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[Dean_the_Young]

The only good, anything persuasive reason I've ever heard for that side of the City Elf decision is trying to spare the alienage a retaliation for Vaughn's death. If Vaughan had let us all leave, I could even stand sparing him. But it's his insistence on keeping her that dooms him: family is one of the few things I put above the 'greater' good. I can't bring the dead back to life, but I'd forgo punishment if he just let us go.

[Sarah1281]

I've never actually been able to do it. Still, I've looked at the dialgoue and you never admit what happened before you leave and after you get back and everyone hates you they all say something like 'Did you really think Shianni wouldn't tell us what you did?' Well, if she never made it back...plus it always seemed like there wasn't enough of a consequence for what you did. Granted, playing a CEM Nesiara is revealed to have been killed but other than that everyone appears to have made it back? One of the reasons everyone freaked out so much was because they were scared that everyone was going to die. If they all did, then no one would have any reason to think you didn't try your utmost to save them but just couldn't manage it.

[Sarah1281]

My fifty-ninth story was 'Not At All Impressed' based on the prompt that Anders rates the Templar who comes to bring him back to the Circle.


When Aeife showed up at the tavern she had finally managed to track the Circle Tower’s biggest flight risk to, Anders looked less than impressed. He was wearing a reasonably convincing fake beard and mustache and clad in the clothes of a commoner while surrounded by four very attractive women – one of them an elf even – who were giggling flirtatiously and eying the escaped mage in a downright indecent manner.
 
“I ordered you a drink,” Anders told her, nodding towards a mug of ale. “Of course, you took so long that it’s probably warm by now so you might want to get a fresh one.”
 
Aeife raised an eyebrow as she cleansed the area around Anders. This was hardly the first time she had been sent after Anders. In fact, she had been there for each of his escape attempts so this made it her fourth time tracking the blonde attempted apostate down. One would think that since he clearly had no regard for the Circle and showed no signs of agreeing to stay put that he would just be executed by now but apparently he couldn’t be made Tranquil since he had passed his Harrowing and he was so vociferously anti-blood magic that the Greagoir and the other high-ranking Templars were unwilling to have him executed as a maleficar. Some of the other Templars suggested that she just kill him herself and claim that it was unavoidable but he always surrendered – reluctantly, of course, but sensibly – whenever they caught up to him and so to kill him would be outright murder and she didn’t want his completely unnecessary death on her conscience. Even if he did feel the need to blatantly flirt with her in blatant disregard for her Templar oaths of chastity. “You were waiting for me? If you knew I was coming I would have thought you’d take the opportunity to flee.”
 
Anders shrugged. “I would have but I knew I would never be able to get out of the city before you caught up to me and this place has the best ale in town.” He flashed a smile at one of the girls. “Not to mention the best company by far. I’ve got to say, I am rather disappointed in you, dear Aeife.”
 
She pointed ignored the endearment. “Oh really? Why would that be? If anything, the fact that you’ve escaped again is cause for me to be disappointed in you. Greagoir and Irving have been talking about putting you in solitary confinement, you know. Sure, it’s a waste of resources but not quite as much of a waste as your chronic escape attempts are beginning to be.”
 
Anders held up his hands. “My dear lady, I would love to stop escaping from the Tower, I really would.”
 
“Really,” Aeife said skeptically.
 
“Oh yes,” Anders said earnestly. “And the minute I stop being placed back in a situation that warrants escaping, I will gladly cease and desist.”
 
“You know the law, Anders,” Aeife told him bluntly. “You’re a mage and, as such, must remain in the Tower when not given permission to leave it.”
 
“Is it really my fault if no one ever seems inclined to grant me ‘permission’ for the same basic freedom that literally everybody that the Chantry isn’t enslaving takes for granted?” Anders demanded.
 
“Yes,” Aeife replied promptly. “You keep escaping so no one can trust you. And we’re not ‘enslaving’ you. It’s for your own good as well as everyone else’s. Mages are dangerous when untrained or unwatched and well-meaning but misinformed commoners can…react badly to the discovery of a mage.”
 
“You never think for yourself, do you?” Anders said, shaking his head pityingly. “It’s lucky that you’re gorgeous or I would be much more put-out by our association. And to answer your question, I’m disappointed with your performance here.”
 
Aeife narrowed her eyes. She knew that she was considered very attractive with her long dark hair and bright blue eyes but that didn’t matter in the slightest as she was a Templar and had no need to attract anyone, let alone a particularly troublesome mage. “My performance? What do you mean?”
 
“Well, you’ve come here alone, for one thing,” Anders pointed out.
 
“One Templar is all that there need be to shut down a mage,” Aeife countered.
 
Anders shook his head. “You don’t know that. What if I managed to get some supporters? It’s been nearly a month since I got out after all. If it were another mage then you might be able to shut them down as well but there’s no guarantee that you could be quick enough or that I wouldn’t have non-mage backup.”
 
“You don’t appear to,” Aeife said confidently after surreptitiously checking the other people in the tavern.
 
“Well, no,” Anders admitted. “But that doesn’t make your failure to be prepared for that possibility any less negligent. And then, of course, there’s always the chance that I’ll have learned how to fight sans magic and so instead of being my worst nightmare you’ll just be a girl with a sword.”
 
“A girl who has trained for years with a sword,” Aeife shot back. “As compared to the mere weeks of instruction you could have possibly received.”
 
“There is that, I suppose,” Anders conceded. “But I could get lucky or be some kind of prodigy so you still lose points for that.”
 
“Points?” Aeife repeated incredulously. “What, is this some sort of examination now?”
 
To her surprise, Anders nodded. “As someone who has now been apprehended by Templars four times, I would consider myself something of an expert on procedure right now. Comparing this performance to my previous experiences…well, it’s just not looking very good for you.”
 
“Because you could have done two different things that you clearly didn’t?” Aeife asked dubiously.
 
“There’s that,” Anders confirmed, “and while they may not actually be the case – this time – that doesn’t mean they weren’t still possibilities so you still lose some points. Every little bit counts. Then, of course, there is the fact that you took almost a month to find me. I could be halfway to Par Vollen by this point.”
 
Aeife smirked at him. “You want to go to Par Vollen? Make my day. I hear they keep their mages tongue-less and on leashes there.”
 
Anders quickly rallied. “The Tevinter then.”
 
“I could find you even there,” Aeife said a little threateningly.
 
Anders grinned at her. “See! You do care! Although I’ve got to say, allowing me to waste all this time instead of immediately taking me in…just think of all the opportunities I had to escape.”
 
“You didn’t take them so they’re moot,” Aeife said flatly.
 
“Still, it’s very sloppy, Aeife dear, and you need to be more careful or a big bad apostate might take advantage of that kind of opening one day and then who knows what will happen?” Anders said, his eyes theatrically wide.
 
“Good point,” Aeife told him, holding out an arm. “Let’s go.”
 
“Finally getting around to this part huh?” Anders asked as his wrists were bound together. “It’s a bit too late to try and salvage the situation, isn’t it? You’re still only getting a six.”

[Dean_the_Young]

I was waiting for the punchline of nine at the end, but hey, can't win them all.

[Sarah1281]

Dean_the_Young wrote...

I was waiting for the punchline of nine at the end, but hey, can't win them all.

If that were his definition of nine I'd hate to see what they'd have to do to get a much lower score.

[Sarah1281]

My sixtieth story was 'A Fortuitous Fall' which details Zevran's second Crow mission with the mage mark who seduced him, convinced him to speak to the Crown on her behalf, and then got herself killed before she could betray him.


Zevran had only recently become a full assassin. As it happened, this mission to assassinate the nubile mage Carlotta was only his second and the first he had gone on alone. Carlotta was…not what he had expected, to say the least. He had always imagined, perhaps self-indulgently, that the marks were terrible people who thoroughly – or at least kind of – deserved their fate, not blushing beauties like the woman dressing in front of him. Carlotta had dark glossy hair, long and thick, with plush, full lips innocent chocolate eyes. Her skin was a lovely bronze color, her legs were long and divine, and the bright green dress she had just slipped back into left very little to the imagination. Was it really any wonder that he had stopped to take a moment to appreciate the beauty he was to destroy before actually doing it?
 
Of course, Carlotta had quickly shown that she wasn’t one to waste an opportunity. The moment she realized that her guard was dead, she had gotten done on her hands and knees. She had looked up at him with her large doe eyes and had apologized for whatever it was that she had done and whoever it was that she had offended so terribly as to deserve to die. She had asked who had put out the contract on her and Zevran had been forced to admit that he didn’t know which just seemed to distress her further. He had never been very good with a woman who was upset. She had begged him not to kill her and Zevran could hardly stand to look at her as he explained that he had no choice but to kill her and that if he did not do it then surely someone else would as the Crows didn’t accept failures.
 
She didn’t seem to be listening, though, as she slowly climbed to her feel and pulled him in for a kiss. “I don’t want to die,” she had whispered in between kisses. “Please…help me feel alive.”
 
And so Zevran did what any conscientious assassin would do and slept with her. She was going to die and she didn’t want to. He could certainly respect that. If she wanted to spend her last few hours overcome with passion than who was he to deny her? He wasn’t heartless, after all. He knew that she was still very upset about it all when she tried to kill him in the middle of the act – twice – but he couldn’t hold it against her. Most people didn’t want to die and she was such a lovely young woman…
 
“Thank you,” Carlotta said softly, her voice trembling slightly. “Maker help me, I still do not know what it is that I have done to make whoever hired you hate me so much and I shall go to my grave not knowing.” She closed her eyes. “If only I knew…this is all just a big misunderstanding, I know it. Still, you don’t have the power to cancel the hit on me and so I must simply accept my fate and hope that you will let me die with some dignity.”
 
