Another chapter of my new Cullen/Helaine fic for you! Full series here.
Helaine
It was a mistake to let herself relax around Cullen’s family.
No matter how nice Rosalie is being about the whole affair, she should not have let herself slip. Should not have forgotten – for even the briefest moment – that South Reach is not Skyhold. That magic is not an everyday occurrence here. That she is likely the first mage that they have ever met. (Openly, at least.) That, even if Cullen’s family are not outwardly bothered by the fact that she is a mage, that still does not mean that they are comfortable with magic.
Part of the reason that she had… spoken a half-truth.
“I cannot tell if you carry a boy or a girl,” she had told Rosalie and the others.
Which is not… strictly true. She is almost certain that Rosalie carries a girl. But she does not wish either to scare them with knowledge that no normal person could have, or to anger them if it turns out that she is somehow incorrect.
So she will remain silent on the question.
Luckily, dinner is loud enough to distract everyone from her magic, her faux pas. She ends up sat between Cullen and Gareth, with Rosalie across the table. Holding court, as Vivienne would say.
Once the roasted chicken and vegetables have been served – along with the gravy that Ellie had so diligently stirred – the conversation quickly turns to the wedding.
By the time the food is almost finished, Helaine is fairly sure she knows everything she could possibly know about the preparations for the day, from the particular flowers that will be used to decorate the Chantry for the ceremony, to the exact flavours of the pies that Frida will be baking for the feast.
The only mysteries that remain are the particularly… female aspects of the wedding, which Rosalie refuses to discuss in front of any of the men. Tomorrow’s pre-wedding celebrations, which Mia had mentioned the previous evening, the duties the bridesmaids will have to undertake, and – most importantly – Rosalie’s wedding dress.
“You will come to my party tomorrow, though, Helaine, won’t you?” she asks, though her insistent tone turns it into more of a command than a question. “Lizzie refuses to do the final fitting of my dress until the actual morning of the wedding because of the baby – oh, we’re going to have to be up so early – but there’s… something we have to do at the party. And I’ll need your help.”
“My help?” Helaine cannot help but ask, her brow creasing in confusion.
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The last time he’d done this tour – the one he took every few years to see for himself how the land was recovering from the blight – the rose bushes had been nothing but a twisted pile of dead thorns. He knew because he’d checked.
Last time.
No one had told him that the roses had returned. Why would they? It wasn’t a detail that any official report was likely to include. There was no logical reason why the King of Ferelden would be interested in the progress of a Chantry’s flower garden.
And if this was any other Chantry, he wouldn’t be.
But this was Lothering.
And they weren’t ordinary roses.
Or, rather, they hadn’t been ordinary roses. But, somehow, now that the garden was in full bloom, the flowers all seemed very… plain. As if the overabundance of them had dulled the beauty – the… vibrancy – of each individual bloom.
Perhaps his memory was playing tricks. He hadn’t physically lain eyes on the rose since the day he had all but thrown it in her face in Amaranthine’s tavern. He knew she kept it still, safe behind the walls of Vigil’s Keep, but she didn’t exactly make a habit of bringing it with her every time they met. Maybe, over the years, his memory of the flower had grown hazy. Made it brighter and more beautiful than it had ever been in reality.
Maybe, in actuality, the flower was identical to all the others that now bloomed in its place.
Though, perhaps it was special, not because of any particular beauty the flower held in and of itself, but because of the history it contained. The memories it sparked.
It was odd, but he remembered picking it more than he remembered giving it to her. Probably because when he’d been giving it to her, his mind had been fogged by that particular craziness that always seemed to strike him in her presence. But picking it… that he remembered well...
Another chapter of my new Cullen/Helaine fic for you! Full series here.
Cullen
Rosalie is a woman.
Though he’d known that logically – it has been thirteen years, after all, and that tends to be what happens to twelve-year-old girls after thirteen years – the reality of it is something very different.
Very different.
It’s odd, though. Despite the fact she is, clearly, a woman, she really hasn’t changed all that much. There’s something in the tone of her voice – the brightness of it – that perfectly fits the memories he has of her. Not to mention the way that she’d whined to Mia when he and Bran were teasing her. A very familiar sound.
When they leave the Drunken Druffalo, he turns back toward the square, but Rosalie turns in the opposite direction.
“I just want to take Cullen and Helaine to the pond first!” she tells them.
“You sure, petal?” Wilf asks. “It’s-“
But he doesn’t manage to finish that sentence, because Rosalie pouts, her lip quivering on the edge of another bout of sobbing, and he immediately gives in.
“The pond it is. Whatever you say.”
Her smile brightens again in an instant.
