THE WORLD TURNED YOU INTO WHAT IT NEEDED YOU TO BE.

I was born for the storm, and a calm does not suit me. Ronan Cousland. Hero Of Ferelden and Warden Commander. independent Dragon Age RP.

[dagna]

[amanofvalour-blog]

Shadow Games.

[amanofvalour-blog]

He’d grown accustomed to her penchant for holding things back, as he supposed was a bard’s nature. Ronan could stare into her eyes all day and still never know the true depth of her thoughts, but slowly, surely he liked to believe he was bringing her out of it. That he could show her what it meant to be around someone you could trust, who had no ulterior motives. 

“If you go back then you’ll start to miss the smell of wet dog within days. I’ve got a gut feeling about it.” He smiled again, setting his palms flat against his thighs. A part of him wondered if he would return to Highever when this was all over. Another part whispered that it was impossible. Too many memories. Too much to do. He was a different man now. 

“Take comfort in knowing there’s people in the world that care about you. And when the time comes for you to do what’s right you’ll never hesitate.” 

[bloodysister-deactivated2018022]

          leliana holds her tongue, and the grey warden lets his thoughts slip far too quickly. it’s an amusing opposite to the bard, though she seldom says so. his statement causes another laugh to flutter from her lips as she ponders it for a moment. while yes she would somehow miss the bittersweet aroma of this place, what she’d probably miss more is the adventure. not that there wasn’t adventure in orlais, but in paled in comparison to the rather storybook knights and heroes of legend. she would not, however, miss the food.              the final statement that drifts so easily from his mouth is one that causes reflection. leliana knew he was right, but she never cared to think about it too much. so she changes the topic, the smile from her face not diminishing.                ❛ i’m glad i decided to join with your group. ❜

[amanofvalour-blog]

He returned her smile, looking much less like the ferocious warrior who struck down their enemies and bloodied his sword with the ichor of Darkspawn. The light of the fire warmed his skin and gave his dark eyes a softer, more introspective sheen. Ronan reflected on how far they’d come - he a nobleman turned defender for the realm, her a chantry sister led back to the path of subterfuge and song for a higher calling. 

Alistair, Wynne, Zevran, Morrigan, Oghren, Shale and Sten. All of them were a motley bunch but he couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather fight beside. The warden straightened his back and canted his head. “So am I as it happens. It reminds me of when you spoke about your mother and I found this in Redcliffe...”

He went into his pack and pulled out a bouquet of white flowers. Andraste’s Grace. With all the battles and survival he'd forgotten picking them yesterday. With the quiet around them he’d thought it was a good time to show her there was still beauty in the world.

“I remember you saying she liked to pick them. Here. Perhaps these will help you to hold on to better memories of the past.” Ronan offered the flowers to her. 

[stormqueen]

[amanofvalour-blog]

Shadow Games.

[amanofvalour-blog]

In his experience there was no point in dancing around a subject or letting it fester. The pain of losing his family still ran deep, but every day the scar healed a little more, mended by purpose and companions who fought beside him. He disliked the idea of Leliana being in pain, of feeling any kind of anguish or guilt over what had transpired. 

“What you did today took courage…you’re a good person, Leliana. Far better than Marjolaine. You’re nothing alike.” Ronan wouldn’t pretend to know how she truly felt towards the woman. All he knew was that there were enough evil people in the world and removing her from it had been an act of justice.

“You’ve dedicated yourself to fighting for something greater than your own life. Very few people can do that and I’m glad you’re here to help me see this through.” 

[bloodysister-deactivated2018022]

      there’s something about ferelden’s people and their blunt nature that is alluring with the bard, orlais and in particular val royeaux, everything was implied. a mere picking up of a spoon at the wrong moment was a lethal offense. dancing around issues in conversation is something leliana’s mastered with skill. for a moment she wants to counteract his words, what he describes as courage, she only sees as necessity. if leliana wanted to live, marjolaine could not. she had made her stance clear when she sent assassins after her.         for a moment, the redhead was dumbfounded. he was right, but she had nothing to refute even if she wanted to. leliana’s gaze drops for a moment, changing to the fire that burned meters away. she was fighting for something greater, and she’d gladly give her life ten times over if it meant she could contribute to something bigger than herself. even if her vision wasn’t true, even if it was just the maker giving her the push in the direction she needed to go. if it was just her mind. she was destined for more than a life in the chantry, she knew it. she knew also that she would not become marjolaine, that it was a choice and leliana had made her own.           ❛ and i would do it again in a heartbeat, after all… it’s something to brag about in orlais, now that i can go back. ❜

[amanofvalour-blog]

He’d grown accustomed to her penchant for holding things back, as he supposed was a bard’s nature. Ronan could stare into her eyes all day and still never know the true depth of her thoughts, but slowly, surely he liked to believe he was bringing her out of it. That he could show her what it meant to be around someone you could trust, who had no ulterior motives. 

