hello, and welcome to thedas weekend! how does "matrisate - to imitate one's mother" sound (from the unusual or rare words list), for loghain pointing out something anora does that's especially like celia?
Hello! And thank you so much for the kind welcome to @thedasweekend!
I was not expecting this prompt to grab me as hard and fast as it did, especially as I haven't written any Loghain in a while, but it reminded me of a moment in one of my earliest Loghain fics.
Anyway, I couldn't resist the chance to flesh the scene out and got a little carried away!
Rated: T | 1,407 words | (ao3 link)
cw: descriptions of drowning
matrisate
Every night, Loghain dreams of drowning. Not his own, but his regent’s. His best friend’s.
The ship, capsizing. Water rushing into lungs. Desperate gasps of air answered only with more water. One of the Maker’s crueller jokes, making life’s greatest necessity one of its greatest dangers.
Subterfuge, surely. Kings simply do not go missing.
The scene broadens. They’re both here now. Maric striving, struggling, sinking. Loghain plunges his hands into the ice-cold water in desperate pursuit, too late.
He is always too late.
Loghain should never have allowed Maric to embark upon the journey in the first place. Should have insisted upon its danger.
Should have reminded the king of his enemies.
But now, Loghain only has his nightmares: Maric’s bloated corpse, mottled blue and purple, kept by the Orlesians as some grotesque trophy.
Or worse, captured alive.
He is spared from the horror of his spiralling subconscious by a knock at the door.
As he awakens, he is made aware of all the pains in his body. The ones that come from age, as well as the ones that come from falling asleep seated upright. He tries to stretch out the kinks in his neck but winces as the movement only makes everything worse instead.
The knocks come again, louder this time. “Father?” his daughter’s voice calls through his study door. “I know you’re in there.”
The door is not locked. Loghain doesn’t have to look to know Anora is already pushing down the handle. This act—the pretence of asking for permission—is for the benefit of his dignity, not hers.
“I could hear you snoring,” she adds, more quietly this time.
Loghain runs his hands down his face, a vain attempt to rub some of the sleep from his eyes. So much for his dignity, then.
“Come in,” he acquiesces, more sharply than intended. What else is he supposed to do? Perhaps Anora would listen if ordered away with enough conviction, but it would only embolden her to return later with renewed fervour, reconsidered critique. Simply letting matters drop is not in her blood; that, she had gotten that from her mother.
Perhaps it is better to have this argument now, while everything is still messy and raw. Before Anora has a chance to plead her case to her mother and get the Teyrna on her side as well. Loghain might stand half a chance this way, might be able to convince Anora that they need to keep looking—
Anora glides into the room with all the grace of the queen she is not yet but will one day be. Despite her slender frame, draped in silks instead of armour, her presence demands attention.
She has his. He tries to ignore just how tired her eyes are, too.
Without the formalities she sometimes insists upon, she settles into the chair opposite him. Her voice is still crisp and clear when she speaks; the elocution lessons had been worth it, then. “You are losing the support of the Bannorn.”
His response is out of his mouth before he can think, surprising even himself. “Damn the banns!” he exclaims, leaning over his desk and nearly unsettling his inkpot.
What did the banns matter, anyway, with their petty little feuds, their trifling squabbles?
Their King is missing.
Anora arcs an eyebrow. “You may not like it, but their support has been vital to the search efforts. But there are complaints about the number of good men lost to the naval forces. Tax dollars wasted on what is rapidly being considered a fool’s errand—"
Loghain has heard enough. “Are you calling me a fool?”
His daughter stares back at him unflinchingly with his own damned eyes. “I am reporting back the information I gathered at your request, Teyrn Loghain.”
The formal address is a tactic deployed purposefully to aggravate him. Despite knowing this, it succeeds anyway. How can it not? In happier times, she’d called him Papa. But those days are long behind them.
He feels restless. Ungrounded. Like he’s the one who’s choking, not Maric. Giving up the search efforts would mean—
Would mean—
He’s not sure when or how but he’s gotten to his feet, standing then pacing. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to breathe. For one fleeting moment the pain in his chest is so acute he considers sending Anora to fetch a healer before dismissing the notion as ridiculous. To show such weakness now would be to prove her point, would only reinforce her opinion of him as a doddering old idiot unable to accept the counsel of others.
But still, he cannot give up quite so easily. He is stubborn, too, in his own ways. “And your betrothed?” Loghain asks, his pacing quickening. “What does he make of your proposition?”
