decide she needs to be taken down a peg. Cheerful nonchalance? They're all here to fight the same enemy, so maybe if she can make it obvious that she's here to do the same—

"Ho there, friend! Might I know your name?"

"Aria," she says, then blinks. "Uh, your majesty."

He smiles, but doesn't laugh at her. "I see you're an elf, friend." She swallows, unsure whether the friend part is meant to be taken seriously. "From where do you hail?"

"Denerim," says Aria, clenching one hand into a fist at her side. Calm. Stay calm, Tabris.

"As do I!" exclaims Cailan, delighted at this supposed similarity. "Are you from one of the alienages? Tell me, how is it there? My guards all but forbid me from going there."

"Uh." Her mind goes blank. There are a thousand good things about the alienage, and a thousand serious problems the king should rightly be informed about, but she can't remember any of them. She sees Vaughan, her sword in his stomach, staring at her, unable to comprehend the fact of his own death. Shianni, crying weakly, no longer begging for him to stop. Nola, slain and discarded like so much refuse. Nelaros's blood seeping into the rug.

"Uh," she says again, no longer remembering the question. Cheerful nonchalance. "I killed an arl's son for raping my cousin."

She senses rather than sees the men around her planning to smooth this offense over. What she sees, though, is Cailan's expression—not anger, not disgust, but shock. Now she feels guilty, like it's her fault for destroying whatever sanitized ideas he had about how his city holds itself together. Also, there are probably ways of saying that sort of thing that don't make her sound like she intentionally set out to commit revenge-murder, that make it clear that she killed him because he was still threatening to rape her. And now she can't say them, because everyone will tell the rest of the camp that the newest gray warden is some kind of psychopathic vigilante spree killer.

Duncan says something that sounds reasonable and diplomatic. Aria can't hear anything specific over her obnoxiously loud heartbeat and desire to sink into the ground, at least until Cailan addresses her again.

"Well, allow me to be the first to welcome you to Ostagar," says Cailan, somehow smiling again. The expression looks weirdly genuine. Are all human nobles that good at faking smiles? "The Wardens will benefit greatly with you in their service."

"I—thank you, your majesty," she says, too startled to react any other way.

There is more discussion after that, primarily about darkspawn and Loghain—wait, the Loghain? She doesn't get the chance to ask. The king is busy, as she supposes he would be, and in a few more seconds, he and his men have returned to continue their duties. She and Duncan are left standing alone at the edge of the ruin.

"I didn't mean to say that," she says, crossing her arms in front of her.

"Such things happen," says Duncan, serenely. "As for the darkspawn—"

Her head snaps up again, eager to talk about this and not the other things. "Do you think he's right about it not being a real blight? Can the darkspawn do that, just come to the surface in large numbers without an archdemon to lead them?"

"There is an archdemon behind this," says Duncan, before she can ask anything else. "But I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling." He goes on for a while, explaining that Ferelden will not wait for the Wardens in Orlais. Aria is sure she's missing something there, with regard to the political situation—she's vaguely aware of Orlais as the nation that once occupied Ferelden, the nation that Loghain (if it is that Loghain) fought to free them from, but she doesn't know how the Wadrens fit into all that, or how much they're meant to represent their respective nations. "We must look to Teryn Loghain to make up the difference."

"It is the Loghian, right?" she says, prompting Duncan to frown at her. "You know, the Hero of River Dane? He's here? What does he think of Wardens? Is he prepared for the darkspawn, or for an archdemon, if one appears? Is he—"

"Perhaps you can ask him yourself, in due time, but we have our own concerns to attend to. We should proceed with the joining ritual without delay."

There are, of course, more questions after that. She makes mental note of the answers: Secret, secret, confidential, secret, yes, all gray wardens have to undergo it, secret, she'll be told what to do in due time, no, she isn't the only recruit, secret, yes, it is dangerous, confidential, trust me, not something you need to know right now—

"Perhaps you'd like to explore the camp," says Duncan, motioning towards the rest of the ruin. It somehow looks even larger than it did from the outside, and all of it is constructed from stone. Say what you will of the ancient Tevinters, but they knew how to build. The Ferelden army seems to be occupying most of the space, but there are also tradespeople, animal pens, shopkeepers, at least one tent that seems to have mages around it, and probably a thousand other fascinating things that aren't immediately leaping out to her. "All I ask is that you do not leave it, for now."