He can’t help glancing over to Mia, shooting her a raised eyebrow and getting a knowing grin in return. Maker’s breath. The number of times Rosalie had pouted and whined to Mia, Ma, or Da when they teased her or wouldn’t play the game she wanted to play… It hadn’t worked every time back then, but it seems that she has found a softer mark in her husband to be.
“Lizzie and I’ll head back to the forge,” Bran says, gesturing back over his shoulder. “We’ll check on the children on the way.”
Rosalie’s brows draw together in a familiar scowl. “But-“
“I have some smithing work I need to get finished before the new year,” he says, his voice firm, unyielding. “And Lizzie needs to start preparing dinner, don’t you, love?”
Lizzie frowns at him for a fraction of a second, and then her expression clears. “Oh… yes. I’m sorry, Rosie. But we’ll see you soon, won’t we? You can catch us up on anything we miss.”
Rosalie’s lip quivers again, but Mia takes a stride forward. “Come on, Rosie. Less of that, please.”
Though she still seems somewhat unhappy that they aren’t obeying her, she doesn’t protest any further. Just nods, kissing Lizzie on the cheek and getting a hug from Bran before they say their goodbyes and head off back toward the square.
Then they head out in the opposite direction.
The pond is likely only a few minutes’ walk away under regular circumstances, but these are not regular circumstances. Though the snow isn’t very icy underfoot, even walking normally is clearly difficult for Rosalie in her condition. Wilf keeps a firm grasp on her hand, an arm around her waist to steady her. Gareth takes her other side, the two of them providing a strong, stable support for her very small, very slow steps.
It shouldn’t hurt that she had chosen Gareth to give her away at her wedding.
Another chapter of my new Cullen/Helaine fic for you! Full series here.
Helaine
Branson is both exactly as she pictured him, and nothing at all like she pictured him.
Physically, there is a very close resemblance to the drawing that Rosalie had sent, of course. She must remember to compliment the woman on her artistic skills. There is also a certain similarity to Cullen in the shape of his face: his jawline and his brow in particular. But instead of golden curls, he has dark hair, close cropped. His shoulders are as broad as Cullen’s, but he does not have his brother’s trim waist. Indeed, he is shaped a little more like one of the barrels currently clustered in the corners of the room.
But it is the… light in his eyes, that surprises her most.
She had been expecting him to be more like Cullen used to be, she realises now. Serious. Guarded. Perhaps even a little mistrustful.
And, while there is undoubtedly some bad feeling lingering behind his eyes – though entirely directed at his brother, so she will leave that for Cullen to deal with – otherwise he seems very… warm. Mischievous. Competitive. Contrary. But warm.
Is this what Cullen might have been like had he not become a templar?
Though, at Bran’s admonishment that he ‘has not got better at taking a tease’, perhaps not.
In any case, she is not lying when she says it is a pleasure to meet him. It is… enjoyable to watch him bicker with Cullen, making plans for some tournament of strength and skill. Though only with the men of the family, she notes silently.
(Masculine pride is so fragile.)
Her introduction goes more smoothly than she had hoped, once more, though of all the reasons that she had assumed Cullen’s family would take against her, she had failed to consider the possibility that they might consider her Orlesian. Odd. So far, it seems they care little about her magic, or her not being human, but that presumption evidently could have been a sticking point…
Thank the Maker that she is not.
(Though the worry that there may be other such issues – things which she had not even imagined, or that might only be false rumours – that could turn his family or friends against her does join the shadow of fear at the back of her mind.)
And then the door at the back of the room opens.
To reveal Branson’s wife and twin six-year-old daughters.
“I thought you were going to call for us when they arrived!” Lizzie Rutherford says, just a touch of anger to her voice. Branson’s hand flies to the back of his neck – a gesture so familiar that it almost makes her laugh – as he quickly pivots toward the voice.
They hadn’t even been good assassins. Worse than Zevran really. At least Zevran had set up a clever-ish ambush. By comparison, posing as guards and attempting to stab him in his sleep when they must have known his history in the Wardens was really just suicidal at this point. Even if Elissa hadn’t been watching his back.
Which he wished, vehemently, that she hadn’t been. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed all those long evenings of dining and talking and drinking and playing cards with her. Because he had.
But he could have done without her near fatal injury and, frankly, without the reminder of what his life could have been like with her, if fate had been just a little kinder.
He’d always known that letting her go would be hard. That when their arrangement finally ended, he would need all of his courage just to keep on living.
But it would be so much harder now. Now that he knew what could be.
And that was not even the whole of it.
Once, while she had been recovering from whatever the Archdemon had done to her, Elissa had warned him not to let the crown – let the politics – change who he was. He had promised her he wouldn’t. And, maybe it was stupid, but it had seemed like the easiest way to do that was to resist every attempt to turn him into a ‘lord’.
