Welcome! My name is Jath, and this is mostly a self-shipper blog!
I'm a 25-year-old demisexual pansexual disaster who loves to self-ship and adores fluff. I love seeing other people self-ship and feel genuinely happy for them and their wholesome ships. This blog will mostly be filled with fluffy content, though I might also share when I'm feeling down. It's a space for me to express my love and enthusiasm for my f/os!
I'm always open to chatting with other self-shippers, just please excuse any small mistakes in my English, as it's not my first language. Also, this user has social anxiety and self doubt. Apologies in advance if I come across as awkward. I tend to second-guess everything I do and say.
Main F/Os:
Danarius (non-sharing)
Side F/Os
Ozai (non-sharing)
Edwin Odesseiron (non-sharing)
Dorian (sharing)
DNI, Tags and Taglist are under the cut
DNI if :
Racist
Anti-LGBTQ+
Attracted to minors or support incest
A zoophile
Any kind of bully
You self-ship with characters who abuse or hurt you intentionally in any way.
Any kind of Proshipper
You ship with one of my non-sharing f/os
Note:
It's totally fine if you self-ship with morally questionable characters as long as they are kind and fluffy with you. I personally love villains too! The important part is that your f/o treats you with love and care.
If your self-ship includes abuse or harm directed at you, I understand that everyone copes differently, but I won’t be able to support or engage with that kind of content. Please respect that and keep it off this space.
By the way, all my f/os who are villains often don't fully align with canon. I usually turn them into softer versions, imagining that my love makes them better people. So please don't instantly apply the canon knowledge to my f/os - I prefer mine fluffier. If you want the characters that are my f/os to actually be evil, then please don’t interact with me
My Tags
#Jaths art - for any drawings I made
#Jaths writing - for any short stories I made
#Jath answers - for any answered Asks
#Jaths f/o imagines - for any f/o imagines I made
#Blooming Ruby - for my self-ship with Danarius
Tags for my other self-ships will be added over time, once I find fitting ship names for them.
It had been another long day buried in paperwork. Danarius sat at his desk with a deep frown etched into his face, the quill scratching irritably across the page. The endless work had worn him down, and he growled as he accidentally knocked a few papers to the ground with his elbow. Fury burned in the grey magister’s eyes. He looked moments away from reducing the offensive documents to ash with a flick of magic.
Slowly, Jath moved closer, wanting to check on Danarius, who had been stuck in his study for the past couple of hours, perhaps even having forgotten the time.
Danarius heard Jath’s gentle footsteps as he approached cautiously. He turned his head slightly, and his expression softened at once, a tender smile spreading across his lips.
The sight made Jath smile back without even realizing it, his heart swelling with warmth. That someone could love and value him so deeply, that he could be wanted and not merely a burden or an annoyance, still felt almost unreal.
“Hm, need something, my love?” Danarius asked, his voice warm with affection.
Jath said nothing. He simply leaned down, wrapped his arms around the man at the desk, and buried his face in his neck before pressing a soft kiss there. He felt Danarius relax almost immediately beneath his touch, the tension easing as if it had finally found a place to go.
A pleased hum slipped from the magister’s lips. The warmth radiating from Danarius was calming, and Jath loved his scent. Being this close to him felt perfect, so perfect he never wanted to let go.
“I love you so much, Danarius,” Jath whispered, words he could say a thousand times and never tire of.
“And I love you more than anything, Jath,” the magister murmured.
He stood and drew Jath into a deep kiss, followed by a proper embrace. No longer bent awkwardly to reach each other, they stood eye to eye, comfortable in each other’s arms, holding tight and each feeling more whole the closer they were.
I drew some art for an old drabble to it to make it feel more complete :D
Some stirring in the bed began to unravel the chaotic dreamscape Jath had been wandering through. Faces, voices, and vibrant landscapes receded as the familiar sensations of reality crept in: the drag of sheets against his legs, the soft but steady mattress underneath him, the cold air brushing his face. It pushed the remnants of sleep further and further away until the last of the dream slipped soundlessly into nothing.
He shifted lazily, still wrapped in a fog of half-awareness, eyelids heavy and stubbornly shut. The lure of sleep clung to him, seductive and warm, whispering promises of just a few more moments of quiet. Even the daylight filtering through his closed lids, bright enough to paint a soft reddish glow across them, was not enough to persuade him to start the day yet.