"That won't be hard," she says, following him as he walks over the massive stone bridge and towards the main camp. It's so big, and so old. She feels like an ant in comparison. "Uh. Do you need me to do anything specific?"

"Eat. Get your bearings. Speak to the other recruits, if you wish. When you are ready to proceed with the joining, you should look for Alistair, another of the Gray Wardens here."

"Cool," says Aria, pressing her hands together for another few moments. "You don't, uh, have any advice, do you?"

"Prepare yourself. These are dangerous times," says Duncan, as the two of them return to solid ground. It is with this thought that he leaves her, surrounded by human strangers and the workings of a nation preparing itself for war.

Aria rocks on the balls of her feet and tries to absorb the entire area in a single moment. A fitting place for a dead woman, at least one whose body hasn't yet caught onto that detail. They're of a kind, she and the ruins, though the evidence of her life will pass away much more quickly.

But not today. Today there is work to be done.

#dragon age #my fic #the labors of aria #aria tabris #duncan #rape cw #death cw #this isn't abandoned at all it is my child #I don't even hate it #I was gonna wait to post the whole thing #but hopefully showing it to people will cheer me up a little

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cometladyicarus-blog · 7 years

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Swords and Children - Alistair and Cailan pt.2

Here’s a part two I wrote, set firmly in the game’s timespan, though it’s also a multi-warden, more obvious than part 1.

Same, late arriving spoilers. Pre-Landsmeet, during/after Return to Ostagar.

Shameless with CouslandxAlistair shipping once again. They’re one of my OTPs.

Part One Rewritten

Original Part One

Part Two - Here!

Part Three

They walked through the snow of the ruins, the others splitting up to mourn over the dead, or to contemplate where tents once stood.

Elissa was sobbing out where the main camp was over a Cousland banner, her Mabari hound howling with her. Her grieving was the loudest, though Solona was spending a long time over the armor pieces of a Templar that didn't match the kinds he saw Templars wear in Ferelden.

He stood before the King's tent, or where it once stood, and looked at the wooden chest that was scarred from just being in a battlefield. He knelt and gave the lock a tug, all that was needed to break the lock.

Inside were letters. Letters to the Emperess, letters to Highever, letters to the Arlings, to the Teyrn of the South Reach, to the Grand Cleric in Denerim. He paused as he found at the bottom of the chest two bundles of letters. One marked "To Father".

The other marked with words that froze his chilled hands.

"To my little brother, Prince Alistair Theirin, Ward of Arl Eamon of Redcliffe"

As he looked through the bundle of letters with his name, he found his name shifting somewhat. "Prince Alistair Theirin, Knight of the Chantry", "Prince Alistair Theirin, Knight of the Chantry, and his bride Pioup Elissa Cousland", back to “Prince Alistair, Knight of the Chantry” "Grey Warden Alistair Theirin, Prince of Ferelden".

"Clever bastard." He tucked the bundle into a pocket of his tunic under the heavy plates. The rest he picked up and carried. At the dwarven princess' raised eyebrow he shrugged. "Letters from the King. If I learned anything from you and your politics underground, I learned that letters are valuable. And that you’re a nightmare to your brother with the ultimate debt he owes you."

She laughed. "Your lady is running the risk of drawing darkspawn back here, and she's the one who wanted to be sure we searched this area for proof Loghain's a traitor."

They burned Cailan's body, a vision he personally dreaded. They recovered Duncan's sword and dagger, and killed the ogre who still had them buried in its back. They recovered the golden king's armor and carried it in the chest that held the letters, now minus the letters to him still tucked away on his person.

That night as those who had been to Ostagar spent the evening in silence, breaking it only to announce the change of shifts or to snore, he sat by the fire, reading the letters he pulled out of his tunic.

