Leandra dropped her sewing basket with a shriek, and quickly covered her mouth on instinct, despite the closest neighbour being fields and fields of wheat away. She then quickly snatched her daughter and pulled her away from the small glowing orb she was chasing around the bedroom.
Her fit of giggles stopped.
“Mummy,” Dalia whined, and clawed towards the orb. Leandra ignored her, and instead called out to her husband. “Malcolm!” After a moment he appeared, still dabbing at the sweat on his forehead from a long day in the fields. It was hard work, but there weren’t many options out there better for an apostate elf. “Yes, love?” “Honestly Malcolm, what kind of father leaves his five year old daughter alone to play with… with whatever that thing is!” Leandra motioned to the orb still floating around the room, while keeping the other arm wrapped around Dalia. The little girl’s eyes trailed the orb everywhere it went. “She has plenty of toys, she doesn’t need your magic tricks.” “That? That’s a wisp,” Malcolm said calmly. Then his smile quickly took a dive. “And I didn’t make that.” Leandra felt a chill crawl up her spine, only to spread over her whole body when Dalia cheerfully proclaimed “It’s mine!”
No. No, that couldn’t be possible. She was only a child, a normal child. She was too young! “Dalia,” Malcolm slowly knelt down so he was at eye level with her, “Sweetie, did you make that wisp?” “Yes, it’s mine,” she repeated. “Do you know how you did it?” Dalia nodded, and then Leandra watched in horror as her daughter cupped her hands together, and when she separated them a second glowing orb appeared, then swirled up into the air and began also circling the room.
That’s when Leandra noticed that Malcolm was, of all things, smiling. “You’re happy about this?” “They’re beautifully constructed, she’s a natural,” he laughed. “I doubt the Chantry will see it that way! They’ll take her away, we’ll never see her again, they’ll–” “–They’ll do nothing, because they’ll know nothing,” Malcolm gently shushed her, taking her hands and freeing Dalia to resume chasing her conjured orbs. “I will die before they take her from us, Leandra.” “But she’s only five, Malcolm… How will she know to hide it? Can she even hide it?” “I will teach her.” “And if she’s discovered?” “Then we run.” His words were so simple, as if it was so obvious, so easy. Running away, was that all Leandra’s life was going to be, now? Her daughter’s life? What about their second child, surely due at any time now?
Malcolm hugged her, and Leandra returned the embrace. But all she could think about was her father’s words. “Amell blood has always carried the stain of magic. And you… with a mage… Why would you add to this disgrace?”
So I understand any reservations you might have about a new DA game and that’s all fine and dandy, but let me just state for the record here that I’m going to be nothing but HYPED about this until I’ve played it for myself. You’re welcome to hype with me.
In light of the recent announcement of an upcoming announcement, I feel like it’s a good time to bring this back.
Due to a heated debate (okay it was less heated more hilariously passionate debate) I have created a survey that asks the Tough Questions for Scientific purposes.
I originally opened it up only to a discord group, however I’ve had 18 responses, and I think that since the larger the sample size, the more meaningful the results, I will open it up to the larger community.
“Please come back to bed,” he says. Safe, clean areas are scarce here. Sharing a bed had only made sense, though he knew better. It had been more than that. It always has been.
She is standing several feet back from the open windows, moonlight gracing her in blue as she hums and sways from foot to foot. The soft evening light follows the ripples of skin and muscle. Through the windows come faint sounds of horses whickering, men murmuring and pacing on their watch, but all else is quiet and still but for her.
Hours earlier was battle, fear, rage, and sorrow. A terrifying miracle he’d not thought to happen – yet, yet – and uncomfortable revelations. The capture of Adamant Fortress and stopping the Grey Wardens had been wildly successful by any standard.
“O Lethanavir,” she half-sings on a whisper in the middle of her humming, and he recognizes now a piece of this dirge as she stops suddenly to raise both hands to tear-tracked cheeks.
“Vhenan–” He raises up, meaning to hold her.
“I can’t even mourn him properly!” Hands flung down, her eyes and anger focused on him now. “Where could he go? There are none to receive his spirit, and that? That? The chaos and despair of Nightmare’s realm…!”
She flings these words at him, expecting answers to her struggle that he cannot give. Stroud gave his life for a cause he believed in, never mind what Solas personally thought. But more than her body is bared to him now: her soul’s anguish over what next, how to make peace with all she has learned is completely open for him to see. What contrast with the cold, calculating rage upon seeing the captured Erimond – water or feed as you must to get him to Skyhold, nothing more. These emotional vicissitudes leaves him scrambling for purchase.
“…is but one area of the Fade, Vhenaste…”
“…is where he died!”
The stark plea in every gesture and syllable is too much. He pulls back the sheets and rises, holding out both arms. The chill desert air prickles his skin, missing her warmth.
“This was not a problem of your making, it was the Wardens and Corypheus. Terrible happenstance caught you in their machinations and made you an instrument of salvation.” He grimaces at his own poor choice of words, but he is tired. This partial truth would have to serve. “I am sorry for your loss of faith, I truly am. But do not lose your hope.”
She stares up at him, grasping for her own place to land after being so thoroughly upended.
“I couldn’t sleep… what if…”
“I know. I was frightened as well.” Partial truths are again all he has. Will they be enough? Is he?
She breaks on a soft sigh, shoulders dropping, and steps forward into his arms. Her chilled skin against his, unsteady breath and heartbeat against his shoulder, eyelashes sweeping the remains of her tears across, roots him so suddenly in this moment. Her hair against his cheek. The soft-muscled planes of her back under his palms. Hip to thigh, belly to belly. Real.
“Help me sleep.”
He sweeps his cheek against her hair and holds her tightly, gently guiding her back to bed. This is all he truly wanted. And she follows, curling into him as if she has found a place to belong.
Yet again with the Duran Duran inspo: “Midnight Sun.”
Due to a heated debate (okay it was less heated more hilariously passionate debate) I have created a survey that asks the Tough Questions for Scientific purposes.
I originally opened it up only to a discord group, however I’ve had 18 responses, and I think that since the larger the sample size, the more meaningful the results, I will open it up to the larger community.
There’s so little context though! I’m assuming that these questions mean “Alistair at the point when you romance him in Origins” versus “Cullen at the point when you romance him in Inquisition.” Because where they’re at in their own lives definitely affects the answers.
I left it purposely vague because, in regard to Alistair in particular, there are so many options by Inquisition era that o didn’t want to specify! The anytime your question is that the context is whichever makes it easier for you to answer.
This is basically why I spammed the Alistair button all the way down. I aged him up to Inquisition era and that meant he had ten years’ worth of romancing my Warden to complement her and her preferences down pat. (And, you know, vice versa, but you didn’t ask me about her.)
I just realized all the typos in my answer to Breezes. Lol I’m tired y’all. Honestly I was rooting for Alistair. I’m simply trying to prove a point. Scientifically.😏
Due to a heated debate (okay it was less heated more hilariously passionate debate) I have created a survey that asks the Tough Questions for Scientific purposes.
I originally opened it up only to a discord group, however I’ve had 18 responses, and I think that since the larger the sample size, the more meaningful the results, I will open it up to the larger community.
There’s so little context though! I’m assuming that these questions mean “Alistair at the point when you romance him in Origins” versus “Cullen at the point when you romance him in Inquisition.” Because where they’re at in their own lives definitely affects the answers.
I left it purposely vague because, in regard to Alistair in particular, there are so many options by Inquisition era that o didn’t want to specify! The anytime your question is that the context is whichever makes it easier for you to answer.
The Maker's Workshop 