When he turned, the blanket slipped from his shoulders in a slow, traitorous slide, and a sharp breath of cold air washed over his bare skin. Jath let out an immediate, disgruntled sound and yanked the blankets back up with sleepy insistence. He would not let the shock of cold air disturb him any more than it already had, trying to ruin his chances of falling back asleep.
He groaned softly and reached instinctively for the body beside him, seeking the warmth he knew would be waiting there. Danarius always radiated heat like a small sun, steady and comforting, and Jath found him easily. He nestled closer, sliding one arm securely around Danarius’ waist and pressing his forehead to the man’s shoulder. The familiar scent of him, warmth and safety, wrapped around Jath like a second blanket.
A subtle movement and a soft kiss placed against his forehead told him Danarius was awake now, or at the very least beginning to wake. Jath felt the shift of lips curling slightly, the way Danarius’ breath warmed the space between them. He knew exactly what was coming, and he dreaded it.
“We have to get up, Jath,” Danarius murmured, voice thick with sleep, still rough around the edges. The words vibrated gently against Jath’s skin.
“Just a few more minutes,” Jath mumbled into the other’s shoulder. The bed was too warm, the world too cold, and the serenity of the moment too precious to surrender so easily. He could already imagine the sting of stepping onto the chilly floor and his body shivering when the cold air would hit him mercilessly. Absolutely not something he wished to face yet.
Jath missed the summer mornings, though he knew perfectly well that in summer he would curse the heat with the same dramatic misery. He would complain about melting, swear that he was dissolving into a puddle. Yet somehow, in this moment, those days felt like a far more merciful alternative.
“You know we have a lot to do today,” Danarius sighed, pressing another gentle kiss to Jath’s forehead. His fingers traced slow circles on Jath’s upper arm, which sent pleasant tingles through Jath’s body.
Offering only a low grumble in response, Jath tightened his grip around him, effectively wrapping himself around Danarius like a sleepy, stubborn vine.
Danarius chuckled under his breath, the sound low and warm. Instead of urging him again to rise, he pulled Jath even closer. His lips rested against Jath’s forehead, and Jath could swear he felt a smile forming there, which made butterflies flutter somewhere deep in his stomach.
He knew he couldn’t delay the day forever. Responsibilities wouldn't just disappear, and the world would not pause just because their bed felt like the safest place in existence. But maybe… maybe a few more minutes. Every moment stolen from the day felt like a victory. And every second spent in this quiet, intimate stillness already filled him with more energy, which he would need for the stressful day ahead.
It's been some time since the last writing I posted, which makes me feel kind of cringy and insecure about this lol
Jath woke when he realized the warm body he had wanted to cuddle up to was gone. He had hoped to enjoy the closeness and warmth a little longer, to fill his heart and steady his thoughts before getting up, but the space beside him was empty. Sleepily, he blinked, trying to focus through the haze of sleep. Danarius wasn’t there, only cool sheets and the faint trace of his husband’s scent. He must have left some time ago, slipping away quietly so as not to wake him.
It was rare for Danarius to leave without a word, and the realization made Jath’s heart sink. Normally, he would whisper soft words of love, tell him where he was going, and leave a gentle kiss on his forehead before departing. Jath searched his thoughts for something he might have done wrong, but yesterday had been peaceful, even joyful.
He rose slowly, meaning to bathe, when his eyes caught the date on the calendar and he remembered. Forget the morning routine, he thought, pulling on the first clothes he found. Surely his hair was a mess and he looked halfway to a zombie, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He hurried out the door, down the hallways, and through a back door until the crisp morning air met him.
He crossed the gardens to the secluded corner of the estate where no servant was ever allowed, not even to tend the flowers. There, he stopped. Danarius knelt before a finely carved marble gravestone. Expensive red candles and freshly picked flowers adorned the base of the stone, their soft glow flickering against his face.
Jath approached quietly and knelt beside him. Danarius barely acknowledged him, though he must have known it was his lover, for no one else would dare come here, especially today. His head was bowed, hair falling into his face, his expression lost somewhere between memory and grief. It was clear he had cried, even if silently. One of the rare times he allowed himself to.
The magister didn’t seem to care that his expensive robes were gathering dirt as he knelt in the grass. Between his hands, he turned a small amulet over and over, a delicate flower with black stones adorning it.
The grave was surrounded by trellises covered in blooming purple flowers, each with six pointed petals, almost like a star with one petal too many. Danarius tended them himself, treating them as sacred, though gardening had never been his passion. They mattered because they had mattered to his mother.
