Dragon Age Inquistion

Dragon Age Meta Preview: Legends vs. Reality

Based on patron votes in June, I completed this analysis by taking a close look at legends and the reality behind them in the Dragon Age series! To say I was excited is an understatement if I’ve ever heard one. There are some concepts involved here, such as the vallaslin of the Dalish, but I’ve chosen to focus on four people who were made into legends in Thedas:

  • The Inquisitor
  • Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall
  • The Dread Wolf
  • King Maric

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Remember, there will be spoilers for all games here (plus side books/comics).

1.) The Inquisitor

“This kind of runaway opinion forms an image of the Inquisitor as a legend that they personally can’t shape.”

Although the Inquisitor’s exact story varies based on the player’s choices, their experiences are more or less the same in a broad sense and highly talked about across Thedas. For example, whether your Inquisitor approves of being called the Herald of Andraste or not, people will call your Inquisitor that. The decision to allow it to happen is largely up to Josephine and the rumor mill, not the individual Inquisitor. This kind of runaway opinion forms an image of the Inquisitor as a legend that they personally can’t shape, and since it’s not just the Herald rumor going about, their legend quickly separates itself from reality.

In the words of Scout Harding in the Jaws of Hakkon DLC: “Every time you’re more than just a person to someone, you’re also… less… than a person to them. They don’t see that a real, normal woman fought the Avvar and killed that dragon. And they certainly don’t know about your strange fixation with elfroot.”

2.) Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall

“There were plenty of story quests that Hawke could have absolutely declined to get mixed up in, only they did.”

And as for how Varric knew that about the Inquisitor’s legendary status, Hawke is really the poster child. They weren’t thrown into heroics by circumstances and given no other choice like the Warden or Inquisitor. When Hawke saw something they could help with, they did. And they got to a place where they could help in those situations because they wanted to provide a good life for their family. The Champion of Kirkwall really became a legend at their own expense because they chose to get involved each and every time they could have sat things out. That makes them a very different kind of hero than the other two Dragon Age protagonists that were forced into it by events outside of their control.

Yes, the Blight forced the Hawke family out of Lothering, and Hawke couldn’t have controlled that. They had to work as an indentured employee for a year to get entry into Kirkwall in the first place too, which they didn’t have any say in. But there were plenty of story quests that Hawke could have absolutely declined to get mixed up in, only they did.

3.) The Dread Wolf

“A large aspect of The Dread Wolf… is that only he could walk among the gods and the Forgotten Ones alike. This… meant he could deceive both of them without either one interacting.”

The legends of The Dread Wolf, or Fen’Harel, are not all that favorable. He was believed by the Dalish to hate kindness and wisdom above all else, and he was rumored to have snuck through the Fade into a Keeper’s dreams to twist them against their clan. The Dread Wolf has power that can affect the whole world according to his tales, from the Veil to the stars. He is willing to injure himself to get away with his misdeeds, and he’s apparently had some aversion to dogs, haha.

But a large aspect of The Dread Wolf’s in-world lore is that only he could walk among the gods and the Forgotten Ones alike. This ability meant he could deceive both of them without either one interacting, using their mutual trust of him to betray both sides. He is a highly superstitious figure for the Dalish with some seeing him as completely evil. Of course, the truth of his actions is more nuanced and complicated (although still terrible).

4.) King Maric

“Whatever he wanted for his life, Maric had no other choice but to rise to the throne.”

To give Origins a little more love, we’ll go into King Maric, otherwise known as Maric the Savior as the legacy left behind by his deeds. He freed Ferelden from Orlesian rule and restored his family to the throne with the help of some of his closest friends. His accomplishments there quickly made him legend across Ferelden and whatever he wanted for his life, Maric had no other choice but to rise to the throne. As he described it in the Dragon Age novel by David Gaider, The Calling:

“I had to go on, because Ferelden needed me. I married a woman who was in love with my best friend, because Ferelden needed me. And when she died I kept going, despite the fact that everything in my life felt empty, because Ferelden needed me.” He looked at her again, his eyes sad. “Everything was because Ferelden needed me.”