"Little brother,

"I met you for the first time in my life today, and I wish I could lift you into my arms and loudly declare you as my little brother. Our father was very annoyed with me when I asked him why he didn't just claim you and bring you to court with us. He said something about a promise to your mother about keeping you away from court as long as possible.

"But you are still my little brother, and I vowed to myself and Maker that I would make sure you would be given the opportunity to live your dreams. Part of me envies you your freedom from court, but I worry that if something were to happen to me...

"I spoke with Uncle Eamon about you after Aunt Isolde put Connor to bed, and he had mentioned that a couple years ago the Couslands had suggested pairing you with their daughter Pioup – though I'm given to understand that she hates that name and would much prefer being called my her second name of Elissa. I met the young lady today, and after I met you earlier this afternoon, I decided to try and convince Eamon that the match would be a good one. She's like you, a dreamer. I really think you would like her.

"Until the next letter, little brother,

"Your older brother, Prince Cailan."

He smiled at that letter, and the several subsequent letters written to him, all trying to convince him of Elissa's positive features. Other parts of those letters included parts of lessons on how to be a king, as Cailan was being instructed by their father.

"Little brother,

"I heard Aunt Isolde pressured Uncle Eamon into sending you to the Chantry. I tried to convince our father that he should at least help dispel those rumors of your being my cousin, but he's being stubborn about the whole subject."

He skimmed over those parts, smiling when Cailan shifted from their father to Anora, or antics of the court by the nobles.

"Little brother,

"Congratulations on starting your training to be a Templar Knight."

He wondered how Cailan was able to keep such close tabs on him, or how much of a 'secret bastard' he was if court was mostly filled with the closer friends of the king, and several seemed to know about him anyway. He also wondered how in Thedas Isolde thought he was Eamon's bastard if he was such an open secret. Or maybe he wasn't as much an open secret?

He skimmed through more letters, his ears burning as Cailan offered advice on how to make his future wife enjoy being in the bedroom with him. Maker, he thought he was bad at the innuendo with the lamppost line he used on Elissa, apparently it was a curse in the blood considering the terrible innuendo Cailan wrote. Cures for bent reeds and how to make a rose bloom? His face turned red.

Alistair slowed his reading as the letters got closer to the Battle's date.

"Little brother,

"I should stop calling you my 'little' brother, shouldn't I? We're the same height now, aren't we. It was nice to see you in person again. I do hope your betrothal being broken off from joining the Grey Wardens didn't end badly. Loghain still tries to convince me that Uncle Eamon would use you to usurp the throne or something, but he's been growing more and more paranoid with every week, I swear.

"Just the other day, he accused me of opening my arms to welcome back our former Orlesian overlords. I had only welcomed the Grey Wardens. But Loghain is still the best battle tactician in Ferelden, so I have to try and appease him.

"I look forward to being back home in Anora's arms, however. But I have to lead by example. If the troops see me pining for home, and doubting our chances at victory, then they will also lose hope. It's amazing what people can do when they believe their chances at victory are better than they are. That was a lesson our father taught me, and I think I wrote – yes I did. I wrote to you about it.

"But I think you already know the power of other people's perception. I worry that it is a trait we Theirins are doomed to share now – to be the bearers of good cheer, even if we do not feel it.

"I wish our father were here though. I can see it now, he'd grin and clap a hand to your shoulder to welcome you to Ostagar, and with Loghain, Rendon, Bryce, Uncle Eamon, and Teagan, they would plan out some brilliant battleplan the Wardens could alter as they would need, and we'd all be going home with tales of how the archdemon was slain by mere mortals. He had a way of keeping the paranoia Loghain would speak of in check.

"It was good to see you, and to see you live your dream.

"Until the next letter, Ali – nope, sorry, little brother,

"Your older brother, King Cailan."

The last one was dated the night of the Battle. His hands shook as he read by the campfire.

"Younger – nope, sorry again, I just can't not write it down, Little brother,

"Well, your betrothed is a Warden recruit as well. If she should pass, I fear you will need her. I like your fellow Wardens, even the other new recruits, very much, and am glad none of them seem to be in Loghain's pockets. I believe Loghain means to have me killed soon.