Jath wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that he couldn’t have done anything, but he knew it wouldn’t change Danarius’ mind. He would still blame himself for not having done more, even though he had done all he could. Jath didn’t want to start an argument about it, not now. So he simply hugged him quietly, not interrupting his mourning and offering comfort through his presence alone.
"I love you," Jath murmured softly, his voice heavy as he rested his forehead against his lover’s shoulder. "I’m with you."
Danarius’ hand found his, fingers trembling softly as he cupped it tightly. "I love you too," he whispered back, his voice raw with pain.
And so Jath stayed with him, for as long as it would take. He would not leave unless Danarius asked him to. He would sit with him through the silence, through the ache, and make sure he never faced his grief alone. It was all right to hurt. It was all right to be fragile. He still deserved to be held, to be seen as beautiful, to be loved.
I don’t know if this story really counts for the cemetery prompt since it’s only about a single grave, but I don’t care. I wanted to write it. It’s probably not my best work since I’ve had a pretty terrible day, lol.
(This is more of an AU where the worlds are connected, because I wanted him to experience our Halloween, as the version in his world is still different)
Jath positioned the cat ears on Danarius’ head, adjusting them until they sat just right and pulling a few strands of hair over the band to keep it less visible. They were dark and fluffy, not pitch black, since Jath had decided pure black wouldn’t suit his lover’s greying hair. At least they matched perfectly with the dark tail strapped around his waist.
The Magister stared straight ahead, looking almost as if he were dissociating, letting the whole ordeal simply wash over him. Jath was still astonished he had managed to convince him at all, he must have strung together just the right words to make such a miracle happen. At first, Danarius had flatly refused, but after some persistence and a pair of puppy eyes, he had relented, hesitantly and with a sigh.
Jath was honestly relieved he had survived the request at all, especially after that unfortunate incident with the hex. They had been stuck with real ears and tails for a day, and Danarius had spent the entire time furiously searching for a way to reverse it. Jath, on the other hand, had enjoyed himself thoroughly, taking every chance to make the Magister purr. For a while, Danarius had leaned into the touches before eventually snapping out of it and acting deeply insulted.
No matter the cost, Jath had to see Danarius like that one more time. So he had suggested the costumes.
Jath couldn’t help but adore the sight. Dressed up like a cat, the mighty Magister looked unbearably cute, a little evil kitty. Though, truth be told, he resembled more a dying, miserable cat, suffering dramatically under cruel torture. It was a minimalist Halloween costume, really, and Danarius should at least be glad Jath hadn’t insisted on a full cat onesie.
Jath chuckled at the display of theatrical self-loathing, and the sound drew Danarius’ attention back from his momentary retreat. He was met with a judgemental glare that only made Jath laugh harder. He threw his arms around him, hugging tightly. Danarius muttered something under his breath, no doubt curses, yet his hand still rose to caress Jath’s back with quiet affection.
Unwrapping his arms again, Jath looked at him with a mischievous smile. “You know what’s really missing? A purple collar. Maybe with gemstones. Or even with stitching that says ‘Return to Jath if found.’”
Danarius shot daggers with his eyes, which would have sent anyone else straight into the ground. Jath only grinned wider.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, Jath. But don’t push it,” Danarius grumbled, his tone flat.
“Oh, come on. It’s not like you’re being hurt, is it?” Jath nudged his shoulder playfully, laughter still in his voice.
Danarius didn’t answer, but his eyes returned to the mirror, frowning at his own reflection with a look that was part regret, part disgust. Those little lines creased between his brows, lines Jath longed to kiss away, before the Magister released a long, defeated sigh. Perhaps his pride was bruised, but little more. And besides, no one here knew who he was, so his reputation was in no danger.
“Hey! I’m wearing ears too,” Jath pointed out cheerfully, tapping the striped orange pair on his own head. “See? We’re a matching set.”
His were an orange with tabby stripes, the perfect counterpart. If Danarius was the dark, mysterious black cat, elegant and aloof, then Jath was the chaotic orange one, brimming with energy and perhaps owning one functioning brain cell.
“Got everything? We should head out for a round of trick-or-treating.” Jath scrambled to find where he had left his jacket.
It was getting chilly outside, and if he went without, he knew he’d regret it, shivering the whole time and maybe even catching a cold. He wasn’t about to risk anything that could ruin his fun tonight.
