MYTHAL’ENASTE, AMA TIRALAS...
pray, let me remember my roots.
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DEAR READER
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@stolenmagi
MYTHAL’ENASTE, AMA TIRALAS...
pray, let me remember my roots.
sideblog. no formatting. non-HoF main. followback from @justicewinged.
|| interest tracker || background || rules || mobile-friendly info here ||
AMY & LAURIE in Little Women (2019)
“ Come into these arms again and set this spirit free ”
finally decided on someone’s tarot cards.
normal: the devil
romanced: judgement
&. 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐥 / 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.
( various dialogue prompts for all your medieval / fantasy / d&d inspired threads and aus! )
❛ i hope this raven finds you well… ❜
❛ you carry a sword, yet you are not a knight. ❜
❛ the gods must be angry. i sense a storm brewing. ❜
❛ there’s no place i’d rather be than by your side. ❜
❛ nobility is defined by what you do, not who you are. ❜
❛ i know how to keep my life and my crown. and i will. ❜
❛ well, i’m not a knight. not yet. ❜
❛ at least we’ll die with honor. ❜
❛ i’ve never seen a dragon before, what are they like? ❜
❛ this knife is laced with venom, any sudden movements and you’re dead. ❜
❛ of all the idiots in the realm, i’m trapped with you. ❜
❛ shed no tears for me. i will be back before you know it. ❜
❛ i’m sorry, but i’m to be married to someone else. ❜
❛ here’s a copper for your thoughts. and a silver not to tell them. ❜
❛ you humans are most amusing. ❜
❛ may i have this dance? ❜
❛ you were made to be ruled. ❜
❛ i will protect you. it is my duty, knight or not. ❜
❛ my kingdom is in danger. i’ve come to ask for your aid. ❜
❛ i’ve got a date with destiny, and it won’t end in a kiss. unfortunately. ❜
❛ keep your sword up and your back straight. ❜
❛ you’re asking me to commit treason. ❜
❛ you will make a fine ruler one day. ❜
❛ no curse of mine shall befall you from my dying breath. ❜
❛ you should see me in a crown. ❜
❛ bury me shallow, i will be back. ❜
❛ bard! play something a little more upbeat. ❜
❛ i warn you, i’ve been trained to kill since birth. ❜
❛ my magic is useless against them. i’ve never felt so powerless. ❜
❛ how can it be my destiny to protect someone who hates me? ❜
❛ i am at your mercy, your grace. ❜
❛ do not be afraid, little one. i will not hurt you. ❜
❛ any man who must say ‘i am the king’ is no true king. ❜
❛ knights must prevail with steel and sinew alone. ❜
❛ impudent of you to assume i will meet a mortal end. ❜
❛ spare me the ‘i’ve come to slay you’ speech and let’s get on with it. ❜
❛ it is my duty to protect the last of the dragons. ❜
❛ do i look like the kind of person who dies? ❜
❛ we are king and queen, chained together like prisoners in a dungeon. ❜
❛ for every great ruler, there is an equally great assassin poised to kill. ❜
❛ my bloodline was wiped out before my eyes. i’m the last heir. ❜
❛ you look better in your wanted posters. ❜
❛ you don’t need a king. a knight can make another knight. ❜
❛ violence for violence is the rule for beasts. ❜
❛ fear cuts deeper than swords. ❜
❛ pick and god and pray to it. ❜
❛ i’d rather die than marry you. ❜
❛ my duty is to my people. ❜
❛ glad to see you haven’t become food for the vultures. ❜
❛ i will paint the throne red with your blood. ❜
❛ what’s a life threatening quest without a bit of music? ❜
❛ some of us may not survive, but the ones that do will get the ultimate reward… paid. ❜
“It doesn’t have anything to do with trust. You don’t have to tell me. But I’ll listen, if you do.” - Joseph Amell
noticing trauma starters - [ x ]
Rosal remains ever the taciturn companion under duress, even with sign language to help bridge the gap between their circle of friends, though that doesn’t stop Joseph from trying. Maybe it would bother others, but not him, not Jowan, and not Anders. They all seem to, routinely, understand.