"You will need Elissa to secure the Bannorn if I should die tonight. Loghain will do whatever he can to discredit you and the Wardens. If the Bannorn will not take Eamon's words that you are my brother, present these letters, no matter how embarrassing, like that one letter of 'Big Brotherly Advice' I wrote while half drunk. Or just flaming smile, our father was quite skilled at making us into his copies, after all. How anyone could fail to see the resemblance is beyond me.

"I know the others think me a fool and a child playing at being a King, but if this is truly the night the Blight ends, then I have served my country and people. If this night ends with my death and the Blight goes on, then all I can do is beg that you protect Ferelden in my place. Anora is a kind woman, and a good ruler, but she will always give way to Loghain.

"Ferelden is not strong enough to fight an invasion from Orlais should he anger them too much, and I know Grey Wardens do not get involved, but stopping an Orlesian invasion summoned by Loghain's madness would only allow for Ferelden to recover from this Blight."

"Until the next letter, my little brother,

Your older brother, King Cailan."

He looked up to the sky after he folded the letters back up and rebound them to be stored somewhere once more.

"You never came to me and called me your brother, but you wrote to me and called me your brother in writing." He frowned as he recalled one night in the weeks, - or was it over a month - before the Battle.

"So, here we stand, together as brothers."

He was certain he heard the cheerful King wrongly, why would he claim him as his brother now? "Pardon, your Majesty?"

Cailan had given him an odd look before breaking into a charming smile. "Brothers-in-arms against the darkspawn. Defenders of Ferelden. All of us, from Kings and Teyrns and mages to the foot soldiers, medics, and even the servants and Chantry."

"Right." He had nodded and resumed looking over the Wilds trying to pinpoint where he could feel the taint of the Darkspawn and where the enemy was moving around. It was better than the dreams that would wake him from time to time.

The King stood watch with him that shift. That was when he thought he knew why the people loved Cailan.

"You're an asshole and a bastard, Cailan." He smiled and shook his head.

In the morning he suggested they head for Denerim and the Landsmeet. Elissa grinned and gestured for him to lead the way.

Cailan wanted him to defend Ferelden, Duncan wanted him to fight the darkspawn and to be happy. Anora would be displeased about her father being dead by the end, but, by the Maker, Loghain abandoned his king and made to ruin the battleplan by not securing the Tower and just assuming it was fine after ages of disuse. And if the former Queen made too much of a fuss, he could just send her to Gwarren. Or Elissa could find a way to phrase it to sound like a better idea for her.

He could, no, he will, be king. And the Blight will be stopped.

He looked to see Elissa pack up the tents, the rose he convinced Solona to use magic on and make the rose last forever within a layer of glass was woven into the braids of her snow colored hair. The rose was finer than any crown or tiara, he decided.

Eamon was right, he had a duty to Ferelden. And she’d feel obligated to care for Highever until they found her brother, or had to give him up for dead and she would still be left ruling the Teyrn.

Ferelden was his responsibility.

He was Prince Alistair Theirin, and with Lady or Teyrna Elissa Cousland at his side, they could fulfill their duties as Warden and royalty.

Ferelden is his.

#alistair theirin #Alistair #cailan theirin #royal bastard #clever asshole #To Be A King #Dragon Age #letters from the dead

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talesfromthefade · 7 years

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Marina Amell x Cullen Rutherford (DA:O Prologue) || angst || SFW || 2489 words

“Jowan, I’m sorry,” she whispers tearfully as the apprentice’s eyes widen in shock, then turn to her with burning fury as the Templars advance on them, Greigor pronouncing a death sentence for ‘the blood mage’ and the Mage’s prison of Aeonar for Chantry Initiate Lily.

“You betrayed us. Betrayed me,” he accuses. “I thought you were my friend. I trusted you.” Marina loses the battle with her tears, as they fall wet and hot down her cheeks.

“I had no choice,” the young woman offers sadly, shaking her head. Irving knew everything, how could she refuse the First Enchanter when he insisted she win the other’s trust, trick him into revealing himself and his plans to escape with Lily in such a way that they could prove the other’s guilt and responsibility in it all?