It took Danarius a moment to even process what Jath had just suggested. When he did, he turned with a look that was half outrage, half disbelief. “I am not going out like this, Jath.”
“Oh, come on,” Jath began, ready to fire off every argument he could muster to convince him it would be fun, or at least not unbearable. But Danarius cut him off sharply.
“No, Jath.” His tone was firm. “I will not make a fool of myself.”
Jath only smiled to himself. It might take a little more coaxing, but he was certain he’d get Danarius out of the house in the end. And who knew? Maybe he’d even manage to get him to enjoy it. Well, probably not. But one could hope.
I’m putting the cat hex incident picture here again to give an idea of how cute he looks with ears.
Candles burned softly in the chamber, their warm light spilling across walls and furniture, wrapping the room in a gentle glow. There was nothing quite as romantic as candlelight, and Jath instantly wondered what it meant. Normally only a few candles would be lit, but now they were placed with care throughout the room, their flickering flames creating an atmosphere that felt deliberate, intimate, almost magical.
His gaze fell on his lover, seated on the bed. Danarius patted the sheets beside him, a quiet invitation paired with the warmth of his smile.
Jath was sure he looked like a deer caught in headlights. His mind raced as he tried to recall whether he had forgotten some important date. Sometimes he lost track of time, but he was certain tonight wasn’t supposed to be special. Still, with hesitation tugging at him, he crossed the room and sat down. The confusion didn’t leave him, though he tried to mask it with a smile that felt only half successful.
“I thought we deserved a quiet moment, just the two of us,” Danarius said, his hand brushing tenderly across Jath’s face. Jath leaned into the touch without thinking. “The last days left us little time to breathe, let alone rest.”
Then, with a flicker of excitement in his eyes, Danarius revealed a small black box bound with a golden bow. “I also have something for you.”
“You didn’t have to…” Jath began, guilt pooling in his chest.
“I wanted to,” Danarius interrupted softly, his gaze filled with warmth and devotion.
With careful hands, Jath accepted the box. “Thank you,” he murmured, cheeks warming with a faint blush. Foolishly, he felt inadequate for having nothing to give in return.
He opened it, and his breath caught. Nestled inside lay a pendant: a golden frame cradling a flat piece of drakestone, into which a dragon had been carved with exquisite precision. Every line was clear, every detail sharp, so much so that the creature seemed almost alive. It was weighty in his palm, neither too small nor oversized. It was simply perfect.
His fingers traced the grooves of the carving in wonder. The stone was cool beneath his touch, though he knew it would warm when worn. He could feel the hum of magic radiating from it, tingling into his fingertips - proof that it was enchanted.
“It is Dumat,” Danarius explained. “Or at least, how the Magisters Sidereal claimed to have seen him in their visions.”
The name echoed in Jath’s mind. Dumat, the most powerful of the Old Gods - the one said to have taught men magic, perhaps even blood magic. Some argued that it had come from the ancient elves instead, though their people were thought long gone. And if it had been them, then who had taught them? Their gods? Over the centuries of slavery, the elves had lost most of their traditions and ancestral knowledge. No one could say with certainty where magic had truly originated, nor who had first wielded it.
“Dumat was the first Old God corrupted by the Blight, wasn’t he?” Jath asked carefully.
His memory was uncertain, and he didn’t want to assume. That the Archdemons had been tainted dragons Jath knew well enough. What he could not say was whether they had once been Old Gods, and if so, which among them.
“Yes. The story goes that Dumat convinced his followers to storm the Golden City, the Maker’s seat. The Chantry claims seven Magisters succeeded, entering the Fade with their own bodies after sacrificing countless slaves and using two-thirds of the Imperium’s Lyrium reserves. For their hubris, they were cast down, twisted into the first darkspawn, who then found their way into the Deep Roads and to the prison where the Old God was held. Other tales say it was Dumat himself who created the first darkspawn”
“So… was Dumat evil then? For convincing his followers to desecrate the city, or because he was already tainted?”
“The Chantry would have you believe so. Yet there is no proof. Religion serves as a tool to mold belief, to bind people in obedience. Others say Dumat played no part until he was forced into becoming the first Archdemon, and that the Chantry’s tale was spun only to vilify mages and the Imperium.”
“You still use dragons as heraldry in Tevinter,” Jath noted, recalling the many draconic motifs carved into architecture and woven into banners.
