#extravagantliar

So I'm of the opinion that, regardless of intent and/or execution, music is integral to the overall theme and narrative of Dragon Age, and I think it's strongest in origins.

We see it in how the Chantry and the Chant are always referred to as being sung(again, regardless of execution). The core encounter of the Chant of Light where Andraste meets the Maker, humanity reaching the divine, is achieved through singing. The Calling is referred to as a song, as is the 'song' of lyrium(should have been our first hint). The corrupted figure of Blight that the narrative wants you to save with the dark ritual is the elvhen god of craft and the arts, and people who hear him in Urthemiel are constantly referencing music. Even on a smaller scale, in the mage origin, Jowan says that it's the way that Lily sung the Chant that drew him to her, thus setting off the entire chain of events that puts the Mage Warden as the prime contender for Duncan.

Music is fundamental in the narrative of the world of Thedas. And I think that's why—in the narrative that lives exclusively in my head—the primary evil faced in Inquisition has to be Corypheus, the high priest of Tevinter's god of silence.

Silence in its absolute state is a lack of life. It falls when life ends, at the final chord of a song, in someone's last breath. Dumat is also notably a death god in all but name, which I think adds to the overarching theme of silence being a theme for death—even the Andrastian adaptation of his holiday, All Soul's Day, demands practitioners spend the day in silent remembrance for the dead(and specifically Andraste).

Doubly speaking, I think it's also notable that Leliana, in the era of her grief over Justinia, has all but given up singing. It's why the choir practice scene is (in heavily debated theory) in itself an act of defiance from their perspective. A cry of life when silence fell upon Haven.

In contrast, the red lyrium future where Corypheus wins is almost completely silent, because the world is dead. It doesn't even seem as though there are any remaining spirits that weren't twisted into demons. If you listen to the In Hushed Whispers track of the OST, it is 70% ambience. Save for, specifically, the occasional haunting overtures of a cello, and the music only increases and slowly involves other instruments the closer you get to leaving that future.

A cello whose motif is shared by one other person with similar motivations-

Hi Solas, welcome to the extension. We see in the small glimpses of his possessions in Inquisition(mostly in Haven) and the trail of items that follows him through vg until we officially find the music room that Solas has always inclined to music as well as physical art, and its something he treats as more personal. Solas, as a musical and artistic being(and a yapper), shuts his music away as he locks himself into his plan to destroy the world himself. This plays into how the destruction and "lone wolfing" is antithetical to the core of himself.

Music is a narrative player from start to finish.

ANYWAY, ONTO HOW THIS AFFECTS NANNA.

So I think of the Circle as a place that's run a bit like an ominous library, often run in mandated silence. The only music that would exist is the Chant of Light, and similar to themes explained above, the people inside are not thriving and its something you see that follows the mages that leave it. It's why loud noises can make Nanna uncomfortable, but so quickly was drawn to Leliana.

The world outside of the tower is a sensory explosion. Leliana, whether platonically or romantically, is so important for Nanna's development and how she learns to navigate the world, because she introduces music to her in the same way she introduces her approach to faith: unconstrained and from the heart. Neither of which are things Nanna even thought were allowed, but are concepts she gravitates towards in how her worldview develops. It becomes something she wants, more than she thought she was allowed to want.

And I feel like there's something to the fact that the only other Circle mage we engage with that isn't part of the hierarchy, Anders, also actively pursued music. Notoriously not good at it, but that he tried anyway says something I think.

Now for your actual questions LMAO

So ever since her pre-vg lore update a few years ago, I have solidly enjoyed giving her a harp association even before I had her playing the instrument herself—and a lot of this comes from how I see a kinder Warden overall.

I feel like despite the image of the Big Damn Hero that they're depicted with, that's the role the Warden tends to play. I have a post about it somewhere, but they're an extremely uplifting character in a literal sense, and that's the idea I shaped Nanna around. She's the harmony between others' melody, and that's something reflected in how I talked about her magic—at its most natural, her magic and her musical themes would represent that nature of support (timmy's dad's vc: IF SHE HAD ANY).

But i also associate her a lot thematically with a violin, especially as she learns to enforce her sense of self. Its sound is a lot more singular and bouncy, and able to express a different range and volume of emotion than she was able to before. A violin can solidly take the lead in a song and be a directional note that can create that harmony around itself as much as the harp being a unifier. Which is the sort of point she steadily strives to reach. It's not better or more important than the harp motif, so much as its an expansion of the range she gradually learns to express.

