This is primarily a Dragon Age writing/fanworks blog but I do still like a bunch of nerdy stuff that might pop up occasionally.
House Amell (aka the DA protags I'll mostly be writing with):
Elona Amell
Garrett Hawke
Yvette Trevelyan
Rose Theirin Thorne
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Bonus: My username comes from playing FFXIV as a scholar back in The Day(tm). Aetherflow is an ability used by scholars, and I was constantly gardening so aetherflowers came to be. Kory is from my FFXI character Korynth (later Korynth Oraguille on FFXIV). Now I use Korysaurus in Pokemon Go/Pikmin Bloom. Fun fact: I met my husband on FFXI in the 2000s. Wild.
Somehow I didn't find Dragon Age until my BFF gave me a free copy of Veilguard, and then I was hooked.
I took about a decade away from fandom and I've only just hopped back on the horse so if I post something you find problematic in any way, please feel free to let me know. If you'd rather have reblogs or comments or asks or anything at all, I'm happy to do it. My goal here is to uplift other creatives in the process of improving my own writing.
Thank you for being here! Thank you for being you! Now--
Rating: Mature
Relationships: Illario Dellamorte/Original Female Character(s), Illario Dellamorte/Original Trans Character(s)
Characters: Illario Dellamorte, Giovanna de Riva, Original Female Character(s), Original Trans Character(s)
Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Pre-Relationship, Developing Relationship, Antivan Crows Being Antivan Crows (Dragon Age), First Meetings, First Kiss, Arguing, Making Out, Love Confessions, Face Slapping, Several firsts in the relationship of Illario and Giovanna
Across their relationship, Giovanna de Riva and Illario Dellamorte have experienced numerous firsts: first meeting(s), first kisses, first arguments, and... confessions. Through these moments, they find themselves and they find each other, gradually discovering the ways their broken edges fit together.
Snippet below -- read the rest on AO3
tagging @illarioappreciation & @lustaniasaxon -- thank you for hosting this week!!
(First) Meeting
Word traveled quickly: a de Riva had come to the Cantori Diamond to train, as a favor between the two Houses. Inter-House trainings were not unheard of, but rare enough to draw interest. Further whispers spurred further interest: that she was the heir of her House and Viago's favorite; that she had once been a twin or that she had once been a boy; that she had killed three fledglings before earning her own feathers; that she ate oranges like nonnas ate candies. Strange things, some of them, but enough to pique the interest of curious Crows who wanted to see what may or may not be true.
Illario Dellamorte was not exempt from curiosity.
She stood out among the Cantoris, not because of any particular difference in appearance—though her blonde hair and her height did make her striking. Next to Andarateia, in particular, the de Riva towered, though it seemed she made an effort to make herself smaller. A peculiar behavior, really, but it did not seem to be born of meekness. She had fire in her eyes, a brilliant wariness, and that was what made her stand out. Crows could be suspicious bastards, all of them, but de Rivas made it into an art. Every person who stepped into her line of sight found themselves subjected to a swift evaluation by those dark eyes.
Illario Dellamorte was not exempt from this, either.
dividers from @curiouswisp!!
tag list below the cut (for visibility) -- thank you!!!
Explicit | Cullen x Trevelyan | Hawke x Trevelyan | WC: 500K + (WIP) | DA:I | Epic | Multiship | Slow burn | Fast burn | Complications While Saving the World
Chapter Summary:
In the aftermath of the battle, amid a thousand things that need doing, Rose struggles to come to grips with the loss of her beloved.
Fic Summary:
Lady Rose Trevelyan is in over her head.
Her attendance at the Conclave was only meant to distract her from her failures as a daughter. And then it blew a hole in the world. Marked by an unknown magic, armed with only a few relevant skills, Rose fumbles and fights her way across Thedas with a band of shockingly deadly oddballs dedicated to stopping— well, all of it. As apocalyptic forces conspire to break and remake her, Rose is snared between the tentative devotion of the Inquisition’s stalwart commander and the fierce love of legendary warrior Garrett Hawke, two vastly different men both haunted by hindsight.
Excerpt below the cut 👇
When the last man has walked through Adamant’s busted gates into the punishing glare of the afternoon sun, Rylen joins Cullen on foot at the back of the column. The evacuation is complete. Ahead of them, prisoners are prodded along in shackles, carts of the fallen rattle along behind brontos. They’d run out of funerary wraps about halfway through the count. The pale wash of the sky is segmented by threads of black smoke from the pyres in the rear camp where Brother Nicaise and his colleagues preside. The air reeks of sacrifice.
Somewhere in the mess of it is Rose, sequestered away by better friends to scrape together a moment peace.
Rylen clears the grit from his throat and fills the silence. “Still can’t quite believe we did it.”
“We did. I only wish that the cost weren’t so high,” answers Cullen. Rylen takes his meaning.
“One could argue that Hawke went out the way he was always meant to,” says Rylen. “A fitting end.”
A sudden surge of indignance boils in his gut. For her. For them. Cullen slows, letting a gap open behind the last soldiers.
“He’s a man, not a myth,” Cullen argues. “He deserved a quiet ending as much as any of us. Maybe more.”
“He spent his last moments sparing others a horrific fate. Tell me that isn’t a heroic ending for a mere man.”
