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onbanksofadragonriver · 3 years

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Varric x Merrill thoughts

This is a rarepair ship I’ve believed in ever since I saw this fabulous art a few years ago, and the fic “Perfume Shop” (in Russian) has been a major inspiration too. And then recently, @hollyand-writes got me to air my headcanons and to actually get down to writing for this ship, so here we are.

I’ll go by points, but it’s not my goal to somehow attempt to prove that this ship is or should be canon. They’re my headcanons: Don’t like, don’t ship. Also, I haven’t played DA2 in a few years, and have never played any of the DLCs, so feel free to take this with a grain of salt. All dialogue with no specifically indicated source is from the wiki.

Buckle in, this is long!

@geekalogian, @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold ♥

>> Amazing banter

All the companions get frustrated by Merrill’s silly questions, though I believe half of them are actually only asked as a joke. They try to explain it or avoid the question, or sigh about Merrill’s naivete. Fenris is downright hostile to her, and Anders tends to get preachy. Aveline treats her like a child sometimes. Isabela is protective and friendly, but sometimes she sounds a bit condescending and impatient with Merrill’s innocence.

But Varric, he gets her. He gets her silly jokes and just rolls with it, and their dialogues are a pleasure to listen to. It’s with Varric that her somewhat straight-faced, silly humour really shines, because he’s the only one to play along: about frolicking in the woods, and his resemblance to Hahren Paivel, and Bianca having a pretty name, or how his family is like fleas, or Darktown rats following the mage/templar mess, etc. He never brings up her naivete or makes her feel inadequate or as if she’s missed some context. And they’re both so relaxed around each other it’s like Varric has unlocked a whole new dimension to Merrill.

>> Protecting her freedom. The ball of twine and taking care of the gangs.

I’ve seen meta on how Varric paying off the thugs is him infantilizing Merrill, but he does this for Anders too. It’s his way of caring about people. And also, if you see Merrill’s reaction in case Hawke doesn’t let her have the arulin’holm, you’ll see that she’s perfectly capable of realising when people are coddling her, and letting them know — in no uncertain terms — when that kind of meddling is unwelcome. (see also: Varric and his product deliveries below)

I also like to think that half of the reason “nothing ever happens” when she wanders around at night is because Merrill is a badass mage perfectly capable of taking care of herself. One of her default starting spells is rock armour, and when Hawke meets her, she admits to having fought before, and having done so alone. She’s certainly capable or recognising the stupidity and danger Sister Petrice is walking in as she wanders around Lowtown, and that’s in broad daylight.

Also, I’m thinking Varric must have put that protection in place after news of some incidents reached his ears, because it’s not something he does by default to other party members who’re new to Kirkwall. So perhaps it is, or was necessary at some point. On the other hand, perhaps Merrill is totally taking care of herself, and the thugs are not even trying to attack her, they’re just enjoying ripping off Varric :P

I like to think that the Viscount’s gardens were an honest mistake and Merrill did cut down on wandering there after Varric’s comment.

The ball of twine is interesting. Her closest friends in the gang seem to be Hawke, Isabela and Varric, but only Varric actually gives her a tool enabling her to find her way around the confusing human city. I don’t know what others did. Did they expect Merrill to just stay in the Alienage if there was nobody to accompany her around the city? Or did they expect her to find her own way through trial and error? Varric gives her a weird, but apparently functional tool for navigating the city until she learns her own way.

And the common motif between ensuring safe streets, an access to gardens and the ball of twine, is how Varric is safeguarding Merrill’s freedom. She’s Dalish, used to living under open sky, travelling from place to place. She’s used to green, growing things and wandering about as she pleases. And she’s used to doing magic freely and in ways that she herself believes appropriate. Now she’s stuck in a barely hospitable alienage of a city with a strong templar and slaver presence, and Varric doesn’t have the heart to scold her and limit her freedom even more.

Considering Varric is part of the ascendant group in Merchant Guild, who believe in leaving behind Orzammar’s strict caste system and traditions and embracing surface life instead, looks like Merrill’s freedom speaks to something deep in Varric’s own beliefs and values, nonchalant as he seems.

>> Trying to take care of her. Delivering produce.

This gives me feels. First, Varric noticed that something was off. Maybe he missed her showing up at the Hanged Man, maybe he went to visit her. Either way, he noticed that she wasn’t going out, not even to the market. It’s funny to imagine Varric standing in the market scratching his head about what actually goes into food preparation, but more probably he initially just threw some money at the problem, sending someone shopping for her. And then he checked up and saw she’s still not going out. And then he tries to talk her into going for a walk, to get fresh air.

And again this is something I’ve read as coddling and infantilizing, but — when Merrill is clearly not in a mood for teasing, she rebukes him politely: “I’m not a plant, Varric.” She’s not harsh as in case with Hawke and arulin’holm. When Varric leaves, she admits: “Varric is... very sweet. Frequently infuriating and a terrible busybody, but sweet.”

Which at first read as... Merrill not reciprocating Varric’s feelings for her? But on a second thought: what if Merrill is the oblivious one? Not only to Varric’s caring but about her own feelings for him? What if she never considered Varric romantically because she always thought she’d end up with a Dalish partner, and then she becomes friends with Hawke and starts opening up to the idea that what if she takes a human lover? And falling in love with a dwarf has not even crossed her mind yet? (Look lower, queen.)

Because when Merrill cares, she helps people: waters their plants or repairs ancient artifacts. Part of her potentially falling in love with Hawke is due to how they help her, how they have her back. Varric and Merrill have the same love language. I choose to think of it as a mystery, why Merrill is not canonically head over heels for Varric. Maybe she’s so used to his confident, handsome self boasting about all the female attention he gets that she thinks she’s out of his league and has friendzoned herself :P

Additionally, I believe “sweet” and “infuriating” is something that the gang could equally attribute to Merrill herself. Pot calling kettle black? :D

>> Opinions on magic

Varric largely doesn’t have an opinion on Merrill being a mage, a blood mage, or whatever. He’s not afraid, because he has other, more pressing concerns, like Merchant’s Guild breathing down his neck and sending assassins, and when he does mention Merrill’s blood magic being “evil” it sounds like a rehearsed thing that might cause him headache due to other people getting their knickers in a twist over it.

He does acknowledge he’s distrustful of letting “dangerous people run amok” if Hawke sides with the mages in the end of DA2, but apparently he trusts Merrill enough that she knows what she’s doing and leaves it at that. He’s just sick of the whole mage/templar drama.

>> Mutual interest in what they do.

Merrill is interested in what he does for a living, while he tries to keep her out of trouble that would come from her knowing too much. And Varric is pondering why Eluvian is a mirror, and not some other piece of furniture. Not judging each other, just — curious. Showing they are in each other’s thoughts. And I won’t go into details here, because @hollyand-writes has, like, ALL the receipts where Varric thinks about Merrill in DAI, but he does — a lot :) He knows her interest in history and lore, knows that news of ancient elves keeping slaves would upset her, knows she would have liked to see the Dales. He seems to be missing her a lot...

>> Priority.

LOOK at the sequence he mentions his friends in, Merrill is No.1, while Hawke is almost an afterthought :D

Merrill: How do you do it, living in the city without picking a side? Doesn't it matter to you? Varric: Of course it does. That's why I don't take sides. Merrill: That doesn't make any sense. Varric: I've got you and Aveline, Fenris and Anders. Hawke. Isabela. I've got friends in the Circle and drinking buddies in the templars. All of them matter.

And who��s the first person that comes to Merrill’s mind when Hawke calls her pretty? Varric! :D [X]

>> Comfort in storytelling.

Yeah, Merrill says somewhere later that she wouldn’t have made a good Keeper because she’s not good with people, but she did receive all the requisite education. She studied lore and elven legends and history, as much as is left of it anyway, and I believe that storytelling, thriving on stories, is something that she and Varric both have in common.

Maybe she’s too shy to tell her own stories, but she’s definitely enjoying Varric’s and looking for consolation in his stories when things get rough.

Merrill: Varric, how does the story end? Varric: Which story, Daisy? Merrill: The big one. With us and Hawke, the mages and templars. Everything. Varric: You want to know before it happens? You're not worried about spoiling the surprise? Merrill: I might not see it end. Varric: You have to stick with us if you want to find out how it turns out, Daisy.

Merrill: Tell me a story, Varric. Varric: Right now? I don't think we have time, Daisy. Merrill: Maybe a very short story, then? Please? Varric: Fine. "When the cards turned, he lost." Merrill: Oh. Did it have to be so sad?

Merrill: (passing the Hanged Man): "Do you think there's time for Varric to tell us a story while we're here?"

Merrill: I hope we win. Varric will make it a good story, I'm sure.

>> Conclusions & Future

The thing that gets me the most is how good and kind they are to each other. It’s in their teasing, their jokes, the way Varric takes care of Merrill. I love Merrill’s confidence in Varric’s storytelling talent, and I like to think Varric finds Merrill’s confident tinkering with the mirror at least a little bit hot, even if he doesn’t understand magic (Bianca is/was a brilliant engineer, and I think Varric has a bit of a competence kink :D)

I also enjoy thinking of them both as slightly out of touch with emotions: Varric ignoring his own, and Merrill oblivious to his. I like to think of what happens when Merrill realises Varric loves her: because she’s open and honest in her affections, and it would be awesome to see Varric taken by that storm. To see him openly fall for someone so different, at a first glance, but also familiar: a knowledgeable storyteller, confident in her abilities, believing in free will and freedom.

I see them moving on together: Merrill learning to let go of the disappointment that is the unfinished eluvian, and Varric learning to let go of his lingering feelings for Bianca. Yes, the past is important for Merrill, while Varric wants to live in the moment, but the point of knowing the past, for Merrill, is to be able to move forward, and Varric certainly knows his family’s past, so I don’t see any disagreements there. If anything, Varric’s resources and connections can help Merrill get her hands on more artefacts and ancient tomes, letting her continue on her path in some other way.

It’s interesting to imagine their life together. After DAI, Varric pours his own funds into various infrastructure projects until he ends up the Viscount of Kirkwall, and Merrill is in Kirkwall too, helping the city elves. Somehow, it feels logical that at least some of those projects would be new elf housing and improvements to the alienage.

Would they get married? Probably, because I think it would be important to Merrill, and also probably because it might be a better way to protect her, a rumoured/known blood mage, from the Chantry than if she was just the Viscount’s mistress. On the other hand, knowing Varric and his cousin Elmand, and his spy network, and his tendency to successfully evade the Merchant Guild messengers [X], it’s equally possible he’d whip up a completely fake story about how his beloved Merrill is a hatter, and leave it at that. Probably he couldn’t even be found in the Keep, instead preferring to hide out in the Hanged Man or in his wife’s house in the alienage :D

Because, in the end, I think they both enjoy doing their respective Things very much, whether it’s helping elves or writing books, and they let each other do it selflessly, even if maybe it means they can’t live together. (Because can you imagine a Viscomtesse Merrill having to host a ball? Dealing with Hightown nobles? No, I don’t think Varric would ever ask such a sacrifice of her.) But they live close, and help and support each other, and, in short, I think they’d be awesome :)

#dragon age #dragon age meta #varric x merrill #merrill #varric #this is my tiny OTP #feel free to add your own headcanons #ship and let ship!

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baejax-the-great · 4 years

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True

Varric x Isabela (T, 623 words)

I don't know why this little fic came to me in its entirety why I was showering, but I dutifully wrote it down and it's your problem now.

Or read on AO3

“I don’t understand how you can be true to a woman you haven’t seen in years,” Isabela complained. She had draped herself over one of his chairs after pouring a cup of his best brandy. She’d been doing that recently, leaving the noisy bar to sit in his chambers and read his manuscripts. Maybe it was because Hawke was shacked up in Hightown with the elf on what felt like a never-ending honeymoon, and Merrill hadn’t been coming around as much since that whole mess with her clan. He supposed that was why he had been spending so much time up here and not down at the bar. “I’m never true to anyone,” she continued, “Well, other than myself.”

“No one could deny you that, Rivaini. And at this point, Bianca basically is an extension of my body. I could never cross her.”

Isabela snorted. “And I’ll never begrudge Bianca the Crossbow of anything. Bianca the woman, on the other hand…”

Varric shook his head, smiling. “Rivaini. You flatter me. But you can’t honestly be in here to tell me you’re… interested.”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” She leaned over toward him and flicked the gold ring of his necklace with a finger. “You have good taste in jewelry, good taste in friends, good taste in alcohol—” and now she took a swig from his cup— “Why wouldn’t I assume that you, the man, must also taste good?”

She must have been incredibly bored.

There were pettier reasons to sleep with someone. Bianca had once lured Varric to her half of Thedas, igniting family battles and ensuring assassins from all corners of the world were well-paid and soon dead, all because she was annoyed with her husband for adopting two stray cats.

He chuckled to himself, not quite sure how to feel about this turn of events. Deflection was always easiest. “Pickings out there must really be slim if you’re coming to me.”

“And who says I want slim? Maybe I want a stocky man with strong arms to wrap around my waist as he beds me tonight.” She shifted in her seat, and Varric didn’t miss how she pushed her breasts together, his eyes flicking over her ample cleavage and then down to an exposed thigh. Internally he rolled his eyes at himself—it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen these views before, though suddenly they inspired a stronger interest for some reason. A certain heated stirring in areas best left forgotten. A foolish picture in his head of her hands running through his chest hair.

