Posts Tagged 'varric tethras'


da goes broadway: part 3

the lion king // can you feel the love tonight

ft. nug the mabari 


Viscount Tethras takes a day.

It is quite unusual, and people take notice. He rises early, armed with a sheaf of notes, and heads towards the markets. He stops at every smithy along the way – good smiths, some of the best from the Davri workshops that came to aid his city when they needed laborers – and gives each of them a single task. He stays to explain what he can, working with each carefully before moving to the next.

Bran asks, because it is Bran’s job to ask, and Varric explains the plan – to create a new repeating crossbow, partially based on the old designs but with significant improvements learned from his time in the Inquisition. He smiles, outlining his reasons for the individual tasks – if no single smith sees the full design, no single smith can recreate it, and the competition was fierce in the city but alliances could be made. The Viscount pays them well for it, which buys him a protected design. And, of course, the last part was being made half the world away, just to be on the safe side.

It takes a month for the pieces to arrive at his desk, and another week to assemble, but the day it is finished he writes a letter to his love – halfway across the world, rebuilding her order in peace – and puts the crossbow to good use against bandits on the road into his city. The weapon is good, striking true, and he goes out every day for a fortnight to defend his people and their lands. Every day for a fortnight, the Viscount protects his flock.

Until a lone rider appears, and he smiles as the Seeker swings down from her horse to regard him and his weapon.

“That,” she says finally, “is new.”

“Yes it is. Do you like it? Designed her myself.”

“She certainly seems formidable.” She smiles, a finger trailing over the black lacquer. “What happened to -”

“The past,” he says firmly. “This is the future. My future.”

“I see.”

“Go on, ask.” He grins. “I know you want to.”

She laughs. “Fine. What is her name?”

He strokes the handle lovingly. “Cassandra,” he murmurs.

She raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“No. Cassandra,” he stresses, and she stills, the surprise all over her face.

“Oh,” she breathes, and then she laughs. “Oh, Varric.”

“Like I said. My future – if you’ll have me.”

It is hardly the most conventional proposal, but then the Viscount and his Seeker were hardly conventional people.


“We can’t exactly put the same ruffians back now… However…”

“I do believe Fenris saw a shady looking bunch of fellows on the way here.”

“I’m sure Isabella could make friends rather quickly.”

“We can work something out.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”


My favourite Dragon Age headcanon is Varric’s nickname for Shale would’ve been Pebble.

beat swords into ploughshares for hesta pls


this has been haunting me ever since you sent it but i think i finally, finally came up with something and i apologize in advance

Hesta gave Meredith credit for very few things, but she had to admit that the woman had a formidable sense of showmanship. 

She’d sent Cullen to her door in full armor two – no, three – no, four days after her mother’s passing (it was hard to keep track of time when one’s nightmares came so close to reality). He showed up in full plate and armed with a series of practiced condolences, most of which she couldn’t care to pay attention to. She supposed there was some virtue in his authenticity, but she was yet to find it. 

The trek to Lowtown felt longer, somehow, probably because it was so fucking quiet. There was none of Merrill’s curious trilling, Isabela’s lewd jokes, or Varric’s chatter; honestly, she’d even give her right arm for Fenris and his awkward silence. She could deal with that far better than Cullen clattering beside her with steely determination and thinly-veiled pity, barely masking the gasps and whispers of the have-you-heards and the poor dears. The whispers faded as they approached the foundry, thank the Maker. People in Lowtown were familiar with tragedy and she found far more comfort in an understanding nod than in any overpriced bouquet or stiffly-written letter. 

Cullen opened the door to the foundry and stood aside for her. Hesta stood shock-still by the threshold, waiting for her stomach to settle from the immediate smell of death, thick and potent and too recent to not quicken the beat of her heart. 
“Serah Hawke?” She didn’t know how long she’d stood there. 
“Sorry,” she whispered, but they both knew it wasn’t directed at the Knight-Captain. 

Keep reading


Nightly Sketch: Carver and Varric chatting at the Hanged Man.

Blogger Gatherings!

Click the button for reports from the 2010 Spring Blogger Gathering, hosted by Linett of Nimrodel!

Berethron of Brandywine hosted the 2010 Summer Blogmoot.

The Winter Blogmoot was held on December 4, 9 p.m. EST at the home of Telwen of Silverlode.

Next up: The Spring Blogmoot of 2011 shall return to Nimrodel with Tuiliel (Whart, aka user-1027520) hosting! Linett is looking forward to another local moot!



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