that tarquin scenario lit my brain on fire it fits him so well and he would literally be such a good captain
one must imagine tarquin on a ship in the high seas quelling raiders and pirates who cropped up and infested the waters during utm and affect summer's trade/supply routes and who he could simply raise the waves to drown in one fell swoop if he wanted but instead addresses individually to offer clemency and pardons to on the condition of a life of reform . and when they don't accept these terms or try to fight back he shows them that he is a high lord unlike his predecessors in that he is willing to see good first but that he is not lenient or permissive—that he will enforce his law with the mother-ordained right he has been given to do so 👅
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Continuing to absolutely LOVE this week! And not just because it means so get to see so much Neve (though as anyone who knows me would agree, that absolutely will hold my interest), but because I’ve seen so many awesome works with Tarquin, the Viper, various Rook Mercars, and the whole gang!
Yes yes yes.
Thanks so much to @shadow-dragon-week for putting all this together!
For my contribution for Day Six: Rebellion | Reform, I wrote a short Tarquin POV fic taking place during the Maevaris v. Dorian choice. No beta read on this, so all errors belong to me personally. 🙂↕️
(Awesome divider from @kogarashi-art!)
Tarquin watched warily as Mercar — Rook, he supposed, these days — stood in the corner with Gallus. For once, his face was serious. He was giving this some thought. They all were, Tarquin guessed.
Where did they go from here?
He knew what he’d told Rook, when the other man had asked. And he’d meant it. They needed to gut the whole thing. When the foundation and beams of a house were rotting, you ripped it down to nothing and built a new one. Something that infested couldn’t be fixed with small changes.
Tevinter was rotting. Had been his entire life and several lifetimes before that. How many people would collapse under the weight of this diseased structure if they tried to move along without taking hammer and axe to the thing?
Tarquin could feel Ashur watching him. Knew what he’d say, if Tarquin were to ask.
How many innocent people would die when the walls and the roof were gone before they could build a new one? And, in their haste to give people a home, would the building of it be shite again?
Tarquin didn’t have an answer.
Maevaris Tilani and Ashur were in agreement on what they should do; no surprise in that, they usually were.
But wasn’t that the problem? The unspoken but always present spot of discomfort in everything they did? That so much of their leadership were Altus?
Tarquin couldn’t claim to know how it felt to be a highblood — not like they’d had the same experiences he had — but that was the exact problem. Most of Tevinter was like him. Like Rook and Rana, like Lorelai and Bren. The Soporati and the slaves were the largest classes in Tevinter by far, the fragile bridge of the Liberati between them more like the sleepers and the slaves than the mages. The Altus class was tiny. And, despite that, that tiny number of families — bolstered by the Laetan mages just below them and aspiring to join that coveted status — had controlled Tevinter, had shaped and ruined lives, since before the time of Andraste.
Should those same few, and their limited view of what the real Tevinter was, really get to choose for them all again?
It wouldn’t be people like Ashur or Tilani who would suffer while they all tried to convince Tevinter to overturn generations of shite by using words.
It wouldn’t be people like Pavus who would suffer if his proposed strong-armed destruction of the old ways devolved into civil war.
Funny how that worked out.
He could give credit where credit was due. Tarquin knew that even by asking for opinions from him, from Gallus, from Rook, all three of the highbloods had done something rare. Still, Tarquin wasn’t sure it was enough. For him. For the other Shadow Dragons. For the rest of the forgotten and ignored in the Imperium.
Ultimately, though no one would ever say so — probably Mercar least of it — it would likely come down to Rook. Tarquin didn’t envy him. How could one man, no matter how many dragons or gods or whatever he’d killed, speak for millions?
By the lack of ill-timed jokes and sharp sarcasm coming from the corner in which Rook now stood, Tarquin could tell the weight of his decision wasn’t lost on him.
He looked sick.
Rebellion or reform? Those were his options. From where Tarquin sat, there was only one real answer. Paint wouldn’t fix a rotted foundation.
But Tarquin knew he had the dubious luxury of his opinion not mattering all that much — what else was new? — and Rook didn’t. The outcome would rest on Mercar’s shoulders, whatever the fairness of that, and he would bear the consequences.
How many people would suffer for Tilani and Ashur’s caution?
How many people would die in Dorian’s purges and the ensuing chaos?
As Rook opened his mouth to speak, Tarquin guessed they were all going to find out together.
In my headcanon, the Shadow Dragons have politic currents as pro-Dorian and pro-Mae. Rook, Tarquin and the Viper talk about their political views in this fic.
Title: Different approach
Rating: T
Platonic relationship: Rook & Tarquin
Summary: Rook, Tarquin and the Viper discuss if it's possible to reform Tevinter and how.