He’d lost the battle over having a manservant. Chiefly because he’d come to see – not as a result of Eamon’s many lectures, but more of his own volition – that it might be necessary to have a trusted man who could fetch and carry when he was too busy to be everywhere at once.
But, since he absolutely did not want someone who would dress him, he had chosen the scruffiest, most unsure, most vacant-looking person out of the lineup Hanson had presented him with.
And really, though he would never ever say it, Ren was a perfect fit in that regard.
He’d won the battle over having a personal bodyguard. Mostly by virtue of the fact that he had been right there, with her when the Archdemon had been slain, and it had been hard for Eamon to claim him incapable of defending himself when he had been viscerally and vividly describing the experience.
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One of the best things about being a writer is thinking of something small you can add to your work that’s just. Devastating. Like you’re sitting there going. Oh. That would be diabolical. People would get really riled up about that. Exquisite. Let’s do it.
Another chapter of my new Cullen/Helaine fic for you. Full series here.
Cullen
He’d forgotten what it was like to have… family.
Properly.
Not the idealised people in his head – the ink on paper – that he’s had these past thirteen years. (Closer to nineteen, taking his templar training into account.)
Not the camaraderie of his fellow templars.
Not even the friendship – the love – that he has found in the Inquisition.
But family.
People who knew him before the nightmares, and treat him just the same now.
His shoulder still aches a little from Gareth’s – fully deserved – punch, but his stomach is full of proper Fereldan food just like his Ma used to make. He’s having as spirited a… discussion with Mia as they ever had when they were children together. There’s a roaring fire in the hearth, and his youngest niece on his knee.
Well… youngest, for now. A position that will change if it turns out that Rosalie is carrying a girl. But he’s going to try not to think about that. Not tonight.
It feels like the evening disappears in the blink of an eye. One moment he’s arguing with Mia, and the next Gareth is picking up a barely half-awake May, telling them he’ll put her to bed. The next, the other children have gone too. The next, there are small cups for each of them, a sweet but evidently potent berry-flavoured liquor, brewed by Mia herself…
And then, before he knows it, he’s waking up in Rosalie’s bed to the sound of half-hushed voices from the floor below.
The nostalgia hits him like a battering ram.
Especially when he hears Mia shush someone, sounding exactly the same as she did when they were children.
He turns his head, finding Helaine awake beside him.
“Morning, sweetheart,” he says, still a little drowsy, as he leans down, brushing a kiss against the crown of her head. “Sleep well?”
A soft, affirmative hum. “You?”
“Very. Though I don’t actually remember coming to bed…” he admits.
She pushes herself up onto her elbow, able to look him in the eye. “Are you well?”
Now that she says it, there is a slight headache behind his eyes. Presumably due to the potency of the liquor. He tells her as much, unsurprised but quietly pleased as she lifts her hand from his chest and traces the contour of his brow, trailing healing magic in her wake.
“Do not imagine that this will become a regular occurrence,” she warns him, though the fact that she also follows the healing with a lingering kiss does belie her words. “Mia did tell you not to have a second cup, but Gareth had one, and you would not be outdone.”
He has a hazy memory of such at the mention of it, but further details are not forthcoming, either from his own mind, or from Helaine. However, just as he is about to prompt her, there is another noise from below. A door slamming shut, followed by Mia’s voice, half-whispering, half-yelling in that same very particular way that their Ma had so often, many years ago.
“Owen Alexander Moorcroft, be quiet! For the love of Andraste, I know I didn’t raise you in a barn, so stop behaving like I did!”
“Oh,” he says, his own voice properly hushed. “Full name? He’s in trouble.”
“I presume you heard your own full name quite often?” Helaine notes, with a warm smile.
This was nice. Peaceful, actually. The Antivan penchant for escaping the heat of their city by taking to the water was a custom it seemed he could absolutely endorse.
Of course, it would be nice if the boat were rather more private and he hadn’t had to sneak away from two princes, three crows and Eamon to achieve this moment of peace, but he’d take what he could get.
He’d learned to do that in the early years of his reign.
Take the moments where he could; find the enjoyment in his duty.
The water lapped quietly at the bow of the boat as it leisurely drifted through the water and he lost himself for a moment in the pattern of the waves.
So far, his first foray as king outside of Ferelden had been a roaring success. Some of that was due to Eamon’s management of the whole thing, of course, but he liked to think his ability to not entirely cock it up had also played a part.
They’d taken steps towards an alliance, made some deals, almost negotiated a fair price for the ships they needed, and soon it would be time to go home.
He just had to get through all the social engagements first.
That was what he should have been doing now. Socialising. But the foredeck had been too crowded, too loud, and after being stuck inside all day, he’d just wanted to feel the wind on his face and be alone with his thoughts for a moment.
Sadly, a moment was all he would get.
