#prxnceps

//bring it mage nerd

Fenris did not know why he had not let his feet take him to Starkhaven before now. In the fallout from the destruction of Kirkwall’s Chantry, after the Champion and their companions had been chased from their homes, surely it should have been the safest place for him. Kirkwall had him named as a wanted, hunted fugitive; in Tevinter, he would have been recognised and returned to the estate of the late Danarius. In Orlais, elves fared little better than their slave cousins in the Imperium.

Out of all of Thedas, Sebastian would have given him protection. Had they not been brothers, of a sort? Of all of those whom had travelled alongside Hawke, had the Starkhaven Prince not been one of the few that Fenris was outwardly fond of? Sebastian had, once, extended a hand to the elvhen fugitive; he had once given him the offer of home and work in Starkhaven. To train the city’s armies… Fenris didn’t know if he had the tolerance in him to teach, but after so long on the road, the idea of a place he could call his own was admittedly appealing. Especially now that the lyrium in his skin was beginning to taint his blood: it was not yet enough to cripple him, but the mornings were growing noticeably harder to face, and he could not pretend that he had experienced a good night’s sleep for some months now, haunted as he was by the lyrium song. Yes, a home and a place at Sebastian’s side sounded like a tempting sanctuary indeed.

But Sebastian was angry, and Hawke’s old companions had fallen from his grace. And rightly so; what Anders had done was inexcusable. That Hawke had spared the mage besides was… even more so, and the knowledge that she valued the mage over what was right hurt Fenris’s heart.

So it had taken four years for his feet to lead him here. Starkhaven. The City of Princes – tall, imposing. Filled with carved statues; colourfully-paved courtyards; marble fountains that bragged of the city’s wealth.

It was… opulent. Even more so than Minrathous. Fenris was not entirely sure that it didn’t make him uncomfortable.

Still: he was here for Sebastian, not for sightseeing, and he turned his gaze away from the looming statues, from the huge, red and black-painted city shields. The princely estates, or the Chantry? Which would be most likely to yield his friend; was he in prayer or at war?

Gaze fixed on the distant spire of the Andrastian church, he swallowed a curse and a sharp retort as someone barged into his shoulders. He narrowed sharp eyes at the offender, who strung curses and warnings at the distracted elf, but Fenris held his tongue, loath to speak. The events of 2:80 Glory had not been ones that were spoken of often during his days in the Imperium, but even those blind to history knew of the Tevinter betrayal of their Starkhaven allies. If Fenris’s appearance alone wasn’t enough to draw unpleasant attention towards his passing, he was certain that his Tevene accent would do the rest for him.

He just wanted to find his old friend, and be out of these streets. The architecture might have been different, but there were still enough hints of the past Tevinter alliance in those old stones to make him uneasy. It put him in mind of his old master’s home, and he kept his gaze lowered as he walked.

send me a character + thing if you wanna know my headcanon for them and that thing

Nathaniel was raised on typical, traditional Fereldan food despite his noble upbringing simply because I imagine Rendon to be extremely patriotic. Influence of any other nation, especially Orlais, was unforgivable even on the dinner table and so he was definitely a meat and potatoes type of guy. He would have grown up on hearty stews and fresh bread and mince pies and all that good stuff. He also lived somewhere where he would have had access to woodlands to hunt in, so he’d be used to a lot of game meat and eating food cooked over an open fire.

When he went to the Free Marches it would have taken some adjusting to their cuisine, but I think that because he went over there as a soldier it was close enough to what he was used to eating at home. As a result I don’t think he’s big on “fancy” food, equating it with Orlais and those nobles who give themselves over to overindulgent behaviours. Give him the meal of a soldier, meant for maintaining strength and vigour, and nothing more. He most certainly is not interested in anything with funny names or weird mixes of ingredients. (Though, that being said, he was taught to never be impolite, so he will eat whatever is in front of him without protest. He just won’t like it.)

My favorite thing about them:

"Do I mention those gorgeous eyes, that Maker-blessed backside, or his absolute nonchalance when it comes to other people’s problems?"

My least favorite thing about them:

"His Maker-blessed backside is off limits."

Do I find them attractive?

"In case I didn’t make that clear, yes."

Are we friends?

"He’s one of the best I’ve got."

Would I date them?

"I—… no… no."

Would I marry them?

"Could you imagine? A pirate and a prince? I think not.”

Would I have children with them?

"Anyone else think there are far too many questions in this survey..?”

Would I die for them?

"Well, I haven’t heard any ideas from you. So unless you have a map of this…blighted chateau, keep your biting sarcasm to yourself."