“Yes. Even though worship of the Old Gods has been forbidden since the Exalted March, their presence cannot be erased. They are the roots of Tevinter’s past. Even the Altus bloodlines reach back to Thalsian, Dumat’s first priest, who established the ruling class.” Danarius paused then, studying Jath with a quiet, searching look. “You once told me you loved dragons. I thought it a fitting gift.”
“I do like it,” Jath answered quickly, afraid his questions had sounded doubtful. “I love it, actually,” he corrected firmly, wanting to erase any doubt. “Thank you.”
Danarius’ smile deepened. “It carries a protective enchantment as well. I need you safe, especially with how much attention you’ve drawn.” His smile faltered, guilt tugging at his features as he finished the sentence.
Jath understood. Danarius meant the danger that came with being his partner. A Magister was always a prime target, and so too was his family. As his husband, Jath bore that risk as well.
Without hesitation, Jath threw his arms around him. “Having you is worth it all. You’ve given me more life than I ever had before. I would change nothing.” His embrace tightened fiercely.
Danarius returned the embrace, his arms circling him with deliberate care. For a moment he said nothing, and Jath wondered what weighed on him, whether guilt still gnawed at him, or whether he realized how much he had given him, how much he truly meant.
“You are my everything,” Danarius finally whispered, pressing a kiss into Jath’s hair.
“And you are my life,” Jath breathed back.
A shuddering inhale escaped Danarius at those words, and his embrace tightened further, as though he could will the world away and hold on forever.
TW: Contains many dark topics, including slavery and mistreatment (discussion of both historical and ongoing issues in a city)
Finally, the voyage was over. It had taken weeks, marked by fleeting seasickness and the challenge of weathering a storm. Now the open sea was fading behind them as the ship was carefully guided toward the towering split cliffs ahead. It had to be the city’s entrance, narrow from a distance, yet widening as they drew closer, just wide enough for ships to pass safely.
Relief washed over Jath. At first, he had found the trip exciting, but the open sea was frightening in its unpredictability. It was beautiful, yes, but throughout the journey, he had constantly wondered whether they would actually arrive or simply get lost at sea, or worse, be swallowed by a storm. Fortunately, the crew and captain knew far better than he did how to navigate and what hazards to watch for. Still, he would be more than happy to have stable ground beneath his feet again, instead of an ever-shifting deck.
The first landmark he noticed was the lighthouse, then parts of the city, buildings perched atop the distant mountain, already visible against the horizon. They appeared tiny from here, yet unmistakably Tevinter in design, architecture he now recognized well after years spent in the Imperium. He picked out the cathedral of Kirkwall and, what he assumed, was the Viscount’s palace, both larger and grander than any other structure, whose purpose remained hidden in the distance.
Soon, even those shapes disappeared as they entered the passage between the cliffs. Shadows fell across the ship, the sunlight dimming and the wind softening, confined by the narrow gorge. The seagulls that had followed them momentarily took off now, unwilling to continue. Navigating this passage by night, Jath thought, must be impossible. The lighthouse’s beam couldn’t reach this far, and daylight seemed essential to avoid colliding with the stony walls.
A gentle squeeze on his shoulder startled him from his thoughts. He turned to find Danarius beside him, his expression calm and warm, an anchor of steadiness amid Jath’s quiet unease. Whenever the unfamiliar threatened to overwhelm him, Danarius’ presence grounded him again, soothing the anxiety that sometimes crept in.
It was Jath’s first time in Kirkwall. He had only heard fragments about the city, mostly rumors of the mage-templar conflict, and knew little beyond that. Danarius, however, had been here several times and knew the place well. When planning to visit the city once more, he had asked Jath to come along, his relief clear when Jath agreed. Neither of them ever liked being apart for long.
Danarius gazed at the immense walls surrounding them. “Through this very passage, millions of elven slaves were brought to work the quarries and mine jet stone, the very stone used in so much of Tevinter’s architecture, and the imperial highway still used across Thedas. Back then, Tevinter reached farther than it does today. After the Exalted March, most of that reach was lost. Kirkwall was once known as Emerius, named after its founder, Magister Emerius Krayvan. It was part of the Imperium then, and to this day it bears the title City of Chains. It was the center of the Imperium’s slave trade, and one of its mightiest cities.”
On the inner cliff walls, ginormous statues hung, fastened against the rock, towering above them as they passed below. A chill ran down Jath’s spine as he took in the depictions of slaves burying their heads in their hands, images of despair and broken hope, tortured souls. Cast in bronze, they looked worn thin by hunger, each with a collar fastened around the neck and wearing nothing but a loincloth.
