In This House We Simp For The Arishok And Support Hawke Simping For The Arishok

In this house we simp for the Arishok and support Hawke simping for the Arishok

(Sound by egirl.png on tik tok, used with permission)

face hidden

hands on my chest

cannot breathe in;

what i breathe out

is pure ice

cold as

D E S P A I R

ok ok but listen up:

– everyone likes otranto (because i said so)

– he already has a dramatic background and a potential personal mission (that scandal about the terrazas, which i’m very curious about)

– being antivan, he could be the perfect excuse to introduce antiva as a playable area

– he’s a pansexual icon (because i said so)

– he’s not dead, since the inquisitor cannot kill him during the duel, so no lyrium ghost or “that wasn’t my burned body” kind of things

– he’s clearly a cool literary reference to the castle of otranto, so we, the “nobody” protagonists, could become lords/ladies/whatever of his gothic castle

– i just know he has eye bags because he stays up at night to write love poems

De Sardet: the stars are beautiful tonight

Kurt/Siora/Vasco/Aphra: yeah

De Sardet: you know who else is beautiful?

Kurt/Siora/Vasco/Aphra: *blushes* who?

De Sardet: Constantin

falling on my knees

boiling and aching

uncontrollable flames;

burning like

a forest fire

and all i know is

RAGE

Hatred is a sentiment she never though would betray her.

She looks at the man who’s doomed her lover to a terrible death, the one who has separated her from Duncan, and she awaits the surge of fury. She’s no stranger to its misery and strength, has felt it the very moment he’s faced her during his Joining, their Joining. The Hero of Ferelden has been too merciful towards a murderer, a traitor, but at least she’s made it down to hell with him.

And yet it comes no more. 

She sees Loghain’s blue eyes, tired and guilty and full of pride - and pain. She sees a man who’s chosen a difficult path, ‘cause he’s the only one who could bear its burden, the only one who had to, no matter how right or wrong that might prove to be.

She sees a father who writes more nervously to his daughter, carefully calibrating what to say and what not to, avoiding the harshest details of a life lived in the only country he’d never wish to hear the name of again.

She sees a man who’s killed many to save many more. One who is mistaken, who recognizes it, who’s trying to make amends for what he’s caused. It’s particularly evident when he lends her his fur on a particularly cold night, making sure it’s cozy against her neck before returning to his position, no comments, no questions, perhaps lingering banter he’s clever enough not to start unprompted.

She wants to hate him. 

And instead, she hates herself for the softness that grows into her heart when she hear him praying, just one time, asking to his God to be especially good to Duncan and to her, until the day they’ll meet again. The way he adds, after a moment of silence, that he hopes it’s not any time soon has her walking away uneasy, full of questions and dissatisfaction.

How ironic. A traitor and a hypocrite. Which is which, she’s unsure herself.