happy accidents

spicyshimmy:

One night, Varric asks, ‘What were you like back then, Blondie?’ with a warm chuckle—like a fire just lit, a poker recalling the embers to flames. 

Maker, that was a long time ago. 

He was bigger, for one thing. Not in the cosmic sense but the physical one. Softer in all the senses, and not very righteous, and not very scarred. 

And then there was the earring—a bit of a metaphor, really, for that entire existence. Just a pretty little bauble, no good for anything in particular, but still shiny enough to notice now and then. 

Oh, and the nose—it was large, so that’s one thing that hasn’t changed at all. 

The robes were comfortable enough, though they provided so little protection in the Deep Roads, while their merry party of murderers skirted through the muck and slid past taloned pincers in Kal’Hirol. In those days, all the walking—farther and farther into a strange tunnel called freedom—ached; it felt as though it might ache for years. He made elfroot potions for his calves and realized why he’d never managed a successful escape before.

He didn’t know how to run.

Literally. 

And there was a cat, of course, the mewling, contradictory little creature. He thought Pounce needed him in the cosmic, metaphorical and physical senses, but Pounce had sharp claws and knew how to catch mice, where to curl up at the end of a long day. He could make a cozy napping spot of anywhere. 

A shaft of sunlight or a dank corner. A warm bed or cold gray stone. 

Now and then, Anders thinks, he turned and met the shadows a certain way—and the etchings on his face were as clear as dwarven runes. A twist of pain. An echo of loneliness. Big, feathered shoulders that didn’t weigh anything. They might’ve looked large, oh, yes, but it was almost like he wasn’t carrying more than himself. 

Wary—oh, yes.

Just not wary enough.

No shields, except for the ribcage. Emphasis on the cage—cosmic, metaphorical, physical and all that. 

It was exactly what he wished for, wasn’t it? An adventure far beyond the confines of a single tower, complete with Grey Wardens and smelly dwarves and angry noblemen and cranky elves, and trees that moved and bodies that festered and secrets unburied and bad, bad jokes, and fresh air on his face sometimes, but it wasn’t a caress or a gentle hand, and as free as he was, the dreams were dark, so angry to be so afraid, Deep Roads like veins pumping, pounding through the unfamiliar earth. 

‘Well,’ Anders replies, ‘I’m told I happened to be funny.’ 

As though what they chose to see had ever been who he was. 

(Source: illluminaries)

riotglitterdust:

A few weeks ago I sat down and worked out which tattoos correspond to which gods in the Elven Pantheon. There’s actually enough lore out there to do this with a reasonable amount of certainty. 

• Andruil: Bow to represent Goddess of the Hunt
• Dirthamen: Book to represent where the Dalish keep their secrets/lore.
• Elgar’nan: Cracked earth and dark/light. Duality theme from legend.
• Falon’din: Same general shape of Falon’din’s statues. Less organic than the other tattoos; Falon’din is the God of the Dead.
• Ghilain’nain:  Mother of the Halla. These are obviously halla horns.
• June: God of the Craft. Brought woodworking to the Dalish. In return the Dalish emblazoned the most basic tools of the trade across their FACE. Awesome.
• Mythal: Tree. Mythal returned life to the world after Elgarn’nan fought with the sun. Mythal’s flame is kept near the Tree of the People in the center of Alienages. Lingering scrap of Elven culture? Single trees are planted over dead bodies. Life from death. 
• Sylaise: Hearthkeeper. Gave fire to the Dalish. Can clearly see a torch in the tattoo. Also vines/rope, other marks of Sylaise, and thread/cloth detail on the complex version.

Fen’Harel and the Forgotten Ones have no vallaslin. Shocking.

(Source: purpleglitterdust, via reflectionoftheeluvian)