Anora crosses her arms over her chest. “Never have I known you to give such consideration to Prince Cailan’s opinions,” she mutters, an angry flush blooming across her cheeks.
Despite all her efforts to keep herself genteel, Loghain knows when his daughter’s temper is rising. Sometimes, he prides himself on being one of the few people who can still evoke it: the real Anora, without the pretence.
The Anora who takes after her mother.
He cannot help but wish Celia was here, after all. Celia would know how to handle this situation with more delicacy than he. Maker knew that it was not him from whom Anora had inherited her social skills; that had been why he had sent her on the talks with the banns in the first place.
But how was he supposed to simply ask such a question? To ask whether he truly was the only one left hoping? Hoping that Maric might be found alive?
He still can’t bring himself to say it, because that would invite an answer more direct than he could handle.
Instead, he deflects.
“I asked you a question.”
Anora’s gaze tracks him around the room, her eyes never seeming to leave his despite his constant movement. She is a hunter with a loaded bow and he the hapless hare. “The Crown Prince understands the needs of the nation.”
The laugh gurgles out the bottom of his throat before he can stop himself. He feels deranged. His fingers itch for the scabbard of a sword that he does not keep in the study of his Denerim apartment.
“And just what does Cailan understand about the needs of the nation?”
Undeterred, his daughter answers, “He understands that a prosperous and united Ferelden is more powerful than one destitute and divided.”
Loghain stops in his tracks, finally taking stock of everything that has already happened, the true reality of the situation. It is simply so: his daughter has already convinced the Bannorn to give up. His daughter has already convinced Cailan—the king’s own son—to give up.
To give up King Maric for dead.
And now, Anora had come to surmount her final obstacle.
Him.
And Loghain couldn’t stop her even if he tried.
There’s no use trying, of course. No matter how much he still desperately wants to do so.
After all, it had been futile to fight Celia when she had stormed into his tent all those years ago, demanding he govern the teyrnir properly or be no better than those damned Orlesians who had abandoned them to their misfortunes.
He blinks rapidly, the stinging of his eyes increasing. The next question is easier, at least in phrasing. But when he speaks, it quickly becomes obvious just how rapidly the tightness in his chest has crept up his throat, his nose. He’s cried many times before in his life, has lost many people he has loved, but not like this. Never like this.
And he can’t remember ever crying in front of his daughter.
“What do you suggest?” he asks.
His voice cracks halfway through the question.
After a moment’s hesitation, Anora pushes back her chair and gets to her feet, walking towards where he still stands frozen still. Stopping just short of him, she answers more gently than he deserves, “Don’t embarrass yourself at the Landsmeet tomorrow.”
Then, she closes the distance between them, laying a hand on the crook of his arm and lowering her voice. “A state funeral.”
The finality of it all proves too much for Loghain. Anora holds him as he weeps, face ugly and scrunched, his shoulders convulsing.
This kindness, too, she had inherited from her mother.
VOLKOSS ACCIDENTAL BABY MODERN AU??????? FHKSKSJSD I AM SALIVATING. I NEED TO KNOW MOREEEEEEEEE
(context)
lmaooo so this concept has not left my mind ever since it started properly solidifying when I was talking to @serbarris the other day...!
And I am so sorry because this really did end up becoming incoherent rambling. I am more than happy to clarify any part of it for you if you so desire!
Anyway, for anything in the AU timeline to make sense, it's important to know that in my canon-verse series, Enduring Friendships, way way down the line, the planned implication is that Manfred is thematically a Volkoss baby.
REASONING:
1) My Rook, bless them, does not have parental instincts. They are the fun auncle. They are the lowkey chaos agent who ended up saving the world through the power of vibes and charisma and Solas living rent-free in their head.
2) In EF canon, Emmrich created Manfred from the 'wisp of curiosity' at a time when he was alone and grieving and very much missing Johanna (world's most curious individual). So, the implication is even in Johanna's absence, she shaped Manfred.
3) As Johanna continues to live with Emmrich and Rook, she continues to rub off on him over the years.
4) No-one really wants to admit that all three of them are all collectively co-parenting this spirit-turned-real-boy so it becomes an accidental game of repression and miscommunication and 🌟academic investigation🌟.
But that's a story for the main canonverse and isn't related to the AU. (Yet. I don't think.)
NOW, the AU...
1) I was talking to @serbarris about the joys of 'hyperspecific job AUs' (shameless plug for her amazing story Heaven Help the Fool, an Emmrook fic where everyone's civil servants).