“If you go back then you’ll start to miss the smell of wet dog within days. I’ve got a gut feeling about it.” He smiled again, setting his palms flat against his thighs. A part of him wondered if he would return to Highever when this was all over. Another part whispered that it was impossible. Too many memories. Too much to do. He was a different man now. 

“Take comfort in knowing there’s people in the world that care about you. And when the time comes for you to do what’s right you’ll never hesitate.” 

[amanofvalour-blog]

Shadow Games.

[amanofvalour-blog]

The warden seated himself across from her, pleased to hear her laugh despite the bleakness of recent events. It oft reminded him of the times she’d lifted his spirits with a song and if he could help her in any way then he’d do so without hesitation. How could he not wish to balm the wounds of her own heart?

“I’d be just as happy if they left my name out of the history books. My head’s already big enough without me turning into a legend.” He flashed a small grin, as much to cover his own troubled thoughts as to keep her focused on the present. He didn’t seek fame, riches or reputation. All he could do was fight until the Blight ended and save as many people as he could. 

“But if history must remember me then I’m glad it’s you who’s doing the recording. Be sure to mention how dashing I am.” He interlocked his fingers, features becoming serious. “How do you feel about what happened today?” 

[bloodysister-deactivated2018022]

         leliana’s history of a bard fit rather seamlessly with her choice in becoming a chantry sister. she had a bad habit of remembering everything, including the things she would like to forget. while it always manifest itself in the best of ways, she always attempted to put it to the best of use. as he spoke once more, she rose a brow. he and alistair were far too similar in that regard, not wanting the fame that would be tacked on whether they liked it or not. though she’s a bit surprised at the level of trust he has in her, as is evident by her words. far more used to the game and the treachery that comes with it than she is of this ferelden honesty, even with her years in the chantry. she still expects to look over her shoulder every time she’s in battle.           ❛ oh yes, and i’ll try to avoid describing how horrendous your mabari smells, and the fact he ate garbage, ❜ the bard retorts with a flash of her own smile. it diminishes quickly as he trades his lighthearted moment for a more serious tone. while she knew the eventuality of him coming to talk to her about this, she hadn’t expected it so soon. she was ready now, more ready than she was after it happened. so she inhales deeply, collecting her thoughts.            ❛ marjolaine was right, she did make me. she taught me how to play the game, how to fight. how to thrive. the game is         violent and underhanded. i like to think i’m different from her, but perhaps we’re one in the same. ❜

[amanofvalour-blog]

In his experience there was no point in dancing around a subject or letting it fester. The pain of losing his family still ran deep, but every day the scar healed a little more, mended by purpose and companions who fought beside him. He disliked the idea of Leliana being in pain, of feeling any kind of anguish or guilt over what had transpired. 

“What you did today took courage…you’re a good person, Leliana. Far better than Marjolaine. You’re nothing alike.” Ronan wouldn’t pretend to know how she truly felt towards the woman. All he knew was that there were enough evil people in the world and removing her from it had been an act of justice.

“You’ve dedicated yourself to fighting for something greater than your own life. Very few people can do that and I’m glad you’re here to help me see this through.” 

[starbinds]

[amanofvalour-blog]

Shadow Games.

A fire crackled in the centre of the camp site. Red embers hissed and spat while the flames sent shadows veering off into the trees. Ronan sat beside it whetting his blade. Shing. Shing. The stone sparked against the edge, sharpening the sword with each movement. He found the task therapeutic — it anchored his mind and stopped him thinking about the past, about a life he could never get back.

After several strikes he gripped the sword hilt and held it up to the light. He inspected both sides and found it satisfactory. The young Warden shoved the blade into the scabbard at his hip and rose. Some of the companions had turned in already. He saw Wynne fluffing up her bed and as he passed Oghren’s tent he saw the dwarf’s feet sticking out while the thunderous roar of drunken snoring filled the night. Ronan allowed himself the flicker of a smile.

Watching the perimeter had become a ritual. He was mistrustful of the shadows and made a point of guarding the camp site before he went to sleep. The others had come to rely on him as the leader. He still wasn’t sure he wanted the responsibility, but right now he had an example to live up to.

Before he held vigil there was something important he needed to do. Ronan strode across to Leliana’s tent and called to her.

“Staying up late to compose another ballad?”

He smiled, even though he knew the real reason why sleep would not come to her. Yet a burden shared was a burden halved and he wouldn’t have her be consumed by the events of the day.