Not to mention he’d seen her use these moves plenty of times, the exposed skin, the sensual language, never thinking he would fall victim to them himself. But If she thought there was no chance—if he hadn’t been giving her some signal he was open to it—she would have already changed the subject. Found a different target or contented herself on finishing off his liquor.

He took a drink from his cup now, the cup she had just had her lips to, and more than the alcohol burned as he swallowed. Isabela uncrossed and recrossed her legs, and when that drew his gaze, she smiled. No poker faces tonight; she knew she had a winning hand.

“So what do you say, Varric?” Her eyes ran up and down his chest, her lip between her teeth, and Varric surprised himself at how he wanted to be wanted, at least tonight.

“I say…” he started, not sure at all how he was going to finish that sentence. His head had gone fuzzy and he could not believe he was actually considering doing this. “I say we can’t tell Hawke.”

Her smile was victorious. “I never kiss and tell.”

#my writing #varric #isabela #varric x isabela #I have no explanations #is it wildly OOC?#maybe #I don't currently care #I also spent like three minutes editing so uh #woo

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kauriart · 4 years

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2017-2019 Writing Review

Tagged by @elveny and @kittimau <3

Am gonna do this a little differently, because I was too upset with my writing in both 2017 & 2018 to talk about where I ended up at the end of the year, and frankly 2019 isn’t that different, but I want to be kinder to myself and let myself celebrate what I HAVE written, instead of always focusing on what I didn’t.

Total A03 word count

188,821 with just a TON of writing that I haven’t published yet.

Any finished stories?

The Captain (Cullen x Isabela) is a very porny fic featuring one of my all-time fave rare-pairs. I managed to post the final 2 chapters after realizing that this wasn’t a stand-alone one-shot like I’d first planned, and am overall pretty floored with how it ended up.

What’s your own favorite story of the year?

Sunshine in the Dark (Alistair x Bethany) which has been a really lovely story to dig into, but also a challenge because A.) teeny tiny fucking ship and B.) I’d never written much from either character C.) the chapters are much longer than I usually write D.) no one is fucking yet so as a smut writer I don’t know what to do with myself.

Do you have any writing goals for the new year?

I want to get focused on how I attack writing. I want to actively write 3 stories simultaneously: Letters from Orlais, another multi chapter fic, and a one-shot; and focus on posting vs writing. I actually did manage to get through a chunk of my story queue in the last couple of years, but here’s what’s left of things that aren’t WIPs on AO3:

Did you take any writing risks this year?

My mini-nsfw headcanons series was a big departure for me. They’re written in second person, which is literally no one’s favorite voice to read, and they’re tiny little character studies that take me forever to do. They’ve been pretty successful on tumblr –– which I’m super grateful for –– but they’r still not very satisfying to me compared to posting a full fic, and overall I felt like they derailed my focus.

Most popular story of the year?

Cullen: Intimacy (NSFW Cullen x f!Trev) It’s my most popular one-shot ever. A look at Cullen’s relationship with an explicitly plus-sized Trevelyan. It was rather intimidating to write, but that make its reception that much more rewarding. And my eternal thanks to @stregatadallostregatto for her encouragement of that fic.

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion:

Cullen: Through the Ages It’s my first, and only, non-romance / gen fic, so it has a much lower readership than some of my other stuff, but similar reception in terms of comments. But I can only track easily on AO3, and my audience is muuuuuch smaller there than on tumblr so “under appreciated” is a little hard to track.

Story with the single sexiest moment:

Checkmate (Cullen x Dorian) Because I am a fan of awkward, passionate blow-jobs and it turns out this pair delivers.

“Holy crap, that’s wrong, even for you!” story:

Merill’s mini-nsfw headcanon. My dudes, there is fisting, and I did not intend for there to be fisting. But then I wrote:

Merrill’s hands are small, and graceful, and covered with scars so thin and fine in places, that they can only be felt when you drag them across your lips.

And then I went goddamn this is going to be about fisting, isn’t it? And lo, it was.

Story that was the most fun to write:

The Knight Lieutenant (Cullen & Meredith) I spent so much time pondering Meredith, and her impact on Cullen’s life, and his relationship to her, and how deep and complex Cullen’s ties to the order were, that I got to just wallow in the meta and headcanons which is pretty fun.

Hardest story to write:

Good Boy, Good Bye (Alistair x f!Cousland) Inspired by the death of my doggo - so it’s SAAAAAAAD, because it’s basically just Alistair’s reaction to Barkspawn’s death.

Biggest disappointment:

Happy Endings (m!Hawke x Orsino) I had to rush to finish the fic as part of an exchange I was doing and was pretty brutally disappointed with what I had posted. I did a pretty major edit that next week, and ended up being satisfied with the final product –– despite the lack of porn, alas –– but the initial failure still stuck with me.

Biggest surprise:

Cole (NSFW headcanon) because I kinda shocked myself by wanting to make Cole smut my #2 entry into my mini NSFW headcanon series, because it’s Cole and who the hell writes Cole smut?!

#writing review #kauriart

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incorrectly-quoted-queers · 4 years

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Wicked Surprises

Merribela Week, Day 1: Cards

fandom: Dragon Age rating: PG-13 characters: Merrill x Isabela words: 2.3k additional tags: Wicked Grace, flirty, first attraction description: Varric brings Merrill along to Wicked Grace, but after Varric leaves things get a little steamy between Isabela and the sweetest elf she’d never thought she’d have the hots for

For all the clever airs he put on, Isabela was always amused by how Varric ended up in a duel to the death against her during the final rounds of Wicked Grace. And he’d always start furrowing his brows a few hands in, because he’d go in so sure he could beat her. She knew well enough to let him win a few rounds, get his hopes up, just to destroy him when his self-confidence turned into unfounded arrogance.

They were just hitting the tipping point, about five games in. He put too much money in this time after a streak of wins. And even though his mouth acted in control, it was always his eyebrows that gave it away. Isabela smirked. Everything was going according to plan.

Well, at least when it came to Varric and Hawke. She’d scared the sassy mage under the table two rounds ago and the dwarf was hitting his tipping point. But there was an unexpected element in the game tonight.

At the end of the table, only inches from her, was a chipper little elf with gorgeous, bright green eyes, her feet crossed dainty under her chair. Merrill was sitting there smiling at her cards like they were candy. Most of the time, she figured the ex-Dalish was too saccharine for her tastes. However, tonight there was this mischievous little grin on her face each time somebody dropped out.

Isabela couldn’t tell if she just had good cards and didn’t know how to lie, or was pulling off the most manipulative, yet wholesome looking heist she’d ever seen.

Taking her eyes off the most interesting character at the table, Isabela leaned back in her chair and nodded at her dwarven buddy, his eyebrows looking so tense they could fly right off. She asked, “Going to do anything with your turn, Varric?”

After a few flitting glances between his cards and Isabela, he grumbled and threw his cards down. “Dammit, I’m out.” Even though he was glaring and crossing his arms, Isabela felt so much electric satisfaction. It sizzled under her skin. If she wasn’t such a good pirate, she might have made one hell of a gambler.

Merrill pouted next to him. Bemused, Isabela wanted to see what she was up to. A cute pout like that had to be deliberate. Batting her eyelashes at Varric, Merrill said, “That’s no fun.” Isabela was caught off guard when those sparkly eyes looked straight at her. “Guess that just leaves me and Isabela, right?Or are you quitting, too?”

Running her tongue behind her teeth, Isabela shook her head. Not so easy, baby doll. Not that she minded seeing this new side of Merrill. “Don’t think your cute smile’s about to scare me away.”

“You think my smile’s cute?”

Isabela wasn’t used to finding herself caught off guard more than once in a conversation. She also didn’t know how to respond to Merrill’s eyes sparkling extra while looking at her and talking about smiles. But whatever the elf’s ploy was, she wasn’t going to get in her head. “Not the point.” Isabela gestured to the finished game in front of them and said, “Time to show your hand, better hope it’s a good one.”

“I dunno, but I think I did okay for myself.” And then with that helpless, adorable grin Merrill flipped her cards to show the best hand Isabela had ever seen in this seedy bar. Guess the dark haired elf with had more surprises than she expected in her tiny little hands.

“Well, well, can say I didn’t expect that.” Isabela showed her own abysmal hand and felt her entire body liven up with interest. There wasn’t much about this world that surprised her anymore, more like unfortunate possibilities that she hadn’t counted on happening.

But a surprise, and a pleasant one at that, was something she didn’t want to let go of so easy. Giving Merrill a once over, she said, “I have to see if you can make lightning strike twice. You in, Varric?”

“Nah, Hawke’s already weeping under the table because he lost so I’ll get his ass home.” After standing and dragging up the drunk Hawke with him, Varric gave Isabela a pointed look. “Take care of Daisy, will ya?”

Merrill didn’t look too happy about that, though she couldn’t tell if it was out of annoyance or guilt. “She doesn’t have to--”

“My pleasure.”

Varric seemed pleased with that and lef Hawke out of The Hanged Man, managing to miss other handsy drunk patrons along the way. They both waved the two off and watched the door open and close behind them.

But the second Varric’s orange head was out of the way, Merrill was looking at her again with pinched lips and a wrinkled forehead. “I can take care of myself.”

It made Isabela laugh, how tightly wound Merrill looked. That was more like what she expected. However, Isabela was a little too intrigued to let the elf get all awkward and tense again. She wanted to see what else was underneath. The few glimpses already made her way too interested to let the more salacious side of Merrill slip away. But she did admit, “Sure you can. I’ve seen you in a fight. I’m just making the grumpy dwarf feel better.”

“Oh. Thank you, then.”

Isabela raised an eyebrow, flicked a card with her fingers, and egged Merrill on, saying, “So are you actually good at this game or was that just a lucky draw?”

“What? Think I can’t have beaten you on wits alone?”

Chuckling, Isabela leaned on the table and bit her lip. “No offense, but I doubt it.”

“I take offense to that, but I’ll let it go. Not your fault I have a “cute smile””

Of all things, teasing wasn’t what Isabela expected. This night was only getting better and better. She even was starting to wonder what other surprises those cute, pink lips of Merrill’s had for her.

Maybe this night would get even more interesting than she ever expected.

“Is that all you’re going to talk about now, the fact I said you have a cute smile?”

“When you normally tell people they have nice arse or tits? I take it as a uniquely rare compliment.”

Isabela bristled. She didn’t like that as much as the rest of this conversation. She cut her eyes at Merrill. “There’s nothing wrong with me enjoying company in my bed.”

Shaking her hands in front of her innocently, Merrill looked startled.“That’s not what I meant at all.” Then she looked down at her hands, this little blush covering her cheeks, and said, “I meant it’s nice to hear you say you like my smile.”

While most things about tonight were a delicious mystery, Isabela knew that kind of smile and it made her fingertips tingle. Little miss flower might just have a crush on her. Things just got so, so much more interesting. Especially when said woman wasn’t bad to look at. Good company, too, albeit like a sugar rush sometimes.

In her element, Isabela brushed her foot against Merrill’s. Her posture shot straight up and the blush got a little more noticeable. “If I didn’t know any better, Merrill, I’d say you were flirting.”

“M-maybe it’s all a part of my grand scheme to beat you at cards.”

Winking, Isabela said, “You starting this kind of game with me, flower? I will win every time.”

“Will you? How so?”

Merrill was just making this easier and easier for her, huh? Well, either she was going to scare the elf off or get a much more evening than she bargained for. Whether it was some squirming or screaming, Isabela was open to either option. She twirled a lock of her hair with her finger. “With someone like you? All I have to do is have a drifting hand or to talk about what my tongue can do under your dress, and you’re done. I’ll have won.”

Even though Merrill’s cheeks flared, she swallowed and didn’t flinch. Impressive. “Well you aren’t winning right now.” The little elf, exhaled, slow. Isabela watched the way her chest fell. Even though she was petite, she had to admit her body had to be beautiful under her green tunic. She did wonder how soft her skin that didn’t touch routine battle might be.

But as Isabela was getting far too distracted about all the possibilities of tonight, even though she was pretty sure they’d never happen, Merrill tipped her finished hand and raised an eyebrow at Isabela. Another great damn hand. Merrill's eyes were practically gleaming when she winked at her. “So what do you want to do next?”

Okay, she had to admit that was a little hot. Her throat was a lot dryer than she remembered.

Showing her own cards, she had to accept she got her ass handed to her. Again. “How--”

“A winner never tells their secrets.” Merrill’s cute smile was starting to have less than a wholesome effect on Isabela. She was fantasizing about what she had to do to get Merrill’s intentions to turn a little more than friendly. Cleavage and some mild flirting normally worked, but they were already past that point. “

Across from her, Merrill asked, Another?”

“I’m out of spare coin, I’m afraid.” Isabela couldn’t get the idea of that green tunic on her bedroom floor out of her head, though. It was time to put the ball in Merrill’s court, try to feel out where her head was at. After all, this wasn’t just some drunken, hot girl that she could make fall in love with her for a night. This was sort of her co-worker. She had to be a little more delicate with it. Raising an eyebrow, Isabela said,“But we can always wager more interesting things.”

“Like what?”

“Each failed round, loser drops a piece of clothing?”

Merrill's red cheeks were really starting to do it for Isabela, and it was getting really distracting. She replied, a little overwhelmed.“Not in the middle of the bar!”