Belatedly, however, she realized the colors were off. Too much red. Not enough teal. No flash of silver breastplate.
She nearly choked on her food as her eyes darted upwards...
She did not find the Viper’s cool grey gaze hidden behind his usual veil and beneath his tri-cornered hat looking back at her as she’d been led to expect.
Instead, she was met by a dark-haired, dark-eyed man who appeared slightly older than herself and whose beard made his face look far more pointed than it likely was.
She blinked at him.
He blinked back.
Had their circumstances been different, she might have laughed. As it was, she understood the silent message. So, I am to make the first move, am I? All right, then.
~~~
Side Note: life has thrown a few curve balls this week and so I am posting Day 5 (Alternative prompt) before posting Day 3 and Day 4. I will get to them when I can, even if it's after Shadow Dragon Week is done.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Featuring: Neve Gallus, Tarquin, and Lucanis Dellamorte
@shadow-dragon-week
After defeating the Evanuris for good and restoring the Veil, the Shadow Dragons and their allies are left to recover amid the wreckage. Neve now deals with the conflicting feelings around surviving Elgar'nan's clutches only to face an uncertain future. Fortunately, she isn't facing it alone.
In the wake of Elgar’nan’s defeat, the opulent plazas and squares of Hightown were unrecognizable. Here the blight tendrils burst through paved streets, tangled between crumbling spires, and shattered mosaics and public fountains. Even withered and disintegrating, their now still forms loomed, casting oppressive shadows over the once bustling streets. Many of the grand estates now lay in ruin, either hollowed out shells or mere piles of crumbled stone and dust. Neve remembered them as a child, during the rare times she and her family took the roads that carried them closer to the wealthier parts of the city. To her, they looked like they could pierce the very sky, or tear themselves from their foundations to trample her if she ever got too close. She’d hated them back then, hated how small they made her feel. But now, she didn’t know how to process the empty skyline where their silhouettes would have been. She could only hope that the poorer districts and her beloved Dock Town were spared the worst of the Blight.
From the time they had all descended from the Archon’s Palace, Lucanis had not left her side. He hovered around her worriedly, fetching everything he could think of for her whenever she so much as coughed. A little excessive, but he meant well. She tried to brush him off gently, reassure him that she was fine. But in truth, once she’d reached the impromptu field hospital set up in the Divine’s Manor, she couldn’t do a whole lot except collapse into a chair.
She didn’t know whether she would fully recover, or how many years she might have left, but at least now her veins no longer felt like they’d been set on fire.
She would take the small wins.
She’d hoped no one would speak to her; at the moment, she was too exhausted to keep up the pleasantries. However, when Tarquin approached, neither did she have it in her to shoo him away.
“How’re you holding up?”
Direct. To the point. The way Tarquin always is.
She laughed weakly. “Can’t say I’ve had worse,” she replied.
The laugh unfortunately triggered another coughing fit, as if to emphasize her point.
Lucanis scrambled to his feet to refill her waterskin. Bless him. He looked like he was about to be sick from worry.
“Well, I don’t think I need to tell you to rest,” Tarquin responded. “Unlike some.”
She and Lucanis exchanged a look at that.
“I haven’t seen Rook since we returned,” Lucanis said, hazarding a guess over the meaning of Tarquin’s snide comment. “Is he all right?”
“He ran off toward the Mercar family estate about an hour ago,” Tarquin said with a grimace. “And no, he refused backup. Stubborn arse.”
Neve frowned. “I didn’t think he was on good terms with his family.”
There was a conflicted look on Tarquin’s face. “No, but I get it. My own da was a right prick, but I’d like to think I would’ve tried to look for him in the rubble too.”
She nodded in understanding, and a look passed between the three of them. A shared experience. Perhaps different in the particulars, but one that had left them all asking the same questions. She leaned back in her chair, taking a few sips of water to clear her throat and to collect her thoughts. Though several hidden rooms and passages of the Divine’s Manor had been spared the destruction, the raging battle outside had left its mark here as well.
“So, what happens once the dust clears?” she asked. “I doubt enough of the prominent families survived to incentivize rebuilding everything as it used to be.”
Lucanis tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Would any unclaimed estates become the property of the Chantry, or the state?”
Tarquin shrugged. “I think before we can even answer that question, we’ll need to rebuild our damn government from scratch.”
Neve couldn’t help but to snort. “What? You mean all those corpses in the Magisterium don’t count?”
“I’m not puppeteering any of those, thanks,” Tarquin grumbled.
It still hurt a bit to laugh.
Neve couldn’t recognize her city anymore, but perhaps with time, something new could be built here. She sighed, reaching out to squeeze Lucanis’s hand.
