Mar 3, 2020
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The Tevinter Knights.
Would the three of them be enough to topple the Imperium?
To find the answer, stay tuned for @tryvyalsynnes , @midnightprelude and yours truly little pet project.
Wip Wednesday
I was tagged by @midnightprelude, @elveny, @faerieavalon thank you! Tagging forward! And also @serial-chillr, @slothabed, @fandomn00blr, @johaeryslavellan, @pikapeppa, @oftachancer and whoever else wants to do the thing.
On the way to the Merchant’s Guild, Anders bought himself a few apples. He was munching one contentedly when he picked up Varric’s letter.
He liked Nevarra. He’d always hoped he’d be able to see it, and all the places like it, places steeped in history, where mages had a place outside a circle—he’d spent many happy hours walking the streets, looking at the statues, and touring the Necropolis, meeting the wisp-inhabited corpses, talking to the Mortalitasi. He felt a pang of regret when he walked down its avenues; so much would have been different, if only he had been born someplace else besides a farm close to Kinloch Hold.
Regrets—he had lots of those. He’d spent the time since Kirkwall running and hiding, staying out of the way, recognizing if he showed his face anywhere, it would hurt the slow acceptance of mages in Thedas. At least he had his friends; reconnecting with Varric and the others, lending a hand when they needed it and he could get away with it, was one of his few joys. Excitedly, he cracked the seal and began to read, smiling.
He was smiling through the first paragraph; he could almost hear the dwarf speaking—Varric was doing well, starting a new book, thinking of becoming Viscount of Kirkwall. The new Divine was cleaning house; things were going to improve. The Circles of Magi were going to be disbanded, the Chantry reformed.
Anders knew this; the talk in the taverns had been all about Sister Nightingale’s upheaval. He'd been in shock for days when he'd first heard it, jubilant… and sad... his life was not going to change. His smile dimmed.
Then it disappeared altogether. Anders clutched the letter, squinting at it, the half-eaten apple forgotten.
Fenris had been recaptured. He was in Tevinter. Varric had it on particularly good authority; Fenris was in the Imperial Palace awaiting trial for crimes against the Imperium. Anders folded the rest of the letter, stowed it in his pack—he’d read it later—and threw away the apple.
Within minutes he was back in the Guild, withdrawing all the money he’d invested. It was a sizeable fortune for a mage, almost fifteen sovereigns.
Within hours he was part of a wagon train bound for Tevinter; he’d decided to throw caution to the wind and hired on as one of its outriders—he’d bought himself a horse, a new cloak, boots, robes, and filled his pack with essentials for a long journey.
He was not exactly sure what he could do, but he had to do something. Unlike Hawke’s other companions, he plenty of time on his hands. He was due to die soon anyway, of the Taint, like all Wardens. He had a spirit of Justice in him—on its own, an excellent motive.
He’d always felt bad about the way he’d treated Fenris when Danarius had come; it all seemed so petty now, petty, and downright evil, to wish a companion back into slavery just because of his beliefs, considering they were justifiable, and Fenris was only mortal…
The right of ownership was almost sacred in Tevinter. The right to own another person was inalienable; it was a foundation of the Empire. No one could interfere with it. Could it be as easy as walking up to whoever had Fenris and demanding the return of his ‘property’?
Anders was going to try; it was the only thing he could think of to do. If he was laughed at, tossed out into the street, and told to go play elsewhere, then he’d think of a real plan; he’d know better what to do once he got to Tevinter.
Three days later, the caravan paused at the border to resupply.
Anders got paid; he stared at the three new sovereigns in his hand. Other than getting outfitted for the journey, he’d had no extra expenses. He had sixteen sovereigns now. What he’d started out with was four years worth of scraping and begging.
Was mercenary work always this lucrative? If—when—he saw Fenris again, he would have to discuss it with him. The work was certainly dangerous—they’d been attacked by bandits twice, and two of the wagons had been set on fire—but he had everything he needed to become an excellent mercenary: a powerful weapon and years of battle experience.
It was illegal for a non-citizen to work in Tevinter. Anders and the other southern mercenaries were given a choice. They could accompany the caravan, but instead of pay, they would get papers with time against the ten years of indentured servitude needed for citizenship. Anders took the offer.
The journey overland to Minrathous was uneventful. At the Merchant’s Guild in Minrathous, Anders went to get his writ. The merchant had a small office in the Guild; Anders stood in front of the desk, pack slung over his back, staff in hand, ready to leave as soon as their business was done. Until this moment he had been ‘healer’, ‘mage’, and ‘Hey, you’; there was no reason to learn the names of people who were hired to die in combat.
“Healer.” The dwarf dip a pen in ink and looked up at him. “What name do I put on the papers?”
“Anders of Kirkwall.”
“By the Paragons. Seriously?” The caravan master stared at him coldly. “Unwise. ‘Anders’ is worth money, Ferelden. This will be your only opportunity. Choose another.”
“It’s Anders. I have to be ‘Anders’ when I get to where I’m going.” Anders shifted uncomfortably. “It can’t be that uncommon of a name.”