“Alistair!” Eamon hissed, dragging him away from the peaceful solitude. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
“Well, you’ve found me!” he said with false cheeriness, internally lamenting the loss of the peace. “What do you need?”
It was a sentence he uttered often. Everyone always wanted something when you were ostensibly in charge. He sometimes wondered if this was how Elissa had felt during the blight.
“I need you to apply a little of your charm on one of the merchant princes,” Eamon said without hesitation. “We may be able to-”
But he didn’t get the chance to find out what they would be able to do. He didn’t even get the chance to agree, because, at that moment, an indistinct shape hurtled past them from the deck above.
Another chapter of my new Cullen/Helaine fic for you. Full series here.
Helaine
“What in the Void are you doing here?”
The woman behind the door is undoubtedly Mia. Rosalie’s painting had been very accurate. But her eyes are filled with confusion, with surprise.
They had sent back their reply to her last letter. Advising his family of their plans. The leave that they had been given from the Inquisitor. She is certain of it. But perhaps it had not been received? Perhaps Mia had assumed their silence meant that they were not coming. Or perhaps there had been a letter that they had missed. Changing the plans. Has something happened? Has the wedding been cancelled? Or has their invitation been revoked?
Cullen tears his eyes away from his sister, glancing anxiously at Helaine, but the options are spiralling in her head, her feet frozen (figuratively) to the ground.
And then…
Laughter.
Bright and happy and incredulous.
Cullen is half-knocked off his feet by Mia’s arms wrapping around him, and, with a choked sound, he wraps his arms around her too. Seconds, minutes, hours pass – she could not be relied upon to say – and then Mia pulls back, reaching up to ruffle his hair.
“Sorry, little brother. I just couldn’t resist. All those pranks you and Bran pulled on me when we were small, eh? I still haven’t forgiven you for that time you messed with the laundry and dyed my favourite dress splotchy green!”
He is half-choking again, the sound now turned to a splutter of friendly disagreement as he lifts his hand to try and smooth his hair down, but Helaine still cannot move. Not yet.
Not until Mia’s eyes land on her.
“Well, well. Here she is. The girl who finally captured my brother’s heart.”
Memories of times that she has been accused of bewitching men rise to the front of her mind, mixed with the many nightmares that she has had about this moment. Of Cullen’s family not approving of her…
And then Mia takes a step forward, a hand slowly reaching out and then landing on Helaine’s upper arm.
“A delight to meet you at last, Helaine. If I can call you Helaine? You don’t prefer your title?”
“You may call me Helaine,” she says, her voice smaller and weaker than she would like it to be.
“Helaine. A delight to meet you,” she repeats, no trace of guile or deception in her tone. “Thank you for bringing him back to us,” she adds. “I hear that it’s entirely down to you that he started writing me back.”
“Not… entirely.”
Mia beams at her. “I’m sure you’ve had all manner of good influences on him. Though… that hair! Please tell me that wasn’t your idea.”
Cullen reaches up again. “There’s nothing wrong with my hair!”
“Too much pomade, I agree,” Helaine manages to say. “I prefer the curls.”
Mia nods approvingly, even as Cullen groans. “He’s going to regret introducing us,” she says, slipping her hand down and taking Helaine’s elbow.
She threw herself around the column and huddled in the darkness. She listened, senses alert, tracking the movement of the horde. There were more of them than she’d anticipated. So many that they’d nearly overwhelmed her.
She could hear them now, their fetid, rattling breath, the shuffling of their feet. Her heart pounded against her chest as she prayed frantically that they’d fall for her distraction. If they turned towards her… she didn’t know if she had enough reserves left to run.
Certainly not to fight.
Not with the open wound she was currently trying to staunch with nothing but a hand that was so far from clean it was laughable.
There were healing potions back at camp. She just had to get there.
She shouldn’t have come alone.
A few more seconds passed while she contemplated the very real possibility that she would die here, huddled in some long-forgotten corner of the Deep Roads, left to rot while Alistair wondered what had become of her.
It was not the first time she had contemplated such.
Not that she had ever told him that.
She held her breath as they drew closer. It wouldn’t help. They could sense her after all. Sense her blood. Blood she could currently feel leaking slowly over her fingers.
She held her breath anyway. Lungs burning as she tried to stay as still as possible.
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Another chapter of my new Cullen/Helaine fic for you. Full series here.
Cullen
It’s not… quite the morning that he had expected.
Well, not entirely.
Making love to Helaine had certainly been part of his plan when he had written to the landlady of the Gull and Lantern, making sure that they had the same room that they’d had before. A sweet echo of their first night together.
But… just like that first night, he’d gone and said something wrong.
At least this time she hadn’t leapt from the bed. She’d told him immediately. That she’s terrified of meeting his family, that she’s still convinced that they aren’t going to approve of her.