Zevran began to feel rather uncomfortable. Surely this charming creature didn’t really need to die. Perhaps a jealous ex-lover had gotten angry and entered one of those barbarian ‘if I can’t have her, no one can’ states of mind. Having had her himself, Zevran could certainly see why an ex-lover might feel that way. But Carlotta didn’t deserve to die over some brute’s bruised ego. If only there was something that he could do…
 
“I am ready,” Carlotta said bravely.
 
“I…” Zevran trailed off. “I can’t make any promises but…”
 
“But?” Carlotta’s eyes flew open and looked ever so surprised that she wasn’t being assassinated.
 
“You can come with me to Antiva City,” Zevran offered. “And you can find out who put a bounty on your head and why. It’s not much but at least you won’t die wondering.”
 
“You would do that for me?” Carlotta cried, touched. She placed her hand on her breast. “That is the sweetest, most amazing thing that anybody has ever…oh no…”
 
“What? What’s wrong?” Zevran asked, concerned.
 
“If any of the Crow leadership sees me then they will likely recognize me,” Carlotta explained. “And they will simply kill me and I will never know.”
 
There was really only one thing that Zevran could say to that. “Well…what if I were to approach them for you? I could explain that you don’t know what happened and see if they will tell me why you are condemned to die or even if they are willing to meet with you and discuss the matter in person.”
 
Carlotta’s eyes looked suspiciously shiny at this offer. “I…thank you. When I first met you yesterday I thought for sure that I would hate you but you’re so much kinder than I ever dreamed.” She laughed lightly. “You’re making me feel guilty for trying to kill you.”
 
“That’s always gratifying to hear,” Zevran said with a smile. “I will go ahead and you will follow me, yes?”
 
“Of course,” Carlotta nodded earnestly. “I really can’t thank you enough for this.”
 
Zevran stood up to get out of the carriage and get on his way and Carlotta stood as well to kiss him one last time. Knowing exactly how dangerous this could end up being, Zevran allowed himself to become lost in the kiss. When she pulled back he didn’t open his eyes but when she began to scream he did. Carlotta was nowhere to be found. He glanced outside the carriage and found her lying on her back, not moving.
 
Zevran jumped out of the carriage to examine her. “Carlotta, are you alright?” he asked urgently. There was no answer. He gently brushed her hair back and saw her head bent at an unnatural angle. It would appear that s he’d broken her neck.
 
That was…that was odd. Zevran couldn’t even say it was sad as he had barely known her but it seemed a waste for her to die now that he had just agreed to plead her case before the Crows and she might have gotten a chance to live after all.
 
The driver of the carriage stepped outside to see what all the commotion was. “Carlotta!” he exclaimed upon seeing her. “By the Maker…you were so close to being safe! If we could have just made it to Genellan…”
 
Zevran started. “Genellan? But that’s in the provinces. I thought she was going to follow me back to Antiva City.”
 
“I…well, that is…” the driver spluttered.
 
Zevran laughed bitterly as he realized the truth. This woman, innocent or not – and likely not given her deception – was planning on sending him to face the Crows while she went into hiding. She had been playing him for a fool.
 
There was really only one thing he could do in this situation. He killed the driver and went back to Antiva City, resolved to never again let a pretty face go to his head lest his next beautiful mark not be considerate enough to get herself killed before she got him into trouble.

[Sarah1281]

My sixty-first story was 'Why Can't I Be Queen?' where Mary Sue Cousland wants to know why she has to pick between Alistair and Anora when clearly her magical Cousland bloodline makes her the superior candidate.


“Our position in the Landsmeet is not strong and so I’m going to have to ask you to go out and try to weaken Loghain’s position,” Arl Eamon said solemnly. “We’re going to need more support if we’re going to want Alistair to become King.”
 
“I could do that,” Mary Sue Cousland agreed. “But I have a better idea!”
 
“Oh?” Eamon asked, intrigued. He’d thought that he’d gone over every possible contingency while waiting for Mary Sue and Alistair to return from Orzammar but it was entirely possible that he had missed something.
 
“I think that I should become Queen,” Mary Sue announced.
 
“Well…” Eamon said uncertainly. “I suppose that we could declare that you will be Alistair’s consort. That might give us an advantage over Anora who will be alone and it could assuage fears that Alistair won’t know what he’s doing when he first takes the throne.”
 
Mary Sue shook her head. “Oh, I don’t mean marrying Alistair. I think that I should get to become Queen by myself.”
 
Eamon frowned, confused. “And may I ask how you came to this conclusion?”
 
“I am a Cousland,” Mary Sue said as if that explained everything.
 
“I was aware of that,” Eamon replied wryly. “The question still stands.”
 
“Well, Alistair’s claim to the throne is hurt by the fact that he’s not only a bastard but was never recognized,” Mary Sue reasoned. “And Anora, while also the daughter of a Teyrn, is only second generation nobility. I, on the other hand, am the legitimate daughter of a very, very old and very, very powerful noble line. As such, I obviously have a much stronger claim to the throne.”
 
Eamon was beginning to understand why Bryce and Eleanor had refused to let their daughter appear at court. “No,” he said slowly. “The fact that you are the legitimate daughter of the deceased Teyrn of Highever means that you have a very strong claim to the teynir of Highever. Your family was never tied to the throne. And even that will take ousting Howe which we really cannot afford to worry about doing until after the Landsmeet is over with and the Blight is defeated.”
 
“But everyone wanted my father to be King instead of Cailan,” Mary Sue reminded him, determined not to let this go.
 
“Not ‘everyone’ did,” Eamon corrected. “Some people did. In fact, I’ll even concede that many did. He turned the job down, remember, and threw his support behind Cailan.”
 
“Yes, but the fact that people wanted him to be King means that they are going to want me to be Queen now,” Mary Sue insisted.
 
“I…don’t follow,” Eamon said, trying to be diplomatic. One good thing about all of this was that he was now firmly convinced that Alistair was selling himself short on his leadership abilities as there was absolutely no way that he was going to believe that this woman had been the one making all the decisions and actually succeeding in convincing the mages, dwarves, and Dalish into aiding Ferelden during its time of need.
 
“Everyone loved my father,” Mary Sue explained again. “I am his daughter. Therefore, everyone will love me.”
 
“That’s not quite how these things work,” Eamon told her, wondering how he should put this. “Your father was loved not because he was a Cousland per se but because he had a reputation for honesty and integrity as well as a good deal of charisma. He was well-known and well-liked. You, on the other hand, are a virtual unknown. People may have loved your parents but most of the nobles have never even met you and would have to rely on your resemblance to your parents and brother.”
 
“See!” Mary Sue exclaimed triumphantly. “They’ll all know that I’m a Cousland!”
 
“But the issue here is not that nobody will believe that you are a Cousland,” Eamon pointed out. “It’s that that’s frankly not good enough to allow you to take the throne.”
 
“Why not?” Mary Sue asked petulantly, sticking her lower lip out in a pout.
 
“You mean aside from the fact that you’re not an heir or even in the royal succession at all and nobody even knows who you are personally much less what kind of a ruler you would make?” Eamon asked dryly.
 
To his surprise, Mary Sue nodded. “Yes, other than that.”
 
“Well, technically speaking no one really has a claim to the throne so it’s a matter of politics,” Eamon revealed. “My faction supports Alistair for King and Anora’s faction supports her. A third candidate at this point would only serve to take support away from Alistair and probably allow Anora to keep her throne. Then, of course, the fact that you have no political support means that it’s highly unlikely that anybody would actually choose to support you.”
 
“But…but I’m a Cousland!” the girl wailed. “Everybody loves Couslands and our magical bloodlines!”
 
“Not nearly as much as you seem to think we do,” Eamon said tiredly, rubbing his eyes.
 
“Wait…” Mary Sue breathed, her eyes lighting up. “I’ve just had a brilliant idea!”
 
Eamon almost groaned. “Another one? We haven’t finished discussing this one yet…have we?” he asked hopefully.
 
“Nope,” Mary Sue said cheerfully. “What if your faction dropped Alistair and started to support me! I could totally be Queen then!”
 
“You might be able to,” Eamon agreed carefully. “Except that my supporters and I want a son of the Theirin bloodline on the throne so why would we agree to that?”
 
“Well, Alistair doesn’t even want the throne in the first place,” Mary Sue claimed.
 
“He seems to be coming around to the idea just fine,” Eamon countered. “And either way, he will do his duty.”
 
“Everyone knows that the Cousland bloodline is infinitely shinier, more badass, awesomer, and just overall better than the Theirin bloodline,” Mary Sue grandstanded. “Putting me on the throne will ensure that we will have peace and prosperity throughout every day of my reign and the reign of my heirs. Just imagine: this senseless civil war will stop and all of Ferelden will fall in line behind the majesty and perfection of the Cousland name.”
 
“You have quite an imagination…” Eamon told her, seriously beginning to question the girl’s sanity and hoping that Alistair didn’t have any real desire to have her as his consort. Ferelden just couldn’t risk introducing such instability into the Theirin bloodline.
 
