#ostwick

Perfect for bribing children.

Ingredients

Two to three each of large oranges and lemons, thinly sliced, seeds removed

Two-and-a-half cups of sugar

One cup of water

Additional sugar

Directions

Bring the water and sugar to a boil in a large pot over medium-high heat. Add the fruit slices, gently stirring to separate and coat with sugar water. Bring back to a boil, reduce heat to medium and simmer for about forty-five minutes, stirring gently once in a while.

While the fruit is simmering, line a tray with parchment paper and spread a cup or two of sugar over, enough to create a layer.

Remove pan from heat and remove fruit slices from the syrup, allowing excess to drip back into the pan. Arrange the slices on a cooling rack and allow to drip and cool for half an hour or so. Flip and allow to rest a further half an hour.

Dredge fruit slices in sugar from the parchment paper, ensuring both sides are evenly coated. Arrange on the rack once more and allow to dry overnight.

The Fiddler

— (Gloria Trevelyan)

.

As Gloria Trevelyan dodged yet another sword being thrown at her person, she found herself wondering how she had possibly managed to end up in this situation again.

She observed with great interest as the sword buried itself into the wooden beam where her head had been moments earlier. “That was a rather good toss,” she told the man who stood heaving a few paces away. “Do you play darts?”

He bared his three yellow teeth in a snarl, and from the sheath around his waist withdrew another sword. This one was particularly nasty-looking, with a line of rusty ridges running up the front. Gloria, who much preferred being alive then dead in a dank ditch somewhere, decided that perhaps it was time to leave.

“It’s been a pleasure, gentlemen!” She called out to the sea of furious faces in The Gull’s Nest. “Or, well - it might’ve been better if you’d have just let me finish playin–”

“Yer a fiddler!” One of the men shouted. “Yer supposed to play ballads and the like, not sing songs about bedding our wives!”

“Really? I rather liked that one,” Gloria muttered, and raised her hands in surrender as a sea of steel rose in warning. “Right, point taken. Now, I’ve somewhere to be, so as those Orlesians like to say - au revoir!”

In her frequent dodges from the weapons and assorted furniture that had been hurled at her in a maelstrom of marital fury, Gloria had been subtly inching her way towards the open window of the tavern. This came in handy now as she tucked her fiddle under one arm and proceeded to throw herself out of it.

Having grown up in Ostwick, Gloria knew the city’s twisting alleyways and narrow streets like the back of her hand. As a result, she felt no fear when she spent a disorienting moment mid-air, because soon she was sinking into a crouch onto the tiled roof of a house just outside.

She could hear the men exclaiming in outrage and grinned to herself. It would be mere moments before they gave chase, so in an effort to give herself a head start she began nimbly sprinting across the rooftops.

Gloria’s favourite part of Ostwick was its famous blue roofing tiles. From her angle, it was like she was running across an azure sea, so alike to the one that waited just beyond the city’s fortified walls. She took one last admiring look before hopping down between two buildings and landing in a raised alleyway below.

Gloria gave the neck of her fiddle an affectionate pat, like one would with a pet. “You’re a troublemaker Ned, getting me to play all of those raunchy songs.” She told it fondly. “That’s alright, we can be troublemakers together.”

“There she is!”

Gloria yelped as an axe clattered violently to the ground by her feet, hopping out of the way. She glanced over her shoulder at the angry mob blocking the mouth of the alleyway, then at the dead end in front of her. Only it wasn’t truly a dead end - rays of sunshine shone hopefully over a stone ledge just out of reach. She would have to climb.

“This is why we bring Ned’s case,” Gloria grumbled to herself. She could hear heavy footsteps rapidly approaching. Tucking the bow between her teeth and fastening the neck of the fiddle to the belt around her waist, Gloria hoisted herself onto the stone wall and began to climb. She managed to toss a leg over the ledge and pull herself to safety just as the mob reached her.

Gloria withdrew the bow from her red lips and wagged it playfully at the group of men below. “Tough crowd,” she said, donning a wry smile as iron and steel rose to greet her. “Come now. Is this because I said your daughter’s good in bed?”

She laughed as one of the men in the mob turned an alarming shade of purple. With a final taunting wave, she pushed herself off of the ledge and fell down, down, into the alleyway below.