He thinks back to the gifts that his family had sent before Satinalia, the letters too.
They know she’s a mage, an elf, that she fought for the Chantry Army. Her origins are perhaps more of a mystery, but he can’t imagine that his siblings will hold them against her. Not when he loves her so much.
Still, after the delightful time they’d had the previous day – the journey to Redcliffe, the snowball fight, the games of chess – this morning has taken a rather… frosty turn. And he’s not just talking about the ice creeping across the windowpanes.
Though she seems eager again to go to Lothering – to South Reach – he still can’t help keeping watch over her, if only out of the corner of his eye. Studying her for signs of distress or pain.
It reminds him, brutally, of those first few days after she had nearly died in the Arbor Wilds. Not just the days she had spent lying unconscious, or the days spent journeying back to Skyhold, but the days after that too. Keeping an eye on the colour of her cheeks, looking out for a sheen of sweat on her brow. Now, he looks for frowns and winces. Less traumatic, perhaps, but just as important.
The landlady bustles about them as she had that first morning, though he’s certain that there’s a little more spring in her step this time. Bundles them out the door with a hearty sackful of food for the day ahead, refilled water and wineskins, and a cheerful request to send word ahead of their return journey, so that she can be sure to have their room ready for them again.
He’s not entirely sure how much of this is for their direct benefit, and how much is for the way that several of her morning patrons turn their heads, marking his and Helaine’s presence and seeming preference for the inn.
In any case, they are soon back on their way, on the road toward Lothering.
She’s quiet.
She had been the previous day too, until they got to Redcliffe, at least. He hadn’t really noticed at the time. Too busy enjoying being in his own country, on riding past familiar sights and telling old stories. Like he had been on the way to Honnleath. But today…
Ok fine you guys twisted my arm (I say to a completely empty room) here's why I think Mass Effect 2 worked and Veilguard tried to copy it and failed.
First up is the complexity of the goal/plot. In ME2, the end goal was simple: Stop the Collectors from harvesting humans. Blast off through the Omega 4 Relay and probably die. Take down as many Collectors as possible before you die. Basically, shoot stuff until it explodes. It made sense that half of the squadmates were just "legendary badass", "legendary badass (green skin version)" and "legendary badass (huge tits version)." You need to kill dudes, so you pick people who are good at killing. There are a few who are better at tech or science, but they use tech and science to, you guessed it, kill dudes. Then you have a few who join due to aligning goals (Legion) or loyalty to Shepard (Tali, Garrus) or humanity/Cerberus (Jacob, Miranda), or they're literally getting paid to be there (Kasumi and Zaeed). But all of them have reasons to stick around, of various importance.
The specificity of the main plot is also relevant here, because everybody in the galaxy is like "oh humans are getting kidnapped? sucks to suck dude rip in piss ://" so it makes sense to recruit whoever you can get. You need help for an issue that (according to everyone who would otherwise help) only concerns you. So you're like "hey are you good at killing? and do you mind dying?" and most of those freaks go "yeah lmao whatever." They're self-selecting, because the cause is so specific and explicitly suicidal.
The suicidal thing also helps explain the loyalty missions, btw. They're not presented as "hey can you umm help? or I'm gonna be distwacted 👉👈" but as "hey man, these people are willing to die on your command, you should probably help them with their unfinished business at the very least." And yeah, the mechanic of "if you don't help they'll fucking perish" remains the same, but the framing is different. In ME2, you're basically helping a bunch of professionals to do this final thing before they die for your cause. It's both a sign of respect and of consideration for them as people, and strengthens your bond with them and their loyalty to you. The way it's framed means that you don't have to do this in order for them to do their job, but doing it helps strengthen their belief in you.
And because the stakes are relatively low (as far as everyone knows), of course the squadmates will respect and appreciate a Shepard who takes care of them more. Of course it builds loyalty. This person isn't just using you as a meat shield for their pet crusade, they're genuinely trying to do what's right and don't want you to die for nothing.
In Veilguard, you're literally told multiple times that you have to do their dumbfuck busywork or else they're gonna throw in the towel. Hey man can you do this thing? Or else I'm not saving the world :3c The stakes being SO HIGH while their issues are SO NOTHING makes most of them look really immature and incompetent, which clashes against the whole "gang of experts" thing. You're telling me this couldn't wait? I have to go into Lucanis' mind and figure out his traumas or else he won't ... hold a knife good? And that will doom the world because he's the only guy who can hold a knife? Okay???
ME2 presents everybody as professionals and experts in their field, but at the end of the day, they're just there to kill stuff. Remove one, and another will be found. The mission is (as far as everyone in power knows) not galaxy-threatening yet, so finding new guys to help would be easy. That's why Shep taking the time to solve their final issues means something and why it earns their loyalty. It shows that Shep cares about them as people.