“So it’s settled then,” Mary Sue said beaming. “I’ll go tell Alistair he’s off the hook and I can go be the kind of Queen that Ferelden desperately needs. Seriously, you people are really lucky that I’m willing to do this for you.”
 
Eamon opened his mouth to argue and then shut it again realizing that there was really no point in trying to get through to her. She clearly lived in a world quite apart from reality and his words wouldn’t reach her. It was best to just humor her for now so she wouldn’t try to sabotage him and then speak in favor of Alistair at the Landsmeet. “Why don’t you let me handle him? You go…do some Warden thing.”
 
“Alright,” Mary Sue said brightly. “I saw my cousin Habren on my way here and she had a gorgeous tiara that would be just perfect for me to wear when I get confirmed Queen at the Landsmeet so I’m off to go steal it now. I’ll be back whenever and if you hear anything about a lot of violent scuffles, don’t worry, it was probably me and I’ll be fine.” With that, she practically skipped off secure in the knowledge of her Cousland superiority.
 
Ladies and gentleman, the would-be Queen of Ferelden.

Modifié par Sarah1281, 06 septembre 2010 - 01:50 .

[Dean_the_Young]

Read a particularly awful Cousland argument recently, I take it?

[Sarah1281]

Dean_the_Young wrote...

Read a particularly awful Cousland argument recently, I take it?

I have taken part in far too many arguments where people seriously use Mary Sue's arguments (although in a more serious manner and don't actually use the phrase 'magical Cousland bloodline') about why they should get to be solo King or Queen.

[Dean_the_Young]

Well, I always do enjoy a good mary-sue bashing piece, and this one qualifies. (Granted, anything even hinting of Mary Sue-ism is painful to read, because of the knowledge that people actually think like that...) Don't think there's any origin better suited for Mary Sue-ism than the Cousland one, except maybe an elf-sue.



Good stuff, as always.

[Sarah1281]

My sixty-second story was 'Cailan's Shiny New Title' which is an AU in which the Orlesians help Ferelden stop the Blight and Cailan has a chance to go through with his plans with Celene and Loghain tries to dissuade him.


Loghain Mac Tir had never before found himself cursing his trusting nature. As someone who had started to suspect that the Orlesians would be back again to try and retake Ferelden before the nation had even been freed and had not wavered in that belief in the three decades afterwards when they had shown little sign of doing this, many even found him paranoid. But now…now he could only wish that it had been simple paranoia on his part or that he had been even more mistrustful.
 
None of this ever would have happened if Cailan had died at Ostagar like Loghain had resigned himself to the moment the King had insisted on fighting on the front lines. Against all odds, however, the beacon had been lit in more than enough time and while the battle could not have been called a victory by any means, the darkspawn had left before completely decimating the Ferelden army and Cailan himself remained among the living.
 
Loghain had even been quietly pleased that Cailan had survived as, fool though he may have been, he was still Maric’s son. This would make his plans to confront Cailan about his Orlesian ties more complicated but he didn’t actually have time to put it into action before Cailan had welcomed into the country four legions of the men who had raped, pillaged, and overall terrorized Ferelden for more than two generations.
 
By the time that they were in the country, it was a little late to try to force Cailan to see reason regarding the lack of need for them and once they were there and likely intent on subjugating them again they might as well try and salvage something by throwing the Orlesians at the darkspawn and hoping that the two groups would just completely kill each other off or, more practically, that one group would kill the other off and be left so severely weakened as to not be a problem for the Ferelden forces who did not have to face either foe just yet.
 
Unfortunately, it hadn’t quite worked out that way. Whenever the Orlesians started taking heavy losses, the Empress Celene had graciously sent more. Furthermore, the nobles – how easy it was to forget that he was technically one of them – were all so pathetically pleased that they did not have to lose their own men against the darkspawn. Loghain had supposed that leaving the Ferelden army in good condition would be useful for dealing with the Orlesians once the darkspawn incursion was over by Celene’s dedication and commitment to sending as many reinforcements as needed was very, very worrying. And to make matters worse, it turned out that it actually had been a Blight (although no matter what that witch had said Loghain did not see how he had betrayed Maric in the slightest save not being able to stop his son from amiably welcoming their former Orlesian overlords back into the country) and Duncan of all people had become one of the few legendary heroes to end it. At least he had managed to die in the process.
 
That’s when things took a turn for the worse. Cailan, flushed with success at being a King like in the tales, had used his sudden boost in popularity (and the Orlesian troops that had, as he had predicted, not left) to announce that he was, for the sake of producing an heir and to create a more permanent alliance with the Orlesian Empire, going to set aside Anora and marry Celene. How the Landsmeet had agreed to this, Loghain had no idea. It would seem that they were even bigger fools than he had thought and, all things considered, that was really saying something.
 
That was why Loghain had locked himself in a rumor with his soon-to-be former son-in-law. Cailan was doing something drastic and it was taking every ounce of self-control that Loghain had ever possessed to stop himself from pulling out a sword and responding in an equally drastic manner.
 
“Oh, not this old argument again,” Cailan said tiredly. “Loghain, I have heard your position on Orlais. Many, many times. I know you’re not happy about their very existence let alone the fact that they want to mend fences with us. It’s not your decision, though, and so you’re just going to have to respect what I’ve decided.”
 
“I never thought that even you would be so foolish as to completely spit on the sacrifices made by your mother and father, by your grandmother and grandfather, so that you could call yourself an Emperor,” Loghain said darkly.
 
“Enough with the ancient history!” Cailan said firmly. “Celene was not the one who took Ferelden, she wasn’t the one who held it, and she wasn’t even the one to lose it. My father lived through the occupation and was important to the rebellion just as you did and yet he had no problem reopening communications with Orlais once Celene took power.”
 
“Different people, same goal,” Loghain insisted. “They could not keep Ferelden militarily and so now they’ve decided that they would rather buy it from you for the price of a shiny new title for yourself.”
 
“You’re not thinking clearly,” Cailan told him. “This is about Orlais and so you will never be able to think clearly. And Anora is being set aside for this but it’s not like she can’t still inherit the teynir from you! Not to mention that her failure to bear an heir means that she would need to be set aside regardless of whether or not Celene and I were planning to wed.”
 
“Do not presume to tell me that I am not thinking clearly,” Loghain said coldly. “I am not pleased with how you are treating my daughter, true, but do you really think I would be so opposed to this if you were choosing anyone but the Empress of Orlais as her replacement? Does no one in Ferelden have a noble enough pedigree for you now? To you, Cailan, all of the atrocities committed during the occupation are mere stories and you would so easily dismiss our past with Orlais as ‘ancient history’. What you fail to notice is that Orlais is an Empire with expansionist tendencies. They want more land. They do not yet have us though they once did. How can you not see what she’s doing? What you’re doing?”
 
“You make it sound like I’m ceding control of Ferelden back to Orlais,” Cailan said irritably.
 
“Aren’t you?” Loghain challenged.
 
“No!” Cailan exclaimed. “Far from it. We are going to have a marriage alliance, yes, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that things will be the same as they were and as this is a voluntarily alliance and not a hostile takeover then I don’t see how they could be.”
 
Loghain closed his eyes. “Orlais is a large Empire,” he said slowly as if he were explaining something simple to a particularly thick child. “And Ferelden is a much smaller nation. How do you suppose that any kind of merger wouldn’t end with Orlais dominating Ferelden and all of our traditions and values would become lost in the wake of theirs? Once we agree to become part of them they won’t let us back out.”
 
“Why are you assuming that the two nations will inevitably merge?” Cailan demanded. “Why can’t you even entertain the notion that I will be her Emperor as she is my Queen and our nations will stay separate?”
 
“Because it is a foolish one,” Loghain said bluntly. “If the Empress had no designs on us then why would she be putting this much effort into this scheme of hers?”
 
“I suppose she can’t just like me, either,” Cailan muttered.
 
Loghain didn’t even dignify that with a response.
 
“And say you’re right and eventually Ferelden does become a part of the Orlesian Empire…” Cailan trailed off. “Would that really be so bad?”
 
Loghain glared daggers at the boy he could honestly not see anything of Rowan or Maric in at the moment. “I’m going to pretend that you didn’t ask me that.”


Cailan shook his head. “No seriously. Obviously, if they come in and subjugate us again – which is totally unnecessary given our voluntary alliance – then that would be very bad but what if they don’t? Our economy would improve for being tied to theirs, we’d be able to face threats such as the Blight much better, and our culture wouldn’t fade away unless we let it.”
 
“Maybe, maybe we could hold onto our culture for a generation or two,” Loghain allowed. “But sooner or later those born under Orlesian rule wouldn’t understand what we were fighting to preserve and allow it to fade away in favor of the ‘sophistication’ that they can bring.”
 
“You’re too pessimistic, Loghain,” Cailan said with a sigh.
 
“And you’re not thinking of the long-term consequences!” Loghain accused. “We could have handled the Blight just fine on our own and even if the presence of the Orlesians did make it go quicker that doesn’t mean that we need to become part of them! Why are you so eager to hand them Ferelden on a silver platter?”
 
“There are more important things than worrying about our independence, Loghain,” Cailan asserted. “I really feel like the benefits we could gain from this far outweigh the possible risks and even if we do become dependent on them or a part of the Empire that doesn’t mean that we have to conform to their culture and actually become Orlesian!”
 