Gloria landed with a grunt of impact and gracelessly fell on her bottom, wincing. She was in no danger from the mob now; this alleyway was notoriously difficult to find if a person wasn't using Gloria's route, and she doubted that the men would be eager to go jumping off of ledges just to teach a mouthy lass a lesson.

She leaned back against the stone wall and huffed through her nose, absently running her fingers over the strings of the fiddle in her lap. After a moment, she set Ned down beside her. Gloria hadn't intended to piss off the men, not really - all she had wanted was to try playing a song of her own for a crowd instead of the ballads that she defaulted to. One of the men had insulted it, and in a moment of rashness she switched to playing the raunchiest, most insulting songs she could think of.

She wondered what her brothers would say if they had seen the events unfold. Matthew, the eldest, would've given her a disappointed look and told her to repent in the Chantry later, as he always did. He was such a stickler for order and rules and peace, which made her feel infinitely thankful that he was taking up the Lordship. He was practically made for the role of a stuffy ruler.

Connal... Gloria wasn't sure how Connal would react. He was as fiercely independent and rebellious as she was, but he also possessed a strange streak of honour and duty that made him as unpredictable as the shifting breeze. He would either angrily lecture her until her ear fell off, or he'd laugh so hard he'd cry, smacking her on the back with as much zeal as he would any of his male friends.

Gloria frowned uncomfortably as her heart panged. She missed her brother, and that irked her terribly. He undoubtedly thought that he was being very stealthy about his secret smuggling business, but Gloria had seen right through him. She wouldn't dare let him know that she knew his secret though, or else he'd clam up ten times tighter than he already did, the elusive bastard. Being both a noble son and the leader of a covert fleet meant that he was always busy, and months could pass before she caught a glimpse of him again.

A shadow passed over her, blocking out the afternoon sun, and Gloria grimaced. She raised her eyes and immediately groaned. "Oh come on. How did you find me this time?"

It was Dan, the Captain of her mother's personal Guard. He stood impassively over her, one hand braced on the pommel of his sword. It was shaped in the head of a screaming horse, the face of House Trevelyan's crest, and Gloria had grown quite sick of seeing it over the years.

"You weren't exactly subtle," Dan said, a hint of annoyance visible in his aged features. "All I needed to do was follow the angry mob stampeding through the streets. Really, Miss, first your brother, now you?"

Gloria bristled. She knew that Connal presented himself as a scoundrel to Ostwick's society, but it was all a front! Couldn't Dan see that? "I was just having a bit of fun," she snapped. "No one died. Nothing is broken. Can't you leave me be?"

To her surprise, Dan didn't hoist her up like he normally would in this situation. Instead, he crouched down and took a seat beside her, leaning back against the wall with a tired sigh.

Gloria watched him confusedly, an uneasy knot forming in her stomach. Something was different. "Dan...? What happened? What's wrong?"

The Captain didn't respond for a very long moment. Finally, he said, "I was sent to fetch you. Your family is... in an uproar right now. It would appear that your elder brother has gone and joined the Inquisition."

Gloria lurched upwards, whirling on him. "Connal did what?!"

Dan ran a gloved hand over his furrowed brow and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The boy got it into his head that he'd play hero, it seemed. He left in the middle of the night without a word to anyone."

Gloria felt strangely as though she were floating. "Did... did he leave a note at least?"

"Yes. It is in Lady Trevelyan's possession. She is inconsolable at the moment."

"That... that...!" Gloria seethed, before something clicked. She groaned, smacking her forehead. "Oh, that idiot. I know why he's gone."

"Lady Pentaghast," they said together, and shared a commiserating look. Connal's one very obvious weakness.

"Right." She began to pace. "Well, we obviously can't let him do that."

Dan nodded.

"He has a life here, a family!" Gloria continued on, raising her hands. "What could he possibly offer the Inquisition without the support of the Trevelyans? Surely they don't have need for a noble son as just another sword?

Dan nodded again. If Gloria had been paying attention, she would have noticed that he had begun to watch her with a faint glimmer of amusement.

"Dan!" Gloria exclaimed, whirling on him with wide eyes. "I can do it. I can bring Connal back."

"Absolutely not. It is far too dangerous." Dan braced a hand on his knee and rose to his feet. "You'd send the Lady Trevelyan into a fit of apoplexy."