“I thought you of all people would understand,” he continues and Marina chokes back a loud sob, shaking her head once more. “It’s him, isn’t it? That fucking Templar,” Jowan growls suddenly, hands balling into fists. “Get in good with the First Enchanter and Greigor so they’ll give you privileges and freedoms, make it easier to see him, maybe even turn a blind eye? Was it worth it,” he hisses angrily, snarling like the small, wounded, and cornered creature he is boxed into a corner with Lily by the First Enchanter and several Templars who’d been lying in wait to catch their attempted escape. “Damn you. Damn you all. Maker forgive you for this, Marina, for I never shall,” Jowan vows, pulling an unseen blade from his robes and slashing across his palm before any can make a move to stop him. Blood pools, spatters his robes, then hovers as he casts his spells, a great gust of power crashing into and knocking all those gathered in front of them to their feet. Lily is crying, backing away from Jowan, clearly horrified and in as much shock as Marina that the other would resort to such evils.

Jowan sputters excuses, wanting to be a better, more powerful mage, to prove himself, that he intended to give it all up for her, but Lily backs herself into the nearest corner, cowering in fear, forcing Jowan to turn tail and run before the Templars can collect themselves and give chase. Marina rushes over to the First Enchanter, carefully helping a grateful Irving to his feet, before cautiously approaching Greigor with him who immediately rejects both their help. Dusting himself off he quickly orders two Templars to collect Lily and ‘get her out of his sight’ before turning his attention back to the Circle’s newest Enchanter and First Enchanter Irving. Greigor spouts something about Irving being irresponsible in the way he chose to handle the situation, of not being able to trust Marina’s loyalty to the Circle or even her own mind after spending time in the company of a blood mage.

Marina for her part, only dimly registers what is being said, searching the gathered Templars while the two older men argue until her gaze alights on a familiar form, as the Templar takes off his battered helmet to reveal tight blonde curls. She cannot afford for her attention to linger on him, even if half the Circle- mages and Templars alike seem to relish whispering about the two of them. She is momentarily relieved, however, and lets go of a breath she had not even realized she was holding when she observes that besides having the wind knocked out of him by Jowan’s spell, he seems no worse for wear.

The Grey Warden, Duncan, she met and escorted to the guest rooms of the tower approaches, just as the Knight-Commander is winding up, and suggesting at the very least there will need to be a full-inquiry into the events that have transpired and allowed a dangerous mage to escape their grasp. Suggesting that there are greater concerns and more powerful forces at work, the Warden offers to recruit Marina not only to fight for the King at Ostagar, but to press her into the service of the Wardens themselves instead. Greigor blusters, but Irving’s lack of reaction is far more telling. He expected this, perhaps even desired as much for her from the start, Marina thinks watching him as Duncan continues to argue with the Knight-Commander. Two years ago, had she been presented with any reason or opportunity to escape the tower and the Circle, she might have jumped at the chance. Marina doesn’t fool herself in thinking that her life is as bad as some of her fellows, and the tower is the only home she has known for most of her life having demonstrated magical potential and been snatched away from her family by the Templars at a very tender age, but that hasn’t stopped her from seeing it for the gilded cage that it is. Two years ago, the chance for such freedom, to prove herself like this, and with such a distinguished order as the Wardens, would have been a kindness. It still is, she supposes, there are plenty within this very tower who would jump at the chance, kill to be in her shoes.

But she can feel wide, sad, amber eyes trained on her without even looking up to meet them. Irving and Duncan pose it as a question, make it sound as though she has a choice, while Greigor makes it all too clear he won’t grant her the same patience and courtesy now she has cost him an initiate and caused his order to lose track of a potentially dangerous blood mage. Life in the Circle will not be what it was before if she remains here. The thought of leaving makes a cavity of the place in her chest where her heart should beat, but can she really stay knowing full well the Knight-Commander will always be watching, never trusting, and never allow her so much as a stolen moment of conversation with him again?