It’s been quite some time, a couple years, even, since he started talking on his own terms. Most of that, sign. Very little spoken, but on occasion, he manages it to be. Even so.
The elven mage levels his dark gaze upon his human peer, brow furrowed and frame tense. With his chin tipped up it’s more apparent how he feels -- the dampness betrays any ounce of subtlety he’s been attempting since crowding himself into this dusty corner of the library, and it isn’t hay fever that pinches the pale flesh around his cheeks and ears and nose pink. He rubs it away with a sniffle and a swipe of his stained, threadbare handkerchief, and frees his hands to sign.
“All of it is too much,” he starts, swallowing down the way his heart pulls in his chest. “People here don’t seem to care what they say about elves.”
He doesn’t elaborate. Maybe Joseph has noticed. The rumors vary: there are more Dalish abominations because they’re never Harrowed, their keepers are less of a mage than any Circle mage could be, that none of their children learn to read or write or speak Trades Common or that they’re less, somehow, for not knowing the stupid Chant. Even now some call him rabid in hushed ways behind his back, as if he doesn’t here, call him slurs and nasty things because he’s always a little prickly...
It’s enough to bring Rosal to madness. He keeps it so bottled up that it has to come pouring out somehow, whether he wants it to or not. Most of the time he doesn’t get caught. Other times... Joseph or Jowan or Anders find him when he thinks he’s well-hidden.
“Just the usual, really.” He manages a subtle, derisive snort.
cosmicacy:
she watched him with such an enraptured gaze, even as he teased her, hanging off his every word with a bright gaze and a giggle as he pulled her in for a kiss. his turn for the serious didn’t bother her much though and she just let her hand trace his face before pulling him in again for another longer but softer kiss.
‘ you don’t have to apologize. so long as you’re like this with me, i don’t mind. though you could be a little nicer to our companions, seeing as we have to stay in very close quarters. ‘ she tapped the tip of his nose before twirling the both of them around closer to her belongings and trunk. her thoughts went to alistair for a moment and this whole business about who should be king and queen. even if she wasn’t a warden, she’d likely end up here anyway, though likely as a mere spectator.
‘ there are very few things about you that i don’t love, and those that i don’t, i still quite like. ‘ millie mused with a smile. ‘ old habits and misleading appearances and all. ‘
He lets out an almost-startled breath into her kiss, expression pinched with the stress of his soul laid bare, even slightly. For her, he tries all the time to be strong, to keep his pains to himself, to remind her very little of how his past has marked him in matters more than physical, but there are some things he cannot help, some things that still yet slip through the cracks against his will.
It’s a story, to her, he thinks. It’s the tale’s way of painting him a man with nothing to lose, which he is, but there’s so much to these tangled thoughts that he’s never explained. The very basics of course were necessary -- don’t touch without consent, don’t expect replies in verbal form -- but the little bits that had slipped through the cracks mostly had come out in times when his mouth had run off without his sense. She is, after all, a pretty girl, and he doesn’t always know what to do with that. If she learned things that changed the way she saw him (mysterious and misleading appearances, few words and fewer sentiments shared) he doesn’t know what he’d do.
His feet stumble as she twirls them, and at the end of the arc he finds himself caught by the edge of her trunk, where he promptly finds a seat, expression more tense than it had been a couple moments prior. He looks up at her with all the scalding accusation of an injured mabari.