[bloodysister-deactivated2018022]

      there was a weight that had been lifted from her shoulders, with marjolaine dead it meant she didn’t have to hide anymore from anyone. however, that woman had shaped a lot of who leliana had become. the game she’d learned from the nobility that took her in, but to play it properly. to thrive. that had been marjolaine’s gift to her, a gift that she’d be wise to remember. it also gave her the strongest lesson she’d ever learn, those who aid you can just as quickly turn on you. she’s so wrapped up in these thoughts of her’s, these memories, she almost doesn’t hear the world around her. it speaks volumes that she doesn’t feel the need to keep an ear out for mercenaries and simply allows the grey warden to do his perimeter checks, to keep watch for the night.        yet she can do anything but sleep.        the bard doesn’t bother staying inside her tent. ( why would you when the sky looks so beautiful? ) though she does look at old writing, old songs and stories she’d picked up along the way. including the song the elvhen servants would sing to her. she hears footsteps, but doesn’t react to them at first. not until she hears a very familiar voice. she smiles, a small laugh tumbling from her lips as she straightens, the books shuts and falls to her side as she offers him a place to sit.           ❛ no, though i am keeping record of our travels. blights have produced some of the most popular stories, grey warden. i have no doubt from here to antiva they’ll be singing the songs that will be written about you and the events that have transpired. ❜

[amanofvalour-blog]

The warden seated himself across from her, pleased to hear her laugh despite the bleakness of recent events. It oft reminded him of the times she’d lifted his spirits with a song and if he could help her in any way then he’d do so without hesitation. How could he not wish to balm the wounds of her own heart?

“I'd be just as happy if they left my name out of the history books. My head’s already big enough without me turning into a legend.” He flashed a small grin, as much to cover his own troubled thoughts as to keep her focused on the present. He didn’t seek fame, riches or reputation. All he could do was fight until the Blight ended and save as many people as he could. 

“But if history must remember me then I’m glad it’s you who's doing the recording. Be sure to mention how dashing I am.” He interlocked his fingers, features becoming serious. “How do you feel about what happened today?” 

[amanofvalour-blog]

Shadow Games.

A fire crackled in the centre of the camp site. Red embers hissed and spat while the flames sent shadows veering off into the trees. Ronan sat beside it whetting his blade. Shing. Shing. The stone sparked against the edge, sharpening the sword with each movement. He found the task therapeutic — it anchored his mind and stopped him thinking about the past, about a life he could never get back.

After several strikes he gripped the sword hilt and held it up to the light. He inspected both sides and found it satisfactory. The young Warden shoved the blade into the scabbard at his hip and rose. Some of the companions had turned in already. He saw Wynne fluffing up her bed and as he passed Oghren’s tent he saw the dwarf’s feet sticking out while the thunderous roar of drunken snoring filled the night. Ronan allowed himself the flicker of a smile.

Watching the perimeter had become a ritual. He was mistrustful of the shadows and made a point of guarding the camp site before he went to sleep. The others had come to rely on him as the leader. He still wasn’t sure he wanted the responsibility, but right now he had an example to live up to.

Before he held vigil there was something important he needed to do. Ronan strode across to Leliana’s tent and called to her.

“Staying up late to compose another ballad?”

He smiled, even though he knew the real reason why sleep would not come to her. Yet a burden shared was a burden halved and he wouldn’t have her be consumed by the events of the day.

[phatassgirlexplore]

[chimis-changa]

[amanofvalour-blog]

All Is Illuminated.

A fire crackled in the centre of the camp site. Red embers hissed and spat while the flames sent shadows veering off into the trees. Ronan sat beside it whetting his blade. Shing. Shing. The stone sparked against the edge, sharpening the sword with each movement. He found the task therapeutic — it anchored his mind and stopped him thinking about the past, about a life he could never get back.

After several strikes he gripped the sword hilt and held it up to the light. He inspected both sides and found it satisfactory. The young Warden shoved the blade into the scabbard at his hip and rose. Some of the companions had turned in already. He saw Leliana scribbling down one a piece of parchment outside her tent. As he passed Oghren’s tent he saw the dwarf’s feet sticking out and heard the thunderous roar of drunken snoring. Ronan allowed himself the flicker of a smile.

Watching the perimeter had become a ritual. He was mistrustful of the shadows and made a point of guarding the camp site before he went to sleep. The others had come to rely on him as the leader. He still wasn’t sure he wanted the responsibility. But right now he had an example to live up to.

He walked past Morrigan’s tent and saw her sitting by her own fire. Ronan had grown accustomed to the distance she favoured. At this time of night he’d have left her to her own devices, yet his curiosity demanded to be sated.