No. She’d rather die, and Cullen would be better served to move on- better able to keep his promises to the Templars without her near. And to die a free mage, to die fighting for her country and countrymen, for the hope that one day her fellows might not fear- might even respect and treat her kind as equals- it isn’t such a terrible fate, she thinks. She swallows hard, gathering her courage and finding her voice again, before confirming that it would be an honor to join Duncan and his order in their fight against the Darkspawn, while doing her best to avoid the young Templar’s gaze.

There is little need for her to take anything with her. Even less that the Enchanter actually possesses, but Duncan manages to lead her quietly away from a still arguing Irving and Greigor before turning her loose with a sympathetic expression that rather hurts to look on, and the excuse of collecting her things, so that she might say her goodbyes. There’s nothing in her room, save for a mostly empty trunk with her old apprentice robes and staff and a journal containing notes from her various studies. She’s not even slept in the bed yet, sheets and quilt untouched, having only moved in this afternoon after passing her Harrowing and being promoted to the Senior Mage’s quarters. Still she stands there for an unaccountably long time at war with herself, one foot towards the door, the other the bed, irrevocably torn.

She wants to see him. Wants to say goodbye. That can only be what Duncan had intended in giving her this time before they leave. But… what is there to say? What can they do, but stand to hurt one another further? A goodbye might put some of her heartache at ease, but Marina doesn’t for a moment allow herself to believe it might cure it, and what might such a thing do to Cullen? Can she really be that selfish?

She’s resolved herself to go and find Duncan again so that they might leave when the door creaks on its hinges as it’s gently pushed open, as the familiar clinking of armored boots against stone floor follow after. Once again choice has been taken away from her. But at least, for better or for worse, the choice was his and not someone else’s on their behalf, the young woman thinks, slowly lifting her head, turning electric blue eyes up to meet his. Maker, but the pain of his gaze, of knowing what follows is beyond anything she has ever felt.

“My lady,” he says softly, bowing his head to her in greeting, carefully checking for any watchful eyes or ears- Templar or mage, before pulling the door shut behind him to grant them a moment’s respite and privacy. Marina smiles softly, just as she always has at his use of the title, before her eyes cast down to the floor, finding it too painful yet to look at him for long. It has no meaning here. Her family name too, worthless from the moment she accidentally cast her first spell. A child, barely more than eight, and a stupid tantrum because she was too young to go play with the older children like her siblings Leandra and Gamlen. Still, when he calls her such, for a moment she feels like a lady, can pretend that she is one, that she is anywhere but here, that they are anyone but themselves, two people who can love and be together without the odds and the whole world seemingly stacked against them.

She thinks briefly of Anders. Of her friend’s many escape attempts. Of his most recent one after Enchanter Karl was assigned and relocated to the Circle in Kirkwall. Of the lover’s whispered promises to each other in the dark the night before they’d been split up. ‘Ten years, a hundred years from now… Someone like me will love someone like you, and there will be no Templars to tear them apart.’ She hopes Anders managed to find and free them both, that the Templars never catch them. That they might find the happiness it seems she and Cullen are never meant to. A good Andrastian would probably say that there is a point to all of it, a grand design. Cullen seems to have such faith, but if Marina Amell ever did, it has long since waned. She sees no beauty, no higher purpose in all of this, only pain.

“My brave knight,” Marina returns softly with a tearful half-smile, still staring at a particular stone on the floor at her feet as he crosses the room to stop in front of her, one gauntleted hand slowly and with infinite care reaching out, and lifting her chin, drawing her eyes back up to his, before cupping her cheek, cool gleaming metal caressing her pale, freckled skin, fingertips weaving gently into her soft blonde locks. They are a breath away from each other. Closer than they have ever been permitted or managed before. And somehow, he already feels farther away, more out of reach than he has ever been to her. Slowly and with the same kind of infinite care the mage lets her hand reach out for him, fingers to caress his jaw, a warm palm to flatten against his cheek, relishing the slight rasp of barely there evening stubble.

“M-Marina, I… “Cullen whispers softly, frowning a little when the words won’t come. But what is there to say? So much, and yet so little will do either any good now.