Veilguard presents these people as experts in their fields, too. They're considered irreplacable in this conflict. And the conflict is saving the whole entire fucking world. And YET, that has to take a backseat to them figuring out what happened to a work colleague or Lucanis' grandma, because none of these experts can take a fucking chill pill to SAVE THE WORLD.
ME2 offers "low" stakes for the conflict and high stakes for the characters, so when it focuses on the characters' stories, it makes sense. You get the impression that it's character drama with a common goal that brings them all together. Veilguard offers high stakes for the plot and low stakes for the characters, but still focuses on the characters, so you get the sense that we're fucking around playing therapist while the world is on fire in the background, and it's presented as totally logical, because these guys can't save the world without a clear mind!! Despite being ... experts in their fields.
That's why, to me, Rook feels like a therapist while Shep feels like a leader.
Anyway, this is the formal end of the post but I wrote more on the specific character motivations of the Veilguard and why they don't work/feel trite to me and how that adds to Rook feeling like they're a therapist but it didn't fit with the rest of the post so under cut.
Another thing is that, while sometimes the problems of the Veilguard are technically higher stakes than the problems of the ME2 squad, there is a sense of "Hey do you actually need me for this?" And that I think is in part to the lacking motivations of the Veilguard. It's so unclear why some of them stick around that it becomes difficult to justify why they wouldn't just leave to fix their own issues.
(For example, Garrus asks us to help kill a guy. The guy isn't dangerous, he's not out there killing people or in possession of a superweapon ready to destroy a city. He's just an asshole and Garrus wants revenge. He could, technically, leave and just kill the guy himself. He knows where the guy is, so what's holding him back? Well, the job is. And Shepard is. Garrus wants Shep's help, because he doesn't trust himself to finish it on his own. He needs somebody to rely on, but he also knows that he can't just leave without Shep's permission, and that Shep needs him, too. Everything is on Shep's schedule, and there's no real time limit. His revenge can wait until Shep is ready to offer their help.
Neve is hunting an old rival who is a blood mage threatening to enslave her favorite city in all da world. It's pretty damn high stakes. But in my playthrough, Neve wasn't counting on Rook's help at all. In fact, she explicitly mentioned several times that she didn't. Yet, she still sat around and waited for their help. She didn't leave to deal with this on her own, didn't even consider it. But why not? What about Rook or this cause is keeping her there, especially since there's canonically time before the next big move and the issue is so high-stakes and pressing? People will die if she doesn't do something, yet she's sitting on her ass waiting for Rook, whose help she isn't counting on, to step up? What???)
Neve is introduced as being hired by Varric to find Solas, which she does. In the tutorial mission. She sticks around after Varric dies because ... she's in too deep now, I guess. She has to help save the world, you see. Even though all she wants is to go back to Minrathous and protect the people there. She wants your help to. Figure out some stuff. The famous big city detective needs the help of a person who's introduced as somebody who "thinks in straight lines" and whose nickname is probably a play on "rookie." She is not getting paid for this. She's doing this out of the kindness of her heart, even though most of her time on screen is spent dreaming of her favorite city in da world. She's not an expert in anything that has to do with the current plot, so she's in-fiction not really vital to keep around. Her role as a mage is made entirely pointless by the existence of Bellara and Emmrich. Supposedly her area of expertise is in blood magic ... despite hating it and not actually practicing it, on account of it being bad and evil. So she's an expert in killing blood mages, then?
Well, no. That's Lucanis. He's the resident mage killer ... who we find in an underwater prison, guarded by blood mages. I get there is a reason for why he was defeated, but the optics aren't great, ya know? We don't really free him as much as we lightly distract his guards, so he can bust out of the prison fully clothed and armored. He's suuper eager for revenge, but he's also been forcefully possessed. But that's okay, because we need his expertise for um. Killing mages. Which is what the Evanuris are. So this random possessed human guy will know better than anybody else how to kill the Evanuris. Sure. He decides to stick around on account of ... the Crows always finishing a contract. Who is paying him? Who is paying the Crows? His gam-gam ordered him to stay, she's basically offering us his services for freeing him. Guy is an indentured servant but acts like it's his choice, like it's an honor thing and not his grandma putting him in the toilet. And when it's time for him to show/offer his expertise in the field, he says "How am I supposed to fight a cloud?" which is fair enough, sure. But have you not fought mages before? Do you not have any reference for them doing weird shit at all? Do you not know how to disrupt rituals, break barriers? In the end, all he can practically do is hold the special knife and attempt to stick the pointy end into his target. Which my rogue Rook or Davrin or Taash chould've done. But gam-gam says to sit so he sits! It's not a very compelling motivation for this epic expert mage killer to just kinda. Stick around out of obligation. It could've been interesting, if he chafed against it or had to be won over, but he's just fine with it. It's treated as natural that this dude, who isn't even slightly an actual expert and is just a glorified knife holder and who isn't practically useful in any sense of the word, is still in the group. It's treated as natural that Rook has to go out of their way to help him clear his mind so he can hold the knife better next time, instead of just finding another guy to hold the knife. Maybe the spirit in him makes him stronger and more capable of fighting mages? No, the spirit is what made him miss in the first place, actually! So you have to help him figure it out or he'll miss again. DON'T ask somebody else to hold the knife though. It HAS TO BE Lucanis. Because he's the mage killer expert. Who missed. And can't handle mages.