Isabela accepted the loss. This idea of her and Merrill wasn’t a real practical one. This was probably just a rare night that’d never happen again. Chocking it up to fun flirting that she’d have to work out of her system on some cute rando later, Isabel conceded, “Well then--”

“W-What if we went to your room?”

Her lips fell into an easy smile that warmed up her whole body. But Merrill just kept on surprising her, didn’t she?

Cocking her head towards her back room, she collected the cards and brushed her fingers against Merrill’s. “Then I guess we have ourselves a game.”

When they got back to Isabela’s room, she was practically drunk on the thought of seeing how far her vallaslin really went. So drunk that Isabela lost a couple rounds way too fast. She had wriggled out of her boots and top less than half an hour later. Only upside was that the red-cheeked Merrill was having a hard time keeping her eyes off of Isabela’s, um, assets.

So much trouble that after losing way too many helpless rounds, Isabela finally won.

“Ha! Seems your winning streak just ended.”

When Merrill grabbed the edges of her shirt, though, her hands were shaking. No matter how much Isabela wanted to toss the elf on her bed and see how long it took to make her moan, it didn’t sit right with her, seeing her so uncomfortable. Before Merrill started pulling off anything, Isabela grabbed her hand and shook her head. “You know, you don’t have to--”

But Merrill took away her hand and peeled off the top like it offended her. “I’m not a child.”

“No, you’re not.” Isabela took a deep breath, seeing the pale, pristine skin underneath. She could see Merrill’s chest rise and fall under her crossed arms. With a soft hand, Isabela caressed her side. Though her face was still red and she looked so unsure, Merrill didn’t pull away.

Tucking a hand under her chin, Isabela pulled Merrill closer and said, “You’re beautiful, you know.”

“Funny, coming from the most beautiful woman in every room.”

“You can’t mean that.”

“Of course I do.” When Merrill’s eyes flicked down to Isabela’s chest, she covered her red face with her hands. “A-And I’m not just saying that because you don’t have a top on!”

“You’re adorable.” Letting go of her, Isabela held back her more powerful feelings about looking at Merrill and said, “But don’t start this game unless you’re serious about playing it through.”

“You dare ask that? I may be awkward and small and people don’t take me quite seriously. But I’m still a woman, Isabela.” She unfurled her arms and held her head high. “Don’t patronize me.”

With that, Isabela found her fingers on Merrill’s hips, pulling her in closer, whispering in her ear, “I’m not trying to patronize you. I’m trying to make sure you want this. Because I want you to end up in my bed because you can’t resist me, not because you weren’t sure how to tell me to stop.”

“Don’t.”

Isabela looked directly into those bright green eyes and waited for the delicious words she wanted to hear. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t stop.”

One gentle pull and Merrill’s body was pressed against hers, and she could feel the elf’s heartbeat against her own chest. It made it hard to keep teasing her, but it was so damn worth it. “And what would you like me to start doing, then?”

“Kiss me.” Hovering her lips over Merrill’s, Isabela chose to play the insatiable asshole. She wanted to see just how much she could make Merrill squirm.

“All you have to do is say you want me.”

Merrill pulled back her face and glowered. “Don’t make some sadistic joke out of my feelings--”

“I’m not.” Isabela got close again, running her hand up Merrill’s back, pulling at the smallclothes left on her body. “Tell me you want me.”

“I bloody want you. Happy now?”

And that was all she needed to hear before crashing her lips down onto hers.

What a surprising night, indeed. She wouldn’t mind letting Merrill surprise her more often.

#Merribela #Merribela week #Dragon Age 2 #Bioware Romances #merrill x isabela #Wicked Grace #Merrill #Isabela #Varric #Dragon Age fanfiction #fanfiction #Merribelaweek

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buttsonthebeach · 4 years

Text

Lost Horizon, Pt. 2

@scharoux is the sweetest and most patient soul for waiting so long for part two of this story - thank you, dear friend, for trusting me with Rhaella and her epic tale!

This long fic picks up almost directly where The Last Game last left off - with Rhaella pregnant and alone in a world where Solas has removed the Veil, despite her attempts to stop him.

My Ko-Fi || My Commissions

Part One of Lost Horizon can be found here

Other pieces about Rhaella I have written include:

1. All Things Green and Growing

2. The Long Road Back

3. The Turning of the Year

3. The Same Kind of Scar (contains explicit content)

4. World Without End (contains explicit content)

5. The Last Game Pt. 1, the Last Game Pt. 2, and the Last Game Pt. 3 (contains explicit content), and the Last Game Pt. 4

Pairing: Rhaella Lavellan x Solas, post-Trespasser

Rating: Teen for violence, references to sex

Warning: Directly referenced character death for a character from DAI, general references to death and destruction

********************************

Merrill and Rhaella’s journey to Skyhold was slow. Isabela’s ship carried them swift and true - that part wasn’t the problem, even if the ship and all the crew seemed haunted, even if Rhaella could feel the absence of a woman she had never met as surely as she could feel the sea breeze - but once they were back on land, and traveling via horseback, her pregnancy proved a problem once more. She felt impossibly huge, her belly as big and round as the horse’s it seemed. Years of practice had made her a good rider, but the extra weight and the shift in her center of balance was even more pronounced now than it had been before, when she had ridden from Skyhold to Jader for her journey to Kirkwall.

The slow going meant she had plenty of time to take in how much had changed since that last journey, when she had been on her way to stop Solas. The burned out villages, and also the rapturous displays of light in the night sky - the dance of spirits thrilled to be free of the Veil. They rarely had to use a campfire for light, in fact. Wisps were drawn to them the way moths used to be. They frequently went to Rhaella’s belly after floating near her head and Merrill’s.

At least you’ll get beauty like this, little one.

Her magic surged towards each and every wisp when they came, but she tamped it down. Solas would know the feel of her magic, even across the distance, as surely as he would know the sound of her voice. They had not been pursued as far as they could tell, by people or by spirits, and she wanted to keep it that way. Merrill had known a draught to keep her from entering the Fade, which was their other means of concealment since they’d left.

“Poor Feynriel,” Merrill said the first time she brewed it. “I wonder what’s become of him in this world. If it makes more sense to him now, or less. Marethari made this for him while he was staying with the clan, and I learned it when we visited once. He was a Dreamer, so a draught like this didn’t always work for him, but it will be good enough for you and I. It feels like a different life to remember those times, when he was one of my biggest worries..”

“It does,” Rhaella said, even if she was only remembering a few weeks ago, when she’d been on this road going in the opposite direction, convinced she could stop the tide of Solas’s power from sweeping through and changing everything.

Sometimes on that long slow journey she lay there and was convinced the baby would never be born. She would be trapped like this forever, huge and waiting, adrift. She wondered how many other pregnant mothers lay awake in Thedas staring at the same moons and feeling the same way. They’d conceived their children in one world, and they would be born into an alien one.

Rhaella was grateful for Merrill’s training as a First, and her involvement in Kirkwall’s alienage since then. She still knew enough about pregnancy and babies to act as a midwife. She seemed less puzzled than the other midwife about the size of Rhaella’s belly, how it was bigger than they were expecting.

“Solas is not a small man,” she said with a shrug. “As long as you feel well, and you can still feel your little one wriggling about in there, I’m not worried.”

Solas is not a small man. The words sent a shiver of memory through Rhaella as she envisioned the days and nights that had led her to this moment. The size and weight of his body, how sheltered it made her feel, how whole. She pushed those thoughts away. She imagined, instead, a son that was as tall as him, who had only his kindness and not his narrowed vision, his pride. A son who reminded her of her own father.

I will love you no matter who you are, she promised anyway, feeling the child move.

The journey grew slower and more difficult as they climbed the mountain paths towards Skyhold. Rhaella struggled to lean far enough forward in the saddle to make her horse comfortable, so they had to walk the steepest parts of it. But, the feeling of being further from civilization, and the giddiness of having evaded Solas for nearly two weeks now, loosened their tongues a little, and Rhaella and Merrill were able to talk more freely. Merrill told stories of Hawke that she had not heard from Varric, and they shared their memories of growing up Dalish, compared notes on the Arlathvhens they had been to, speculated on whether or not they had ever met at one of them. It started to feel a little normal. Almost like Rhaella was back to being Inquisitor, and Merrill was one of her companions.

(It was probably a testament to how upside down things were now that Rhaella could think back to that time with fondness.)

Then they arrived at Skyhold, and all that warmth, all that strength she’d built, drained away.

It was not so much that the building was different. Its ancient stone was largely unchanged. It had weathered the creation of the Veil, after all. It was not even the scorch marks all over the courtyard, or the charred ruins of the stables.

It was the sound of the empty hospital tents flapping in the breeze. Of wooden shutters banging listlessly against stone walls.

It was the total, absolute emptiness of the place that had become her home.

The castle stood, but the people were gone, and the emptiness of that threatened to swallow her whole.

She should have been wise enough to expect this, to know that things would not be as she left them, that she would not return home to rally the people she’d left behind to some sort of unlikely victory. She had not heard from any of her forces in the weeks she’d been in Kirkwall. She’d hoped that was because Solas was intercepting their messages, that against all odds, there was still a home to come back to, a chance to set things right. Still, the blow of the silence struck her as true as any kick or punch ever had.

Then there was a high, hollow sound - a call, almost like that of a bird’s - but bigger, and then louder, like a trumpet, coming from the lower courtyard, and the sudden movement of a big brown blur -

“Thistle!” Rhaella called, and her hart galloped to her, drawing up short when he reached her, and then snuffling her with his warm, soft nose, whining again in his throat. She rested her forehead against his, breathed in the warm, woodsy smell of his hide. She scratched the place behind his ears that always made him stamp his feet with delight.

“Hello, friend,” Merrill said, approaching. “You’re a delight! I haven’t seen a hart like this in a long time.”

“He has been my constant companion for years now. I can’t even tell you how good it feels to see that he is okay.” Rhaella leaned her head against Thistle’s again and took another calming breath. She did not need to jump straight to despair. She had not even gone inside the keep yet. Who knew who else she would find, or what signs would be left behind - maybe everyone had moved somewhere else, or gone out into the world to help make a difference -

She wasn’t sure whether to feel reassured or afraid when the first arrow flew and landed at her feet.

Merrill’s hand flung out instantly, as if to shield her, and Rhaella’s magic crackled beneath her skin, longing to cast a barrier. She had to actively work not to cast the barrier without the Veil in the way, and it made her grind her teeth. Her son kicked wildly in her stomach at the sensation of the caged magic.

“It’s okay,” Rhaella called out when the urge to cast her spell passed. She looked in the direction the arrow had come from - the old tavern. She started in that direction, brushing off Merrill’s arm. “It’s me, it’s Rhaella.”

Another arrow flew, this one passing over her shoulder, so close that Rhaella could hear the pitch-perfect whine as it cleaved the air by her ear. Thistle snorted and stamped behind her, spooked, and Merrill took her staff off her back. The third arrow struck the barrier that Merrill cast, splintering into a shower of wooden shards, but Rhaella had seen where it was headed. Straight for her head.

Then Rhaella saw her, in the upper window of the tavern, leaning out now, bow in hand. Sera.

“Sera!” She called, waving her arms, walking closer. Surely it was an accident. Surely Sera had not actually meant to aim for a killing blow. “Sera, it’s just me.”

“Yes,” Sera said, nocking another arrow, half-drawing back the string. She stepped out onto the roof of the tavern. Her skin was even paler than usual, but her eyes were rimmed as red as the plaidweave armor she wore. “Who the fuck do you think I have been waiting for?”

Rhaella’s heart sank.

“Sera -”

“They’re all dead!” Sera shouted, the tears coming now. “All of them! Every person that mattered to me is gone now. Every person who trusted you to lead us. They all paid the price, and for what? So you could get a good shag with a man who never really loved you? And you didn’t even have to see it, did you, oh high and mighty Inquisitor? No, you got to be somewhere far away when it all came crashing down, all the fire and magic and shite, all the screaming and the dying. But I didn’t get that. I had to be here. I had to see it happen. I had to watch and even when I shut my eyes I had to listen. D’you know what it sounded like when your precious Commander died?”

Cullen.

No, not Cullen.

He was many things - not all of them good - but Rhaella prayed in that moment to the gods she didn’t believe in that Sera was lying.

“D’you know what it was like for him when all that bloody magic came rushing back, after all those years he’d worked to stop taking that Maker forsaken lyrium? I bet you didn’t even think about it when you went rushing back to your arse-wiping Dread Wolf. About how he would fucking scream -”

“Stop!”

Rhaella was aware that Merrill had shouted the word, that Sera was still talking, but the sounds were distant, covered up by a roaring as real as the sound of an ocean storm, of an earthquake. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t even think beyond the roaring sound. It was only the kicking and rolling of her child within her womb that brought her back to the surface.

“You don’t understand,” Merrill was saying. “Rhaella went to Kirkwall to stop him. She tried her best. She never stopped trying. She fought him until the very last moment, but there was nothing anyone could do. He was too strong for anyone but another of his own kind. And Rhaella didn’t stop there. She has been aiding the wounded ever since then, and once she had her first opportunity to flee from Solas, she did. How do you think she ended up here?”

“It doesn’t make a difference,” Sera said, and there was a sudden wave of magical heat rolling off of her, sparks at her fingertips. “Shite!”

She threw down her bow and Rhaella could see the trembling in her fingers. Sera had never wanted this, and now she was cursed with it. Magic.

