-- -- #STARWEALD .  a   private ,   independent  &  highly  selective  blog  for   ASTERIA    AMELL  of  bioware’s   dragon  age  :  origins .   will   be   canon - divergent  at  times   and   heavily  based  on  my  own  personal  headcanons  .   crossover   &   duplicate  friendly .  triggering  content  will  be  present  &  tagged .  must  be  18 +  to  interact .   as  written  by  caliope  (  21+  ,  she / her  ) .

it  had  been  a  nightmare  trying  to  navigate  marque  bouffon’s  meandering  network  of  mines.  within  the  span  of  two  days,  val  gamord’s  darkspawn  resurgence  had  nearly  doubled  with  no  luck  in  finding  where  exactly  the  remaining  rift  was  located,  leaving  the  wardens  no  choice  but  to  cut  down  the  growing  hoard  through  the  deepest  tunnels,  then  deeper  still.  

it  would  have  been  far  more  effective  to  simply  collapse  the  entire  mountain,  but  after  looking  further  into  the  marque’s  operations,  it  was  made  clear  that  whatever  artifact  she  had  been  trying  to  unearth  was  still  here  [  and  if  it  had  been  of  importance  to  the  venetori,  then  it  could  offer  a  clue  as  to  what  corypheus  had  planned  --  or,  at  the  very  least,  be  better  kept  in  the  hands  of  the  inquisition.  ]

asteria  encouraged  estelle  to  send  reinforcements  to  aid  in  the  search  while  her  wardens  mitigated  the  darkspawn  threat,  however,  she  had  not  expected  her  to  send  the  commander  himself.  cullen’s  presence  wasn’t  necessarily  unwelcome  [ not  as  it  had  been  in  those  first  weeks ].  these  days,  her  encounters  with  him  remained  brief  and  formal,  but  pleasant  in  a  way  that  started  to  bloom  blue  in  her  chest  --  as  if  she’d  been  planting  forgiveness  like  flowers  there  for  every  kind  gesture  and  fulfilled  promise  he’d  thus  made  to  her.  

now,  she  simply  questioned  the  risk  the  inquisitor  had  taken  in  asking  cullen  to  leave  skyhold  for  a  mission  that  didn’t  quite  seem  to  warrant  it.  were  they  aware  of  what  this  artifact  was?  and  could  it  be  that  cullen  was  necessary  in  finding  it?  more  so  than  the  usual  lieutenant  she’d  come  to  expect?  it’s  a  riddle  stuck  between  her  teeth  as  they  investigate  the  bottomless  mines  together,  but  she  doesn’t  raise  it  with  him  --  in  part  because  she  struggles  to  find  the  chance.  