Loghain stared at him for a long moment before striding to the door. “There is nothing more important than maintaining our independence but I can see that there is no convincing you, so secure are you in your naivety. You are no Celene and you cannot outmaneuver her. Mark my words, Cailan, this marriage will not happen.  Ferelden has gone through far too much to kick those bastards out to just sit back and watch as you surrender everything we’ve worked for for a century!”

[Dean_the_Young]

Bravo!



Sequel?

[Sarah1281]

My sixty-third story was 'Childhood Truths' which fills the prompt about Nathaniel and his nose.


It’s a little awkward to admit that his first memory of his father involved a great deal of terror on his part. Rendon Howe being who he was, this would surprise no one. What was a little more unexpected that it wasn’t any of his dark deeds or some hidden evil that a young Nathaniel could sense within his father but rather his appearance. Rendon was a stern-looking man and not particularly fond of children, even his own, and so that would have been enough to put anyone on guard. Where Thomas and Delilah were merely uncomfortable with him, Nathaniel was incredibly frightened…of his nose.
 
Of all the reasons that his father had given people to hate or fear him – or both – his nose would probably not have made the list. Still, as much as Nathaniel would refuse to admit to it today (even if Delilah had thought it was hilarious and felt the need to tell his fellow Wardens all about it when they had last been in Amaranthine), he could definitely remember it in the vague sort of half-remembered way young children do. When he’d accidentally let Thomas see his fear, his brother had spent weeks teasing him about it and threatening to tell their father all about it. For all that Nathaniel feared his father’s nose, he had never actually feared the man himself and so not wanting their father to know was more hoping to avoid looking foolish than worrying about any potential consequences.
 
Nearly nine years ago now he had been sent to the Free Marches for training. It was quite a distance away and he hadn’t really wanted to go. Thomas and Delilah had cried when he left but he wouldn’t break down in front of them. He was determined to be strong for them and to think of it as an adventure. It really did turn out to be one and he ended up becoming far stronger and more self-sufficient than he would have been had he stayed in Amaranthine like Thomas did. Thomas…Nathaniel did wonder sometimes how much truth there was to the rumors that still floated around about his recently deceased little brother. He was a drunkard, he cared for nothing but chasing skirts…Thomas was a child when he had last seen him, mischievous but sweet, and he had thought that Delilah didn’t even count as a girl because she wasn’t ‘icky’ like the others. How much of that had changed? How much of that was his father’s fault?
 
The nose of Rendon Howe was long and hooked and slightly crooked like it had been broken in the past in some story that Nathaniel was never going to get a chance to hear and secretly worried that he wouldn’t even want to. What were the odds that his father’s misdeeds had only started with the Couslands? Maybe when the crimes were smaller, he had been better at covering it up. Even with the Cousland massacre, nobody had really been able to definitively link him to their deaths until after his own. But he dwelled on that often enough. His father’s nose had reminded his childish self of a bird come to foretell death or to peck out his eyes or of an evil witch seeking to turn him into a frog. It really was fortunate that his father was the one with the nose instead of his mother – witches of the wild always being depicted as women – or he might never have agreed to go near her again. His mother had never been a pretty woman but she had never reminded him of a monster the way his father did. Chances are, she wasn’t one, either, although she’d never been the most maternal of creatures.
 
Nathaniel had been out of the country for almost four years when he looked in the mirror one day and saw his father’s nose protruding out of his own face. It had startled him a little, to be honest. He hadn’t had his father’s nose when he was younger (although there were similarities given that they were related) and he highly doubted that he had went to bed one night with his normal nose and woken up the next morning with his father’s. This change must have been something that had occurred gradually over time and yet somehow he had failed to notice it until the transformation was complete. It was really a good thing he had long since grown past his childish fear or who knows how he would have reacted?
 
He had promptly placed the matter entirely out of his mind and went about the business of learning how to handle himself in battle, in court, wherever. It was only after he had seen Delilah again and she had brought up the old story of his childish fear that he had even remembered it. He had returned to Ferelden full of righteous fury and a thirst for vengeance, eager to strike down whoever had so defamed his family name and had stolen their lands. Instead, he had found a friend in the Warden-commander and a home of sorts at Vigil’s Keep. It was, strangely, far more of a home now than it had ever been when he had been a child and the land actually belonged to them.
 
He had also found that the hero he had long since believed his father to be was a lie. Whatever he may have done in the past, no matter how brave and noble he might have been during the rebellion, Nathaniel knew of no hero that would come into the home of his friends and slaughter them all. He knew of no hero that would suggest selling his own people into slavery. He knew of no hero that would kidnap and torture the sons of nobles for daring to seek the truth or Templars for merely carrying out their duty.

Delilah had said that he had always known the truth even if he’d never admit it. When Nathaniel was very young, he had seen a monster when he had looked at his father. He had been right.

[Dean_the_Young]

Sarah, you come up with some of the weirdest pieces, you nose that?

[Sarah1281]

*wonders if that's a good weird or a bad one* 

I honestly had no idea what else to do with 'Nathaniel' and 'nose.'

And then, of course, big noses freak me out.

[Dean_the_Young]

Sarah1281 wrote...

*wonders if that's a good weird or a bad one* 

I honestly had no idea what else to do with 'Nathaniel' and 'nose.'

And then, of course, big noses freak me out.

How about an interesting weird?

I suppose you could have always gone with with the wise piece of advice one of my Wardens once learned: 'You can pick Nathaniel, and you can pick your nose, but you can't pick Nathaniel's nose, even if it would be pretty easy.'

[Sarah1281]

My sixty-fourth story was 'Is It Worth It?' for the prompt 'Andres' Irving Hatred.'


First Enchanter Irving sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he eyed the Circle’s most recent escapist. Anders was only a teenager – or perhaps that wasn’t so surprising – and he was already determined to cause trouble. He hadn’t ever been willing to play nicely with the Templars and Irving blamed that on the fact that he was identified as a mage far later in life than most of the apprentices. He had gotten a taste for the outside world and such things were dangerous for one destined to spend their life inside of a Tower. It led one to view their sanctuary as a gilded cage. Irving did see the appeal of the outside world, of course, but there was no use sulking about the way things were or attempting to run from the system. How could anyone hope to change it from a distance, after all? And the Templars weren’t unreasonable. Greagoir, especially, was always willing to listen and to try and make a fair decision.
 
“I hope you’re happy, Anders,” Irving said at last.
 
Anders crossed his arms petulantly and looked distinctly not happy. “I was perfectly happy until those bucket-headed bastards showed up to cart me back to mage prison.”
 
“I assure you, Anders, this is hardly Aeonar,” Irving said wryly.
 
Anders rolled his eyes. “Just because that place might be worse doesn’t say anything good about here.”
 
“And you really shouldn’t call the Templars that, Anders,” Irving cautioned. “You’ll only antagonize them and that will only make your life harder.”
 
“And they really shouldn’t show up when I’m about to score,” Anders retorted. “Or at all, really. If they could stay out of my presence for the rest of my life then I would be glad to never refer to them as bucket-headed bastards again.”
 
“You know that they can’t do that,” Irving said wearily.
 
“Then I guess we’re at an impasse,” Anders said flippantly.
 
“You had one week outside of the Tower,” Irving began.
 
Anders sighed wistfully. “And what a week it was. All weeks should be like that.”
 
“In exchange for that week, you’ve cost all of the apprentices the limited exposure to the outside that they were permitted to experience,” Irving continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “And you know that the Templars will never stop watching you.”
 
“The Templars were always going to be watching me,” Anders said flatly. “They apparently get off on that kind of thing. And I refuse to be blamed for the further mistreatment my fellow mages are undergoing.”
 
Irving couldn’t believe his blatant refusal to take a little responsibility for his actions. “You’re the one who jumped into the lake and escaped in the middle of exercises.”
 
“And they are the ones who are intent on imprisoning me here for the rest of my life for the high crime of being born a mage,” Anders countered. “Why are you taking their side anyway? You’re a mage! Furthermore, you’re the First Enchanter. You’re supposed to be advocating our interests to them, not the other way around.”
 
“I am,” Irving said firmly, a little affronted that this mere child would dare question his commitment. “But we must attend to reality. The Chantry wants us to all live in the Tower and this is for our protection just as much as it is for the non-mages. They don’t always react well to the discovery that they have a mage in their midst, after all. The Chantry enjoys popular support from the people and the crown approves of their actions. They also have an army of Templars that can neutralize our magic with ease and access to phylacteries that enable them to find us wherever we might go.”
 
“I am well aware of that,” Anders said through gritted teeth. “Everything is stacked against us and you just make it worse!”
 
“Alright Anders,” Irving said coldly. “If you’re so convinced that I’m a Chantry puppet while you’re the rebel freedom fighter then let us consider the effects that our actions up to this point have had. Take the opportunity for mage apprentices like yourself to go exercise outside of the Tower and to actually have a break from spending years inside the Tower. I fought with Greagoir for weeks to get him to approve of the idea and had to convince him that it wouldn’t be used to try and train mages to resist Templars or to escape. Your week of ‘freedom’ has cost everyone that. Now, it will be years until the Templars can be convinced to try it again and in the meantime you’ve personally ensured that the apprentices in the meantime will never see the sunlight. The ones that don’t make it through their Harrowing will never see the sun ever again thanks to you.”
 
“You cannot blame this on me!” Anders insisted.
 
“Can’t I?” Irving retorted. “It was your actions that led to this.”
 