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Alone Together | Dragon Age Fanfiction

Word count: 2200 (5 to 18 minutes) | Rating: T | Note: Dragon Age Spoilers | Characters: Dorian Pavus, Garrett Hawke, Varric Tethras, Cole

The Inquisitor was wise to bring Dorian along on this little errand with Cole, Varric, and the dwarf’s friend. Even to this forsaken spit of land. Hawke had fought Corypheus before and suspected the Grey Wardens were vulnerable to the wretch’s influence. His instincts ought to be conceivably better than his ability to kill darkspawn. The cruelly attractive Champion of Kirkwall had connections to shed some light on the situation, and having an experienced mage in Dorian who also knew what modern amenities were made a world of difference. Or it would, once they got to the spiky and dour affair that was Adamant Fortress. Its one benefit over Weisshaupt was not being stubbornly wedged into a frigid mountain.

Until then, Dorian had to contend with the ill-dressed Cole and his barbed good intentions.

“I’m hurting you, Dorian. Words, winding, wanting, wounding. You said I could ask,” he asked, confused. Of all the times Cole insisted on prying into his life, now was particularly horrid. A handsome, talented man was in their company! Then Dorian was in the position of having to field questions about his estranged father. Hard to make that look sexy no matter how desirable the man.

“I know I did,” he acknowledged, spiteful at the tremor in his words. Trying to be patient through the pain was testing the very essence of his soul. Navigating a craggy stretch of desert with their group all pretending to be stricken deaf to awkward conversations, Dorian tried to steer Cole away from the heart of it. “The things you ask are just—very personal.”

“But… It hurts.” He tilted his head, that ridiculous hat flopping from the movement. “I want to help, but it’s all tangled with the love. I can’t tug it loose without tearing it.” The Inquisitor looked over her shoulder to them to gauge Dorian’s agony and unwittingly added to it. He only grimaced and stared off to some rubble while Cole carried on. “You hold him so tightly. You let it keep hurting because you think hurting is who you are. Why would you do… Oh. You are not alone.”

Wait. He wasn’t?

That caught his attention. Turning to follow Cole’s gaze, with Varric doing the same, they both settled their stare on Hawke’s back. The easy smile on his face that he always had confirmed he hadn’t been warned at how nosy Cole could be. Open emotional wounds and helping to mend them were irresistible to their friend from the Fade, and the rumors suggested Hawke was essentially a walking bastion of emotional torment.

“What? Please tell me I didn’t fall backward into some unsavory stain again.” Hawke’s optimism might have worked as a shield or diversion any other time. No such luck with Cole. Something about a person rooting around in your head, it left you utterly defenseless.

“Her bloodied body on the soil, cradled by Mother one last time. ‘How could you let her charge off like that?’ Says nothing when only I return and not my brother, how could I let him die? She falls to her knees and sobs, shattered, sorrowful, scarred. My fault.”

Piece by fragile piece, that beautiful smile came apart to a truly haunted facsimile. The shame was that he remained quite attractive through it. When he also slowed to a stop, the rest of them did the same without a word of protest. What else could anyone do? The situation had caught everyone rather off guard.

Cole hadn’t said enough to make the painful memories perfectly apparent. It was oddly a comfort for Dorian to know that, from the outside, the inner workings of the mind and private history were not laid so horrifically bare as it felt. It was only due to Varric’s novel that he knew the finer details at all. But that comfort was small and guilt-riddled next to the recognition furrowing Varric’s brow. As if Hawke looking so near to cheerily shattering wasn’t agonizing enough.

“Her eyes clouded with death like starlight; she is dying, always my fault. I’ll be fine, I lie, and she lies back, but her last words mean the world.”

“Cole—” Varric started, soft with him as always. He’d taken a shine to Cole and didn’t have the heart to stop him from getting carried away.

In that ethereal quality his voice took on when recounting memories, he forged on. “My little boy has become so strong. I love you. You’ve always made me so proud.” The silence hung thick as they all waited. Cole shook his head again, worrying his hands. At last, he made eye contact with Hawke and seemed all too aware of how much he’d hurt them both. “But she wasn’t lying. Why do you both choose—”

“Kid, uh…” Varric walked over to Cole and patted his arm. He’d become quite the father, that tender-hearted storyteller. “Why don’t you take it down a notch?”