The sight filled Jath with dread, and a lump caught in his throat as he tried to swallow. It felt like a cruel kind of welcome, one that slaves of old must have faced when first brought here, designed to shatter any last fragments of hope before their feet even touched land. The thought alone made his stomach twist. Even as a relic of history, it was almost too heavy to look at.
“As Tevinter’s borders shrank, Emerius stood alone, cut off from the rest of its might. The city endured many sieges and held its ground,” Danarius explained, pride swelling his chest, a slight smirk flickering on his face before fading as he continued. “It could not hold forever, though. When the slaves revolted while the city’s forces were weakened, it fell from within. They killed any magister and those loyal to them and took the city for themselves.”
Danarius now looked bitter, as if personally insulted by that loss. His face darkened as he recalled the story. It was surely one of the many tales that magisters whined over, mourning their former glory.
Jath, in contrast, felt relief that the city had been reformed and those who had suffered were freed - or rather, had freed themselves. Nobody deserved to live in chains, and such injustice always weighed heavily on his heart.
He could not fault Danarius for focusing elsewhere, having grown up in a country where such oppression was commonplace. Still, he wished he could make Danarius see the injustice more clearly, and he cherished any moment his lover was willing to listen and understand.
“The city has changed hands many times since then,” Danarius added. “Once occupied by the Qunari, then Orlais, until it claimed its independence. Now it is a vital trade post between the Free Marches and Ferelden.”
As they moved further through the cliffs, leaving the oppressive passage behind, the city of Kirkwall unfolded before Jath’s eyes in its full, imposing scale, far larger than the glimpses he had seen from afar. Districts layered upon one another, sprawling down toward the water, linked by sturdy stone bridges.
A huge fortress, separate from the rest of the city, caught his eye. It was not connected by bridges, reachable only by boat. It seemed isolated, somehow dark and foreboding, standing apart from the bustling life of the city.
Danarius seemed to notice Jath’s interest and felt compelled to continue his lesson, filling his partner in on the city’s layout and the purpose of its key landmarks. “Those are the gallows. It was the first stop for fresh slaves, where they would be documented and sorted before continuing on to the docks. Now it is a prison, used to cage mages like animals,” he said, the last words practically growled, anger and resentment bubbling to the surface.
Neither history nor present use sat well with Jath. A city steeped in suffering, albeit with different victims now, was a cycle from which it seemed unable to escape, still shackled by the weight of its own chains even after the revolt. Every building in Kirkwall, it seemed, was built upon blood.
The irony was dark. A city once governed by cruel magisters now housed one of the largest circles of magi in the Free Marches. Unlike circles in Tevinter, these were not merely places to study magic. Here, they doubled as prisons. Templars, who should protect, became tormentors and prison guards. Terrible acts occurred within the walls, swept under rugs or sugar-coated as “protection from magic.”
Jath had heard this particular circle was far worse than most. The abuse and harsh treatment led to desperate use of blood magic and, at times, possession, which only hardened the templars’ cruelty. Many mages died, some by templars’ swords, others by their own hands. Countless innocent lives were lost, snuffed out merely from fearmongering and suspicion.
Even the number of tranquils here was alarmingly high, a fate worse than death, Jath thought. To be severed from one’s soul, stripped of emotions, dreams, and magic itself. How convenient, he thought bitterly. This was a practice mages were forced to endure if deemed too dangerous or too weak to wield their power.
“Won’t the templars be a problem for us? We are mages,” Jath asked, worry flickering in his eyes.
“They won’t be a problem. Some who don’t know better might bother us, but if they do, just let me do the talking,” Danarius reassured him, sending a few calm, confident glances. “They do rule their mages with an iron fist, but no one would dare touch a magister and risk war with Tevinter. We will be safe to move through the city as we please.” He reached for Jath’s hand, holding it softly. “I own a mansion in Hightown, where we will stay.” Danarius gestured toward the district perched far above the others, the part Jath had glimpsed from a distance earlier.
“Will we see much of the city, or just Sundermount and the Pit?” Jath asked, curious to explore, maybe visit a few shops, and find a keepsake to remember the trip.
“I would not recommend the other districts. The lower city and docks are swarming with pickpockets, and Darktown is far worse. Darktown sits in the old mine, home to those who cannot afford even Lowtown. It’s easy to get lost in its tunnels and never find your way out. The miasma in the tunnels occasionally rises to the surface in Lowtown and is deadly. Sometimes the city awakens to find entire slums suffocated overnight, countless lives lost.”
