Sad Orlesian

31 | She/Her | Orlesian + Common | Neck deep in Solavellan hell | Picked up drawing again because of an egg

[sad-orlesian]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

It has been a year since the Inquisition disbanded, and a new event rocks Halamshiral.

The Emperor of Orlais is taking a bride, and all of Thedas is wondering about her identity. Even Fen’Harel is interested in the secret, unaware that uncovering it will greatly upset his plans.

Thalia Lavellan’s face is bare, her heart is broken and she’ll do everything in her power to save her world. Even locking herself up in a gilded cage.

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IT’S UP, BABYYYY

[sad-orlesian]

I'll be editing and posting the chapters I already have over the next few weeks. I have a lot of them written down and the full story in mind !

I'm doing all of it with my phone, so the editing might be a bit wonky at times, I might go back to chapters and correct them from time to time. I'll also add notes and links to my drawing as they become relevant to the chapters or if I draw new ones

Everything on my tumblr associated with the fic have been tagged with "stolen empress", don't hesitate to browse !

Thank you for the engagement, however small, every like, reblog or kuddo really makes my day ❤️

👑 🔪 ✨️ 💔

[sad-orlesian]

Pretty pretty bald man

[sad-orlesian]

Inquisitive gaze

[sad-orlesian]

Empress Lavellan

Redraw of my old banner. I don't draw enough but I did get better (?)

[sad-orlesian]

How you doin'

[sad-orlesian]

"She tied you to the kitchen chair

She broke your throne and she cut your hair

And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah"

[sad-orlesian]

The wedding night

Another scene from the most recent chapter of my fic, Stolen Empress (Spoiler alert!)

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

I did cheat a bit on Solas clothing in comparison with other drawings of the same night, but I wanted to show some skiiiin

[sad-orlesian]

"I can do this all day"

The day the Inquisitor lost the tip of her ear

[sad-orlesian]

Happy French National day, I guess

This contry is a shit show

[sad-orlesian]

The Dread Wolf, really mad that this dalish woman is making his little heart go boom boom, and the same woman, unable to not stare at his lips

[sad-orlesian]

Live well, my love. While time remains

I forgot, with the Solavellan ending, how gutting his last words are with a frienly inky. Like ugh.

[sad-orlesian]

The wedding night

Another scene from the most recent chapter of my fic, Stolen Empress (Spoiler alert!)

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

I did cheat a bit on Solas clothing in comparison with other drawings of the same night, but I wanted to show some skiiiin

[sad-orlesian]

Cover needed

It's funny that I drew a whole scene to justify the scar on Thalia's chin and the same scene adds a scar on her side that cannonically isn't there in my fic

*sigh*

[sad-orlesian]

The wedding night

Another scene from the most recent chapter of my fic, Stolen Empress (Spoiler alert!)

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

I did cheat a bit on Solas clothing in comparison with other drawings of the same night, but I wanted to show some skiiiin

[sad-orlesian]

"I think there's something wrong with my boyfriend"

No way Lavellan didn't suspect something was off with the egg. Who's cute when he's sleeping.

[sad-orlesian]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

I'm so sorry it took so long, but we're back, and we're sad, and every body deserves a break.

(TW) This chapter contains mentions of dubious consent pertaining to the story being centered around an arranged marriage, so be advised!

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A little extract ~

There was no more dancing for her that night, but Thalia almost missed the mindlessness it afforded her when it was replaced by an unceasing flow of well wishers, faked worried inquiries on her wounds and insincere outrage. 

She had been so glad to be able to invite most of her friends in one place for once, and yet she barely had any more unobserved time with any of them for the rest of the evening. Her husband did not stray any more than three feet from her. Still, Cullen hovered around her, his hand at the ready close to his sword, decorative as it may be, and Dorian kept to her line of sight, making faces at the back of the courtiers talking to Thalia. Masks were indeed useful in some situations, she thought as she bit the inside of her cheek. 

Try as she might, she couldn’t stop her eyes from roaming, scanning the ballroom, hoping, dreading to see someone. Politely discussing political matters with some dignitaries, maybe. Leading a foreign lady in a fast dance. Leaning on a pillar, seeping wine and observing mischievously the revelry. Cornering a naive dalish Inquisitor in a dark library to make her see stars. 

[sad-orlesian]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

I'm so sorry it took so long, but we're back, and we're sad, and every body deserves a break.

(TW) This chapter contains mentions of dubious consent pertaining to the story being centered around an arranged marriage, so be advised!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A little extract ~

There was no more dancing for her that night, but Thalia almost missed the mindlessness it afforded her when it was replaced by an unceasing flow of well wishers, faked worried inquiries on her wounds and insincere outrage. 

She had been so glad to be able to invite most of her friends in one place for once, and yet she barely had any more unobserved time with any of them for the rest of the evening. Her husband did not stray any more than three feet from her. Still, Cullen hovered around her, his hand at the ready close to his sword, decorative as it may be, and Dorian kept to her line of sight, making faces at the back of the courtiers talking to Thalia. Masks were indeed useful in some situations, she thought as she bit the inside of her cheek. 

Try as she might, she couldn’t stop her eyes from roaming, scanning the ballroom, hoping, dreading to see someone. Politely discussing political matters with some dignitaries, maybe. Leading a foreign lady in a fast dance. Leaning on a pillar, seeping wine and observing mischievously the revelry. Cornering a naive dalish Inquisitor in a dark library to make her see stars.