Cole glanced from Varric to Dorian to Hawke and back to Varric again. Whether or not he learned a single thing from that visual trek, they’d find out soon enough if Cole asked more invasive questions. More likely when he did. The boy was a curious delight and part of the ragtag family of the Inquisition, but he was not tactful. Which had to be a grave state of indiscretion indeed if Dorian said so.

”I’m sorry. I keep making it worse.”

“No,” Dorian half-whispered, emotionally exhausted. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Hawke agreed, then walked ahead alone.

The return to Skyhold after that unmitigated disaster of a mission was honestly a relief. Dorian didn’t complain once about the cold or that swill at the Herald’s Rest! A trip to the Fade in person was momentous and he would never stop being enthralled by all he saw there—well, most of what he saw. Could have done without the nightmare spider part. All the same, the sight of those frostbitten peaks encasing an unsightly collection of boxes these people called a fort was a genuine improvement.

When he did clean up and set out for the Skyhold tavern, Dorian was surprised to see Hawke still there. He had to set out for Weisshaupt. There had to be an overwhelming list of tasks to undertake first, and he assumed Hawke would want to spend as much personal time as possible with his dear friend from Kirkwall. How two men of such arguable taste lived in such a shithole and held fond memories of it was a mystery… Although not as enigmatic as Hawke’s presence there. He had a difficult day to say the least. His Warden friend sacrificed his life in the Fade for them. The remaining Wardens had been absorbed into the Inquisition. Cole had rifled about in his mind before one of the single worst adventures the so-called Herald of Andraste brought them on. And, to finish it all off, he’d have to leave Varric again shortly to go to a place notably less pleasant than Skyhold.

Dorian shuddered to think how all those serious Wardens would drag Hawke down. Normally, he was a right ray of sunshine! There was a reason Varric called him Chuckles. He did have a way with nicknames, however begrudgingly Dorian had to admit that. He deserved better than an icy mountainous lair for terminally somber Wardens.

“You going to stand there all night?” Krem’s lighthearted jab took Dorian from his thoughts, where he had apparently stopped immediately in the doorway.

“Please do accept my deepest apologies,” Dorian joked back, stepping aside in the direction of the bar. “I sometimes succeed in my willful amnesia of this place, and I must suffer anew its subpar existence.”

“You arse,” his companion answered with a chuckle and washed that down with a swig from his tankard.

That freed Dorian to approach Hawke. His idle smile made a half-hearted appearance to what he recognized as an attempt to cleanse pain with enough alcohol. Cleanse or drown out, whichever happened first, really.

Dorian set himself down on the unforgiving imitation of a stool beside Hawke and offered his finest grin for the lovely friend Varric had been hiding. After all, what made misery seem further away than a profile as gorgeous as his?

“Care for company?”

“That depends on the company,” Hawke teased, waving the barkeep down for a drink regardless. It had to be for Dorian based on the fact that the one in his hand was presently full. And that precious discovery did add some sincerity to his grin. Somewhere in that embarrassing march to Adamant, Dorian had endeared himself to the Champion.

“I plan on getting rather drunk tonight, and I detest doing so alone,” he presented a small fib. Who was keeping track between them? If that night went as planned, there would be far more important events to remember. Presuming they recalled anything whatsoever. “So I am choosing to take your answer as a yes.”

“It’s that or I intend to drink with a tankard in each hand. I’d say you’ve made the right choice,” Hawke said with a wink and raised his drink in a toast for Dorian. Special attention was always a short path to Dorian showing off that silk dance he so loved, and he had to admire Hawke’s astute initiative in extending it so swiftly. Before taking a long gulp of his drink to get the night of drunken stupor started, of course.

His plan to wrap himself up in Hawke, a rare athletic mage with his own roguish charms, had gone swimmingly. Dorian was so fortunate as to have a clear memory of the highlights, as it were.