I dont have a singular motif to follow, but I do have some examples of music with these specific instruments from my yt playlist(s) for her:

harp: [ one ] , [ two ] , [ three ] violin: [ one ] , [ two ] , [ three ]

abandoned infants are a gray area of nevarran law. most orphans have someone to claim them, even if kinship is distant and convoluted, and lacking that still legally belong to their lineage itself as an abstract entity. khima had nothing. no name, no bloodline, no generous family friend, nothing and no one... unless one were to count the undead who found them. in the end, with the chantry being certain that no normal child could be produced by such strange means, the decision was made to raise khima within the necropolis' circle. it was as near to an orphanage as the mourn watch could offer.

the years passed and though khima showed no signs of magecraft, they developed... other oddities.

ostracization by the other children led to borderline inappropriate bonds with the spirits of the necropolis. isolation from the outside world led to an ignorance of basic social customs and knowledge. generalized neglect by an uncertain roster of guardians granted them a free-range lifestyle typically forbidden to other necropolis residents, of which khima took full advantage.

at some point the mourn watch grew tired of finding khima where they had no right to be and they were formally recruited to train in the order, where the idea was that at least in a less crowded setting a better eye could be kept on them. what followed was a number of disconcerting discoveries:

an integration with the necropolis residents that defied typical order. an inherent sense of direction no matter what uncharted path. an apparent lack of any common self-preservation impulse, and an apparent abundance of luck to make up the gap. and, one day during a routine course in which the mage-students were learning how lyrium is mixed to craft potions, the most disturbing discovery of all. khima, neither tranquil nor dwarven, has what seems to be a complete immunity to the effects of raw lyrium.

the instructor nearly had a heart attack when they cheerfully informed the class that the undiluted material tastes like creation. whatever that means.

to avoid any assassins the unsatisfied noble families might put on their trail, khima departed the necropolis the same way they entered it as a baby; via the unmapped lower levels, where the necropolis merges with the deep roads and nevarra's not-quite-secret war against the darkspawn has been waged by the undead for centuries. they took next to nothing with them and left next to nothing behind. they'd never had much luck making friends among the living, and so they didn't feel especially jilted by their new circumstances. and those glowing blue mushrooms never made them sick anyways, so it's fine!

eventually, this is where they met ameridan, who was investigating a portion of the deep roads where it merged with an ancient elvhen temple. after a narrow escape, khima and ameridan became quickly acquainted with each other as they drew together a plan to re-route the darkspawn horde pinning them in, utilizing a combination of fragile lyrium sigils and ameridan’s notice-me-not wards.

by the time they made it back to the surface, ameridan extended an offer on another allied group’s behalf: and on that recommendation, khima travelled to arlathan forest and took auspice with the veil jumpers there, where unorthodox magical theory was more welcome and someone who could safely handle any of the many lyrium-worked artifacts was never going to be turned away. not for that, at least.

SPECIAL RED LYRIUM EDITION:

halestia keeps her distance as khima works, ears a-swivel, eyes flickering between the tangled shadows of the canyon and the runes those thin hands have carved upon the stone. it looks painful. their hands, what they've done with those hands, what they’re doing now. daybreak is still a while off. “hartho aenes,” she whispers. they don't stop. fingers trembling and tracing blood over the lyrium, red on red. every couple lines they press their fingers to their opposite arm to get more. halestia repeats herself, a little louder, for failing human ears. “mith'dinis,” khima says. their voice has an echo that isn't just sandstone. she'd asked before, how the lyrium worked, why it took blood, how they could do what they do without magic. it wasn't really that she hadn't understood the answer. it was just that she'd hated it. “inquisition's getting closer,” halestia says now, eyes on the horizon. “and they hate venatori.” “so let them kill each other,” khima mutters, pausing to squeeze the cut on their arm. it's slow, thick. they need water. they need a lot of things. “it's nothing to do with us.” “they might help us out. the others have been talking about it. you can't keep doing this forever.” “we don't need forever,” khima says. when they tilt their head her way, their eyes catch a bright cast on the moons' light, nearly elvish. “just longer than them.”

caught in the crossfire of impulsive whims and family conflict, a young khima pavus is adopted by a visiting altus and moves to the tevinter imperium. this is the first of several escalations within the family over the next year, and for khima that conflict ends the day they are sold into slavery by the head of household. things get worse from there.

some time later and khima, roughly aged twelve, is one of the many blood-slaves bound for western orlais, fuel for corypheus' plot against the grey wardens. desperate to survive, they call on the only resources they can find there in abundance: lyrium, blight, and blood.

the results are disastrous, but mostly for the venatori.

with nowhere to go and no means of getting there anyways, the survivors fortify themselves within the cave systems. khima... enhances these encampments with red lyrium runes, primed with blood and set to activate at any spike in the ambient magical energy within range. these traps are intended to target the venatori, and do so with great success, but draw inquisition attention when scouting parties inadvertently set them off.