     HE WINCES AT THE LAST, HEARING THE ECHO OF HIS OWN  frenzied whispers in the Tower. For a moment he is thrown back there, to the bleeding and the screaming and the dying, to the uncertainty and the fear and the anger ( so much anger, like a fire in his chest, and he is if it goes out, if it dies, will he die, too? will he lose himself? will he become another puppet on a string or has he already done all that? has he already killed at their behest? ). With some effort he breaks that train of thought, and after another moment of pointedly steady breathing he banishes the tightness in his throat, the sensation of walls closing in.       The Cullen Rutherford who had said those things to her, hateful ugly things there can be no doubt of that, was a boy. He is no longer a boy. But the stretch of years between then and now are long and uglier still – he’d killed, and he’d hated, and he’d thrown his weight around in an effort to banish that fear and fire which had never truly left him alone.       ( Always, he’d wondered, while in his room with the city of Kirkwall spreading out around him, if the fire goes out, will he follow it? And if he punishes those who set the fire in him, if he fights them relentlessly, will his terror cease? )      But it is not the time to cut himself open and reveal all this pain to her. Not when it is her pain that needs an answer. He has much to answer for, not the least of which is this first great wrong. His pain is secondary – in this moment, it does not matter.      “I hope that I am not the same man that you knew.” He sounds tired, even to his own ear, which studiously ignores how little he rests. “I hope that I will have the chance to prove it to you.”       He instantly wishes he could take back the words, for they show too much of himself, and he doesn’t wish to impose his own desires upon her. Of course, he wishes that he might earn something approaching forgiveness, but that isn’t something he’s prepared to ask for. He doesn’t think he has the right.       Cullen steps around his desk and leans against it, folding his arms. He wants what he says next to ring true, and so he puts every ounce of sincerity that he has at his disposal into each word.      “I trust you, Warden Commander. Not only because you have proven yourself many times over as a worthy leader and warrior, but because once long ago I knew you and knew that you were strong, and brave, and kind. I can still see all of that in you now, and I have great faith in your ability to aid the Inquisitor in her goals, as well as the Inquisition as a whole. We are lucky to have you with us.”       He sighs, pursing his lips, then scowls. Not at her, never at her, but at himself. For there is no easy way to say these things, and he is afraid that no matter which words he chooses, they will be the wrong ones.      “As for if you can trust me, I would not ask that of you. You do not have to give me your trust, but please know that I have done, and will continue to do my utmost in service of the Inquisitor. She is our leader, and I have pledged myself and my sword to her cause. I will not act against her wishes, nor will I try to subvert her leadership in any way. I believe that what she has done so far has led us down the correct path, even if I have not always agreed at the outset.      “She is teaching me to be more open-minded to the possibilities.”       The last was said with an ironic twist to his mouth, but all humor vanishes after a contemplative pause. He returns his attention to Asteria with a thoughtful frown.       “I do not dare ask for anything beyond your tolerance. I know that I do not deserve even that much but I -–-” Something stirs in his chest, a feeling fighting for release. He has the sudden urge to throw himself at her feet and beg for forgiveness, but that would not serve her interests, nor would it ease the pain he’d cause her. It is a selfish desire and he pushes it aside. “I simply ask that you give me the chance to show you that I am loyal to Estelle.”       He should leave it there. He should stop talking. But his mouth betrays him and he finds that he cannot help but continue.      “I once said things to you about mages that were hurtful, and wrong. And then I went on to Kirkwall and I continued to say those things, and act upon them, and that was also wrong. I was wrong and I ––– I am sorry. I do not expect anything from you, but I have to say that I am so … so sorry.”       It feels like too little and too much all at once. His eyes fall to the floor. 

when  she  speaks  of  their  past,  it’s  with  an  over-steeped  bitterness,  sharp  as  a  dagger  in  her  mouth  and  aimed  for  his  throat,  because  buried  and  raging  somewhere  within  was  still  the  young  girl  who  believed  herself  to  be  in  love  with  a  boy  who  had  been  too  ashamed  of  what  she  was  to  admit  that  he  was  too.  

faced  with  him  again,  she  forgets  too  easily  that  their  more  personal  matter  was  not  what  she  intended  to  unearth.  not  really.  she  had  already  spent  enough  nights  tossing  this  dormant,  childish  heartache  between  her  hands,  pricking  her  fingers  against  its  serrated  edges,  remembering  and  unremembering  the  circumstances,  until  finally  coming  to  terms  with  the  complexity  and  inevitability  of  their  foundering.  so  she  tucks  it  away  again,  onto  an  empty,  cobwebbed  shelf  between  her  ribs,  and  she  listens,  silently  and  pragmatically  to  what  he  has  to  say  --  until  the  apology  comes.  the  one  she  never  wanted  to  admit  she  needed.    