Hawke had an arm around Dorian as they rested naked beneath the sheets in the late nighttime hours. Perhaps early morning. How relevant was that when Hawke was warm and welcoming long after they’d both had their pleasure? More than once, in fact. They enjoyed themselves so thoroughly that they’d had to stop once to put the drapes out. Pesky fire magic had a way of intruding at the most inopportune occasions.

Much like Dorian’s decidedly unsexy insecurities invaded his mind post-coitus. That was how he ended up voicing unnecessary questions while he lounged against the firm pectoral of one Garrett Hawke.

“Do you suppose Cole was right?”

“Hm?” Hawke’s hum rumbled in his chest, a dangerously soothing sensation for Dorian. There happened to be a certain domestic quality to it that reminded him of what it meant to hope for a real love. A fool’s errand, more often than not.

Too late to retreat from it now, Dorian figured.

“That we’re not alone?”

He frowned when Hawke laughed, turning to place a kiss to his head between impish chortles. Why, oh why, was he always drawn to the mischievous ones? What ever became of ‘opposites attract’?

“Well, you’re here, I’m here,” he listed, the smile obvious in his bright tone. That made it markedly more difficult to be cross with him for treating this so lightly. “I think he may be on to something.”

“Oh, ha ha,” he deadpanned, sitting up. Hawke propped himself up on an elbow, watching him with something dangerously like affection. Arousal, Dorian could handle! There was no blaming him for that when he had the honor of witnessing his sculpted form in glowing candlelight. “You know what I meant.”

“Most places I go, people want to kill me or have me kill something for them. That’s basically all it’s been since Kirkwall.” For a second, Dorian kicked himself mentally for introducing a subject that detracted from the honeyed bliss of Hawke after many rounds of exceptional intercourse. Worse, it unveiled another common ground they shared. Dorian was only too familiar with the double-edged homesickness that made Hawke’s smirk wane. “I didn’t realize how miserable I was until I met up with Varric again. And then there’s you.”

Dorian’s heart did this strange flop and stutter as he was transfixed by Hawke reaching for his hand with a tender squeeze. His stay in Skyhold had been brief. The Inquisitor’s marvelous ability to stretch herself thin to serve the myriad crises across the land delayed him long enough to enamor Dorian, it seemed.

“Sinfully attractive,” Hawke flattered him, “with that sexy, tortured look that gets me weak in the knees.”

“Oh, please,” he made a flimsy attempt to dismiss what he knew to be feelings. Dorian decided against taking his hand away even so. The callouses on the Champion’s palms against the back of his properly moisturized hands felt entirely new. He would miss it when he departed. “Your knees haven’t been weak a day in your life.”

“Maybe not,” Hawke yielded with a one-armed shrug. “But if that dark day did ever come to pass, it’s good to know someone would understand.”

Oh. When reading Tale of the Champion in haste, Dorian attributed the suave style of Hawke’s dialogue to Varric. A wordsmith and a liar who obviously bore great love for his friend, Varric did strike him as likely to twist reality in his companion’s favor. Then Hawke had to go and make a sappy remark like that.

Dorian laid back down beside him, partly to cozy up to him for more warmth, but also to avoid meeting those fond eyes. He could only contend with so much sincere love and empathy in one night.

“You make the whole nasty business less awful for me too.”

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Dragon Age Analysis: Grey Morality

SPOILER WARNING FOR ALL THREE GAMES AND THE TRESPASSER DLC

Dragon Age: Origins: The Grey Wardens

As an organization, the Grey Wardens themselves are rife with grey morality (no pun intended). The main reason is that, despite offering a societally approved purpose to those who are outcasts otherwise, they are also bolstering their ranks by preying on marginalized groups through their desperation for survival or acceptance. For example, elven volunteers are particularly common in the Wardens because they accept everyone. Their only options otherwise in most regions are: 

  • To live in perpetual poverty in alienages and risk a violent death there anyway (with the threat of entire alienages being purged due to the actions of one elf or stories like those from the [tw: implied sexual assault] fugitive elves in Dragon Age 2)
  • Save up enough to move out of the alienage at the almost guaranteed risk of having your house burned down
  • Joining the Dalish, if even permitted to do so (as with half-elves, who have trouble joining, or elven mages, who pose a risk of drawing in demons)

Dragon Age 2: Hopeless Extremes

One of the common complaints about Dragon Age 2 is that the choices are typically bleak and don’t significantly change the outcome more often than not, but this is actually a strong part of the game’s narrative, realism, and atmospheric grey morality. 