“Venhedis. Maker preserve me from mooncalves; I hope your contacts are sound. You have contacts? Tell me you have them, and no one will be coming to ask questions.”
“Of course I do!” Anders lied, beaming.
“If it were not for your healing, I would not bother with you, but you have a place if you need to return.” The merchant signed the paper and stamped it. “Here, fool. Do not lose it. It is all the countenance you have. Without it, you are just another beggar and possibly an escaped slave.”
He waggled his eyebrows at Anders meaningfully. “Understand what I am saying. Andraste preserve you, healer.”
WIP WEDNESDAY
Tagged by @kittimau, @serial-chillr, @kunstpause, @tryvyalsynnes, @elveny, and @faerieavalon, thank you friends! I’ll tag @wardenari, @lethendralis-paints, @simper-fi, and @resjade for this week or next or whenever you feel like it!
BLAH BLAH BLAH WHATEVER HAVE A THING!
Despite the flickering of the candles ringing the nearly empty room, the Eluvian at the center was as dark and ominous as a starless night. A man sat before the giant mirror, elaborate runes painted in slaves’ blood on the ground beneath him. He was lanky, thin, with a full beard that extended halfway down to his chest. His body seemed to have used the last of its reserves to grow it—the rest of the man was entirely hairless—and it was trimmed neatly into a point, as though the man wanted to cherish the last of his hair.
The solitary figure was hooded, his eyes closed, but had he opened them they would have been red-brown, nearly the color of the blood drying on the stone floor. He murmured in a language mostly forgotten by the rest of Thedas, even the mages. Sonorous and solemn, the words echoed through the windowless room, harmonizing with themselves as they bounced against the masonry.
His eyes stayed closed. The mirror was black.
The sitting man took the knife before his feet and raised it above his head, before lowering it and creating twin slashes through each of his palms. He pressed his hands into the center of the runes, blood coating his skin from fingertips to wrists. His forehead touched the ground next, hands still held in place. The chanting came to a halt as he offered himself, prostrate, to an unseeing master.
His eyes stayed closed, but had he opened them, he would have seen two serpentine irises materialize in the blank mirror.
The figure in the mirror was indistinct, surrounded by fog, but its eyes glowed through the mist, mesmerizing in their beauty if anyone had been looking into its depths. As it were, the creature spoke with a voice that commanded attention, obedience, and terror.
“As Thedas burns, the Empire will rise again from its ashes.”
The man did not look up from the floor.
A quick doodle, imagining Fenris in Tevinter formal attire at some stuffy party.
And another warm-up turned me obsessing over lines for 2 hours sketch. LOL.
Inquisitor Lyanna Lavellan, who belongs to @midnightprelude and her new personal assistant/bodyguard/90% of her impulse control - Fenris.
Part of the Tevinter Knights AU, meticulously created by the incomparable @tryvyalsynnes @midnightprelude and struggling sea cucumber Leth.
Tevinter Knigts: The Dread Wolf Take You
DONT WORRY NO SPOILERS!
Andaran athis’an lethallen,
I just wanted to say... what can I say? What do I even want to say? There is so much too say!
He does things to my heart and I ultimately want him to find the peace he deserves - with Lavellan! Is that so much to ask for?
He is so bound by his duty to his people and what many struggle to understand is that the current state of Thedas is unfortunately, a mistake!
IT WASN’T SUPPOSE TO HAPPEN THIS WAY!
There was never meant to be the Circle or Templars. People didn’t need to fear the Fade - it is part of the elements - water, earth, fire, air and the FADE.
The spirit world is so crucial to the balance of Thedas and the people who are apart of it. But now, it’s like is Thedas missing a piece if itself and can never fully heal without it.
THAT is what is lost. And Solas wants to bring it back. Because it is HIS fault it is gone.
I can literally feel his pain and how it kills him knowing what needs to be done.
He longs for the day Lavellan, or anyone else for that matter, can show him that he can bring back what was lost WITHOUT killing so many in the process.
He doesn’t want to be a mass murderer! But if he doesn’t allow currant Thedas to fall, then he would effectively be killing his own people.
While also keeping Thedas, and it’s people, subjected to staying broken until it eventually collapsed onto itself.
UGH MY HEART!
Thedas is broken. And Solas is the one who has to fix it. Because he broke it.
Imagine if you were blind from birth and were offered the chance to see, would you reject it? It would be excruciatingly painful and there is a chance you could die in the process.
Many would say no, because how can they care about something they’ve never known? They aren’t loosing anything by turning down the offer. They know how to get by in life just fine and are fine with the way things are.
Only a few would say yes as they think about those, who can see, describe things that their mind could never materialise. Describing colours, the sky, the sun, the moon and the stars. They know deep down that there is a crucial part of them missing. And even though they can live life quite happily without their sight - why would they turn down the only chance to see what their world truly can be? What it was meant to be.
Bioware, please let Solas, my egg, succeed but I hope not in the way we all expect - there has to be another way. There must be something we don’t know yet. A way Solas doesn’t even know yet.
DARETH SHIRAL