“So when the oppressors crack down on the oppressed because someone dared to do something, you blame the only person who seems interested in fighting for their freedom?” Anders demanded. He laughed bitterly. “You really have been here too long. I wonder how many years I’ll have to be trapped here before the indoctrination starts to take root in me.”
 
“You don’t have to be here forever, Anders,” Irving told him earnestly. “You have only made things difficult for yourself with your escape – and should you try it again which I know you will it will only make things worse for yourself – but it’s possible to work within the system to get what you want. Study hard, pass your Harrowing, and you can leave the Tower. Not forever and not for no reason but if you have a purpose then you can spend a great deal of time away from here. I haven’t actually seen Senior Enchanter Wynne for the last three years, for instance.”
 
“If I have to ask their permission then it’s hardly freedom,” Anders pointed out.
 
“If the end result is important enough to you, you’ll learn to forget your principles,” Irving countered.
 
“Now I can see why you got the title of First Enchanter,” Anders said, shaking his head in disgust. “You may be a mage but you’re still one of them.” With that, he stormed out of the room.
 
Irving closed his eyes as he listened to the boys’ footsteps receding. Didn’t he understand that the Templars were never going to leave? Trying to be free of them was a wasted endeavor and one had to choose their battles carefully. They had to work within the system.
 
Anders would learn that in time or he would die. Either way, he would have no one to blame but himself and Irving sincerely hoped that, however things turned out for him, it would be worth it.

[Sarah1281]

My sixty-fifth story was 'Epic Rescue' where Zevran gets his hand stuck in a dark hole and Taliesin mostly just stands around being unhelpful.


Sometimes, Zevran felt that he was entirely too sentimental for his own good and that that was going to get him into trouble some day. His current situation was clearly a warning against such foibles.
 
“Oh, if only the others could see you now,” Taliesin laughed. “The great Zevran on his hands and knees, his hand trapped in a mouse hole.”
 
The warning was also clearly from someone who hated him as they had sent Taliesin to him during this trying time so who even knew how helpful said warning would be?
 
“Dare I even ask how this came to be?” Taliesin asked, sounding far too eager for Zevran to believe that he wouldn’t be holding this incident over his head for approximately…forever.
 
“You just did,” Zevran pointed out, reluctant to divulge further information. Explaining the situation really wouldn’t help matters, he knew, but Taliesin was persistent and he was trapped. He closed his eyes. “A mouse took my earring and escaped into the wall.”
 
Taliesin’s eyes widened and he let out a startled chuckle. “What? That earring you take with you everywhere?”
 
“No, I just found a different one randomly and resented the mouse taking my prize,” Zevran deadpanned.
 
“I don’t think that I believe you,” Taliesin sniffed. He tilted his head. “Then again, maybe you do just have an earring fetish. I’ve never really understood your fascination with that other one anyway.”
 
Zevran felt something crawl onto his hand and stay on it. It wouldn’t be able to take the earring he had clenched tightly in his fist but it also wasn’t moving. He attempted to shake the creature off but his mobility was rather limited and it wouldn’t budge. “What’s not to understand?” he asked flippantly. “It’s a nice earring.”
 
“That it is,” Taliesin agreed. “But you don’t even have a pierced ear so it’s not like you can wear it and you’ve had it for ages so it’s not like you’re planning on selling it.”
 
“It’s a trophy,” Zevran explained. “My first mark was wearing that and nothing else.”
 
Taliesin smirked. “I did hear about that. You do find yourself in the strangest circumstances, my friend.”
 
“Like this one?” Zevran asked, breathing a sigh of relief as the mouse finally deigned to leave his hand alone. He attempted once again to extricate his hand but to no avail.
 
“Like this one,” Taliesin echoed. “Although it seems to be rather less impressive than the earring story.”
 
“True, which is why if I ever feel the need to allude to it I’ll be much more vague,” Zevran declared. “Maybe I’ll say something about slipping my hand into some dark hole. That will really leave people wondering.”
 
“If I didn’t know what happened, I would assume you were talking about sex,” Taliesin announced.
 
Zevran grinned. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Now, what happened was this: I had the earring on my table but I accidentally knocked it off. A mouse kidnapped it and took it to its evil base so I’m attempting a rescue mission.”
 
“That is certainly a grandiose way to put it,” Taliesin remarked wryly.
 
“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to help me?” Zevran demanded, tugging futilely on his trapped hand again.
 
Taliesin was quiet as he seemed to weigh his options.
 
“Taliesin!” Zevran exclaimed.
 
“What?” Taliesin asked innocently as he went over to stand beside Zevran. “What do you need me to do?”
 
“Help me pull,” Zevran instructed.
 
Taliesin got down on his knees as well. “Why are you even having trouble getting out?” he inquired as he began to do as requested. “Did you have any problems getting in?”
 
“Well, no,” Zevran admitted. “But getting in I didn’t have to keep my fist clenched.”
 
Taliesin stopped pulling. “Wait…you’re telling me that the only reason you’re trapped is because you won’t let go of that damn earring?”
 
“If I let go of ‘that damned earring’, as you so eloquently put it, then there will have been no reason for me to have stuck my hand in the mouse hold to begin with,” Zevran said reasonably.
 
“There already is no reason for you to have done that,” Taliesin said irritably, grabbing Zevran’s arm again and giving one final tug. To his surprise, Zevran’s fist was pulled free.
 
Zevran didn’t so much as wince looking at the fresh cuts on his hand. He finally unclenched his fist and held undamaged the earring up proudly. “Success! Thank you for your aid in this noble endeavor, Taliesin.”
 
Taliesin rolled his eyes. Zevran always had a bit of a flair for the dramatic. “Yeah, sure. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’m going to go tell Rinna all about that dark hole you slipped your hand into…”

[Sarah1281]

My sixty-sixth story was 'Never Compromise', the first chapter of which is based on the Anders prompt 'first.'


Anders didn’t bother to open his eyes or sit up when he woke up. He was pretty sure (but not completely positive as he couldn’t see the sun and so was attempting to keep track based on his meals) that he had been in solitary confinement for 87 days. That still left 278 days that he was going to be trapped in this maddeningly empty room with nothing to do and no human contact. He wondered how in the world he was going to keep his sanity.
 
“Or have I already lost it?” he murmured. Normally, one would think that talking to themselves was a sign of insanity but he didn’t think he could go an entire year without speaking and it wasn’t like anyone else was willing or able to speak to him. The Templars shoved food and water into his room twice a day and emptied the waste only once and they always made sure to be completely silent and stoic. Honestly, it was really starting to make him long for the days when they had been comparably garrulous and light-hearted.
 
“Maybe I shouldn’t have escaped.” The words escaped before Anders had time to process them and they shook him. He had always believed that escape was the only option when it came to the Circle, even before he had been captured for the first time and brought there. That belief hadn’t wavered through the years of imprisonment in the Tower and the four escapes before this one. But now they locked him in a room for 87 days and the knowledge that he had been in there for less than a fourth of the time that he would and suddenly he was questioning one of his oldest and most deeply-held beliefs.
 
There was a scratching sound suddenly and Anders’ head shot towards the noise. There was a kitten scratching at the door. It was little, fluffy, and ginger.
 
“How did you get in here?” Anders wondered aloud. He frowned as a disconcerting thought occurred to him. “Are you even in here or have I started hallucinating? I suppose that will make the time go quicker although it may cause problems once my sentence is up. And you’d think I could come up with some more interesting hallucinations. And preferably some female ones.”
 
The kitten turned at the sound of his voice and revealed deep blue eyes that looked to be too big for its face. It wobbled over to him.
 
Anders hesitantly reached out and placed a hand on the kittens head. It was as soft as it looked. On the one hand, the fact that he could touch it meant that it was likely not a hallucination. On the other, it could just mean that he was even crazier than he thought he was. “How did you even get in here?” he murmured, beginning to stroke the kitten’s fur. “I hope you’re not trapped like me. They never seem to give me any cat food so you wouldn’t be able to eat very well.”
 
The kitten simply purred up at him. Anders couldn’t help but smile. Ferelden might have been a land obsessed with dogs but mages barely counted as part of Ferelden anyway and he had always been more fascinated by cats. They were so much more dignified than dogs and so much more sensible. If they were in a bad situation – say, stuck inside the Circle Tower – then they weren’t going to be happy about it and would make sure to let everyone around them know about it.
 
“Fine, don’t answer me,” Anders said in faux-indignation. Even if he knew that the kitten – probably – wouldn’t answer back, it was such a relief to finally be speaking to something else after so long. He could try talking to the Templars, of course, but he didn’t want to come off as desperate. “But if you’re going to be here and you won’t tell me your name then I’m going to have to call you something.”
 
Anders had never had a pet before. Mages weren’t allowed to keep them at the Tower (for no reason that Anders could see except that the Templars were trying to suck every last ounce of joy out of the world) and before that his mother hadn’t thought that he was old enough to have one before he had first done magic in front of her and she became convinced that a pet was too much responsibility to pile on top of the tremendous pressure to keep his gifts hidden. As Anders was so inexperienced with pets, he really had no idea what to call the thing.
 
A quick glance showed Anders that this kitten was a boy. “Mr.…” Was Mr. a silly way of starting off a pet’s name? It only seemed polite to make it clear that this small thing was a boy so it didn’t have all manner of curious mages and Templars staring at its genitalia all the time. “Mr. …” Great, now he couldn’t think of anything. The kitten didn’t have to have the most profound name in the world, he just had to be called something. Mr. Kitten? No, that was almost embarrassing. What to call him, what to call him.
 