“It’s all… safety,” he babbles out, nerves almost getting the better of his words. “That Alistair doesn’t seem to understand that is his problem, really. Oghren wouldn’t understand nuance if it beat him senseless, and Zevran knows every little thing he does that bothers me. He’s too clever not to. Wynne had seen worse of me -- she’s simply frustrated I’m putting you before my duty as a Warden, and Morrigan understands, it seems…” He scratches old scars. “I’m trying, Millie, I am.”
onemusemanyfandoms:
“Stay downwind. They’ll track you by the smell of your blood better than most mabari. You won’t shake them until one of you is dead. I was with a group of wounded survivors from around Lothering. We never could manage to shake them,” she muttered bitterly. She tried not to think about what happened to Bryant and the others after he found her out and tried to kill her. She had no choice but to flee the refugee camp and wander into the maw of the enemy alone. She cleared her throat. Having been a maleficar, she knew how to live on the run. But a bunch of templars, chantry goons and peasants? They wouldn’t know the first thing about being hunted down like animals. “The problem with fleeing darkspawn is that they don’t sleep. Humans are far easier to outmaneuver, but if you want to test that, I can’t stop you.”
Her path was more difficult than Surana’s. She couldn’t just run away anymore. Not after what happened to her family. What she had failed to prevent. If she had been there, she could have saved them. If she had made it to Ostagar, she could’ve saved her brother. Now, she was chasing the trails of her sister, one of the only Grey Wardens left standing. That meant she would more than likely be running into a darkspawn horde.
“I’m ill,” Kly acknowledged with a nod, and she wasn’t referring to the anemia. “Magic resistant heart damage. The blood loss makes it more pronounced, but it’s manageable. Daily potions prevent more damage from being done, but it cannot be fully repaired.” She nodded towards the door. “We won’t be going the same way, I fear. I’m looking for someone. I’ve been following them for a few months, but I always end up stopping to help others which means they are always a few steps ahead of me. Last I heard, they’d been seen in Redcliffe heading west towards the mountains. I’ll likely be headed there as well. You should head for the coast. Get your charges out of Ferelden as fast as you can.”
“Darkspawn don’t hunt us down like dogs,” he replies, assured in his words. “I’m sure we could fell the few stragglers that do come. They’re northbound, headed for the seats of high population, like Lothering and Denerim. Orlais won’t be any better for my charges -- I’d need to head south anyway, into the source of the horde. Into the Wilds.”
Tactics are easy. Sympathy is not. Logically Kly won’t make it north, not alone, and certainly not in her condition. It’s foolish to think she could circumnavigate Darkspawn and scared villagers to reach she’s after and end up in one piece.
“You’ll die on your own, with the horde so close now. I hope it’s worth it to you.”
knowing how protective he is of his sweaters and all their holes, millie leaves him a nice woolly sweater beside his belongings that he could wear while alone or to bed without anyone having to know where it came from
gifts for a man who doesn’t know how to say no to them
Rosal doesn’t need to ask to know where it came from, just how she managed to sneak it in amongst his things so stealthily. A twitch of alert ears betrays no nearby movements, so he lets himself test the fabric in his hands, against his cheeks. It smells of Millie, the wilds that catch on her hair and clothing and mix with her perfume. He breathes in deep. It’s softer than expected, dark in color and subtly patterned in such a way it fits with his wardrobe and could easily be worn out.
The fact he’s seen wearing it but a few days later is sign enough of how much he treasures it, though he speaks no verbal thanks to acknowledge the gift’s existence.
“I brought you some water.”
noticing trauma starters - [ x ]
In the time he’s known Lyna, she’s ever been practical as she is perceptive, not that it requires exceptional perceptive skills to see something wrong about Rosal, even to passerby or acquaintances, in this particular instance.
He can think of it clinically, for sure: the anxieties that claw at him for the mere fact of being here, being periodically brushed too suddenly or handled (though with good intentions) roughly… they all remain that, anxieties. But this time of year comes with a particular melancholy, during which period all of it grows more intense. He’d nearly attacked Oghren for the mere crime of touching his hand during dinner, and that is the precise reason he’s secluded himself to his room in the keep, curled in the corner and nestled against his knees when she comes to his rescue.