Rhaella opened her mouth but no words came out. Her chest felt like it was caving in. Like all of Sera’s words had lodged there, true as arrows, true as morning sun.

“Please, believe us,” Merrill was pleading. “Neither of us wanted this. We’re trying to make our way in this world, the same as you.”

Sera shook her head once, viciously, and picked up her bow. She nocked the arrow again and started to draw it back. Rhaella realized that her hands were over her belly, feeling it warm and tight as a drum, but her magic was not seething inside her this time. She was making no real move to defend herself. Merrill grounded herself, started gathering the energy for a barrier. Then Sera lowered her bow.

“Get whatever supplies you need to get somewhere else. And then get gone.” Her eyes bored into Rhaella’s. “If I ever see you again, I will kill you.”

Then she disappeared back into the shadows of the tavern.

Rhaella felt rooted to the ground where she stood. Like she might never move from this spot again.

It was one thing to see the devastation of Kirkwall - a city that was not a part of her, another vein through which her own heart’s blood flowed - it was another to stand here in Skyhold and witness the magnitude of her failure. To hear those words of accusation dropped not from the mouth of a stranger but from a friend.

Cullen.

“Rhaella. Rhaella. Come on, love. I don’t think we want to stay here long.”

Merrill was using the same voice that Rhaella herself used to gentle Thistle when he was spooked. Her hands were on Rhaella’s shoulders, guiding. Their steps towards the keep were slow. Thistle whined, high and loud and mournful. Rhaella wondered what stories he would share of the day the Veil fell, if he could speak.

She tried not to study Skyhold as they walked through it. Tried not to see the blood or the winding patterns of lighting etched into wood and stone, the overturned tables, the shattered glasses. The kitchen was ripped apart but there was still food enough in the storeroom beyond it, and she and Merrill filled their packs with as much of it as they could reasonably carry. Rhaella felt the burden of her pregnancy all over again, how she would need more food than she ever had before on the road.

“Is there anything else you want to get?” Merrill asked when they were done there.

Rhaella nodded, and went wordlessly towards the long staircase that led to her chambers. Merrill did not follow. She was grateful for that.

Her chambers were exactly as she had left them. That was the most eerie part of all. She was not the same woman she was the last time she slept here. Her bedroom should have reflected that. But everything was in its place - each pillow on the bed, each paper on her desk. She picked up her field journal, which she’d left behind in her haste to get to Kirkwall. Then she saw the one thing that was out of place. A letter in an envelope, right in the center of her desk.

Rhaella

It was Cullen’s handwriting.

D’you know what it sounded like when your precious Commander died?

Rhaella tucked the letter quickly into her bag. She couldn’t read it. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Merrill had distributed everything they gathered between Thistle and their other two horses by the time Rhaella returned. After a brief discussion, they agreed that they would keep both horses, using one for supplies and if one of their other mounts got tired.

“So where do we go now?” Merrill asked, her eyes shifting towards the tavern and then back to Rhaella.

“The Emerald Graves,” Rhaella said. “It has plenty of resources, plenty of places to hide, and it isn’t terribly far from here.”

“I have always wanted to see them,” Merrill said. “All those tombs of the elves who came before us, who fought for our people.”

Rhaella half wondered if the tombs had broken open when the Veil fell - if those elves had stepped out to a brave new world where their people had both won and lost.

She cast one glance back at Skyhold as they rode through its gate. The towers and battlements she’d come to know as home. It was lost to her now, like so many things were. Another ghost of her own, standing stark and sad against the blue mountain sky.

She took a deep breath and rode on.

They rode until nightfall, back down the same road they’d taken up the mountain, until Rhaella’s lower back ached so badly that they could not continue. She warmed damp cloths on a stone over the fire that Merrill built and then had Merill place them where it ached. She’d never wished so desperately for a bed in her life as she did in that moment, lying there on her side on the nest of blankets they’d arranged, unable to curl up into a ball or lie on her stomach, anything to relieve the pain.

“Warn me if it gets more intense,” Merrill said. “Sometimes that’s how it goes for women - the start of labor, that is.”

Rhaella felt a surge of panic and joy alike. Would tonight be the night she met her son, the person that made all of this worth it? The reason she continued putting one foot in front of the other on this road that had no real destination yet. At least not one she could see or count on. But the pain in her back did subside eventually. There was a new chill in the air by that point, a wind coming down off the mountains that made them both shiver. Rhaella looked to the saddlebags they’d removed from their pack horse, hoping for another blanket - and spied something familiar sticking out of one of the ones Merrill had packed. Red and fur-lined.

Cullen’s cloak.

She rose, went to it, pulled it out, half-hoping she was wrong. She wasn’t. She’d have known it anywhere, and of course Merrill would not have. She’d just seen something warm that might help them on their journey, and not another dagger aimed directly at Rhaella’s heart.

Merrill was a few paces away, standing watch since they didn’t want to risk setting wards. Rhaella went to her bag and pulled out the letter she’d found on her desk, the tears already rising in her throat, the guilt already swimming in her stomach. She found a tree that she could sit against, looking away from Merrill, and eased herself to the ground, cloak and letter clutched in one hand.

She read.

Rhaella,

I am never going to see you again.

That's the worst part of this. It isn't the pain or the screaming or the uncertainty. It's knowing I will never see your face or hear your voice again.

My hand is shaking. I hope you can read this if you find it. When you find it. I refuse to believe that you did not survive this. You and the baby - you have to survive. I have to believe this was all worth something, and if the two of you are still out there, it was.

You are the most incredible woman I have ever known, Rhaella. Your quiet strength - I know it will see you through. I have watched you move mountains and I know you will move them again and again.

(I hope this all makes sense. I was never good at words, and my hand is shaking, and everything hurts -)

I wish I could be there to see you move those mountains. To see your baby. The baby I thought of as ours no matter what. I understand that what we had was never going to be real. I am at peace with that. I would have given you everything nonetheless, Rhaella. You and the baby deserved that and I would have been whatever you needed me to be. If - if this isn't the end - if I can withstand this - if we are both alive - I will still give you everything. Not because I want you to wake up one day and love me. But because you deserve that as my friend.

Whatever happens - when you find this - I want you to know that I believe in you. I wish I had words good enough to express it. I don't. I believe in you the same way I believe in the Maker and his Bride. Maybe that is the closest I can come to explaining it. I believe in you, and if anyone can stop Solas, it is you.

If I die today, I die with nothing but faith and devotion in my heart. It was how I always wanted to go, Rhaella. It's okay. I am at peace.

Yours always,

Cullen

She was crying before she finished the third paragraph, of course. Deep, wracking sobs that hollowed out her chest, carved up her ribs, scratched up her throat. They were animal sounds. She wasn't sure how long they went on. It seemed there was no beginning or end to her grief as she thought of everything Sera said, how she'd sacrificed everything for a man who never really loved or deserved her. Were they both right? Was that really the source of her weakness? Had there been some final part of her strength locked behind a door with Solas's name written on it, where she hid all the memories that were good? Had that been the strength she would have needed that day in Kirkwall?

Rhaella cried into the folds of Cullen's cloak, her mind a maze of questions with no answers, and grieved.

Solas generally prided himself on being the master of his emotions. Controlling them, subduing them, and, when all else failed, simply hiding them away.

He did not bother hiding his frustration when he returned from his fight with the Evanuris.

He came into his Kirkwall base of operations and threw down the helm he'd been wearing, reveling in the loud sound of metal striking wood as it hit the table. Maybe if he did that over and over again he could drown out the sound of his failure - of half of the Evanuris's forces escaping into eluvians and shattering them as they left. He'd wanted to pull them out, root and stem, to be done with all of this, to focus on what came next - rebuilding, helping those that remained find peace and meaning in the new world he'd made. Helping himself find peace with what he'd done. Finding time to mourn the friends he had lost (sacrificed).

Mending things with Rhaella.

"We have not been able to trace them yet," Abelas said, calm and even, but with a hesitance that Solas noted at once.

"What else?" He barked. He'd tried not to be the kind of Commander who yelled unless it was truly what the situation warranted. Then again, he'd tried a lot of things. And yet here he was again, with nothing but ash and loneliness to show for it.

"Rhaella and Merrill are gone."

Abelas said it swiftly and calmly, with the precision of a surgeon making his first cut.

Solas felt the air leave the room.

He felt his power leach into the vacuum it left behind.

Raw mana, undirected, uncontained, filling up every object and person around him, lighting up the room with a blue glow, filling it with a subtle roar. He felt his advisors shield themselves in barriers, as if he would attack them. Perhaps he would. (He would not.)

Solas took a breath and drew his mana back in.

“When?”

“Not long after you did as far as we can tell,” Abelas said. Another surgeon’s cut.

“Together.”

“Presumably, yes.”

“Where?”

“Unknown. We have not been able to track them via traditional or arcane means, though perhaps you will have greater success with the latter. You know Rhaella better than any of us, after all.”

For a moment, Solas considered letting her go. It would be kinder in the long run. He’d told her that once, when he was a stronger man. But he still had dried blood under his fingernails, the screams of the dying in his ears. He still had unfinished business, and people who would seek to hurt Rhaella and his child.

(The child, the child, the child, he could hardly bring himself to think the word at first but now it was ringing through his mind like a struck bell, an endless echo. He might not get to meet his child if he could not find her, and perhaps that was what he deserved -)

He had to find her to protect her. To tell her one last time that he was sorry. If she went her own way then - if they went their own way then - he would just have to find a way to endure.

Var lath vir suledin, she had said to him the day he took the Anchor and her arm. Perhaps that was when she was a stronger woman. Perhaps he had broken them both.

“We leave for Skyhold at dawn,” he said. He turned on his heel and left. He had enough control, enough composure, not to spill his tears before them. He waited until he was in Rhaella’s room, surrounded by the smell of her, to do that.

He would endure, he told himself over and over again. He would endure. He simply wasn’t sure what it would cost.

#beach writes #beach does commissions #scharoux #rhaella lavellan #rhaella x solas #lost horizon #character death #angst #...like all the angst

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enby-hawke · 4 years

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I was tagged by @isalavhenan, thanks for thinking of me

Rules: tag people you’d like to get to know better (no pressure)

Top 3 Ships: Merrill/Hawke/Fenris/Isabela of course, A split between Tahani/Janet/Jason and Chidi/Eleanor from The Good Place (but they are all queer so let’s be real they all dated in heaven), aaaand.....I think Zukko x Sokka because ATLA resurgence reminded me how much I love those two.

Last Song: Hysteric-YeahYeahYeahs

Last Movie(s): Um if it’s an actual movie then it’s also Birds of Prey, otherwise the last thing I watched was Ascendant of a Bookworm which is a cuteass anime about an obviously autistic kid who woke up with knowledge of their previous life and is deprived of their special interest which is reading because only the rich have books in her new life so she just decides to make books from scratch.

Currently Reading: How to be an Antiracist by Ibram X Kendi, I’m also reading Dragon Pearl which is a korean fox lore space adventure by Yoon Ha Lee.

What Food I’m Craving Right Now: The miso soup I just finished off. (My sister in law’s having a baby and we celebrated with our fave Japanese.)

Tagging @alexiealducsdrawings @jellydishes @dickeybbqpit @periwinkle-hawke @antivan-surana @envy-kitty @lesbian-moze @nonbinarysidestep @thewitchywinnie anyone else who wants to do it go ahead and tag me. No pressure as always.

#tagging game #about me

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ramblinganthropologist · 4 years

Note

Okay: Avery Hawke. 1 for Anders. 4 for Merrill. Aaaaaand 4 for Isabela. (I'm on mobile so I was scared I would forget which questions before asking them x-x

(oof, mood. It’s so hard to ask questions for these on mobile!)

1. How did your Hawke feel about Anders’ clinic? Did they ever spend time there?

Avery was very positive about Anders’ clinic. After all, he was helping people who needed it. Some of them were her fellow Fereldens, so she was glad there was someone there for them when Kirkwall wasn’t. In her mind, it made the city a better place. She spent some time, but not a lot. See, she’s one half of a pair of Hawkes - her adopted brother spends more time because he’s also a healer. As a non-mage, she feels out of place and like she can’t help - it brings back memories of Bethany and her father, she supposes. Maybe she’s a little jealous she can’t help Anders like the other Hawke can. However, she’s pretty damn good with a mop and bucket - when the mages are resting, she helped to clean the place up. Woe to them if they step on her wet floor before she’s done!

4. What sort of relationship did your Hawke have with Merrill? Were they protective of her?

Avery and Merrill got along great. Avery is autistic (of course, no diagnosis in Kirkwall) so I think they vibe on a neurological level. Also, Merrill is Dalish - Avery is half elf. Her father told her about the Dalish growing up, and she ate the stories up. Hearing from the real deal is even better. She was definitely a little protective, because Merrill gave off a sister feeling. She uh... has a thing about protecting sisters who are mages. She’s blocked a few blows for her buddy... and probably beaten a few people up in dark alleys who wanted to mess with her. Don’t mess with people Avery likes.

4. How did your Hawke respond to Isabela? Were they well-matched or ill-suited?

Avery respects Isabela. After all - she was a pirate. That freedom to go places was something Avery would’ve killed for as a younger woman when she had to be the head of the family after her mother died. She loves hearing sea stories, and maybe she’s a little envious. They fight well together, they get drinks together. I think they match up nicely since neither are likely to sex shame the other - unlike a guard captain who isn’t welcome for drinks anymore. Isabela probably gives Avery some tips on how to make Anders and Fenris beg for it in the bedroom, but they also talk about the sea, about Kirkwall, just about anything. I think they vibe, honestly. Kindred spirits, maybe? They’re both strong women with rough pasts who are fighting for the right to live as they please.