“Mr. Wiggums,” Anders said suddenly. It was literally the first thing that had popped into his head. He thought that he had known a Wiggums once, long ago, who had been kind to him and had owned a cat. It was as good a name as any, he supposed.
 
Mr. Wiggums responded to this by purring again.
 
Anders grinned. “I take it you like that name, huh? Good because if I had told you my second choice then you’d probably be ashamed to be seen with me. Not that anyone besides those bucket-heads are going to be seeing me anytime soon.”
 
The door slammed open then and Anders automatically glanced up to see two Templars entering his room. They didn’t so much look at him as one replaced his waste bucket with a fresh one and the other took his empty food tray and left a full one in its place. They said nothing and they were in the room for perhaps two minutes. It was the only human contact he would be getting for hours. Anders closed his eyes and tried to tell himself that he wouldn’t have wanted to talk to one of them anyway. He had much better company anyway.
 
Anders glanced down at Mr. Wiggums only to discover that the kitten was no longer there. His eyes darted around the room, trying desperately to find his newfound feline companion. It was no use, however. Mr. Wiggums simply wasn’t there.
 
Anders sighed. Well that was fun while it lasted. Still, he had to believe that Mr. Wiggums would come back. As sad as it was to admit it, his very sanity could very well be depending on it.

[Sarah1281]

My sixty-seventh story was 'The Howes' White Sheep' which is the first chapter of a series of Nathaniel prompts. This one was 'relations.'


Nathaniel Howe thought that Fergus Cousland could probably stand to be a bit less put-out to see him under the circumstances.
 
“I might have known you’d be involved,” Fergus said bitterly, glaring at him. His guards were dead and his clothes were torn but he didn’t seem to notice any of that.
 
“I hardly think that saving you from bandits counts as being involved in said bandits’ attack, Teyrn,” Nathaniel responded evenly. Once he and Fergus had been friends but once he had had a father and Fergus had had parents. Once he had had a brother and Fergus a wife and child. Now everyone was dead and he had been conscripted into the Grey Wardens for plotting to kill Fergus’s sister who had slain his own father while Fergus was on record saying that he didn’t think Nathaniel would have the stones to return to Ferelden. Well Anastasia Theirin was still alive and here Nathaniel was.
 
“You could have easily staged the attack in order to try and get into my good graces,” Fergus claimed.
 
Nathaniel sighed. “Please, Teyrn. Using bandits isn’t really my style.”
 
“No, I suppose that when you attempted to murder my only living family – and so finish the job that your father started – you did work alone,” Fergus conceded.
 
Nathaniel concealed a wince. That had really not been one of his finer moments, he had to admit. “I was operating under faulty information,” he said smoothly. “And even before I learned the truth I decided not to attack her. I was arrested for trespassing in my former home not for making an attempt on Anastasia’s life.”
 
Fergus frowned deeply, a sure sign that he felt that Nathaniel had a point. “You should never have come back here regardless.”
 
“And why not?” Nathaniel challenged. “Because of what my father did?”
 
“Yes because of what your father did,” Fergus exclaimed. “He was a monster and he tried to destroy everything. He killed my family, he sent assassins after my sister, he sold Ferelden natives into slavery, he tortured nobles, he kidnapped Templars-”
 
“I get it,” Nathaniel cut him off, unwilling to hear more. “I really do. I have come to accept that my father, at least in recent years, was not a good man. I have come to accept that he greatly wronged all of Ferelden and your family in particular. I am not him, Fergus.”
 
Fergus started slightly at the unexpected invocation of his given name. “You look like him. You’re his son. You carry his name.”
 
“I’m not him,” Nathaniel repeated.
 
Fergus closed his eyes. “I…I do know that. Intellectually. Just the same, you’re father killed my family. How am I supposed to get over it? I went away to Ostagar and our fathers were supposed to come the following day. My mother was supposed to be safe at Lady Landra’s Denerim estate and my little sister was supposed to try her hand at running the castle while Oren and Oriana stayed there with her. I never made it to the battle, I was imprisoned by Chasind for nearly a year, and then when I finally did escape I found only your father’s men at my home. Again, I ask you: how am I supposed to get over it?”
 
Nathaniel was quiet for a moment as he desperately tried to come up with some sort of answer for his former friend. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “Anastasia’s managed it and I’ve forgiven her for her part in destroying my family.”
 
Fergus snorted. “Well, that’s Anastasia. She’s always been a bit off. And what do you have to forgive? Your father brought everything on himself and from what I’ve heard of what happened, her killing him actually had very little to do with vengeance and was more of a necessity.”
 
“He was still my father,” Nathaniel said mildly. “Look, I don’t have all the answers. I wish I did as it would make this – and everything – much easier but the fact remains that our families were friends, that my father killed your family, that your sister killed my father. My brother died in the war as well and my sister refuses to acknowledge where she came from. The Howes no longer have an Arling but you’ve not only reclaimed Highever but Anastasia is the Queen of Ferelden and Teyrna of Gwaren in addition to having taken temporary control of Amaranthine. I’ve lost a lot as well and I don’t mean to get into a petty argument about who has had it worse. The point is that some things can’t be changed and we’ve got to find a way to live with them.”
 
Fergus was silent for a long moment. Eventually, he asked, “Do you really regret what happened to my family?”
 
“Every day since I heard that they were dead,” Nathaniel admitted. “Even when I was under the impression that they were traitors to the Crown and even more now that I know that that wasn’t the case. And why wouldn’t I be? We were friends.”
 
“That was a long time ago,” Fergus said ruefully. “Sad as it is, this is the first time that I’ve seen you since you left for the Free Marches a decade ago.”
 
“I didn’t hear from you often given how far away I was,” Nathaniel told him. “I heard from my father less. I had no idea and you can’t possibly believe that I would have supported it had I known.”
 
Fergus looked a little wistful. “I don’t know. Ten years is an awfully long time. You left just after the birth of my son.”
 
“Father wanted me to leave earlier but I didn’t want to miss that,” Nathaniel said softly.
 
Fergus shook his head as if to clear away the memories. “Ten years is a long time,” he repeated. “Just the same…you saved my life today. As Teyrn and the brother of Ferelden’s other Teyrna and Queen, that’s probably worth something. I’m beginning to feel a little foolish just standing around in the middle of the road after a bandit attack so I think we should get into town. Then we can…talk. I’m honor-bound to repay you for this, you know.”
 
Nathaniel nodded. It was actually more than he’d expected. Being a Howe in a country that still had a long way to go before they could forget the sins of his father, he would have expected – at best – a curt thank you and maybe a pouch full of sovereigns. Regardless of what had happened between their families since the beginning of the last Blight, Fergus had once been a friend and he had hated to lose that. “I didn’t do it for that.”
 
Fergus’ eyes flickered. “I know.”

Modifié par Sarah1281, 18 septembre 2010 - 05:50 .

[Addai]

quote
'Where's A Disney Death When You Need One?'
quote

(husband)



It's nice to compare notes to see how other folks handle some of these topics.

[Sarah1281]

My sixty-eighth story is 'Luck of a Crow' which is a series of one-shots about Zevran. The first one is what I like to call the Meatloaf prompt.


Zevran Arainai knew that he was in trouble when he saw Ahria Tabris – his very own Grey Warden and the current Hero of Ferelden to boot – nod determinedly and begin to approach him. She had been watching him indecisively for the past twenty minutes and as Ahria was usually quite a bit bolder than that, it was clear that this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation.
 
Sure enough, Ahria began hesitantly. “Zevran…you know how I said that I loved you just as you were and would never ever want to change you in any way ever?”
 
“I do remember something along those lines,” Zevran confirmed. “Although I think that you through in a few more ‘evers.’ Why?”
 
Now Ahria looked as though she’d rather be facing down the Archdemon again than continue with what she was planning on saying. “It’s just that I might have spoken a bit prematurely…”
 
Zevran’s heart sank. He had actually been careful to keep the possibility that this might happen in his mind from the moment she had first kissed him but things had just been going so well – or at least he had thought that they had – and so he had finally started to believe that…but no. He really should have known better. “I see,” he said slowly, his tone deceptively light. “I can’t say that I didn’t expect this and I want you to know that I wish you nothing but the best-”
 
Ahria put her hand on his arm. “I think you may have gotten the wrong idea here. I’m not trying to break up with you.”
 
Zevran blinked. “You’re not?” That was very good news indeed – although it might take some time before he got past this break-up scare – but now he was just confused.
 
Ahria shook her head firmly. “No, of course not! I do love you, I just…Shianni and Soris are being absolutely insufferable about something and they’ve gotten others to join in and it’s driving me crazy.”
 
“And this has something to do with me and the fact that you told me that you never wanted me to change?” Zevran surmised.
 
Looking rather sheepish, Ahria nodded. “It’s just…your hair.”
 
Zevran automatically brought his fingers up to run through his hair. “My…hair?”
 
Ahria pointedly stared at a spot two feet above his head as she explained, “Some time ago, Soris decided to tell everyone that you had a feminine hairstyle and since you wear your hair long and many of the men in the Alienage don’t do that, they quickly decided to start teasing me about it.”
 