Not that he particularly needs saving, he thinks, but Lyna’s vallaslin-marked face feels like a raft in a storm: familiar, perhaps even life-saving.
Rosal extends a trembling hand and takes the tankard from her, lifts it to his lips, and remembers his thirst through the haziness of his mind. He gulps down several greedy swallows, and tentative, rests it on the flagstones beside him. It’s likely certain manifestations of his trauma are apparent in this moment: redness around his forearms in streaking paths against old scars, the sweat that beads against his brow, the way his pensive expression twists with every shift of the environment around him.
He feels guilty that she even finds the need to tolerate this. There are around twenty other Wardens in this keep at this very moment, one of whom is truly the victim of this scenario, who she might spend her time better than with him, a miserable sodding fool…
“Why?” he croaks out, voice barely there.
Why bother, he wants to ask. Why him, secondarily. There are plenty of questions thus starting he can’t muster more to acknowledge. Maybe she’ll have the words he lacks.
@stolenmagi sent: ‘ I prefer to be unsociable and taciturn. ’ - @stolenmagi + Millie
‘ i am well aware, darling, but our friends are downstairs enjoying the festivities, and they would like to know you’re still alive and haven’t trapped yourself under a fallen bookshelf. ‘ it was rare that they ever got the chance to enjoy such celebrations, the kinds that had dance or music, as wardens and this once it was free of all the pretense orlesian balls had. and yet he still remained in the library, pointedly avoiding all of it.
heaving a dramatic sigh, she slunk over and draped herself over his back with her hands on his upper arms. ‘ and i would like at least one dance with you tonight. if not, i’m sure zevran would oblige. ‘
The gaze Rosal gives her is the perfect exemplar of his taciturn nature, a slight quirk to his brow, saying, wordlessly, how he doesn’t necessarily understand how this matters so much, but still refuses to say so for her sake. Additionally, he has his doubts that the others are particularly his friends. Morrigan, perhaps; even Sten and he have a mutual understanding, but the others?
“You know I’m no good at dancing,” he says as he closes the book in his hand. There’s little play in his tone, just slight resignation. It’s what he doesn’t say that matters more, here.
He offers his arm to guide her to the dance floor.
@stolenmagi sent: ❛ either you cuddle me, or stop hogging all the blankets. ❜ - @stolenmagi + millie
when they had first begun sharing a bed, this was the kind of cuddling he seemed to like the most, when there was still a little room between them for him to be able to breathe and have his space if necessary. how things had changed since they had a bed to themselves and all the finest blankets and quilts she had made fergus send her from home. she hadn’t even thought she was hogging them either, but she was quick to remedy that. she turned over from her position facing the bedside table to meet his front, burrowing herself under his arms and popping out underneath his chin.
‘ is this better, your highness? ‘ she teased softly, attempting to tickle him with her unruly curls. ‘ i thought i would keep the blankets so i could keep my hands and feet warm so i don’t freeze you when i stick them down your shirt. ‘
“Have I a title now?” he musters around sniffling to avoid the tickles producing a sneeze. “Lord of the blankets? It ought to come with more benefits than frosty fingers and toes.”
He returns the favor, even, if only to prove a point, pressing his cold hands along the curve of her back with a smug grin. It’s the anemia. His hands are ever frigid icicles but it is especially pronounced in the wintertime, and even moreso when he’s lacked cuddles and blankets.
“Do remind me to braid your hair before bed tomorrow… Mythal’enaste, it’s beautiful, but it gets everywhere.”
cosmicacy:
her eyes didn’t meet his, out of guilt. for so long, she had refused to let war change her, to make her want to run and hide when so many needed her help and her gifts. but the closer they got to the archdemon, the more she realized that there was a chance they might not make it out alive. that she was honestly scared to the point that nothing she knew could put her fears at ease.