❛    you’re  possessed,  ❜    she  whispers  harshly  --  to  the  entity  or  a  somewhat  lucid  sidony  herself,  she  couldn’t  say,  but  the  presence  she  felt  was  unquestionable.  ❛    and  i’m  afraid  to  ask  if  it  was  by  force  or  by  your  own  foolish  will.  ❜    

❛   is  it  truly  so  difficult  to  understand      that  these  wisps  are  absolutely  blameless  in  their  attempts  to  kill  you  ?!  they're  being  manipulated  by  the  nearest  demon,  and  if  i  catch  you  harming  a  single  speck  of  bioluminescent  spirit  dust  on  them,  so  help  me,  trevelyan ,  i'll  ---  ❜  

❛  the  wardens  of  orlais  were  of  critical  help  to  me  and  the  ferelden  order  after  the  blight  --  i  owe  it  to  them  to  help  rebuild  their  forces  now.  ❜  looking  out  over  the  remnants  of  a  once  exemplary  and  formidable  unit,  now  battered  and  disheartened  by  the  horrors  they  faced  at  the  hands  of  their  own  comrades  in  adamant,  she  expels  a  breath  of  frosted  plumes  and  unease.  

a  sharp-boned  vigilance  cuts  through  the  dark,  beyond  the  encampment  and  into  the  rain-soaked  woods.  it  hones  into  the  silence,  untangles  it  with  demanding  fingers  until  it  reveals  how  the  worms  writhe  in  the  mud,  how  the  moss  lichens  and  grows  --  but  no  sign  of  the  encroaching  darkspawn.  

                                       ･ﾟ⋆ ✧ .    ⧽      @nadaimh​​   sent :

                  ❛  𝒚𝒐𝒖  𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆  𝒕𝒐𝒐  𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒚  𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔  𝒇𝒐𝒓  𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 .  ❜   //   labyrinth s.s.

❛    that’s  rich,  coming  from  someone  of  your  ilk  .    ❜    a  mirthless  laugh    ❛    all  of  this,  ❜    arms  clad  in  silverite  gestured  to  the  ancient  tomes,  the  archives,  and  the  arcane  charms  --  but  beyond  that  too  :  to  the  esteem,  the  powerful  station  that  came  alongside  it  all.    ❛    you  were  born  into  it,  were  you  not  ?  and  it  has  always  served  you  well,    has  it  not,  o’  great  wyrdrin  ?    ❜    

there  was  a  sharp  bite  to  the  name,  nothing  of  its  owed  reverence,  and  it  would  seem  in  response  to  the  derision  a  harsh  phantom  wind  swept  through  the  space  between  them.  conjured  by  his  own  power  or  the  will  of  the  sylvan  spirits  bound  to  him,  asteria  could  not  say,  but  it  offered  her  a  gracious  pause  to  reel  in  her  icy  rage,  remember  her  grievance  was  not  entirely  his  to  bear,  and  allow  the  storm  to  steels  itself  to  something  quiter,  and  a  little  more  desolate.  

❛  you've  no  idea  what  it  was  like  for  me  --  the  things  i  had  to  endure  to  get  here.  ❜    it  was  an  effort  not  to  venture  into  those  old  paths  ,  to  days  and  nights  spent  wide-eyed  and  recoiling.  honed  to  every  harsh  whisper  and  every  encroaching  step.  wondering  if  the  other  foundlings  had  been  right  to  despise  her.  hoping  in  time  they  would  forget  her  little  accidents,  forget  that  she  was  different,  lest  she  be  cast  out  yet  again  or  left  for  dead  in  the  dark  wood.  her  hesitancy  to  embrace  her  rare  gift  for  sorcery  went  far  past  notions  of  what  others  might  say  or  think,  but  it  spoke  instead  to  an  engrained  fear  that  didn’t  get  quieter  with  age.  

animal :  raven, wolf, spider. color(s) :   violet, obsidian. month :  october. song :    my name is human by highly suspect  &  my name is dark (art mix) by grimes. number :  8. day or night :  night. plant :  willow, aster, deathroot, blood lotus. smell :  ocean water, wet soil, rosemary, elfroot blossom, bergamot.  gemstone :  onyx, amethyst, selenite. season :   winter. place :   a glade somewhere, swathed in midnight fog, swarmed with wisps. food :    ox tail, bone broth. astrological sign :  scorpio. element :  wind, fire. drink :  whiskey, dwarven ale.