Zevran raised an eyebrow. “Soris, really? He’s hardly one to judge other’s romantic interests given that he is involved with a human. And while that may not matter so much to me, it is something of a scandal among the elven communities I’ve come across.”
 
“I think all the heat he’s been taking over that is why he won’t let this go to be honest,” Ahria confided. “Now, normally this wouldn’t be so bad but it’s been going on and on and on. Quite frankly, I’m thoroughly sick of it.”
 
“So what do you want me to do about it?” Zevran asked, not quite understanding what she was asking.
 
“If you could maybe change your hairstyle…?” Ahria suggested.
 
Zevran stared at her, unable to believe what she was asking. “You want me to change my hairstyle. Because people are teasing you and it’s annoying.”
 
“Just a little!” Ahria hastened to clarify. “Maybe you could put it up in a ponytail or something.”
 
“Yes, because I’m sure that that would do wonders to convince them that I don’t have a feminine hairstyle,” Zevran deadpanned. “I really can’t believe you’re even asking me this.”
 
“I would change my hairstyle for you!” Ahria declared dramatically.
 
“That’s good to know,” Zevran told him, chuckling. “Except why in the world would I ask you to change your hairstyle for me?”
 
“Would you have thought I might have a reason to ask you to change yours until two minutes ago?” Ahria countered.
 
“No,” Zevran said quite truthfully. “And I know that I said that I would do anything for you, my love, but it would appear that I spoke prematurely as well.”
 
“Oh, why not?” Ahria demanded. “They’re not going to let this drop anytime soon, you know.”
 
“I like my hairstyle,” Zevran informed her. “I think that it looks dignified and it’s a good look for me. I also think that by this point you really should be past letting some persistent teasing affect your behavior. Besides, it’s not like I’ve been hearing any of these comments.”
 
“Well, that’s because you’re a former assassin and they’d be too terrified to do so,” Ahria explained.
 
“And you’re the only person to ever end a Blight and live,” Zevran pointed out.
 
Ahria shook her head. “That’s different. I grew up with these people. They could never be scared of me.”
 
“I suppose that will have to bring you comfort as you valiantly ignore their cruel remarks then,” Zevran said breezily.
 
Ahria crossed her arms and pouted. “Alistair would have done it.”
 
“He should do it,” Zevran opined. “That current style of his…” he shuddered. “Reminds me too much of Taliesin…”

[Sarah1281]

This week's Anders prompt was 'He certainly hadn't expected that to happen.'

 
He certainly hadn't expected that to happen. That Namaya would be angry with him after how they’d left things was practically a given. That Rylock might not be too keen to let him escape the so-called templar ‘justice’ after darkspawn had killed the templars that had been holding him prisoner mere moments before the Warden-Commander Angélique Amell had stumbled across him was also not exactly a surprise. That Rylock would ignore both the Crown and the Rite of Conscription to try and come after him anyway and that Namaya would somehow be in on it was a bit of a surprise. The most stunning turn of events, by far, was that Angélique had a problem with all of this and had called upon a golem friend of hers that was in Amaranthine with Wynne to crush Rylock and her men.
 
Anders had so many questions he hardly knew where to start. “Where did you even come from?” he demanded of the golem.
 
“I was waiting right outside,” the golem explained. “If the fancy mage or the squashed templars had bothered to pay the slightest bit of attention then they would have realized that there had not actually been a statue there earlier.”
 
Anders tilted his head. “The fancy mage? Is that me?”
 
“Obviously,” the golem told him. “Although not that I think of it, the stupid mage would work just as well.”
 
“The fancy mage…” Anders repeated, flashing his trademark smirk. “I like it.”
 
“It would,” the golem said derisively.
 
“Angélique, I can’t believe that you’d be willing to stick up for me like that,” Anders said, shaking his head in disbelief. Yes, Angélique was a fellow mage but she was also kind of…special. Anders was sleeping with her, of course, because she was gorgeous and willing but she had an almost obscene degree of self-absorption that really made him doubt that he liked her all that much. Still, she did just save him from Rylock’s zealotry and so he really shouldn’t be so hard on her.
 
“Of course I would!” Angélique declared, her bright violet eyes wide. “As Warden-Commander I claimed you first and if Rylock wanted a sexy apostate that badly then she really should have found her own. It’s only polite, you know.”
 
“Yes, we cannot forget about civility or we have become truly lost,” Anders agreed, feeling vindicated in his decision to sleep with whoever he met that was pretty, willing, and not obviously a templar as it had just saved him.
 
“It’s especially tacky as I’m still so very upset that Alistair practically clung to Anora whenever he saw me after the Landsmeet and they got engaged,” Angélique added. “I mean, couldn’t he see that I was hurting here?”
 
Anders had seen King Alistair when he had been conscripted and it was hard to tell from the way that the man flinched whenever he accidentally glanced Angélique’s way but Anders got the vague impression that maybe he didn’t like the girl all that much. He’d heard something about them having been together at some point although he’d really never have guessed it. “Yes, well, in my experience templars are often lacking for manners. Out of curiosity, was there any reason that you saved me besides the fact that we’re sleeping together and you thought she was rude?” Surely there must be some deeper reason as the idea that anyone could actually be that shallow disturbed him greatly.
 
Angélique frowned as she thought about it and began to play with her long, luscious golden hair. “Hm…I suppose that there’s always the fact that all of the Orlesian Wardens got themselves brutally murdered by the darkspawn that Mary and I were able to dispatch with ease when I first arrived at the Keep.”
 
It took Anders a moment to realize that she meant Mhairi. “And so you were just in the process of a mad recruitment drive?” he prompted.
 
“Pretty much,” Angélique confirmed. “I tried to recruit some more people but they started hiding from me so that didn’t go so well.”
 
“But surely the fact that you were willing to go up against three templars when you yourself are a mage and everyone else was off in the tavern must mean you had some sort of reason,” Anders said, beginning to get a little desperate.
 
“Not really,” Angélique disagreed cheerfully. “You just asked if we could go in this interesting-looking building and I didn’t have anything better to do. I didn’t actually realize that your phylactery was supposed to be in here.”
 
“But even if you weren’t listening when I kept talking about just that very thing, Rylock asked you to turn me over and you didn’t,” Anders pointed out.
 
Angélique shrugged. “Well, it’s like I said. I claimed you fair and square and it’s not like she didn’t have her chance. Besides, I didn’t even have to do anything as Shale came in and crushed them all. We would have had a much more difficult time fighting them than she did and she gets so little joy in her life so who was I to deny her this?”
 
“If only one of them were a bird,” the golem – apparently Shale – said wistfully.
 
Apparently it was fully possible to be just that shallow. Despite the fact that Anders rarely admitted to anything deeper himself, this was still quite a disturbing discovery and still quite unexpected although for different reasons than he had initially thought. Instead of discovering that Angélique had any hidden depths, he had discovered that even her visible ones were actually nonexistent.
 
It was a good thing that they had arranged to meet up with the others at the tavern when they were done here because he definitely needed a drink. He hadn’t actually thought it was possible, but he had just been saved from the templars and still managed to lose some last vestige of faith in humanity.
 
He certainly hadn’t expected that to happen.

[Sarah1281]

My sixth-ninth story was'Expendable' which was inspired by the talk I've seen about how people planned to marry Anora and then 'get rid of her' so that they could be king in their own right.


Queen Anora Mac Tir glanced up as her personal handmaiden slipped into the room.
 
“It is done,” Erlina said quietly. “The King is no more.”
 
“And you’re sure that nobody saw you?” Anora demanded. It wasn’t that she had any doubt that Erlina was a professional and had poisoned more than a few cups of tea before this but she could really not avoid the fallout if it were discovered that she was to blame for the oh-so-tragic death of the Hero of Ferelden.
 
“I’m positive,” Erlina assured her. “But what shall we tell the people?”
 
“Oh, what indeed,” Anora mused. “He’s too young for ‘he died in his sleep’ to convince anyone and aside from the fact that we don’t want to implicate ourselves, making people think that it’s that easy to assassinate such an important figure in the government would not be in our best interest. Maybe an illness he’d been keep quiet? Some sort of side-effect from killing the Archdemon? The other Wardens have been hounding him since practically the minute the Blight ended to explain why he didn’t die when they believed that was what happened to the slayer of an Archdemon. Unfortunately, we can’t suggest anything about his death being related to being a Grey Warden beyond that as while it’s certainly plausible the Wardens would not stand for that kind of story circulating about.”
 
It wasn’t surprising that her dear husband was insisting on being so difficult even in death. Anora hadn’t even wanted to marry the man but he had told her frankly that if she wanted his support then she’d need to give him something in return and so she’d need to marry either him or Alistair. She really should have gone with Alistair. He was idealistic and naïve and – mostly importantly – rather uninterested in the art of ruling and wouldn’t have been so foolish as to try to steal her hard-won power. The little Cousland boy (and there would be no end to her troubles if Teyrn Fergus were to realize that she’d had his brother killed), on the other hand, evidently was.
 
Anora had genuinely liked Eleanor Cousland. She was like a second mother to her once her own mother had died and had been a great help once she had first arrived in Denerim and had felt like a fish out of water or, more aptly, a country bumpkin suddenly thrust into high society. Anora had greatly respected Bryce Cousland as a man who knew what he wanted – which thankfully wasn’t the throne – and who was an able administer of his lands and had a remarkable talent for diplomacy. Anora had held Fergus Cousland in high regard growing up for determination to be a good heir and his dedication to his people. The youngest Cousland, however…she hadn’t ever seen much of him as his parents kept him in Highever and so perhaps that explained how she failed to notice such an idiotic plan for a coup.
 