In game design terms, the lasting theme of being between a rock and hard place is depicted in non-zero-sum situations over the course of the game. The main point of these situations is that there is no clear winner or loser. There’s a real chance that no one will win, per se, and the best case scenario might be very unlikely and still not ideal. The most probable outcome could just be losing less than you might have otherwise. Not all choices in this game are plainly wrong and show their awful results upfront, as opposed to selling Fenris back to his former master. Most aren’t that clear, and you won’t know the consequences until it’s too late.

Even in the choice to be a mage or warrior/thief, the player is unwittingly sentencing one of Hawke’s siblings to death. To keep the party balanced, becoming a mage will result in Bethany’s death and choosing a warrior/thief class will lead to Carver’s death. The beginning of the game was a tutorial in more ways than one, preparing the player for increasingly grim events with little to no warning accompanying the originating choice.

Dragon Age: Inquisition: Perception of the Inquisitor

There are more player choices in this game than I can shake a stick at, but I’m keeping with the theme of focusing on the world state above all else. Still, because of their number, we can’t avoid mentioning the decisions made by the Inquisitor throughout the game. In fact, that’s the backbone of what I’m highlighting here as the depiction of grey morality across Thedas. From the moment the Inquisitor catches the public eye, their societal perception exposes the personal interest behind every opinion about them.

As such, no one entity in this game can lay claim to pure moral goodness. Individual bias is always a factor there. First, everyone is furious and looking for someone to blame. The sole survivor of a nightmarish tragedy that killed so many others is a convenient outlet for that. But once it’s discovered that a feminine figure was seen in the rift behind them and word spreads of the Inquisitor stopping the Breach from growing, they’re labelled as the Herald of Andraste.

As soon as the Inquisitor could offer something to benefit the people, their reputation improved drastically. This kind of response is the key focal point of morality and even godhood in Dragon Age: Inquisition. The Inquisitor goes from universally hated to publicly beloved in one event, and with it, they’re granted the power to accept an almost divine standing among the people. But that reverence is not unconditional, even if it’s refused by the Inquisitor.

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Dorian Pavus: Coping Study

Greetings!

Though I’m not finished with Inquisition, Dorian is easily one of my favorite characters and with this piece, I’d like to pull back the curtain and show the coping mechanisms behind the man.

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SPOILER ALERT

And now, on we go!

• • • • •

Quick summary for those who need the recap: Dorian Pavus is a human mage of the Atlus caste in Tevinter society. The Altus are considered to be descended from dreamers/magisters that could speak to the Old Gods when in the Fade, and they are exceedingly well regarded in the Tevinter Imperium.

This influences him growing up as it would anyone– both with the pressure to meet that ideal and also being considered great from birth, particularly because he’s from an affluent family as well.

He had a natural talent for magic, and of course, he’s Dorian… So he flourished under the envy, at least on the surface. After being expelled from a Circle at 9 years old for injuring a Magister’s son in a duel, he continued to rotate through mentors and Circles, each ending in a new fiasco.

It wasn’t until Alexius found Dorian and offered to take him as an apprentice that Dorian found the focus he needed to truly prosper. And that he did, earning merit and stations inside four years of study in the Minrathous Circle.

…then Felix, Alexius’ son and a dear friend of Dorian’s, got the darkspawn corruption and Alexius’ wife died in the same tragedy. Two years, Dorian poured into finding a cure for Felix. But a fight between Alexius and Dorian severed their ties and immediately, Dorian was off the path to greatness again.