#Avery Hawke #she's very easy to get along with if you can't tell #the only people she really doesn't like in the companions are Aveline and Sebastian #arathergrimreaper

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kaaras-adaar-a · 4 years

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Actually I wandered DA2 is my favorite of the series along with it's companions (love bi squad) exept Sebastian, I just want to shove him under the carpet, BUT i wanted to ask would Kaaras get along with them? Romance some of them? Anders/Hawke is my ultumate ship but I certainly ship Fenris with my inquisitor, i don't think he was ready for romance in DA2,I think he needed a friend more that a lover, but in DA3 i think he's matured enough x)

// An interesting question! And kind of amusing that you don’t like Sebastian (because I personally love him even though I know he has his problems--but all of them do). But Kaaras has actually worked for the Vael’s before X’D Sebastian is my headcanon reason WHY Kaaras’ company was the one to escort the Divine to the Conclave.

I’ve yet to write an in depth headcanon about it (I will finish it, it’s been sitting in my drafts for months), but after he made a good name for him and his company in Starkhaven, he worked for nobles, who in turn got in touch with the Vael family, and thus he was elected for the mission of keeping the Divine safe during her travels and the peace talk at the Conclave.

As for relationships, let’s have a brief look:

Hawke:

Entirely dependent on how one played their Hawke. In saying that, Kaaras DOES have a bit of a hero crush on them, the same as he does with the HoF. But this definitely doesn’t mean he will come to be romantically involved with them, he just greatly admires them. This one would still depend on the choices made, etc. Definitely a possible romance.

Varric:

Kaaras considers him a close, good friend. :) I guess this one doesn’t count since he’s a friend in DA:I as well lol. No romance, just a friend.

Anders:

It would take a LONG time for Kaaras to ever understand Anders and his actions. To Kaaras, as a mage, he finds it disgusting (but Kaaras is also an apostate who has never been in a Circle so he doesn’t understand). I think it would really depend on how someone also PLAYED an Anders in an RP setting, but as of now, and as of no contact, Kaaras would not consider him a good person in the least. Hundreds of innocent people died because of his actions, even if it was ‘needed’ or for the good and a sacrifice. Kaaras still thinks there could have been another way, that something could have been done better to help. He’s an understanding and compassionate man, and he is also a man of justice, and while he doesn’t agree to any of what was happening in Kirkwall, blowing up a Chantry and endangering/killing innocent people is not the way to get a message across. Anders also betrayed Hawke, someone who came to trust and possibly even love. That makes his actions even worse. Like I said, it would take a long, long time for Kaaras to ever understand fully why Anders did what he did. He’s no martyr to Kaaras. No romance.

Aveline:

I think it would be a strained relationship. I can’t quite remember all of the details in game when it comes to her as I didn’t often take her with my party, but there’s lots of things she said and did and disregarded as a guardsman that Kaaras would be very upset about. Like I said, he’s a man of justice, and she turned a blind eye to many things just to not stir the pot. That’s still making a decision, and not a good one. I think he would feel like she was in a position to do a lot more and did nothing with that power to better the city. So... a strained relationship, and probably a distant one. No romance.

Bethany/Carver:

I unfortunately have never had Bethany in my playthrough... so I can’t say much about her because I don’t know a lot about her. In saying that, much like Hawke, Kaaras has a little bit of a thing for the sibling as well. He’d just see them as much of a hero as Hawke was. I think he and Bethany would get along very well from what little I’ve seen of her, and I think he and Carver would probably get along quite well as well. I know Carver can be a bit of a douche at times, but he’s still genuinely a person who wants good for others. The family bickering would honestly just remind him of his little sister. Possible romance, more likely Bethany however.

Fenris:

Being a mage makes an instant distance for Fenris, so there’s that. Top that off with being a qunari (although I don’t think Fenris really cares about that). In saying that, I think Kaaras would be very interested in Fenris. Not because of his background, but because of his knowledge. He is a very smart man, and Kaaras would take to that. I have had Fenris partners before that have turned to romance, so definitely a possible romance option. It would take time, and it would be slow, but yeah, definitely if anything a friendship :)

Isabela:

To put it bluntly? He thinks she’s a selfish bitch. What she did was wrong, there is no excuse, and taking a tome that is SACRED to an entire peoples? Disgusting. He doesn’t care if you don’t follow a certain religion or even hate it, you don’t steal things that are sacred to someone, it’s a criminal and punishable offence. No romance, and absolutely no friendship.

Merrill:

Kaaras would definitely want to get to know her. He’d love to learn from her as well. Blood magic doesn’t bother Kaaras so long as it’s done correctly (even though he wouldn’t perform it himself), but what would bother Kaaras mostly is that he’d simply want her to be safe. I think he would understand her desire to learn about her people and her culture, but he’d want her to do it safely, and not hurt others in the process. There is definitely a chance for romance there, and honestly, I have had RP partners before and it’s been adorable lol.

This is purely game based, so all of this could change depending on verse and RP partner, etc. Some of these relationships could grow, some of them might not, and even become worse. So this is a brief and BASIC overview of it all, but yeah. :3

#ooc #asks #reply #headcanons #DA 2 #Dragon Age 2 #you-aredelirious

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bettydice · 5 years

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“I’ll keep you warm" for Hawke x Fenris - *wink wink*

you sent this prompt a while ago, but I filled it, yay!! not too much on the *wink wink* side, but I hope you like it anyway!

(what where’s the line tumblr why????)

“Your extremities are very cold.”

“I’m sorry.” Hawke’s actions belie her words, as she snuggles closer to Fenris and sticks her cold hands under his shirt. He hisses like the tiny dragonling that Merrill almost adopted last week. She called him ‘Captain Snorklepants’ and he was adorable. “Again, very sorry!”

“I don’t mind.” Fenris sounds as though he does. But he also pulls her closer into his embrace and slings one leg over her thigh. Mhmmm.

“Really, very sorry. We don’t have to be here, since I have a perfectly not-falling-apart mansion we could sleep in instead.”

“But you don’t want to be there.” It’s not a question, because of course he knows. Is there anything he doesn’t know about her at this point? She can’t think of anything but maybe she just has forgotten. He wouldn’t have forgotten. He remembers everything, now that he can.

“I don’t want to be there.” Her hands are warming up now, anyway. She strokes the soft skin over his belly and enjoys how his muscles twitch under her touch.

“Then I’ll simply have to acquire more blankets.”

“I’m being ridiculous, I know.”

Fenris hums and she feels it rumbling in his chest. Like a High Dragon landing in the distance while you and your friends are drawing your weapons and getting ready to fight it. She probably shouldn’t tell Fenris that she’s now turning last week’s Bone Pit Extravaganza into metaphors. Or that she’s calling it Bone Pit Extravaganza. What would be better though? Bone Throwdown? She’s gonna have to think about that some more. Maybe consult Isabela. She would be super good with bone-related puns.

“You’re always ridiculous, Hawke. And usually you don’t apologise for it.”

She bites his chest. Not really a bite. More of a nibble. But he shivers against her and she repeats her action. His fingers card through her hair, nails scratching slightly against her scalp, and it’s all very promising.

“There’s just… so much waiting for me at the estate. Or… not for me, not really. For the Champion.” Hawke grimaces and burrows further into Fenris’ chest, entertaining for a delicious second the possibility that he’d do his glowy-ghost thing and just… well. He wouldn’t technically swallow her. Or absorb her into his body. That’d be weird. What was she talking about again? Oh yeah, the depressing reality of her home. “I guess, what’s worse is… there’s also nothing waiting for me. They’re not…”

She feels their absence every day. Empty spaces mocking her instead of her siblings. A closed door that only leads to a dusty bed, not her disappointed mother. The silence grew so loud that she worked hard to convince Orana to move into her mother’s room. It took almost a year but now it’s… at least now there’s more sleeping next to her than just her failures.

Fenris disrupts her spiral into self-loathing by tugging painfully on her hair and taking her lips in a thorough kiss. He keeps kissing her until she’s melting into him and panting into his mouth.

“We’ll stay here.” He slides his lips over her jaw, down to her throat. One of his hands has found its way to her waist and he presses his fingertips into her skin to keep her grounded. A tiny moan escapes her and he shows his approval by gently biting her neck. “I’ll keep you warm.”

There’s a hint of mirth in his voice and she pulls away with her upper body to look at him. She pushes her lower body closer, though, to grind against him. Best of both worlds, really.

“Oh yeah, you’ll keep me warm? Because you’re a ho-…” Before she can bless him with her incredible wit, he rolls them over, so that he lies on top of her and rocks his hips against hers as he kisses her again. She lets him push his tongue into her mouth and wraps her arms around his neck, trying to get even closer to him. There really isn’t anywhere else she wants to be and nowhere she could ever feel warmer than here. Right here, in his arms.

#nelsynoo #dragon age #fenris #fenris/hawke #dragon age 2 #bit of a sappy ending #oh well #betty drabbles

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kirkwallgremlin · 4 years

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why can't u hc a parent hawke?

I guess it’s just a personal thing that I really struggle to see happening?

First of all, Hawke knows what it’s like to essentially be on the run all the time to hide and protect your mage babies. I think that’d be a big factor in the decision to have children for a mage Hawke or a Hawke that romanced Merrill or Anders. And my Hawkes have always side with the mages so they can’t stay in Kirkwall, which I feel leads to more uncertainty and instability and I can’t see that changing.

Then there’s the issue of the other parent and I also find it hard to imagine the love interests having children or Hawke x LI agreeing and both being on board enough to want to have kids and make it happen.

Anders for example - he’s canonically good with kids and I LOVE thinking about Anders with kids (hell, I have a fic that’s a bunch of oneshots primarily about Anders with various children) but I just can’t see him having his own kids. He, and potentially Hawke, are apostate mages on the run and Anders is a wanted man. I can’t see him feeling like he’d be able to give a child the safe and supportive environment he’d want. I’ve even toyed with the idea of Hawke and Anders finding a child in need and basically...keeping them? But it all comes back down to the idea that Anders wouldn’t feel comfortable subjecting a child to the life they’d have to live or possibly live so even if they did find a child, they’d find them a good stable home, no matter how hard it was for them or how much they’d want to keep the kid.

Imagining Fenris with kids is also super cute, especially because I can imagine him being kind of uncomfortable and prickly but making such an effort anyway and kids loving him. But I also can’t imagine him with his own kids - especially when you consider that, y’know, he’s running around Tevinter killing slavers. Who’s at home with the kid/s? It could happen, but it doesn’t for my Hawkes with my Fenris’s.

Isabela, I just can’t see with kids at all. She’ll be tolerant of them and respectful of them but that’s a lot of mess and responsibility and lack of freedom, and I feel like she’d also be so scared she’d end up a failure of a parent like her own mother.

Merrill is probably the only one I can really see with kids? And that’s pretty cute now I think about it, but I don’t really have a Hawke that romances Merrill. She’s more settled in Kirkwall than the others though, even after DA2 so I feel like she’s in a better more stable position to have and raise and support kids with Hawke returning to visit them, but again, my Hawkes side with the mages and aren’t super welcome to visit their family in Kirkwall.

Sebastian I don’t really know, I’ve only just started Act 2 since I got his DLC. I guess it makes sense for him and Hawke to have a child to provide an heir but I don’t know about him to know how he’d feel about kids.

Plus, it’s not like having kids is a necessary step so I just don’t feel like it’s necessary or an automatic “next step” in the relationship :) Hawke would find if a little hard sometimes, thinking about the family they had and lost and then how his Kirkwall family kind of broke up (even though they totally stay in contact with most of them!) and knowing they’re not going to have that again but that’s not enough to make it happen.

I totally support anyone who has a Hawke with a family! I’ve seen some super cute Hawke families and I appreciate them even if it’s not my cup of tea. My personal perspective doesn’t mean anyone else has to feel the same at all, but it just doesn’t feel like something that would happen to me :)

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pikapeppa · 5 years

Text

Cullen/Lavellan modern AU: Luck (A Reprise)

Guys: big news.

TODAY (May 3) IS @schoute‘s BIRTHDAY SO GO WISH HER A HAPPY BIRTHDAY RIGHT NOW!! GO GO GO!!! 🎉🎉🎉🎉

In honour of her birthday, I have finished Luck of the Law, our modern AU Cullen x Piper Lavellan fic! AND THERE IS FINALLY SMUUUUUT. THIS IS THE BIRTHDAY GIFT THAT KEEPS ON GIVING I HOPE AAAAND THIS GOT AWKWARD REAL FAST MAKER’S BREATH

Anyway, the final two chapter are up on AO3! Read them here; this is just an excerpt from the second-last chapter, which is quite long.

******************

Piper nervously tapped her booted feet on the steps of the courthouse. She listened idly to Isabela and Merrill’s chatting for a moment, then pulled out her phone and glanced at the time.

It was 10:20am. Hawke and Cullen had been in the courthouse for over an hour already.

She looked up at Isabela. “How long do these things usually take, d’you think?”