Cullen knows the agony of something precious fumbled. A life they’ll never have that he’s certain they would have. There’s no denying the potency of their love, not anymore.
“She’ll never recover.”
Sand sharpens the wind between them as Rylen chews on the retort.
“Maybe not, but she’ll look ahead eventually,” says Rylen, shielding his eyes against the sun. “To new things. Other people.”
“Other people,” Cullen repeats. Sweat beads beneath his armor, streaking down the small of his back. A whisper of nausea curls in his gut.
“Comfort. Surely you’ve been thinking it, Cullen.”
The thought has trespassed too many times already, Hawke’s plea riding to the front lines haunting in its portent. It’s somehow repellent at the moment.
“Regardless of our history, I would very much like to not think such things.”
*not to be confused with A Single Thread of Gold. The two fics are unrelated, other than the fact that they are centered around the same ship. In No Choice But to Love You, Knight-Captain Cullen is on a mission to retrieve a runaway mage and he comes across Shadowheart who is traveling to Kirkwall all alone. Cullen saves her from a panic'd mage and the three of them make their way back to the city, with a lot of bumps on the way. No isekai characters, just Shadowheart's background adjusted to DA.
DISCLAIMER: This fic predates A Single Thread of Gold in both conception and execution. I've had long debates with myself about whether I should post it or not, but since it's halfway done, I see no harm in it co-existing with the other.
Complete darkness had enveloped the room when he next opened his eyes. From the open window a solitary ray of moonlight crept through, allowing him to see just enough. He stumbled on his way to the stand where spare candles were kept, a curse escaping his lips. He grabbed the tinderbox and started striking the flint against the steel - a long process but in the end he was rewarded with a tiny spark, sufficient enough to catch on the tinder, thus the beginnings of a very weak, but serviceable flame. Setting his tools aside, he lit up the old lantern.
The water on the washbasin beckoned to him - it would be so nice to wash the dust off the road away. The water was cold, and combined with the sea breeze it almost made him recoil when it hit his face. He soldiered on, as he was wont to do, and dipped the washcloth in the basin. A bath sounded heavenly, but it was also out of the question as the hour was long past. He removed his underpants, and threw the to the wicker pail on the corner of the room. The rest of his clothes had already been taken to be laundered while he was sleeping.
A humourless laugh and a sharp breath escaped him once the cold water touched his chest. He ran the rag across his chest and under his armpits before dipping it in the water again. He cleaned himself thoroughly and put the cloth back into the water one last time.
He found a fresh set of clothes from his dresser - just breeches and a long-sleeved tunic. He put on his off-duty boots and grabbed the lantern. He walked the dark hallways of the Circle, heading towards the courtyard for some much needed fresh air and a special kind of peace that came when almost everyone else was asleep. He immediately spotted the lit torches the knights on sentry duty carried, all six of them burning like beacons in the night.
"Knight-Captain," the sentry closest to him saluted. Ser Malcolm, a young knight in his early twenties who had only taken his vows three years ago. His face still bore the more youthful attributes; rounder of shape, cheeks full and no signs of jadedness or tiredness. A Kirkwall native, the Gallows was his first post. Cullen recollected quickly.
He returned the salute. "Anything to report, Ser Malcolm?" He inquired, because I might as well do so now that I am awake.
The younger knight replied swiftly, with the enthusiasm of one eager to please. "No, Sir! No sign of trouble."
Cullen nodded. "Very well, resume your duties," he said. Ser Malcolm rushed to comply, leaving Cullen - once again - alone. Instead of heading toward the small dock, he took a sharp turn, walking towards the granite rocks that constituted a natural defense against outside attack. Once he was there, he placed the lantern at the feet of the rock formation and climbed up.
He had been here countless times before, and always at night. There was just something so calming about looking at the sea below him. He sat down on the smoothest part of the rock and sighed, content. His eyes closed on their own volition and his senses overflew with the smell of the sea water, the cries of night herons in the distance and the feel of the breeze on his skin.
Facing southwards, he could pretend that he was somewhere far away from Kirkwall, closer to Ferelden with its low valleys, untouched forests and snow-covered mountains. The only home he had ever known lay somewhere over the horizon, obscured by the cover of darkness and the early spring mist. He dared to hope that one day he would be able to return, all his broken pieces reassembled - whole of body and mind so that his siblings would see something of the boy they knew within him. So they could love me.
Some time later, the clouds dissipated and the sky cleared - the stars were once more visible and the light of the moons shone freely, painting the world with an ethereal, silver-white glow. For a reason unbeknownst to him, his thoughts rounded on that woman with the curious name, Shadowheart. There was something about her that had stuck with him; the minor resemblance she bore to Solona - their short stature and the raven-black hair perhaps. But Solona had been soft spoken, with an open, honest face.
Whereas this Shadowheart…even the name she had given him felt wrong, like it did not quite suit her. He briefly wondered if she had just lied to him. Does she think so lowly of me that she would be scared to share her real name with me, in fear that I will find her in this city of thousands and throw myself at her?
No, he concluded a moment's deliberation. If that was the case, she would have given me a normal name.
Sweet Maker, but women are complicated!
Keep on reading on AO3!