Jath guessed that meant they would explore only Hightown at most. Their main purpose for the journey lay outside of Kirkwall anyway. Perhaps, despite how intriguing the city seemed, it was better not to witness all the suffering within. Too many people he could not help, no matter how much he wanted to. It saddened him that so many still lived in wretched conditions. Even after the end of slavery, countless citizens struggled, barely able to afford to stay alive. It was surely the cause of the rampant crime in the poorer districts.
He could not tell how beautiful or interesting Sundermount might be. From what he had glimpsed of the coastal regions from the sea, it likely leaned toward the bleak side. Still, he tried to maintain a positive outlook. Even if the visit proved dull, he would have Danarius by his side, see him excited, hear him speak, and feel the warmth of his presence. He also hoped that, being outside the city, their conversations would lean toward lighter, less depressing topics.
They passed the gallows and Jath turned his attention to the city, which grew steadily in size as they approached. Many areas appeared partially ruined, battered by the countless sieges it had endured. Not all of the massive city had been renovated. The poorer districts, in particular, seemed neglected. Hightown, perched atop the cliffs, lived up to its name and was meticulously maintained, standing proudly over the less fortunate below.
It did not take long for their ship to dock, and soon they were allowed to disembark, escorted by a contingent of their own guards. Their luggage would follow later, carried by hired hands. Jath’s social anxiety flared as they moved through the crowd. Many eyes lingered on them, some curious, some wary. Their fine robes and the escort made them stand out, drawing attention as though they were the day’s spectacle. Jath longed to take Danarius’ hand for comfort and confidence, yet he hesitated to ask.
The stares they received ranged from curiosity to fear. Some simply wanted to know who they were, others attempted to move away as far as possible, wishing to avoid trouble. Both carried their staffs on their backs, openly marking them as mages. It was no surprise that people reacted with caution and fear. Here stories of mages were often told like folktales to frighten children.
Templars moved closer, eyes fixed upon them, whispering to one another in small clusters. Some wore expressions of thinly veiled disdain, others outright hostility. One held back a recruit, quietly advising him, and Jath wondered how obvious it was that they hailed from Tevinter. Their hatred made him feel small and exposed. Danarius, however, met their stares with arrogant smirks, clearly relishing the discomfort of the templars, as if toying with mutts held back by a leash. The templars’ faces twisted further into scowls and grimaces, unable to mask their disgust entirely.
They passed through the docks and Lowtown, both every bit as run-down and weary as they had appeared from afar. The people there seemed to cling to life by a thread, save for a few traders from distant lands, their stalls bright with foreign and exotic wares. Beggars lined the streets, hollow-eyed and trembling, some clearly sick and starving. Jath tossed them a few coins, earning a questioning glance from Danarius, who, after a pause, chose to remain silent.
Hightown felt far more welcoming, a stark contrast to the parts they had passed through before. The buildings here were more graceful, many adorned with balconies and trimmed hedges and trees that lent the district a touch of green. It was clearly designed for noble families. The people walking through wore fine garments and carried themselves with quiet pride. Even here, a few market stalls stood in the square, belonging to the wealthier and more established merchants of the city.
The climb to Hightown had been long. After countless stairs and sloped paths, Jath’s legs ached violently, threatening to give way beneath him. When Danarius finally unlocked the door to his mansion and beckoned him inside, Jath could hardly wait to collapse onto the nearest couch or chair and rest his weary feet.
Here are a few screenshots from Dragon Age II and Kirkwall.
The leaves crunched under his feet, vibrant and colorful. Many of them would be worth collecting if he had the time, perfect additions to scrapbooks, and when treated with wax could last for years. Now that it was autumn, they had fallen from the trees, carpeting the ground and leaving no spot bare.
The light filtering through the trees, still dotted with reddish and yellow leaves, was beautiful, and the birds’ songs sounded joyful, even if they were likely just territorial calls. Some flitted from branch to branch above them, watching the group pass, darting away if they came too close. The air carried an earthy scent that stirred a strange nostalgia in Jath.
He almost thought he heard faint whispers or cries in the wind, and a chill ran down his spine. There was something about this place that made him uneasy, despite the beauty and enchantment around him, almost as if the forest wore a mask, hiding more than it revealed. In the distance, a faint fog lingered, barely obstructing the sight.
Jath cast a slightly worried glance at his lover, who returned a calm and steadying smile.
