Vigilance, Victory, Sacrifice

If there's ever any future installments of Dragon Age there will be no mention of the differentiation between the Dalish or City Elves.

Being divided into Dalish and City elves was not done by the elves' choice. It was caused by a historic wrong - the fall of the Dales - that many of them have worked hard to rectify.

The franchise has an unfortunate tradition of ignoring societal change, though.

By rights, after Origins, the distinction should already be disappearing. If you played as Mahariel or Tabris, the lot of elves gets massively improved in the epilogue. The Dalish are granted actual land. If Clan Lavellan survives, Dalish actually get reunited with their city brethren in Wycome and get real political power.

None of this gets acknowledged, the Dalish get treated as though they haven't made any headway at all.

The Dalish way of life is caused by hurts that Mahariel, Lavellan and many others worked to - and succeeded at - healing. They're not nomadic by choice, all they want is their own land back, and we are actually getting there.

It’s so unusual and unexpected. You don’t think an NPC would have this kind of agency, especially after you did all the right things and pressed all the right buttons and got into their pants. This is where romance storylines tend to end: they boned, and lived happily ever after.

But… no. Hawke does nothing wrong, as far as we know. The sex was, at the very least, ‘fine’. But Fenris doesn’t want to risk another flashback, or just too upset by the first one, or simply feels this is all too much and too soon, as he says. And he leaves. There’s no discussion. He apologises, he knows this will hurt Hawke, but he’s not letting Hawke talk him into anything. He doesn’t even explain all that much, and frankly he doesn’t need to. Of course he’s free to walk away from a relationship he doesn’t want, or isn’t ready to have. 

And that’s Hawke! Fenris’ first and, at the time, still only friend. The only person Fenris can count on to have his back if the hunters come for him again. (And this scene happens after A Bitter Pill, so hey they just did) By then Fenris is getting closer to Aveline, Varric and Isabela at least, but he probably knows that if they’re forced to pick a side they’ll choose Hawke. So Fenris risks severing all the connections he’s made in Kirkwall, if Hawke is hurt and offended enough to throw away their friendship.

Fenris really thinks that’s a possibility. He’s relieved and happy when Hawke takes him on a mission again, there’s a banter about that. But he still leaves, even if it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done, because that’s what’s right for him at the time. 

I still can’t believe the things I read about da2 before playing - the people who were angry at Fenris for leaving, who moved on to other LIs and even chose to sell Fenris to Danarius as some kind of punishment for breaking their precious Hawkes’ hearts.

Based on Loghain’s armor here and Anora’s dress with the ferelden sigil on the chest

“I doubt you’re cheap anymore.”

The whole world lurches. Alistair’s first conscious thought— a muddy question— is whether he’s shipboard during a gale. He’s afraid to confirm it, keeping his eyes welded shut, clinging to sleep for a moment longer.

Unfortunately, he has to take a piss.

He’s met with darkness when he cracks an eye, but knows his rented closet of a room well enough to fumble his way to the chamber pot. He reluctantly throws back the covers, his insides squirming with a truly singular intensity, and shuffles to the exact place the pot is. But the room keeps going.

“Huh.”

Alistair swats an arm out, searching for a wall, a bit of furniture, anything to orient his well-marinated mind. He finds what might be drapes though and gives them a tug, at least enough to let in a beam of searing moonlight. Wincing against it, he squints back into the room.

He’s in someone’s bed chamber, fancier than any room he’s seen in a spell. But a large elaborate vase reminds him of his rather urgent mission. Alistair beelines for it, braces himself against the wall behind it and relieves himself. He hangs there, his guts and brains competing at cartwheels. When he looks up he finds himself leaning against a large mirror.

It’s been a year at least since he’s last seen a decent one and probably for the best. He looks like wyvern shit. Beyond the angry shadows of a battered eye socket, one pupil is blown wide while the other resists, setting his vision askew. His stringy hair could use a wash or three and his beard is a bloody war crime.

Alistair claws together a few wits, enough to take stock of today’s predicament. The bed is mercifully empty. If he had managed to charm some misguided lady he’d like to remember it. At the moment most of the evening is clear as mud, but what he can remember is fairly typical: a scrubby tavern, cheap booze, and traded insults.

He plunks on the edge of the bed to dress himself startled to find his stained clothes neatly folded. He pulls on his breeches and then puzzles over the gaping tear in his tunic. It wouldn’t be the first shirt lost to tavern mischief, but he has precious few and they’re… not here. He balls it up and tosses it over his shoulder.

It can’t be later than four, not with this potent moonlight. When his stomach lurches, he contemplates poking at the back of his throat over that vase, but it rarely accomplishes what he hopes. There’s a hammer and anvil ringing in his ears and his mouth is fresh as a frowzy codpiece. Maybe whoever is hosting him has a bottle of something that’ll take the jagged edge off this hangover.

Lighting the lamp on the bedside table with a few shaky strokes, Alistair then ventures out into the home, shuffling shirtless and shoeless. Halfway to the opposite door the hallway opens into a vaulted mezzanine that overlooks a grand foyer. A dark mass is spread on the floor below and then sends him staggering back against the wall when it yips. Alistair freezes.

A mabari.