Then we have Taash, who we need to kill the blighted dragons. They're the only dragon hunter around and have an encyclopedic knowledge of said dragons. Unfortunately the blighted state of the dragons that are actually necessary to kill are behaving in unexpected and different ways from normal dragons. They're literally manipulated by the Evanuris to be harder to kill. Making Taash's expertise moot. I didn't even have them in my party when I took on two dragons at once, and in fact the only dragons that Taash is presented as capable of killing are ones that they want us to kill. So this expert we recruit mostly introduces more dragons for us to kill that aren't actually threatening us in any way. The main time Taash has to show off their knowledge is when we use the dragon trap ... which was fashioned by Wardens. Who are all trained specifically to fight Archdemons. Who are dragons. That are blighted. Do you uh. Do you see my problem here. Taash also sticks around the Veilguard for inexplicable reasons. Mostly it seems they don't want to go home to their mother, which is fine, but this is a whole-ass adult, supposedly. They could go back to hunting dragons for the Lords, because they're written as too self-absorbed to really care about stepping up to the fight just for the sake of it. So despite them not really being useful in any way to the overall plot, we still have to help them figure out their gender identity, or else they won't be able to ... fight the blighted dragons. Which they couldn't fight. On account of the blight. Cool cool cool.
Then we have Emmrich, who is a professor and has shit to do. He is also presented as a Fade expert, while Bellara is somehow not, despite doing most of the Fade-related and artifact-related magic on-screen. Emmrich joins the Veilguard on account of um. Well we asked nicely, and he's a good guy, so he has to help save the world. Despite the fact that he's terrified of dying. Which he's far more likely to do after leaving his job. And the thing is, yeah, "the world might end so we need to stop that!" is a valid motivation, but if we accept it as the motivation of a central character whose plot we must find compelling, then why is it that it's only a few guys trying to save the world? This conflict is prestented as bigger than all the previous games combined, bigger than (the) Inquisition, which had literally entire armies and different branches and infrastructure for it's "smaller" conflict, and people were still volunteering and joining in droves, but here we're 8 guys? Are we meant to believe Emmrich's willingness to join the Veilguard is somehow unique to him, and that nobody else in the world would volunteer to join? When Harding exists, on the same team?
Speaking of, Harding is a character who can really get away with "I wanna save the world", because her joining the Inquisition is literally how she got into the plot in the first place. She's a joiner. She joins heroic causes. So her having this sort of bare-bones but noble motivation works. Same with Davrin. Bellara seems to join out of both curiosity and guilt, which are interesting enough reasons and come through visibly in her subplot and characterization, but more importantly, she doesn't have anything holding her back that might take priority until she finds out her brother is alive. Her sticking around also makes some sense because she's ya know. An elf mage Fade expert. Or sorry an elf artifacts expert.
I'm not saying "somebody's gotta do it!" or "it's the right thing to do!" aren't valid motivations, they clearly are, but there's gotta be more to it, especially when it comes to characters who have something to lose like Emmrich. My guy is terrified of death but he's such a good dude that he jumps into this life-threatening conflict without a second thought? But then gets so "distracted" by his wacky scientist former colleague that he needs our help figuring it out? Huh???
Um. I didn't have a conclussy for this part of the post so. bye
Honestly this is such a good breakdown of why it feels so different! Great job OP.
I also think that what's happening in the south plays into it (at least it does for me). Like, we're told the SOUTH IS BURNING. All the people from DAO, DA2 and DAI are dying. Everything we ever did in ALL of the previous games is at risk/under threat and yet we're going to bring the plot to a screaming halt to play therapist to a bunch of, admittedly, interesting characters, but ones who don't really have a reason to be here?
Like I get that you needed something very high stakes to keep the Inquisitor out of Rook's business but I don't think destroying the south entirely was necessary. If you've played the previous games you have an emotional attachment to the south and the fact that you're busy sorting out Hardings magic or Taashs' gender identity or Davrins relationship with his feathered son while everything you love is being destroyed in South well, it just makes Rook and the entire crew look and feel SO incompetent.