2) Given my own background, I wanted to write a railway AU and realised that The Grand Necropolis would actually be a great backdrop for such an endeavour, given how important railways have been to cemetries historically (gotta move those bodies and/or mourners somehow!)
3) Next thing I know I'm writing railway lore. And also still making jokes about Manfred being a Volkoss baby.
And then it hit me: Emmrich and Johanna as feuding coworkers and having a literal baby. Probably taking place during their estrangement where they're barely talking together except for meetings where they're important stakeholders for some reason and then they keep! fucking!! on company property somehow. Cue Emmrich guilt spiral.
Johanna is too busy to spiral, she's working two jobs and doing busy important academic research with ... Solas, who's the only person who's willing to listen to her batshit theories. "Hey, Solas, I think souls can be transferred. Hey, Solas, I think spirits can become flesh. Hey, Solas, do you think if we condense enough souls in a small enough vessel, we could make a bomb...?"
Rook, meanwhile, lightly screaming in the background because none of their coworkers are normal.
Johanna, of course, does NOT intend to become pregnant with Volkarin's baby (gross? also babies are a waste of time?) However. She is just so busy, so used to dating women, that she kind of. Forgets about actually using protection (it's a metaphor for how reckless she is with her own body in pursuit of her research). (Emmrich, bless him, just...assumed she had everything in control and didn't even ask.)
And then a few months pass. And she hasn't gotten her period. And she's just like WHATEVER, you know what, she's been stressed lately,Yeah it's probably fine. (It's not fine). Meanwhile, by this point Emmrich has started putting the dots together and starts treating her like a newborn kitten (and also buying little booties while being too terrified to ask her about the pregnancy, or if she's keeping it, or what.) Johanna HATES this, but is still sleeping with him because no-one's staged an intervention yet.
Rook probably will though, because they're still screaming in the background as they transferred here to witness a functional railway system and this is NOT IT.
Still working out some of the more actual overall plot related parts. Still have no idea if I'll ever actually write this.
But it would be incredibly self-indulgent.
Hello Tumblr user Volkoss are you familiar with Pacific Rim, and if so, what do you think of drift compatible Johanna and Emmrich before things went to shit
Hi HELLO, I am familiar with Pacific Rim but it’s been a very long time since I’ve watched the movies.
Please be assured I am now filled with a renewed desire to rewatch said films so I can properly rotate drift compatible Volkoss in my mind like rotisserie chickens...!
not to be dramatic but I think about your hezenkoss fics like. every day. love the way you captured their dynamic. tbh still holding out hope a little bit that one day you might publish more BUT if not!! I will still be so grateful for what you did share with us. hope everything is going well with you 💚
hi HI anon!!
no need to worry about being dramatic because even though I straight up disappeared from fandom for… three months, I can assure you those fics (and the joys of writing them!) were always on my mind.
and something must have been COOKING back there because while listening to one of my volkoss playlists when doing chores this evening, my brain suddenly untangled this narrative knot which had been subconsciously stumping me!!
I then outlined 2000 words in some sort of johanna hezenkoss induced haze. so. soon! hopefully.
I think seeing this ask (and forgetting to respond to it oops) the other week also helped kick the process along a bit so thank you SO so much for reaching out and the kind words! ❤️
Ooh, so this is one of the fics in the series of Johanna-centric one-shots I now have planned, my brain having rotated ideas at incredible speed since posting my first Veilguard fic Brilliant Things last month!
Morality Test takes place pre-canon and essentially explores the events that lead to Johanna’s expulsion from the Mourn Watch according to my headcanons.
Basically, the idea first came about as a chance to play around with the idea of Emmrich being an unreliable narrator in terms of telling the Veilguard team the truth about what actually caused his falling out with Johanna. Not necessarily out of any genuine malice, but because he’s grown accustomed to self-deception over the years, especially while resting securely in his comfort zone with no crazy childhood friends to call him out on his bullshit.
To me there just seems there could be more to the story, especially with how Johanna’s introduction scene plays out with a Rook Ingellvar who recognises Johanna as a disgraced ex-Watcher. Johanna’s very quick to dismiss the accusations levied against her as lies, but to me that’s less surprising than Emmrich’s reaction, in which he quickly interrupts and confirms Rook’s suspicions. He could just let Johanna supervillain ramble—so why not now?