It wasn’t often that Anora felt that she had been overly optimistic (how could she with such a cynic as Teyrn Loghain as her father?) but she had honestly thought that she would never marry a man more foolish than Cailan. Cailan was a child playing at war, a neglected overgrown boy who would never stop trying to live up to his dead father. Anora had already thought him gravely unsuited for the kingship even before she had learned that he had made secret plans with Empress Celene of Orlais to marry and unite their kingdoms. There were times when Anora wondered if her father were really that unnecessarily paranoid about Orlais. How could he have not seen what a disaster that would have been for Ferelden? Elves in Ferelden had it better than in Orlais, peasants in Ferelden were not serfs, freeholders weren’t taxed exorbitant rates for the sole purpose of driving them from their land, nobles weren’t stripped of their lands and titles for the high crime of not being Orlesian or properly licking the boots of their new overlords…who besides Cailan and the most servile of the nobility (most of whom ended up losing quite a bit when Ferelden had been reclaimed thirty years ago) would have benefited from this? Not only would the rest of Ferelden have simply not benefited from Cailan’s mad plan but they would have actively suffered under Orlesian rule just as they had before their father’s had freed them. It wasn’t like Anora was particularly anti-Orlais; she was just realistic enough to not want to go back to the times of a rebel queen.
 
Given Cailan’s actions would have destroyed Ferelden, was it really too much to ask that Anora’s next husband be less of a fool? Apparently it was. One week ago, one of the servants (all of them reporting directly to Erlina, of course) overheard the prince-consort – he always got annoyed by her obsession with semantics but he always seemed to need the reminder that he was not King – ordering his Antivan Crow to assassinate her so he could become a reigning king in his own right.
 
She had known, of course, that he had only married her to get close to the throne but to outright try to kill her for it? How very Orlesian of him. And it wasn’t as if he were even all that capable. Sure he had been raised as a potential heir to a teynir but he had never had any practical experience ruling anything and his first attempt at ruling Highever was to be the day after the former Arl Howe massacred the inhabitants of Castle Cousland. From the first, it was clear that he had little more than the ideals he’d been taught to help him rule and, frankly, that wasn’t enough. In time he might have become an effective ruler but it would take quite a bit longer than the little that they’d been married for before he was anywhere near ready to lead Ferelden.
 
“I agree,” Erlina said. “In addition to the threat of Warden intervention, your late husband was a popular figure and a hero to many.”
 
“Heroes fall,” Anora said curtly, remembering her own father’s fall from grace. “Then again, Ferelden has yet to fully recover from the Blight so I suppose not enough time has passed, particularly as they don’t know that he’s done anything wrong.” Unspoken, of course, was the fear that they might not feel that he had and would have preferred a hero king to a childless queen.
 
“The assassin is in Fort Drakon and is being watched most closely so there won’t be another breakout,” Erlina informed her. “What would you like done with him?”
 
“For now, have him questioned,” Anora ordered. “I’ll decide his fate later.”
 
“As you wish, my lady,” Erlina said with a slight bow before turning and slipping back out the door, silent as any self-respecting bard.
 
The Bannorn would likely complain as there was still no heir but Anora didn’t really think that she was going to marry again. Marrying once had been an unpleasant situation she had to put up with in order to become queen in the first place. Marrying a second time had been a mistake even if it had looked like the only way to keep her throne. If she married a third time then she would have no one to blame but herself when her new husband decided to venture to the Deep Roads, find a talking darkspawn, and convince a whole group of them to come settle in Ferelden and try to coexist. A blood heir wasn’t all-important, either. She wasn’t planning on dying for quite some time and she could always appoint a less-idiotic Cousland or a Guerrin (provided the child was Teagan’s and not Eamon’s as she did not want that man anywhere near her throne after the way he so shamelessly tried to steal it).
 
Really, how did one think that she was so weak and stupid as to be displaced by the first idiot to think to send an assassin after her? Not for the first time, Anora wished she had been born a boy. Cailan never had to put up with such nonsense.

[Sarah1281]

This weeks prompt was 'Conspiracy.'


Nathaniel Howe was sure that he must have heard wrong. “Come again?”
 
“The King and Queen of Ferelden granted Amaranthine to the Grey Wardens on account of them saving Ferelden from themselves and the Blight both,” his dinner companion, a man named Samuel, repeated obligingly.
 
That was what Nathaniel had thought he had said. “But…what about the Howes? They can’t just take land away from somebody and give it to the Grey Wardens!”
 
“The Howes?” Samuel laughed and leaned back in his chair. “You really don’t pay much attention to what’s going on in other parts of the world, do you?”
 
“I have more than enough to occupy my attention here in Kirkwall,” Nathaniel said stiffly. “Especially since Hawke arrived.”
 
Samuel nodded his agreement. “Some people are natural rabble-rousers, I guess.”
 
Nathaniel waited for Samuel to explain about how the Grey Wardens came to be in possession of his family’s ancestral lands but he didn’t seem inclined to elaborate. “What happened to the Howes?” he prompted.
 
“What? Oh, them. Arl Rendon Howe was stripped of his titles and lands after he died in disgrace,” Samuel explained. “And he had collected quite a few of them from what I’ve heard. Arl of Amaranthine, Teyrn of Highever, Arl of Denerim…”
 
The last Nathaniel had heard, Urien Kendalls was the Arl of Denerim and Bryce Cousland the Teyrn of Highever. He hadn’t really known Urien or his son Vaughan well so that wasn’t much of a concern to him but the Couslands were old family friends. He and Fergus had grown up together, Anastasia had trailed after the pair of them for years, and he had watched little Oren breathe his first breath. “Highever? What happened to the Couslands?”
 
“Howe killed them, he did,” Samuel replied matter-of-factly. He had no idea that Nathaniel was a Howe himself as he hadn’t wanted to deal with responsibilities and privileges of his heritage while he was attempting to become his own person and learn to survive on his own. “Right before that King Cailan fell at Ostagar.”
 
“He…what?” That Nathaniel couldn’t wrap his mind around. His father killing Bryce Cousland? The Couslands were like family to the Howes and had been for as long as he could remember (though there was that unpleasantness concerning Harpers Ford back during the rebellion so he knew it hadn’t always been that way) and Bryce had always been one of his father’s closest friends. There were only two possible explanations. The most obvious answer was that there was some mistake and his father had not done that. He might be mistaken, though. His father might have killed the Couslands. He hadn’t been home in eight years and so he didn’t have a very up-to-date view of the situation. One thing he was absolutely sure of, however, was that the Couslands crimes must have been grave indeed to earn such a fate. He loved the Couslands dearly but he loved and trusted his father more and so he had to believe that if he had done such a terrible thing then he had a damn good reason for it.
 
“If the Couslands were dead then it makes sense that their teynir would fall to the Howes,” Nathaniel said slowly, trying to will away the images of dead friends that wouldn’t stop forming in his mind. “I’m not sure why they would get Denerim but I suppose that’s not really what’s important right now. What’s this about Arl Howe dying in disgrace?”
 
“You heard about that civil war Ferelden had because they were too stubborn to let the darkspawn kill them but too backwards to be able to kill them?” Samuel asked.
 
Nathaniel simply nodded, far too used to slights against his home country to bother defending it now. “I had heard something about it. It was a war of succession after King Cailan died, yes?”
 
“Right,” Samuel confirmed. “At least that much information managed to trickled down to whatever rock you’ve been living under. Queen Anora tried to keep her throne and was supported by her father who became her regent, Teyrn Loghain. Arl Howe supported them. Arl Eamon – who is Cailan’s mother’s brother – put King Maric’s bastard Alistair on the throne with Anastasia Cousland as his consort.”
 
Nathaniel blinked. “I thought you said that the Couslands were dead?”
 
“All but Anastasia who became a Grey Warden and ended the Blight and Fergus who reclaimed Highever,” Samuel clarified. “It’s not surprising that Alistair and Anastasia gave Amaranthine to the Wardens since they’re Wardens themselves. I think she took Gwaren after they killed Loghain and Howe.”
 
“The Grey Wardens…they killed Arl Howe?” Nathaniel demanded. He couldn’t believe it. Eight years was a long time certainly but he never would have believed this of her. “Then the posthumously stripped his titles and lands leaving his family with nothing? And for what? For being on the losing side of a civil war?”
 
Samuel shrugged, looking a little confused as to what had riled the younger man up so. “I guess so. That’s just how the world works, though.”
 
“I have to go,” Nathaniel declared suddenly, standing up. He threw some money on the table and stormed out of the tavern. He knew it was hopelessly rude but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He couldn’t just sit there and pretend that everything was okay.
 
It was a conspiracy, that’s what it was. His father had been a true patriot who had made the mistake of siding with those who had lost the civil war and for that he had been disgraced, killed, and now vilified. And it wasn’t just his father, either. Nathaniel would have wanted vengeance for destroying such a great man as Rendon Howe but if they had left his sister and brother with Amaranthine instead of taking everything then he could have rested easier.
 
He hadn’t intended to leave Kirkwall just yet and he knew that Hawke would be incredibly disappointed but he felt like there was no time to say goodbye. He had to get back to Ferelden and he had to do it now. The Howe name depended on it.