"You trained me with a sword yourself!" Gloria argued, bracing her hands on her hips. "I've got street smarts, experience, I know how to hide myself well. Half of the world doesn't even know that House Trevelyan has a daughter, anyways. Besides, do you really think that Connal would listen to just any messenger that Mother sends his way?"

"He wouldn't," Dan conceded with a nod of his head, "But I doubt he'd be pleased to find that his little sister has thrown herself into the heart of danger just to retrieve him, either."

"That's exactly what will convince him," Gloria insisted, wiggling her brows. "I will use my sisterly wiles to get him to come back to Ostwick with me. 'The longer you stay here, Con, the more likely I am to be killed! You don't want your baby sister dead, do you?'" She batted her lashes, raising her hands to her face in a gesture of woe.

Dan sighed. "I have no idea where you got this manipulative streak from, but it is certainly not from the Lord and Lady."

Gloria bounced giddily on the balls of her feet, certain in her victory. "So you'll do it, then? You'll help me convince Mother?"

Dan extended his hand. In it was her fiddle and bow, polished of dust and dirt, which he had taken into his lap while she had been obliviously pacing. Gloria took it from him and gave Dan a questioning look.

"You've been a caged bird within this city's walls for a very long time, Miss." He said, surprising her with a small half-smile. "While I have no willingness to put you in danger, you need to spread your wings. I think I've chased you around Ostwick for long enough, wouldn't you agree?"

"Dan..." Gloria trailed off, stunned by his admission. She had always viewed the Captain as her jailer, a constant and oppressive presence that prevented her from ever truly experiencing anything. Despite the endless memories she had of the two of them butting heads, however, Gloria could privately admit that he did all of it to protect her, as he did for Connal before her, and Matthew before him. In a way, he was much more like a father figure to them than the Lord Trevelyan himself was.

"That is of course to say that you will be taking a full guard with you on your journey," Dan continued on, effectively shattering any affectionate thoughts she might've been having. "You will be under the utmost protection at all times. You will also be expected to correspond with your family by letter twice daily-"

Progress is slow but there. Can't give poor Jonathan too much peace amirite :))

The gates opened wide at their approach, revealing a line of people waiting for them in the courtyard, as tall and still as the statues carved into the posts on either side. Bann Trevelyan stood straight and looked right at him, his hands resting on his cane. Jonathan was startled seeing him, and when he flinched this time, his mare decided she'd had enough, neighing and protesting, making him hold on tightly to the reins. Immediately, the Bann's voice made itself present in his mind. Disgrace. Can't even ride his own horse.

But the Bann didn't even sketch a reaction, steadfast in his unbearable stare. Their convoy stopped one by one, and Jonathan dismounted without further incident. He went through the greeting motions, acknowledging Nadia with a nod, and bowing to the Bann, "My lord."

It was just the same. He'd faced arrows and swords and explosions, feared for his life and the lives of others, felt brand new and changed from his time in Nevarra. But he had been a fool to think so. The same familiar cold shiver and short breath creeped back, dragging him like a low and vicious current, once again lost and fearful of what consequences might follow any of the Bann's words.

Galbert and Ser Magda greeted next, with the soldiers and then Helmut following suit. The Bann surveyed them silently, and turning his stare back to Jonathan, said, "Captain. A word."

Tagging: @kita-lavellan | @silvanils | @ellie-effie | @noire-pandora | @morganlefaye79 | @cleverblackcat

Many thanks to @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold @in-arlathan @another-rogue-trevelyan @noire-pandora @curiousartemis @dreadfutures @moonlightheretic @kittynomsdeplume @curiousthimble @hobo-apostate @morganlefaye79 for the tag! Goodness, there’s so many of you <3 

I have both an art and writing WIP this week. First, a sketch WIP. This is of @inquisitoracorn‘s OC, Jonathan. He is wearing fashion from the 1740s, to match Acorn’s story ‘Two Songs and Three Serpents.’, set in 18th century Ostwick (which I highly recommend; it’s such fun to read). I’m excited about how he’s turning out, so far. 

this is the button hole, which I based off of the descriptions in Ch. 1. It will be gold, eventually. <3 

climate there seems to me to be similar to Greece (idk why)

so, i can only think of dresses and skirts in several layers of light, flowing fabric, for example, satin, chiffon, silk. linen or viscose (or cotton) trousers plus all sorts of voluminous shirts made of cotton plus optional embroidery with patterns or jewels possible