“Have you found anything useful in the Grimoire?” Ronan cut to the chase as he stood before her.

[anotheranonymoussoul-deactivate]

[ofnightingales-blog]

Across the Waking Sea

[ofnightingales-blog]

amanofvalour:

Keep reading

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[amanofvalour-blog]

w He went where her hand led, enveloping soft lips and plunging further into welcoming folds. Ronan caught her declaration, now more fluent with her second language. He made his own by delicately nibbling her bottle lip and flashing a mischievous smile, as if to say he’d learned more than a few Orlesian words.

The warden traced his fingers between her breasts, finding pleasure in the perfect distance that separated them. An artist could surely have painted a masterpiece out of her naked form and he took smug satisfaction in knowing that he was the only one who would ever see her like this.

His free hand clasped her jaw, thumb and first finger caressing the pale profile so he could remind himself his palms were capable of more than just destruction. "I love you too," he said.

[hellothisistruth]

And I would put my own happiness aside in a heartbeat just to assure you were okay.

(via sixshooting)

[feelyoufuckingproud]

[ofnightingales-blog]

Across the Waking Sea

[ofnightingales-blog]

amanofvalour:

Keep reading

Keep reading

[amanofvalour-blog]

It was a strange concept, having naught but time to occupy themselves. He was used to heated embrace, so passionate and fierce that it threatened to consume them each time they lay together. He enjoyed the intensity, the harsh, ragged breathes and wicked Orleasian phrases she whimpered as they soared higher than ever.

But to extend the moment, to exalt every part of her and lose himself utterly within her was something else. He felt light, giddy even with the sensations that spiralled through him. Each movement came with love, with knowledge that they needn’t fear an attack on their life or run off to the next city to save the world.

Ronan responded to her hips, moving with perfect synchrony without any care for the world beyond these walls. She smelled of the sea, of fine perfume, of freedom and everything that went with it. He found the aroma so intoxicating that he shifted his approach, concentrating on how deep he could go instead of how fast.

[ambassadorjosephinemontilye-blog]

Of More Delicate Matters

[amanofvalour-blog]

Leliana’s eyes were everywhere and he didn’t doubt that she’d find a subtle way of bringing up this meeting at some stage. How she conducted herself had become so different to the giggling, singing bard who he’d fallen in love with across crackling fires and late night serenades. As was necessity when she’d climbed so high, had so much weight on her shoulders. The years changed him as well.

But deep down, in quieter moments, she was exactly the same as she’d always been. A part of him loved her even more for saving that piece of herself for him, the side no one else saw unless they’d known her for a long time. Ronan realised he’d drifted into memory again and straightened his back, listening to the Ambassador’s questions.

We’d be free of all the people who wanted us to solve their problems. We’d live out the rest of ours day in peace knowing that we’d never have to leave each other’s arms again.

“She and I are used to duty taking us far from each other. It’s why we’re making every moment I have here count. We’ve not discussed exactly where we’ll go after all this is over but we know that after I’ve completed this final quest we’ll be together for good.” 

[ambassadorjosephinemontilye-blog]

This was a relief to hear. It did sound like he was serious about his devotion to Leliana which quelled Josephine’s concerns that he would leave her in pieces more shattered than ever before. She knew that her friend loved with all of her being, and that she would likely not be able to recover after another betrayal in this vein.

The ambassador smiled at the Ronan, more genuinely this time, and let her shoulders relax. “Leliana is fortunate to have met you, My Lord. You will undoubtedly live in bliss once this is past us.”

She was lucky that Ronan and Leliana had met as well. It soothed her worries about the Nightingale to know she had someone to confide in, and someone to remind her of who she was before this hell broke loose.

“My apologies for taking so much of your time with such intrusive questions. I do hope my curiosity did not cause you discomfort.”

[amanofvalour-blog]

“And I her,” Ronan said with a hint of pride. She’s the heart that beats beneath my chest. Ten years of seized moments, long goodbyes and intimate letters kept him focused on a future where they’d be able to live free of worry and a world that threatened to break itself. He knew Josephine was acting as the concerned friend but she needn’t have doubted any claim to his fidelity.

After everything Leliana had suffered she deserved a peaceful life and the more idealistic part of him hoped that once the tear in the sky was fixed she’d be able to put all the cloak and dagger business behind her. The realist in him understood that even after the Inquisition succeeded there'd still be work to do, just as there’d be more darkspawn to fight. 

“It makes a change from being asked for the sixth time to describe the battle with the Archdemon in detail. I’m glad for the distraction.” He chuckled, a deep, rich sound that lifted hearts even in the darkest of circumstances.