“I know you can feel it. The veil is thin here,” Danarius said as he walked, his eyes carrying a flicker of lightness, but the wariness underneath never leaving them. “Do not let your guard down. Many spirits pass through these woods, and not all are friendly.”
Stories of battles in these forests filled Jath’s mind again. Danarius had told him about them before, and they had stayed with him - a subject as fascinating as it was tragic. Many had died here in sieges, mostly near the larger ruins of once-grand Elvhen cities, but also scattered throughout the woods, fleeing or scouting. The forest seemed steeped in sorrow, spreading through it like a network of roots.
“A few Dalish clans also still call this forest home, and I doubt they take kindly to trespassers,” Danarius continued, a soft chuckle escaping his lips, as if the faint danger amused him, or perhaps the elves still guarding their lands after all this time. “They’ve grown bolder now that fewer Imperials venture this deep, cautious but less afraid. You might not even notice if they are watching.”
Jath scanned the surroundings but could see nothing suspicious, though he didn’t expect to. Camouflaged, moving swiftly and silently, the elves could easily remain hidden, lying in wait until danger passed. Still, he kept his gaze sharp, hoping to spot spirits or predators before they could strike. This part of the country was mostly wilderness, overgrown and dotted with ruins.
Luckily, they were well-guarded, and not by a meager number. In case of an ambush, they would not be defenseless, and potential attackers would know it. A magister was a formidable foe, as was any mage. The protective magic of their enchanted jewelry could deflect sudden arrows, forcing them to strike barriers instead. Still, Jath dreaded a possible bloodbath and longed only to move through the woods in peace, reach the ruins, retrieve what they sought, and return home safely.
“If they are watching, they will track us and make sure we do not approach any of their settlements. After all, we could be suspected to be slavers. An Arlathan elf fetches a high price on the market,” Danarius said, letting the thought linger. The image weighed heavily on Jath, imagining terrified people chained and torn from their homes. “I doubt they would welcome our expedition either. Despite their decay, the ruins are still considered sacred and the elves will despise anyone wandering on holy grounds, even if only to record inscriptions or carvings.”
Jath swallowed hard, trying to push the thought aside, perhaps a fight was inevitable.
The deeper they moved, the thicker the fog became, first faintly, now forming dense blankets over the ground. The birds fell silent as they approached a ruin, their songs fading until gone entirely. Limited visibility made Jath tense, but Danarius’ calm presence steadied him. Even the guards, visible through their helmet slits, seemed tense and alert.
The marble walls and pillars glimpsed through the fog were draped in vines and no longer carried the noble, impressive look they must have once had. Much had been burned, looted, or decayed over the years. He could not tell how extensive the ruins were - perhaps a secluded building, perhaps more hidden behind the mist.
The air felt colder, or maybe it was only his mind playing tricks. Every sound sharpened his awareness. The rustle of leaves underfoot was the only movement he could detect. Even the wind seemed to have stilled, reduced to a faint, nearly silent breeze.
A lingering unease pressed at the back of his mind. Each swallow felt caught in his throat. Something was watching them from the ruins, unseen yet felt, its gaze pressing into his skin and raising the hairs on his arms. Whatever it was, it was neither human nor Elvhen.
Whenever Jath felt unnerved, he stole a glance at Danarius, drawing strength from him. The magister’s familiarity with the Arlathan Forest was clear, and his presence reassured Jath. Having him by his side made him feel better, yet he still almost regretted coming along… though imagining his love walking through these woods alone, without him there if anything happened… no, that thought was far worse by comparison.
A sigh of relief escaped him as they passed the ruins, and Jath was grateful that these were not the ones Danarius had intended to inspect. They had looked far too uninviting, and whatever strange presence seemed to linger inside was something Jath did not want to encounter ever. It was best left where it was, far away from them, and every step that increased the distance between them was a comfort he silently appreciated.
The path gradually brightened once more, sunlight piercing further through the treetops as the fog thinned. His heart felt lighter the farther they went, and the melodies of birds returned, weaving a sense of safety that stood in stark contrast to the unnerving silence that had preceded them.
In the distance, another ruin appeared, this one surely large and unmistakably Elvhen. The excited glimmer in Danarius’ eyes confirmed it was the one. Compared to the last, it seemed far more inviting and secure. A slight smile returned to Jath’s lips as a sense of ease settled over him, and he shared it with his love, who returned the smile with both his lips and eyes.