During the events of the fic, they’re still close enough they’re sharing lichdom insights with one another, even though Emmrich is getting more unsettled about the lengths Johanna is willing to take to prove her theories and also the truths about the universe they’re discovering along the way. It’s also worth noting that Emmrich is an Associate Professor at this point in time and very desperate for Reasons to get that professorship (even though he’s still being very proper and Emmrich about it all).
Anyway, in the course of their adventures, there’s an Incident which causes Emmrich to freak out so much that he crumbles under pressure during the investigation into Johanna’s crimes, making the whole situation even worse.
Basically, while I still want Johanna to be Johanna—ambitious and ruthless and uncompromising in her goals—I want to also drown Emmrich in guilt. Not only because I enjoy making my faves suffer (although that’s certainly part of it), but I think it just works really well with the overarching Veilguard theme of regret. Emmrich already canonically wonders in his diary entry about whether he might have joined Johanna in his darkest moments, but I want him to also regret betraying her—not necessarily because she didn’t need to be stopped, but because of how (in my fic series, at least) she got so much worse after being excommunicated from her core support network. And even though he does try to reach out… well, that’s another fanfic all together.
Long story short: my fanfic series “Enduring Friendships” is actually about the power of self-destructive ambition and mutually-assured redemption, and in this essay I will—
“[Johanna] is just so busy, so used to dating women, that she kind of. Forgets about actually using protection (it's a metaphor for how reckless she is with her own body in pursuit of her research). (Emmrich, bless him, just...assumed she had everything in control and didn't even ask.) And then a few months pass. And she hasn't gotten her period. And she's just like WHATEVER […] it's probably fine. (It's not fine). Meanwhile, by this point Emmrich has started putting the dots together and starts treating her like a newborn kitten (and also buying little booties)”
Hi I just need you to know that I’ve been going insane about this concept and the way you chose to phrase this in particular ever since you posted it. She doesn’t care about her own body. He’s buying little booties. Their joint mental illness will be studied by scientists for decades to come
(context)
HI nonny, I am glad that I am not the only person being haunted/delighted by this concept in general!!
I also need you to know that this notif was one of the first things I read when I woke up this morning and so I may or may not have spent some of my time at work daydreaming this into an actual story with a structure...
Also:
Their joint mental illness will be studied by scientists for decades to come
Firstly, you're so right - I just love how... interdependent they are and yet utterly incapable of communicating properly with each other they are in every universe.
Secondly: those scientists?
Manfred's therapists.
Hello! Firstly tagging @nerdanel01 because she also asked about this fic.
I've briefly mentioned Olivier here as a character I was excited to write about this year because I want to dig more into writing OCs. Basically, he's the father of Rook Ingellvar, and he and Emmrich dated back before Rook (Klara) was born.
Anyway, I've done more outlining of this fic since the last time I've talked about it, including something approximating a loose outline but with some significant changes to Emmrich's personal story line, because given Olivier's existence, Emmrich is now relegated to Nevarra's second-most eminent meddler 😌
Cases in point:
1) Johanna and Olivier are the first living people to find Klara, and Olivier is highly suspicious that Johanna Hezenkoss--not known for her maternal instincts--wants anything to do with an infant. Emmrich can't help but feel like Olivier's putting the baby above their own relationship, which is already strained because of how Olivier's basically tenured and Emmrich is still at the point where he's pumping out research.
2) Olivier advocated so fervently for his daughter post War of the Banners he actually got himself exiled from the country (hence Rook also needing to get out of dodge). Feeling awful for getting his daughter kicked out of the only home she's ever known, he... arranges for her to adventure with Varric while himself laying low in Orlais with his mother, trying to reason that it's because Klara is an elf and would thus be mistreated in Orlais. (His mother has some choice words for him.)
But for the better or the worse, the entire story is planned to be told from tight Emmrich POV, so despite Olivier's name being in the document title, he spends a lot of time just haunting the narrative through his daughter who bears such a striking resemblance to a man she cannot possibly be biologically related to.
According to my planning doc, core themes are: nature vs nurture, The Eternal Question (in the Mourn Watch sense of whether some shade of the departed returns when a spirit possesses the dead), intersectionality, and finally: getting Nevarra's Most Indecisive Man to Make His Own Goddamn Decision About Something Important in His Life For Once (a mission Klara intends to pursue with as much intensity as destroying the elven gods 🫡)
Anyway, given that this will most likely be the fic I actually write should I actually genuinely attempt a multi-chapter this year, I am incredibly amused to find myself returning to my fandom roots of exploring dysfunctional Family of Choice dynamics incited by a father's bad choices that he made out of love.
(WIP Folder Game)