“It will be alright,” she soothes softly, her other arm wrapping carefully around his waist to keep him close as she allows her forehead to press, melt against his own. “I will be alright,” she promises, though she knows as well as he does it is not a promise she can truthfully hope to keep, certainly not forever, or with the path that has been laid out for her future. “All is as the Maker wills it,” she whispers softly, hoping against hope the words will be of greater comfort to him than they are to her, even as he draws in a shallow and shaky breath against her, arms dropping to her waist to pull her as tight against his chest as his armor will allow for without hurting her. It is such a little thing. Far too little, but it must be enough. This moment all they will ever have.

He starts to try and speak again, no more successful than his previous attempt as she carefully places a finger over his lips to stop him, then slowly removes it, chasing his mouth with her own. It is a gentle kiss. Tentative. Chaste, but full of the utmost tenderness and fondness for one another. The first they have ever shared. The only one they shall ever share. She takes her time with it, they both do, all the time they can afford. Hands grapple with one another’s hips through armor and clothes, but not to grope, merely to reassure themselves that the other is there, to anchor themselves to one another, to this stolen, all too fleeting moment of happiness before it is taken from them. Please, she thinks perhaps a bit desperately because she knows she cannot bring herself to speak the words aloud, cannot bear the thought of shattering this moment with a reminder of the loss and pain that will swiftly follow it, be safe, be happy.

Duncan knocks, then enters, and he must know, even as she manages to straighten herself up and Cullen has backed away to a more respectable distance, but the older man only looks sympathetic, and says nothing, only asking if she is ready. She is not. But, Marina thinks sadly, sparing the other man a sidelong and mournful glance, she is unlikely to ever be more ready than she is now. She nods to Duncan, taking her better staff in hand, tucking her notebook into the small pouch at her belt. She gives the room one last parting glance, considering before snatching a small square of cloth from the top of her trunk. A handkerchief. Poorly stitched, from when her mother had been trying to teach her the finer points of embroidery. The only thing she was able to keep from her life before- a life before magic or the Circle, a life where they might have been afforded better, more than this. She crosses the room once more, and hugs him tight, kissing his cheek, before tucking the small token into his hands with a sad smile, and follows Duncan out of the room and back to the waiting boat that will carry her across the lake and to the destiny that awaits her far to the South.

#marina amell #cullen rutherford #cullen x warden #cullen x amell #dragon age #dragon age: origins #tales:marina #da:o

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laqualassiel · 6 years

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Day Five. Who is your wardens romantic interest(s)? Describe their relationship(s) in detail.

What attracted them to their romantic interest?

Marian was first attracted by Zevran’s wit. With Zevran she could laugh, something that had been rather lacking since Ostagar. Ironically, Marian found she could relax around Zevran, despite his attempt on her life. Then it was his unwavering loyalty. Zevran was not obvious about it, but Marian noticed how he always watched her back, especially in combat. Zevran also respected Marian, never showing any bias about her status as a woman or a mage or her lack of physical fighting skill. Nor did he judge Marian for her past decisions, such as her aiding Jowan’s escape from the Tower. That led to Marian trusting Zevran enough to initiate a relationship, even though the relationship was purely about casual sex. Even then, Zevran respected Marian’s boundaries and never pushed for more than Marian was comfortable with.

What do they have in common?

Both of them intimately understood the feeling of living in a gilded cage, of never having a choice in regards to their careers. As such, having the freedom to choose for themselves was something they valued highly. Both Marian and Zevran were protective of children. The suggestion of killing Connor was met with vehement protest from both of them. Neither of them ware particularly merciful to people who try to kill them. They hated slavery and slavers. Marian and Zevran were open-minded in regards to sexuality and open and poly relationships.

What do they like to do together?

Well, outside of having fun in the bedroom, Zevran loves having Marian do his hair. It's not so much for the style but rather the feeling of her fingers running through his hair in a way that isn't sexual. Sometimes, Marian will simply sit and play with Zevran's hair for hours while he basks like a cat. Meanwhile, Marian loves the massages Zevran gives out. Marian will frequently sketch while Zevran naps or maintenances his armor and weapons or reads. Marian and Zevran also spar with each other frequently, staff against daggers. After the Blight, Marian discovers a love for dancing, and they attend parties solely so Zevran can spin his wife around on the dance floor, as well as enjoy the scandalized expressions on the other nobles faces for Marian having wedded an elf. Another thing Marian and Zevran love to do together is train Marian's Wardens, much to the dismay of said Wardens because their training usually involves Marian and Zevran grinding them into the dirt. After Marian and Zevran have children, spending time with them becomes one of their favorite things.