Isabela propped her fist on one luscious hip and grinned down at Piper, who was seated on the courthouse steps. “Why are you asking me? I’m a naughty girl, but I’m not that naughty.”

Piper smirked. “Well, that’s disappointing. I would have thought you’d been brought up on charges for public indecency or something at some point, at least.”

Isabela gave a throaty chuckle. “Oh, sweets, I have. Just not in Kirkwall.”

“Of course you have,” Varric deadpanned. He leaned casually against one of the courthouse’s imposing stone pillars and looked at Piper. “Depends on if they got called in on time, Rowdy. If the courts are backed up, we could be waiting until noon.”

“Noon?” Merrill exclaimed. She wrung her hands nervously. “That’s so long to wait! Poor Hawke. She’s not very good at waiting, is she?”

“She really isn’t,” Piper said. “Remember that time she ordered a Lyft and an Uber at the same time because she just wanted us to get into the one that came sooner?”

“And then they came at the same time!” Merrill giggled. “And she made us use them both–”

“–because she’d already paid,” Piper finished.

“Don’t forget the best part: that she put the wrong address into the Lyft, so it ended up on a different damned street,” Isabela said wryly.

Piper laughed. “Oh yeah, that’s right. We ended up getting to the club even later than if she’d just waited for the one fucking car. Classic Hawke.”

Varric, Isabela, and Merrill laughed, and Piper grinned, but she couldn’t help but glance up at the courthouse doors yet again. If she was being perfectly honest, she was getting a little worried. Cullen had the utmost confidence that Hawke’s charges would be dropped, and Piper believed him, but she still wouldn’t feel completely at ease until Hawke and Cullen walked out the doors and gave the verdict.

Merrill sighed and drummed her wine-red fingernails on her phone. “I wish we had a way to know what was going on. Anders has been asking for updates, and I don’t have any news to tell him.”

Isabela raised an eyebrow at Piper and Varric. “Why didn’t Hawke want us to come in with her? We’re allowed to go in. These court things are open to the public, aren’t they?”

Piper nodded; she’d asked Cullen the same thing, just to be sure. “Yeah, but Hawke didn’t want an audience for this,” she said.

Isabela snorted and shifted her weight to her other hip. “Since when does Hawke not want an audience?”

“Uh, since they’re deciding whether to stick her with murder charges or not?” Varric quipped.

Isabela rolled her eyes and waved one elegant hand. “Oh please. The charges won’t stick.” She looked at Piper. “That man of yours has it sorted. If it seems like they’re losing the case, he can just open one button on his shirt. Show off that handsome chest of his.” She winked at Piper.

Piper grinned. “That’s what Hawke said too.”

Isabela shrugged and grinned. “There you go. Great minds think alike. Maybe I should become a lawyer. Pop my top button every time I think I’m going to lose…” She tapped her chin mock-thoughtfully.

Varric raised one eyebrow. “As if you need the excuse to show your chest, Isabela.”

Isabela grinned, then bent over slowly until she – and her ample bosom – were at Varric’s eye level. “As though you need an excuse to look, handsome,” she drawled.

Varric smirked and shook his head, and Merrill giggled. Piper snickered, then glanced hopefully at the courthouse when the doors cracked open.

Two stern-looking besuited women emerged. Disappointed, Piper forced herself to turn away, then looked up at Varric. “Hey, how is the research going for your sequel of Swords and Shields?” she asked.

“Hey, keep your voice down,” Varric said. He shuffled a little closer to her and lowered his voice. “I’m trying to keep that one under my pen name.”

Isabela pouted playfully at him. “What, the hardened crime novel author doesn’t want everyone knowing he secretly enjoys writing torrid sex scenes?”

“Yeah, Varric, what’s to be ashamed of?” Piper asked. “I’ve been told the legal stuff you wrote was really accurate.”

Varric raised his eyebrows. “Really? Who said that?”

Piper shrugged and held her boss’s shrewd gaze. No way was she telling him that Cullen had read Swords and Shields; Cullen’s face would go up in flames if anyone other than Piper ever knew he’d read it. “Someone in Cullen’s office was talking about it,” she fibbed. She nudged Varric’s knee. “You should be proud of it.”

“Hmm. I’d be more proud if the sales were better,” Varric said. “I’m really not much of a romance writer.”

Merrill patted his shoulder encouragingly. “Practice makes perfect! You can’t give up! I really liked Swords and Shields. Even Aveline said it wasn’t bad.”

Varric snorted. “Not exactly inspiring confidence there, Daisy. But… ah, we’ll see. I need some inspiration for the sequel.” He smiled at the three women. “If I ever decide to go back to it, you three will be the first to know.”

“Aww, thanks Varric,” Piper cooed.

“Yes, that’s so sweet of you!” Merrill chirped. She gave Varric a hug.

“Sweet and handsome. Such a catch,” Isabela purred. She playfully chucked Varric’s chin.

Varric waved his hand magnanimously. “All right, ladies, that’s enough. Give a man some room to breathe.”

They all laughed. The cheerful conversation flowed forth as time ticked on, and as much as Piper enjoyed their friendly chat, she couldn’t completely let go of the hint of worry that scratched more insistently at her mind with every passing minute.

Almost an hour later, the doors to the courthouse opened. Piper casually glanced up at the doors, and her heart leapt into her throat: Hawke and Cullen were finally stepping outside.

She shot to her feet, and Merrill and Isabela also stood. “So?” Piper said eagerly. Her eyes darted anxiously from Hawke’s reddened eyes to Cullen’s stern face. “What happened?”

Cullen looked at Hawke and nodded encouragingly. Hawke shrugged and grinned. “They dropped the murder charges. No trial necessary,” she said. “I’m off the hook.”

Piper clutched her face in relief. Merrill squealed in excitement, and Isabela whooped loudly, and they all flooded up the stairs toward her.

Piper pulled Hawke into a rare impulsive hug. “Congratulations!” she exclaimed, then grunted as Merrill’s and Isabela’s arms surrounded them as well in a messy group hug.

Hawke laughed – a loud, merry burst of amusement. “Oh, thank you, thank you. The miraculous Rynne Hawke narrowly dodges another disaster.” She smiled at Varric, who was standing beside Cullen with his arms folded and a huge grin on his face. “You should write a book about me, you know. I bet it would sell extremely well.”

Varric chuckled. “I’ll think about it. Between keeping you and Rowdy off the bar and managing the finances at Athenril’s, I barely have time to write these days.”

Hawke laughed again. Varric, Isabela and Merrill continued to chat happily with Hawke, but Piper’s eyes were drawn to Cullen.

His eyebrows were creased in a slight frown, but he was smiling at Hawke and the others. As he met Piper’s eyes, his face relaxed until he was grinning.

She grinned back at him. “Thank you,” she mouthed silently.

His grin broadened further, and he shook his head dismissively. Then Isabela and Merrill released Piper and Hawke from their tight embrace. “We’re having a party to celebrate,” Isabela announced. “Saturday night. Yes?” She raised her eyebrows at Hawke.

“Ooh, how fun!” Merrill chirped. “Let me just text Anders…” She pulled out her phone and began to type.

Hawke shrugged. “I never say no to a party,” she said happily. “As long as the boss gives me and Pipes the night off?” She batted her eyelashes winningly at Varric.

Varric rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “I guess it’s a worthy cause. Maybe I’ll even take the night off. Get Athenril to run the bar for the night.”

Isabela clapped her hands cheerfully, then sashayed over to Cullen and tapped his chest. “You have to come, Mr. Rutherford. You’ll be the guest of honour along with Hawke.”

Cullen’s smile fell, and he tugged his tie. “Oh. Er, that’s very kind, Isabela, but–”

“Come now, I’m not taking no for an answer,” Isabela insisted. “It will be a great party. I’ll have Josephine arrange the whole thing, and we’ll have dancing in every room of the house…”

Piper watched with a rush of fondness as Cullen’s expression grew more and more apprehensive. “I-I will have to check my schedule,” he hedged. “I am usually working on Saturday nights…” He shot Piper a please-help-me sort of look.

Piper bounced over and hooked her hand through Cullen’s elbow. “I’ll walk him through it,” she said confidently. She gave him an adoring look. “He’ll be there. He’ll even have fun.”

Cullen glanced at her pleadingly, then sighed. “All right. I suppose I will be there. I will trust Piper’s judgment that this will be, er, fun.” He gave Piper a wry little smile.

“Fantastic,” Isabela announced. She grinned confidently at them all, then snapped her fingers. “A victory and homecoming party, let’s not forget!” She raised her eyebrows curiously at Hawke. “When are you moving in again, sweet thing?”

“Ah, I hadn’t decided yet,” Hawke said airily. “Only half of my things are packed. You know how good I am at getting my shit organized.”

Piper shot Hawke a swift sideways glance. Hawke tended to give an impression of being humorously scatterbrained and impulsive, but Piper knew the truth: in the aftermath of Malcolm’s death, with Leandra incapable of action and Carver obliviously out of the picture, Hawke was the only one managing her family’s finances and household responsibilities.

Hawke met Piper’s eyes, and her smile slipped for a split second. Then she wrestled it back onto her face. “Listen, all of you, in the excitement of this criminal court-y business, I forgot how badly I need to piss.” She looked at Piper. “Come hold my purse for me?”

“Sure,” Piper said casually. She squeezed Cullen’s hand briefly, then followed Hawke back into the courthouse.

Hawke sighed happily as they walked through the elegant municipal building. “You know, I’ll almost miss this place,” she said. “It’s sort of fun being on the wrong side of the law. Everyone kind of gives you this look like you’re a total badass. I could get used to that.” She tilted her head. “Come to think of it, I rather have gotten used to it. Maybe I should actually do something illegal next time, instead of just being wrongly accused.”

Piper smirked. “And maybe you should keep your voice down while we’re, you know, surrounded by witnesses.”

“Ah, clever,” Hawke said. She tapped her nose and winked at Piper. “You’d make a great accomplice, you know. Actually, scratch that, you’d be the brains of the operation.”

Piper snickered and elbowed her. “I’m sure that would go over just great with my lawyer boyfriend.”

Hawke widened her eyes. “Please. That’s what would make it all the more romantic.”

Piper laughed, and Hawke continued to crack incessant jokes until they found their way to the women’s washroom. Once they were in the washroom, Piper glanced briefly at the gaps under the doors to the three stalls; no one else was here.

She looked at Hawke, who was inspecting her makeup in the mirror and still talking. “... met this fellow who was about to go on trial for pissing on his boss’s storefront after his boss refused to pay him overtime,” she said. She carefully wiped away a trace of smudged eyeliner. “Now that seems like the kind of case that you’d think Cullen would pick up pro bono, but he was all, ‘no, Hawke, I refuse’–”

“Hawke,” Piper said.

Hawke glanced at Piper in the mirror. “Yeah, Pipes? What’s up?”

Piper leaned against the bathroom counter and folded her arms. “Are you okay?” she said seriously.

Hawke widened her eyes. “Of course. I just got let off the hook for my father’s death. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Because your mom’s going to have a fucking fit when she hears the news, and she’s going to have another fucking fit when you move out, and you’re stuck managing the whole household by yourself, and your dad is dead, Piper thought.

She shrugged and awkwardly nibbled the inside of her cheek. “Just checking. You know, with all the… other stuff.”

Hawke smiled, then turned away from the mirror to lean against the counter beside Piper. “Ah, you’re sweet, but I’m good. Really.” She nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’m good. Everything’s good. Feels like a weight’s been lifted, you know?” She smiled at Piper.

Her eyes were shining. Piper’s heart gave a painful thump in her chest.

Hawke dropped her gaze to her feet. “I’m good,” she repeated. “It’s all sorted out.” A drop of water fell onto the toe of Hawke’s boot, and Hawke hastily wiped her face.

Piper swallowed the lump that was swelling in her throat. “Hey,” she said softly, and she gently patted Hawke’s back.

Hawke buried her face in her hands, and her shoulders jerked with a silent sob.

Piper froze for a split second, then wrapped her arm tightly around Hawke’s shoulders. Hawke curled toward her, and Piper simply held her while she cried in silence, her shoulders shaking with unspoken distress.

A long, silent moment later, Hawke sniffled wetly, then wiped her nose on her hand and laughed. “Gross,” she said thickly, and she turned away from Piper and turned on the faucet.

Piper pulled some paper towels from the dispenser while Hawke washed her face and hands. She handed the paper towel to Hawke, who smiled at her with puffy eyes. “Now you’re stuck with me while I put my face back on,” Hawke quipped as she patted her face dry.

It’s not ‘stuck’ if I chose to be here with you, Piper thought. But that would be too sappy to say, even to her best friend. And if she said it, Hawke would probably start crying again, and then Piper might start crying…

Ugh, she thought. She leaned her elbows on the bathroom counter and grinned at Hawke, who was pulling a cosmetics kit from her purse. “You should have kept the smeared makeup,” Piper said. “You kind of looked like the Joker. Then we could have gone through the courthouse–”

Hawke gasped. “–and pretended we were going to rob the place or something? Oh Maker’s balls, that would have been so cool.” She pouted at Piper. “Remind me again why we don’t just fall to a life of crime? We’d be so good at it.”

Piper shrugged and watched with a smile as Hawke began expertly reapplying her foundation. “I don’t think they have my favourite brand of hair oil in jail,” she drawled. She ran a hand through her mass of silvery waves. “This would turn into a nightmare if it wasn’t controlled.”