Wiggling in a little late but I got to this scene in RE4 remake and it tickled the part of my brain that's always thinking about the Viper having Tarquin investigated thank you
Summary: Sitting in a dark room, Tarquin does paperwork obscuring the creation of new Liberati as the formerly enslaved are integrated into new lives in Tevinter and abroad.
Read below (955 words.)
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━━━⊱ | ⊰━━━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
By the Will of the Maker and the Hand of the Archon, the Voice of the Divine, on this day the First Day of Verimensis in the year two thousand and forty two heralds the dawn of the new year.
In Celebration, and in accordance with custom, the names contained herein are now considered Liberati, free of all incurred debt of their person in all forms, from all sources, and in totality. This decree is effective at the time of transcription into this, the Counting of Names, and cannot be altered or changed without explicit writ of the Archon, the Divine, or their named representatives.
Any who deny or delay the discharge of their emancipation, or who testify falsely of its records, shall be considered as debtor to the Imperium, and subject to all punishments as put forth in the law.
Tarquin sighed to himself as he began to write, the only other sound in the room the scratch of his pen across enchanted paper. His hand was already cramped partway through, but the work could not wait for him to rest. Each name flowed forth in his hand, the letters containing lifetimes of change. A few caught his eye, but most were simply letters, copied onto the page. As each one was completed, it would flash briefly, showing that it had been prepared properly for whatever magic would do with it later on.
Ready to be sent tomorrow to every Chantry in the Imperium. Posted to the boards for the faithful and faithless alike to read. Unchangeable, immutable. And, at least for the list of names Tarquin had to commit to the rolls, an absolute fabrication. Each name someone the Shadow Dragons had freed, rescued, or or assisted in escape. No debts had been cleared, because they owed no one for the dignity of a free life. They were owed everything by those who had stolen their freedom, or denied it at birth. This was the only way he knew to pay even some of that debt.
"Have you finished?"
Tarquin looked up, letting the rich voice pass over him as a tall man emerged from the shadows at the edge of the room. Next to the large shelves full of scrolls, he still stood taller and prouder than most. He considered that a feat in a city full of the high and mighty, all fighting to claw further up than the rest.
"I hear you go by 'The Viper?" Tarquin snorted, dispelling his brief unease at being observed before he noticed the man was there. There was no way he was going to let someone looking like that know how startled he had been to hear his voice.
"Yes."
"Mae said you could make sure this was official," he flicked his eyes to the paper, and back to the man who had moved far enough into the candle light that he could see more of their form. Large, in a dramatic leather coat bedecked with Shadow Dragon imagery, complete with the face mask mimicking the fangs of a snake and a tricorn hat pulled snugly down on is head.
"Yes," the man repeated simply, infuriatingly, and held out a gauntleted hand to take the sheets as Tarquin passed them over. "They will be read out by the Divine tomorrow as a part of the Chant of the First Day, with the names already submitted. A charm ensures that the Archon's decree will be replicated with the others in every large chantry in the Imperium. All will know."
"And he'll read them then? No problem getting them in the right hands?" Tarquin snorted as he began to methodically burn each of the flimsy paper sheets he had brought with him, destroying the only evidence of what he had done aside from the paper in the the other man's hands.
"He will, Templar Tarquin," The Viper gave a short nod as he stashed the paper somewhere inside his coat, blue eyes catching Tarquin's from under the brim of the his hat. Naked sincerity, entirely disarming. Not something in large supply in Minrathous on the best days, much less doing business in the dark, even for the Shadows.
"Just Tarquin," he looked away, busying his hands with cleaning up the ash, ink and blotting paper. It wasn't unusual for him to work late, but he didn't need too many people wondering why he had been using this kind of ink and paper, as opposed to the low quality paperwork he was usually stuck filling out.
As The Viper turned to go, he paused at the edge of the light, half concealed in shadow already. "The Chant begins at sunrise with the calling of the Liberati by the Divine, if you are inclined to attend."
He disappeared before Tarquin could respond, melting into the dark recesses of the archives as if he had never been there. Officially, of course, no one had been here tonight, not even him. His superiors were more than happy to let him work after hours as long as he didn't expect to get paid for it. At least this time someone would benefit from what he'd done.
"Sunrise, eh?" Tarquin muttered to himself as he stood and stretched, supplies carefully returned to their place, candles extinguished. He looked around the cramped archives room where he spent most of his time, day and and day out in the dark, now illuminated only by the low magical lights along the walls. "Might be nice to watch somebody else bring the light for a change, even if it is one of the Maker's only jobs he still does."
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━━━⊱ | ⊰━━━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Tags are always no pressure, check this fun thing out, with no expectation of response ❤️