What do they argue about the most?

Quite commonly it is Marian’s tendency to be in the thick of whatever battle is taking place. Zevran is always worried about Marian getting hurt, because ‘you’re not trained for close quarters combat’ while Marian fumes ‘like hell I’m sitting on the sidelines.’ They’ve also argued about Marian’s honor, as she refuses to allow Branka to escape justice for the murder of her House or for dwarves to be turned into golems and possibly enslaved by their own kin. The worst argument they have is actually over the earring Zevran tries to give Marian in return for saving his life. Marian refuses the gift, since she doesn't want payment for something she didn't do for a reward. The resulting argument leaves them in stony silence until after Marian is rescued from Fort Draken. Otherwise, Zevran and Marian mostly argue about little things, nitpicking at each other with a startling resemblance to an old married couple. After the Blight, arguments include how to deal with the Crows that keep sending assassins.

What do your Wardens other companions think of their relationship?

Wynne very much disapproves. The old woman believes Marian's only priority should be stopping the Blight, and that this dalliance with Zevran will only distract her from her duty. Wynne also thinks that Marian is only setting herself up for pain, since magic runs in the blood and Marian will have to give up her children if they show magic. On top of that, Wynne disapproves of Zevran in general, and thinks Marian could do much better. Alistair doesn't trust Zevran, nor does Morrigan, and both think that it is a ploy by Zevran to get closer to Marian so he can kill her. Leliana loves it, and even writes a ballad about it to Marian's embarrassment and Zevran's delight. Sten thinks a romantic relationship is a distraction, as the Qun does not have romantic relationships. Loghain really couldn't care less about it, so long as he doesn't hear it or about it. Shale doesn't understand why it's a big deal, and Oghren just leers and congratulates Zevran. Marian is happy, so Daveth is happy.

What was their first kiss like?

Their first kiss actually happens before they officially enter a relationship. Zevran is the one to initiate the kiss. Marian is tending to one of Zevran's wounds, since Wynne had exhausted herself keeping everyone else in the party alive. Zevran teases Marian about kissing it better, and in a streak of mischief, Marian does. Zevran is taken off guard long enough for Marian to tease Zevran about being speechless, and Zevran kisses Marian in revenge for being a minx.

Are they in love? Explain why/why not.

At first, no. Marian was curious about kissing and sex and physical intimacy, and Zevran was really the only person she trusts enough. Zevran was more than willing to teach Marian - a strong, pretty woman. However, as they got to know each other better, their friendship changed to the point where they were not certain what they felt. Zevran was the one to take the first step back, having recognized the familiar feelings that were growing. Marian herself did not realize that she was in love with Zevran until they were ambushed by the Crows in Denerim. The thought of Zevran leaving and never returning physically pained Marian, and she was relieved and elated when Zevran chose her over the Crows. That realization was why she rejected Zevran’s earring. She didn’t want Zevran to feel like he owed her for anything. It was then and there that Marian released him from his oath of loyalty. She told him that he could do as he wished, and if he chose to stay, he would be more than welcome. For Zevran, he finally admitted to himself that he did not want to let his relationship with Marian go when he was forced to leave Marian to face Ser Cauthrien as he escorted Anora back to Eamon’s estate. Eamon was unwilling to risk rescuing Marian - not when he had Anora and Alistair in safe custody and the Landsmeet was only a couple days away - but Zevran refused to lose - abandon - another loved one.

Does your warden have any past relationships before the Blight? If yes describe each one.

No. In the Circle, mages were forbidden to have relationships, and Marian saw the consequences of breaking that rule enough times that she never dared risk it herself.

#acoh #dragon age #dragon age origins #Marian Amell #Warden 30 Days Challenge #day 5

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