There's generally going to be rooms dedicated to and build for warmth, the living quarters, both for nobles and their servants. This will be the central living tower, or parts of it called a Kemenate (literally 'room with a stove'), the great hall and work spaces around the kitchen. You can put the Kemenate on top of the hall to catch the big fires' and daily living's heat through the wooden floor, but you often can't put wooden stuff on top of the kitchens (that's a fire risk). If you have the money and space, you build a whole separate comfy place for living because you don't have to stay in the most defensible part of the castle all the time. These separate living buildings are also called Kemenate and are often build from wood, cob, brick etc.

People used to wear much more clothes indoors, including while sleeping, and those clothes were much thicker and sturdier than what we largely wear today. Every time you think of how cold those stone walls are, think about everyone wearing a linen shift + two-ish layers of wool on all body parts except hands and head + stockings and shoes + some kind of head-covering. In Ye Old Middle Ages, women are probably wearing a wimple, which is kind of like a modern Hijab in terms of coverage. People wear shifts, socks, and a head-covering to bed.

I think people used to radiators also really underestimate how much a large open fire/tiled stove heats up a room. Also, middle and northern Europe (as well as parts of Northern China) had and to this day have beds and benches build into tiled and cob stoves. Those fuck.

Beds are enclosed so you stay warm in them, either by curtains, in wall niches or with wood. There's also a type of bed that's inside a chest (like a coffin) so you can stuff your stuff inside during the day and put down the lid to use it as a bench. That's also another reason for people to always sleep in groups. Depending on the era, one of the jobs of a lady's maid or a retainer might literally be warming their master's bed. In early times and among servants, people also sleep in large groups in rooms together in general even outside a farming context, often with animals like pet dogs, too, which further warms everything up.

Walls are not bare, cold stone, but covered with a layer of plaster or cob, tiles or wooden panels, sometimes layered, and believe me, this makes such a difference. Source: I lived in a Ye Olde German Farmhouse with 70 cm thick stone walls and flag stone floor and all that converted to modern flats for a while.

On top of that you hang tapestries on the wall, which are not like modern printed cloth but basically wall rugs, sometimes several inches thick, and rugs or rushes (like a light cover of hay) on the floor on top of stone, tile, wooden panelling or a cob floor cover that goes over the heave flag stone. Pillows and blankets on all sitting surfaces, often on top of panelling (in the case of benches build into the stone). The roof of a room is also tiled, panelled or plastered. Upper stories will generally have wooden floors. Stories in a tower heat each other upwards, so the nicer rooms are further up.

The inner stone walls of a castle, even if stone and very thick, will heat up a few degrees in comparison to the outside walls if the castle is continually heated/lived in, and also trap heat inside, and this will make a difference. Inner walls might also be thinner and made of wood, cob or brick. You're defending against the outside, after all.

You put stuff in the windows. Holy shit. Screens of wood, horn, cloth or leather/hide, often treated for extra insulation. Why are these fantasy castles all so drafty.

say what you will but i Do Love alistair absolutely not having it when it comes to letting loghain live and Much less join the wardens. especially because it doesnt come out of nowhere, he has been very open about what he thinks should happen to loghain this whole time

Treviso Date Night dance anyone???

Bonus:

None of these compositions have quite managed to rival the popularity of the rather controversial Mother Nicana version, which will be presented to you shortly.

Born in Jader in 7:56 Storm, Revered Mother Nicana was a figure as beloved by her faithful as she was inconvenient to her superiors.

Ever practical, as well as a fierce advocate for following the spirit of the Chant, regardless of the politics of the time, she faced criticism from peers in the Chantry for choosing the original Tevene text as the basis for her composition. When pressed, she simply answered that if she could find a single translation that fit the original's metre, she would consider it.

In spite of this short-lived controversy (or perhaps because of it), this version became popular especially among those who had need of the litany for practical uses, such as the Mourn Watchers of Nevarra.

The following are two performances of Mother Nicana's Litany of Adralla. One was performed by the lay sisters of the Tantervale Chantry. The other was heard sung in Kirkwall's Lowtown by an initial survivor (presumed to have been a minstrel employed in the Hanged Man tavern) of the catastrophic fallout of Anders' destruction of the Kirkwall Chantry in an attempt to protect himself and several others from the demons that surrounded them.

Auctor meus, miserere mihi,

Auctor mundi, avert(e) iram tuam.

Orig(o) omnis, miserere mihi,

Orig(o) animarum, avert(e) iram tuam.

Andraste, spons(a) Auctoris, audi me,

Andraste, sancta prophetis, audi me.

Redemptrix omnium, exaudi me,

Domina maeroris, exaudi me.

Ne patiamini animas piorum corrumpi,

in hor(a) aterrim(a) adiuvate servum vestrum humilem.

In nomin(e) Andrastes, fiat ita.

In nomin(e) Auctoris, fiat ita.

My Maker, have mercy on me,

Maker of the World, avert Thy wrath.

Origin of Everything, have mercy on me,

Wellspring of Souls, avert Thy wrath.

Andraste, Bride of the Maker, hear me,

Andraste, Holy Prophetess, hear me,

Redeemer of All, hear my prayer,

Lady of Sorrows, hear my prayer.

Let you not suffer the souls of the faithful to be corrupted,

in this darkest hour, aid your lowly servant.

In the name of Andraste, so let it be.

In the name of the Maker, so let it be.

Note: In the English version, "you" is used in the older sense of "you two" or "you all", while "thou" (or rather the possessive "thy") is used for the singular. Therefore, when asking for the Maker to avert His wrath, the penitent is addressing the Maker only. Later on, though, when asking for protection against corruption, they are addressing both the Maker and Andraste.