Between reveling in excess and loudly rejecting every flaw in his homeland, Dorian faced only hardship and scandals from then on in Tevinter. His father tried to use blood magic to “cure” his homosexuality, keeping him hidden as he slid back into old habits after his fight with Alexius…

This is the state he’s in when he joins the Inquisition. An outcast in his own nation, his trust in his own family destroyed, and completely adrift. [Backstory recap source]

So what does this all mean for Dorian’s coping mechanisms? He’s known to be very sure of himself and prefers wit on nearly every occasion, and let’s see how he uses both his bravado and humor throughout his backstory, either successfully or not.

Consider his first expulsion from a Circle at 9 years old, which was caused because he injured another child in a duel. A Magister’s son, no less, and at this point you can already presume that Dorian had a difference of opinion with most of his countrymen while still absorbing the doctrine of holding life in alarmingly low regard.

Whatever their disagreement was, Dorian would not yield. Although I’m sure he wasn’t as adeptly cunning as a child, it’s a safe bet that he pushed buttons with the Magister’s son until it came to a duel… Which he would not back down from to the point of actually injuring a fellow child.

Now there is where you behold two sides to Dorian: his general belief in morality and his inevitable acceptance of certain parts of Tevinter culture.

If he backed down from the duel, it wouldn’t be mercy, but weakness. Because it was a Magister’s son, he was expelled from that Circle… But the damage was done. He’d harmed a child in what was likely an intellectual disagreement.

And intelligent as he was, he knew that he could’ve been the one hurt or worse had the Magister’s son sucked a little less. And if that had been the case, Dorian would probably still have been the one expelled because he’s not a Magister’s son.

Dorian was an intelligent, gifted child who knew something was wrong there but didn’t have the direction, the guidance to figure out how to change it– simply how not to be affected by it.

If he was bound to expelled from the Circle regardless, and he knew he was once that argument began, why not at least show the brat his place? This is where bravado and humor comes in, and where Dorian’s… unsavory… behavior continued.

Tevinter is inherently a place where you can trust no one once you reach a higher standing, which the Pavus family held.

But ambition only doesn’t work for Dorian. A man of heart, he is internally and externally destructive without connections and a greater purpose. Given his backstory, with family alone as he is before Alexius, he’s reckless and overly aggressive. With purpose alone as he is after Alexius but before the Inquisition, he’s reckless with no regard for himself.

In the Inquisition and the Inquisitor, he finds both. Of course, this doesn’t change who he is or how he faces the world. Even as he confesses friendship with the Inquisitor, he leans on humor to make it safely through his honesty.

Such honesty was a serious risk in Tevinter culture, and factoring in the betrayal of his father and Alexius – two people he trusted most – and he’s opening himself to that all over again by admitting out loud that someone is his friend in this context:

“Perhaps it’s odd to say, but… I think of you as a friend, Inquisitor. I have precious few friends. I didn’t think to find one here.”

When the Inquisitor goes to respond, Dorian cuts them off to say, “Don’t speak. I detest confessions, and I’d like to get this over with.” He’s half kidding, mostly serious, but honesty suits Dorian far more than ambition and more than he’d care to admit.

And he needs that humor to bond over his genuine friendship with the Inquisitor. Dismissing a serious matter as light reduces its weight on him and makes him feel less threatened by the rules of the culture he grew up in: one where you don’t trust anyone and seek only power.

He can confess to being close to someone and all the solace that provides as long as he has redirection and hospital humor to get him by. And it’s not the only instance where he used these tactics to cope, not by any stretch. It’s nearly constant.

For example, in the Templar timeline, Dorian appears to warn the Inquisition at Haven. His first line of dialogue is, “if someone would open this [the gate], I’d appreciate it”. When someone does, he’s on the verge of falling over and held up only by his staff.

After trying to stand and falling onto Cullen, using his help to stand, Dorian describes himself as “a mite exhausted” and says “don’t mind me”. These are all examples of how Dorian uses levity to draw attention away from the issues he’d rather be hidden. In that case at Haven, he was on a time crunch to put it lightly, but the mentality stands.

Of course, there are those who don’t understand his perspective and view it as arrogance at best, indifference at worst. But this is part of the beauty and complexity of Dorian, and while I could go on… That concludes this study. Perhaps another time, my friends!

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