‘ i’m terrified, ros. ‘ she whispered, still unable to meet his eyes in fear he might see just how close she was to tearing up, instead hiding her nerves in how tight she clenched her hands. ‘ i don’t think i could stand to lose anyone else in my life. and now i could lose everyone. ‘
Rosal has never been particularly good with emotional things like this. It is simply a fact of life that everyone dies. For some time, he’d accepted his own death as inevitable and relatively immediate, and he’d known she was scared -- hence this being the one combat she’d ever expressed the desire to run from. But something about the barely-perceptible quaver in her tone that catches his ear feels like this is his fault, for bringing it to the forefront. He’s thankful she’s not looking at him, for his expression pinches at the thought that, yet again, he’s at the root of her trouble.
“Realistically, you’re right, and that fear is... entirely founded. There is no honest way I can tell you we’ll all make it out alive for any certainty. No matter how much I want to.” He bends his neck to kiss her hands. “Just enjoy what we have, for now. And... perhaps you should talk to Morrigan. She has an idea that may save our lives.”
cosmicacy:
‘ no, not at all. just surprised. ‘ and a little impressed, if she was honest. though he didn’t pack quite as much punch as the full weight of a hurlock or ogre, he’d proven he could even knock her off her feet, quite literally. and the look of pride on his face when he’d finally beat her after so many failed attempt was something she only saw once in a blue moon and she wanted to relish it as long as she could, even when he was stealing her breath away again.
‘ i could still take you down from here though. ‘ she managed to murmur out, eyelashes fluttering lightly. ‘ but i don’t want to ruin your victory. ‘
“And I could use magic to maintain my advantage,” he replies with a cheeky grin, “but alas, I am not fighting to my full capacity, and neither are you.”
Rosal stands up and offers a hand to help her to her feet. When challenged, he rises to the occasion, and he knows if it were a real combat, he’d be using his abilities to manipulate the Fade around him to pull a real advantage. Knocking someone over isn’t always the most convenient of tactics, either. He’d be going in for the kill following something to keep his opponent in one place.
“How’s my form, eh?” The mage rolls the training sword over in his hand and catches it with an easy smile that tugs at the very edge of his scars. “Good? Better?”
A beat, and the smile only grows, this time with a slightly teasing curl to it. “Have I stolen your breath away? I see you’re a little winded, my sunlight... shall I send for Wynne?” He only asks because he knows that’s not the problem. He knows exactly why she seems a little more out of breath, and it likely has everything to do with the kisses he stole. Or perhaps the fact he’s proving himself as a warrior, and that’s something of a storybook hero for her. So, he presses. “Are you sure you’re not injured? It would be like me to underestimate myself...”
cosmicacy:
millie couldn’t help but laugh as she watched him attempted to snap at her finger, letting it move along his face with a playful look. she missed this sort of back and forth when she was out on her own. being so serious for so long didn’t suit her and she planned to draw this out as long as possible.
‘ i’m excited just thinking about it. i’m going to tuck you under the covers so tightly you’ll have to call me just to come scratch your nose. ‘ her legs were pulled up onto the cushions so she could wrap around him and keep him there, laying back against the arm of the couch to pull him on top of her where she could hold him tight and play with his hair. even after how her shine had faded, some of it was brought back to life here and now. ‘
He can feel the way she wants him right there, to stay and not go anywhere, but he has no plans of moving anytime soon. Millie has pulled her into her embrace, and while her skin is shockingly chilling against his own, the ambient heat of her body, the thrum of her heart, they’re all enough to lull him just a little.
Rosal does get antsy, being laid up for too terribly long with fever and ailments. And though they both share their struggles with the advancement of their conditions, his constitution is not that of a warrior, no matter how numbed to pain he’s become over his years as a blood mage. Even barring the taint, he’s never been good at being ill. This has just made it more apparent.
“I assure you, that won’t be necessary,” he scoffs under his breath. “You have my undivided attention, my dearest Warden Commander. For now, at least.”
missed the biting party but we all know where Ros falls on that and if you haven’t figured it out....