And this is not the case for ME2! Like firstly, as OP pointed out, the threat of the Collectors is not that dire (everyone and everything you did in ME1 is fine actually). BUT ALSO the bigger, wider, world ending threat of the Reapers can and is dismissed as a myth! Shepard sounds to everyone else like a crazy person. You have to convince people that the problem exists (at least until they show up in ME3). This makes the people willing help you and believe you about the wider threat rarer and therefore more important and therefore it makes sense to get THEIR heads on straight.
You COULD have made a similar play with the Evanuris. Like have them work in the shadows and everyone be like 'pfft elven gods? Sounds fake the world isn't ENDING. You sound insane' and I think there are PARTS where they tried to do this (specifically with the First Warden). But like also the Evanuris are here almost immediately showing up as a giant cloud and throwing their pet dragons at everything. Their henchmen are here screaming about how they work for Elgar'nan and he's going to grant them power or whatever. If their return had been unbelievable and each companion had a reason to believe and joined the fight because of that then the whole thing would have made a lot more sense.
It wasn’t often that he got to feel like the wisest, most experienced person in the room.
Occasionally – when he’d really done his research – he managed to feel like one of the more informed people in the Landsmeet, which was probably good since he was King.
Of course, he was far more comfortable when it came to arranging the kingdom’s defences. He might have only ever commanded an army once (and even then, Elissa had been the one who’d actually actedas general) but he knew how fighting men behaved. He knew what it was like to fight in both a skirmish and a battle, and he’d studied tactics.
But there was one other area in which he considered himself an expert. Even if, prior to his marriage, no one would have believed him to be an expert in such things.
(Well… depending on what rumours they’d heard, they might have considered him experienced in one part of it all.)
(Just not the love part of it.)
But apparently, a wedding – possibly coupled with the fact that just by being themselves as a couple he had demonstrated both to the Landsmeet and to his people that he would be utterly devoted to his wife – was all that it took for the Landsmeet to decide that now, the king should be the one giving permission for court marriages.
Maker only knew who’d been resolving such disputes before. Teagan, maybe? But now it seemed it was his turn.
Hence why he was here in the throne room now. With the mandate to convince Bann Kail’s nineteen-year-old daughter that her knight lover was unsuitable, and that instead she should agree to the proposed wedding to Arl Bryton’s son.
Why this was his job, he had no idea. Presumably he was supposed to remind the girl of her duty and then threaten her with exile or something worse.
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Apologies for the delay!! A new Cullen/Helaine fic for you. Full series here.
Helaine
Though they have full permission (and hearty encouragement) from the Inquisitor to leave Skyhold almost a full week before First Day, in order to be present in South Reach well in time for Rosalie’s wedding, it still feels rather… illicit.
Perhaps it is because the last time they had left Skyhold together, it had been under somewhat false pretences. The trip to Honnleath that had certainly not been for the purposes of finding a way to help Cullen with his red lyrium sensitivity, but to figure out their own romantic compatibility.
(Though thank the Maker that they had…)
Still, as the sun rises between the mountains, as they head for the West Road and their first night’s stop in Redcliffe, she cannot help but feel rather… unnerved.
She wishes that she could make up her mind as to whether she is excited to meet Cullen’s family, or dreading it beyond measure.
Before, she would have said that she was excited. She was intrigued to meet his kin; people that she half-feels she knows already through the letters they have sent, and Cullen’s own wealth of stories about them. She was eager to see more of the country that he loves. After the stress and pageantry of the Pentaghast-Trevelyan wedding, she also looked forward to attending a more… relaxed celebration. To dancing with Cullen again.
But now that they are on their way – now that this is real – the doubts have begun to creep into her mind again. The concern. The fear.
Though they had received another short letter not long after Satinalia – thanking them for the gifts that they had sent, confirming that Rosalie’s wedding was set for First Day itself, and insisting that there is room at Mia and her husband’s farm for them to stay there for the occasion – she still cannot help the voice in the back of her head that tells her that they will change their minds. That once she stands in front of them – an elven mage almost a decade and a half older than their brother – they will wonder why they ever thought this was a good match. That they will try to ‘rescue’ him from her. That they will accuse her of bewitching him…
Her stomach twists.
She reaches subconsciously for the dagger on her belt. The one that his brother Branson had made. Especially for her. Runs her fingers over the leaves burned into the leather sheath. Tries to remind herself to breathe.
Cullen, on the other hand, shows nothing but joy.
Like he had on the way to Honnleath, he keeps up a steady stream of near completely one-sided conversation, telling her stories about the places they ride through. The plants they see. The animals that run past. Some of them are ones that she has already heard before, but she does not interrupt him. His voice… helps. Distracts. She can almost pretend that they are on some official Inquisition business. Going to meet one of the Inquisitor’s important contacts, or to attend one of Josephine’s fancy events.