Hawke raised one eyebrow. She reapplied her raspberry-red lipstick, then smirked. “Or we could use it as a weapon. Or hide weapons in it!”

Piper cackled at the thought. They continued to joke around about their imaginary criminal activities as they left the bathroom and made their way back to the exit.

When they reached the courthouse doors, Cullen was there.

Piper’s heart gave an instinctive leap of pleasure at the sight of him. He smiled at her as they drew near, then turned to Hawke. “Take these,” he said to her, and he held out a small pack of tissues.

Hawke took them with a quizzical look, and he grimaced apologetically. “I forgot to give them to you before, for which I apologize. I… These moments can be difficult, and I should have remembered earlier…”

He broke off as Hawke threw her arms around his neck in a hug. “You’re so fucking nice, Cullen,” she said. She released him and fondly patted his clean-shaven cheek. “How are you so fucking nice?”

He flushed and tugged at his tie. “Hmm, well. Thank you, Hawke, that’s very kind.”

“No, you are,” she insisted. She squeezed his arm, and her face was serious now. “Thank you, Cullen. Truly. I would have been rightly fucked if not for you. I… seriously, I don’t know how to thank you.”

Cullen’s face continued to redden, and he shook his head. “Please. No thanks are necessary. It was the right thing. You… truly, it was the right thing to do.” He looked Hawke in the eye.

She gazed back at him, then squinched her face up slightly and laughed. “Oh balls, you’re going to make me cry again. Enough of this.” She flapped her hands vaguely, then turned to Piper with a grin. “You can give him a proper thanks on my behalf. How’s that sound?”

Her tone was distinctly salacious, and Piper grinned. “That sounds like a great plan,” she said, and she and Hawke both looked at Cullen.

His pinkened cheeks turned tomato-red, and the two women cackled. Then Hawke gave Piper and Cullen one more quick hug each. “I’ll see you guys later, all right?” she said brightly. “I’ve got some party planning to do with the lovely Bels.” She winked at them, then strolled out of the courthouse with her usual confident aplomb.

Piper smiled at Cullen, then stepped closer to him and rested her palms lightly on his abs. “You’re my hero,” she said, only half-jokingly.

He scoffed and gently squeezed her arm. “Hardly. It is my duty. Hawke’s case was very worthwhile.”

Piper shook her head and leaned into him. “I mean it,” she said seriously. “You’re… you didn’t have to do this. You had so much else going on, and this was an extra thing you didn’t need on your plate, and you still…” She shook her head and met his eyes – those deep, delicious chocolate-brown eyes of his.

“You saved my best friend from a major criminal charge,” she said quietly. “You’re a fucking hero, Cullen.”

He ducked his head shyly, and Piper grinned at the lingering redness of his cheeks. He was so modest and so good. He believed in the goodness of other people and in getting justice for those who did wrong, and simply standing close to him made her heart feel like it was going to pound its way out of her chest.

I love you, she thought. She’d been holding back on telling him, but she wanted so badly to say it, and the words were sitting right there on the tip of her tongue with all the sweetness of a ripe cherry…

She opened her mouth to say it, but Cullen spoke first. “Would you come over to my place tonight?” he blurted.

Piper’s eyebrows shot up. “Huh?” she said, slightly disoriented by her own feelings and by his abrupt invitation.

He winced slightly. “That was graceless. I – well, now that this case is wrapped up, I was hoping…” He straightened and took Piper’s hands in his. “I am going to take a night off from work,” he announced. “And I would like to cook dinner for you.”

Piper stared at him, then smiled slowly. “That’s your idea of a night off? Cooking?”

He gave her a slightly chiding look. “Cooking for you would be my idea of a night off. And, well… you have not seen my home, and… I would very much like to have you there.” His eyes were serious on her face. “You know it has never been much of a place of relaxation for me, but perhaps with you there…”

Piper’s heart swelled with a fresh bloom of pleasure, and she squeezed his hands. “I would love to come over,” she said. “That sounds amazing.”

The smile that lit his face was swift and brilliant. “Good,” he said happily. He nodded, then released her hands. “Good,” he said once more, and he ran a hand through his hair before gently ushering her toward the exit. “I should return to the office; I have a number of things still to do today, and I’ll need to go to the shops after work…”

“Can I bring anything?” Piper asked as they stepped outside. “Wine or dessert?”

Cullen shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “Bring only yourself. That is all I need.” He smiled at her as they made their way down the courthouse steps.

She grinned at her feet, then coyly tugged her hair over the heated tip of her right ear. “All right,” she said. “I’ll see you tonight, then. What time?”

Cullen checked his watch. “Would six o’clock be too early?”

Noon wouldn’t be too early, Piper thought. She would honestly spend the entire day with him if she could. But alas, there was work he had to do, and she had a party to help plan and a best friend to check in on…

She shook her head. “Six is perfect. I’ll see you then.” She rested her palms on his abs again and lifted herself onto her toes.

He leaned down to meet her, and Piper drifted dreamily in the pleasure of his kiss and the warmth of his hand as it cradled her neck. He pulled away slowly, and Piper drank in the beauty of his scarred and smiling lips as he straightened up.

“Have a good afternoon, Piper,” he murmured. He straightened his tie, then turned and walked away toward the parking lot.

Piper smiled foolishly at his departing back, then popped in her earbuds and skipped off in the direction of home. There were so many things to look forward to: a party this weekend, and Hawke moving into Isabela’s condo with them as soon as she was able, and most exciting of all, a date at Cullen’s condo tonight.

A leap of nervous excitement hopped in her belly. A quiet, private dinner at Cullen’s condo… It was the perfect romantic setting for everything they’d been putting off for the last two hectic weeks, and Piper grinned to herself as she strolled along the street. Maybe I’ll be getting lucky tonight, she thought mischievously.

And maybe, just maybe, she’d find the right moment tonight to tell him exactly how she felt.

Read the rest on AO3.

#cullen rutherford #cullen fic #cullen modern AU #Luck of the Law #cullen/lavellan #cullen x lavellan #cullavellan #piperford #pikapeppa writes

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life-is-no-sugarlicking · 5 years

Photo

B A S I C S

Full name: Chevy Hawke

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Bisexual

Pronouns: he / him

O T H E R

Family: His sister and his parents are dead. But he still has his younger brother Carver and his uncle Gamlen. He just learned that he has also a cousin.. after.. uh.. many lost their life because she couldn’t say just hello, but we all make mistakes, right? Anyway after all his adventures he counts also his friends as family. A big, weird, family.

Birthplace: Lothering

Job(s): Champion of Kirkwall? Is this a job? If so, he never asked for it. Chevy prefers to call himself an adventurer

Phobias: small spiders. Could climb in his ears!! D: ||

Guilty pleasures: little cakes. if you want to apologize to him, bring some cakes with you. Just ask Isabela, she is a pro with it ||

Hobbies: he really tries to learn this Wallop game from Gamlen and has fun with it - he is still terrible, tbh || he plays a lot with his doggo Potato || spending time with his friends. ||

M O R A L S

Morality alignment: Chaotic Good

Sins: lust / gluttony / pride / envy / wrath / sloth

Virtues: charity / diligence / kindness / patience / justice

T H I S O R T H A T

introvert / extrovert / in between

organized / disorganized / in between

close-minded / open-minded / in between

calm / anxious / restless / in between

disagreeable / agreeable / in between

cautious / reckless / in between

patient / impatient / in between

outspoken / reserved / in between

leader / follower / flexible

empathetic / unempathetic / in between

optimistic / pessimistic / realistic

traditional / modern / in between

hard-working / lazy / in between

R E L A T I O N S H I P S

OTP: Samson x Chevy - Even when it’s.. uh.. complicated.

Acceptable ships: Anders x Chevy - viva la magerights || Isabela x Chevy - even when this would be a lot of chaos. :’D

BroTP: Varric and Chevy! Bros for evaaaa!

NOTP: Merrill x Chevy. He saw how Carver looks at her and can’t wait for the cute Bloodmagetemplarbabys.

#dragon age #dragon age 2 #hawke #custom hawke #male hawke #my da screenshots #chevy hawke

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chaotic-good-hawke · 5 years

Note

More prompts :D 12. “I’m glad you trust me.” & x. Poor planning ❤️

Thank you for the prompt, friend! I wanted to answer this for Kitty Hawke and Fenris, but I hadn’t written them before, so I had to wrangle them a bit.

So, of course the first thing I write for them is mutual pinning between Act 2 and 3, because I can.

Poor Planning and Missed Connections, Kitty Hawke x Fenris, 1034 words

Link to fic on AO3

The bandits had themsurrounded. Had it been the best idea to rush into the middle of their camp?Probably not, but here they were. Kitty Hawke was sending spell after spell atthe bandits, while also throwing protective shields around her companions.Varric was firing Bianca, while Isabela was spinning around, her daggersblurring as she struck. Fenris was swinging his sword, cursing in Tevene as hewent, his body pulsing and phasing out in a blue lyrium glow.

Hawke had to dodge,rolling out of the way of a man’s heavy swing. Before she had a chance tofireball him, Fenris was there, knocking him down.

He always had her back.

“I had him!” She calledout, springing back up, launching back into the fray. Fenris just gruntled andcharged at another assailant, but she saw the little smirk her gave her. Rude,but it brought a smile to her own lips.

It went on and on, thebandit ring bigger than Aveline had reported.

How many bandits arethere on the wounded coast? Maker, we clear one batch out, and two more appear.

“Someone give me a handover here!” Isabela cried out, sliding between three bandits, one of themmoving almost as quick as she did.

“Coming, Bela!”

“If you help me, youwill be later, Hawke!” Bela called back.

Hawke cackled, flickingher staff towards Bela and channeling a sting of chain lightning through it,ricocheting it to hit all three targets. Stunned and singed, Bela could makequick work of them.

Unfortunately, Hawke wasso focused on helping Bela, she missed the rogue who had edged around her andnow sliced into her arm and back. Her thick armor keeping it from penetratingtoo far, but still it forced her to her knees, leaving her exposed to anotherattack.

“Hawke! No! I will notallow it!” Fenris shouted and suddenly he was there, shining bright blue, his tattoosflashing. He pushed into the rogue, bashing them away from Hawke, giving hertime to stand up.

Angry with herself, shechugged a lyrium potion, slamming the empty flask on the ground. Her mana coursedalive through her veins and she raised her hand up, pulling it down into afist, ice crystals forming on her knuckles as the icy magic slowed and frozethe rogue, letting Fenris end things with a final swing of his greatsword.

After that, they pickedoff the stragglers. And then they stood there, victorious.

And who said shecouldn’t plan?

Hawke grimaced as sherolled her shoulder and sent the healing mana through it, feeling herconnection to the spirit and her skin responding and knitting back together.The armor would have to be repaired, again,but at least her body was mended. It hadn’t been too bad of a hit, really. The fightwent perfectly to plan!

Isabela and Varriclaughed, Hawke missing whatever joke passed between her two companions, and startedto loot the bodies, putting their weapons away.

“Sweet thing, youalways take me to the best places.” Isabela said, throwing up a pouch of coinsinto the air, catching it, the coins jiggling on impact with her palm.

“Got to hand it to youHawke, you almost make the Wounded Coast seem interesting.” Varric stepped intomud at that moment. “Never mind, let’s get back to Kirkwall.”

These bandits had beeneluding Aveline’s guards for weeks, killing and robbing travelers along theroad. So, Aveline turned to the Champion of Kirkwall, her friend, to take careof things. Tracking them had been easy, but true to form, they barged in, plansto the wind, Hawke trying to talk her way out. Not surprisingly, the banditswhere not interested nor cowed by Hawke incredible wit. Their loss really, shewas a thrilling conversationalist.

“Someday, I would loveif they just turned themselves in. It would be much less messy.” Hawkecommented.

Fenris chuckled, butthen winced, holding his hand to his side.

“Are you hurt?” Hawkeasked, hurrying to Fenris.

“I will fight again.”He ruefully said, pulling his hand away, bloody.

It wasn’t as bad as itlooked, it couldn’t be. No one could get that close to him, unless it was thatrogue… Hawke crinkled her nose, starting to reach out, but paused, cautiouseyes looking to Fenris first.

“I can heal you, if youlet me.” She knew he was still wary around magic, he grumbled anytime Andershealed him. Though her fingers twitched to start the spell, she would wait. Itwould be his decision.

He nodded his consent.

Hawke moved up to him, hereyes faintly glowing as she connected with Hope. Her mana reacting andflickering, rising up as she moved her hand across his side, binding the fleshback together, her hand thrumming with energy when she brushed against thelyrium etched into his skin, sending a shiver up her spine.

“I’m glad you trust me,Fenris.” She said, looking into his green eyes. Eyes that watched her move,eyes that she could fall so easily into, sharp and clear…no, no use thinkingsuch things.

Maker, I have to moveon…it has been two years. Pull yourself together, Kitty.

He smirked at her,catching her hand where it was still hovering at his side, the spell finished.“I always trust you, Hawke.” His touch stirred feelings in her core, traitorousfeelings, her heart fluttering against her better judgement.

I am so pathetic…

“Right, good, let’s geta move on. Aveline will want to know we were successful, though why she woulddoubt us, I have no idea.” Hawke straightened, letting her hand slip from hisgrasp, and turned quickly, before her body betrayed her more, before he couldsee what a fool she was. She turned too quickly to see the same look on his face,a look of regret and longing, the puppy-dog eyes that Merrill spoke about.

