DragonEffect

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.

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.

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…

She’s quiet.

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.

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.

down bad, meet down bad

— (mannon & alistair)

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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.

And then they reach Redcliffe.

A Shenko fic for Shepard's birthday. Part of my soulmate AU series here.

After it happens, Tali can’t apologise enough.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Shepard insists, for what she’s sure must be the hundredth time.

“I should have been fixing that console, Shepard,” she replies, no less insistent, wringing her hands. “My enviro-suit would have protected me from the malfunction. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She can’t tell Tali to go away. She just can’t. It would be cruel.

“I will go and run a diagnostic. I will find out what happened. I promise, Shepard.”

Shepard nods, just once. She can’t deny the feeling of relief that washes over her when Tali dashes away, and recedes again when she looks back at the bed.

The bed where Kaidan is lying, unconscious.

With electrical burns from the malfunctioning console on his hands and chest.

And a head injury from flying backwards into a bulkhead.

Chakwas has had him in the med bay for almost two hours. She and her team have dressed his burns and sealed the wound on his head. There’s nothing left to do but wait. Wait to see what happens when he wakes up.

Shepard is ignoring the silent “if” that Chakwas refuses to say.

The scans are clear – Chakwas said so – but… brains are difficult. Especially his. The amp port in the back of his neck had been undamaged, but there’s no telling what had been… rattled.

They won’t know if he’s still… him until he wakes up.

He has to wake up.

He has to.

Her eyes can’t help drifting to his hip. The blanket on the bed almost covers the words there, his torso bare to facilitate the healing of his burns. But they are still visible. Her hand is almost shaking with the need to touch him, to rest it over her own handwriting or to take his and hold it tight. She curls her left hand into a fist and presses it against her heart, over his words instead of hers. Her right arm wraps almost unconsciously across her stomach, coming to rest over her own left hip.

“I’m not blind, Commander,” Chakwas says, gently.

Shepard doesn’t insult the doctor’s intelligence by asking her what she means.

“When?”

The doctor leans back in her chair, and gives her a careful, measured look.

“Unclaimed soul-marks are flagged in both your records. Not entirely uncommon in the military, there are three other unclaimed and two claimed on the Normandy crew. I pay attention to these things.”

Of course she does. (Shepard resists the urge to ask who else has soul-marks. It’s something she probably ought to know, given that she’s the acting captain of this vessel, but until she’d met Kaidan, it was the sort of thing that she had actively tried not to note in her crew’s personnel records. Tempting fate. Perhaps, if she’d noticed an ‘unclaimed’ flag in his when she’d glanced at it the night before she first boarded the Normandy, she… Well, no. She wouldn’t have done a damn thing differently if she had.)