“Save any loot for me,Bela?”

Hawke didn’t see the look, but Varric did. The mutualpinning between the two of them ridiculous and obvious to anyone who looked. Hejust shook his head, and wondered, when were those two going to figure it out?

#thank you for the prompt!#dragon age 2 #my writing #fenhawke #Kitty Hawke #fenris #dragon age fanfiction #fenris x femhawke #dragon age #Hawke #isabela #Varric Tethras #angst and fluff

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fanfoolishness · 6 years

Text

lies we told in summertide

Burgeoning Min Hawke x Varric, set in late Act III. Also fading Hawke/Anders and a bit of Varric/Bianca if you squint hard. Angst, violence, blood warnings. A Buffy reference. And because it’s Hawke/Varric, a lot of shit talking. 5350 words.

The summer days stretched long, long, long, humming with a tension that Min Hawke could feel all around her. It was thick in the air like chokedamp, a foul miasma that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She felt it in her chest. Felt it in her belly. Felt it in every kiss she shared with Anders, every time he brushed the hair back behind her ear, every time he embraced her, his face pale above those black, forbidding robes.

Sometimes she tried to give it a name. How many times had she talked with Anders? How many times had she asked him what was wrong? But the answers he gave her were thin and glancing. They eased for a moment, but left her feeling more uncertain than before. She wasn’t sure if they were lies or half-truths, but neither sat well with her.

Lately, it felt like Varric was the only one she could talk to. It had felt good to get it all out a few weeks ago; she’d shown up drunk at his door in the middle of the night, and like a good friend, he’d taken her in. Since then, it’d been nearly every night. Some nights it was simple chatter. Other nights it was the hard stuff, Carver and Bartrand, family and the weight of it, the strife between the mages and the templars. And some nights it was just hand after hand of Wicked Grace with anyone who happened along.

Varric had let her open up in a way she could not with the others, even after years together. Aveline was hopeless at anything romantic, Fenris would just as soon tie up Anders and leave him bundled for the templars, Anders goaded Merrill so mercilessly Hawke hated to bring up any problems with him to the elf, and Isabela had been gone for years now. Bethany, too. She’d thought of writing Bethany more than once, but Bethany always sounded so distressed about Warden life, and she couldn’t bear to weigh her sister down with anything more. Especially since the terrible letter she had had to write about losing Mum.

But Varric just listened. Let her talk. Let her rant. Let her cry. She loved him for that.

She sat on the end of the bed she shared with Anders, summer heat leaching in through the walls as she kicked her heels. She was sticky with sweat and suffocating in the heat. Outside the bedroom, she could hear the conversations of Bodahn and Orana, Sandal’s excited interjections, Molossus snoring happy doggy snores. She wondered that any of them could breathe at all, it choked her so.

She had to get out of the manor. Early evening was the worst, not late enough to sleep her anxieties away, too late to head out to somewhere outside of Kirkwall with the others.

She shoved her feet into her boots. The Hanged Man it was. Again.

The summer twilight was a muggy, sweaty thing. Kirkwall’s stone held the heat jealously, and the fug followed her down the familiar streets of Lowtown and into the Hanged Man.

She pushed her way past sticky elbows and the funk of unwashed Lowtowners, stopping only for a pint from Corff that she carried up the stairs. The foam sloshed over the edge of the tankard, but she didn’t mind. She’d have another in half an hour, anyway.

Her knuckles beat a familiar refrain on Varric’s door. “Come in,” he called, and for the first time in days, she felt something she couldn’t quite place. It felt good.

“Just me, Varric,” Hawke said, sidling in through the door. “Are you free?”

Varric sat at the end of the table, sheets of parchment in front of him, pen in hand. She caught a glimpse of him in deep concentration, brows knitted together, pensive written all over his face. Then he caught sight of her, and his face split into a grin. “Always for you, Hawke.”

“Flatterer,” she said. She took the closest seat, setting her tankard far from his papers. They looked important, Varric’s looped script small and tidy over fronts and backs of the parchment. He set down his pen, a curious gold-plated thing that seemed terribly intricate. Dwarven; had to be. Quite a bit less messy than a quill. “Am I interrupting anything? Hard at work on your latest tale?”

Varric chuckled. “Just keeping track of my connections. There’s an unbelievable amount of paperwork in keeping a spy network, even one as small as mine.” But she couldn’t help noticing that as he spoke, he carefully tucked the papers away to his other side, keeping them from her sight.

She narrowed her eyes skeptically. “I know it’s quite a bit more elaborate than you say. I’ve my own sources, you know.”

He held out his hands. “Ahh, Hawke, let me practice my deflection a little more. Aveline’s going to be around for drinks with Donnic later, and I have to pretend all I do is sit on my ass and write my books.”

“I think she knows you rather better than that after all this time,” said Hawke. She wondered what he was really writing, but she knew better than to needle him about it. Varric was either disarmingly honest or infuriatingly obfuscating, and she didn’t feel like obfuscation tonight. “We’ve all seen a lot of shit together, haven’t we?”

“That we have. We’ve been in the thick of things. Where do you think I get my story ideas from?”

“Do you ever miss how it used to be?” she asked. “Before the Deep Roads, before everything got so… complicated. Just the group of us, running round, getting into scrapes and hauling ourselves back out of them. For a while there, it all seemed so clear.”

“Feeling nostalgic now, are you?” asked Varric. “Keep it up, I can take some notes.”

“I don’t understand how it is it always comes back to that. Not everything’s a story, you know,” said Hawke slowly. “Sometimes it just is, and you have to sort it out as you go, not parcel it out afterwards into neat chapter and verse.” She took a long draught of her drink, fighting back an abrupt wave of moroseness. “I used to quite like stories. Then people started telling them about me, and I -- I don’t feel like a Champion, Varric. I’m just me, and it’s not enough.”

Varric held up the pen. She stared at it, wondering what he was doing. Then he rolled the papers up around it and tossed the whole package unceremoniously onto the empty chair a few feet away. The pen clattered as it hit the hard surface, rolling out from the sheath and falling to the floor. Varric made no move to pick it up.

“So we’ll skip the story, then,” he said. “I was tired of staring at that shit anyway.”

“Varric,” she began. Looked at his face, broad, ruddy, open. The feeling from the doorway came over her again, and this time she could name it. Trust. She looked down into her drink. “Everything’s going to shit, isn’t it?”

He tilted his head, gazing at her. His hazel eyes were warm, their expression soft. “You wanna talk about it?”

She laughed, a real smile feeling most welcome on her face. “I really don’t. Is that all right?”

“Course it is. So what do you want to talk about instead?”

“Anything else,” she said, casting about for conversation ideas. Nothing normal came to mind. Bullshit it was, then. She squared herself to face him, and began to unspool pure ridiculousness.

“All right, then. I heard a rumor that Meredith has an adult-sized rocking horse in her office and rides it when she gets angry. And that Orsino wears a bright pink dressing gown with tassels to bed. And that Elthina has forty-three different lovers, all of them half her age at the oldest, and the real reason the Chantry’s locked at night is because she likes her orgies in private. Care to verify any of it?”

“Well, I don’t know where you’re getting your information from, Hawke, but it’s utter crap. Word on the street is that Elthina’s a black widow and kills off every suitor after the penultimate moment, so orgies would make that a lot more complicated. Everyone knows it’s Cullen with the pink and the tassels, since Orsino only sleeps in the finest Antivan silks. Meredith had a rocking horse as a kid but beat it to death since it was insubordinate. What else you got?” Varric leaned back in his chair, smirking.

“Summer,” said Hawke with disgust. “What’s this blasted Marcher summer about? It’s sticky and revolting and entirely antithetical to the Fereldan way of life. We’re meant to be freezing our arses off at all times.”

“You Fereldans wouldn’t know the first thing about decent weather. You know your brains are all scrambled, too much exposure to cheese and damp dog hair. It’s sad, really,” said Varric, shrugging.

“Now you’re just being silly. There is never enough cheese.”

“You’re right. That was a lie.”

“Lying is wrong, Varric.”

“So I hear.”

Hawke shifted in her chair, picking her feet up and curling up within it. Being a dwarf’s chair, it was a bit difficult to do, but she was up to the challenge. She rested her arms on her knees and grinned at him. “I’m not sure what I’d do without you, you know.”

He folded his arms. “Lying is wrong, Hawke.”

“Not lying,” she said simply.

“Right.” For a moment, he seemed almost pained; something about the way his mouth twitched, the way his gaze slid past her purposely. Then he was all smiles again, hazel eyes bright and playful. “That’s because I’m indispensable.”

“It’s true. Everyone needs a trusty dwarf,” she said.

There was another knock at the door. “That’ll be Aveline and Donnic,” said Varric. “You’re welcome to stay, of course.”

“I think I will,” said Hawke. She uncurled herself, stood up to answer the door. Before leaving the table, she leaned down close to him, her breath making a loose strand of his hair flutter faintly. “It’s just -- I know you must be getting sick of me, but do you mind if I come back again tomorrow?”

He looked up at her. This close, she could appreciate the lines at the edges of his eyes, carved by years of easy winks. The scar on his nose was a sharp red line surrounded by faded freckles, and his grin, when it came, dazzled. “Hawke, you don’t even have to ask.”

The summer nights were inky, star-flung things, the only bit of blessed cool relief to be found. She even fancied she felt a chill. When the slivered crescent moons swung low she made her way out from Varric’s, daggers at her belt, boots soft and silent on the stone, her feet carrying her home.

Years past, it had always been just a night or two a week at the Hanged Man. Now it was nightly, a far better option than the alternative. She’d never been so good at her constellations before now.

Some nights Anders told her he was staying at his clinic, and she didn’t leave the Hanged Man until dawn. Some nights he stayed in, and when she asked if he wanted to come out for a drink, he said no, staring down at his manuscript in the study. She’d kiss him, tell him she loved him, pull him close to her. Every time she wondered if he’d return to her, the man she’d fallen in love with.

Sometimes he would, in a shy, sweet smile, or a tilt of his head, or passion alight in his eyes. But more often he’d hug her as if she wasn’t really there, and return to the study to sit in silence with the books. And she’d be off to see Varric again.

Hawke rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, hurrying down her alley shortcut, wishing she had perhaps declined a few of those later rounds. Her head swam. Lowtown was always eerie this time of night, and she knew she should have her head on straight, should remember where she was and what she was doing, but the world was badly made, damn it, and --

Footsteps behind her. She rounded, daggers flashing silver in her hands, and faded into the shadows of the alley, ready for blood.

Varric stood there, shaking his head. He’d clearly come after her in a hurry. His overcoat was on crooked, and something about his silhouette just felt off. “You’re slipping, Hawke. I tailed you for three streets before you noticed.”

“Well, you aren’t creepy at all,” said Hawke, delightedly slipping her daggers back into her belt and stepping from the shadows to face him. “What are you doing here? I thought you were heading to sleep. Which begs the question, do you sleep in a nightcap? Are there special dwarven ones?”

“I don’t, there are, and you don’t even want to know what they look like,” said Varric. “You were already gone when I realized you’d forgotten something.” He pulled a dagger from a pouch by his belt. “Missing this?”

“My favorite throwing dagger! Let me guess, I left it in your wall after throwing practice tonight?” That was right, she’d gotten it out to do a bit of target practice on Varric’s wall after Aveline and Donnic turned in for the night. She hadn’t been sure if he still wanted her there so late, as he’d clearly been distracted by something; she’d caught him fidgeting with his parchments more than once with a pensive expression on his face. But he’d insisted that she stay for a while, and so she had, sharing a few more rounds with him and tossing knives into the wall until they both felt better.

She took the finely made blade from his hand and carefully replaced it among her stash, though part of her wondered why he simply didn’t give it to her tomorrow. It was a bit odd. Helpful, though. “You’re the best, Varric.”

“I’m just a simple dwarf who does what he can,” said Varric.

She rolled her eyes hard enough she was worried she strained an eyelid muscle. “You’re far more than that, and I won’t hear tell otherwise,” she said.

They both fell quiet for a moment, and Hawke realized what looked different about him. “You -- you forgot Bianca?”

It was difficult to make out his expression in the dark. “...huh. Guess I did. I thought I’d catch you closer to the Hanged Man,” he said, disquieted.

Noises around the corner of the alleyway. “I hope we don’t regret it,” she muttered to him, hurriedly leading a path away from the sound and handing him back the throwing dagger, slapping it grip first into his palm. For a moment it seemed as if they were in the clear.

But when they rounded the next corner, a knot of hulking men approached, their bodies taut and predatory. “We were just leaving,” said Hawke brightly, but her hands were on her daggers in an instant.

She had just a second to wish that she’d come fully kitted out, laden with smoke flasks and Antivan fire, but she’d gone out for drinking, not full-on war. The men rushed at the two of them and she had to make do with what she had, lashing out in a dizzying whirlwind of kicks and daggers, flourishes and footwork. She might’ve been drunk, but not that drunk that she couldn’t do serious damage.

She knifed one lackey in the neck and slashed another across the top of the thigh, bringing them both down, then ricocheted into the gang’s leader. The man leapt forward with a twin strike. She sidestepped to evade him, but he stepped with her, and before she could counter he grabbed her in a chokehold, one foul-smelling forearm locked under her jaw and the other arm pinning hers to her sides.

Shit, shit, fuck. She gagged as his arm dug against her throat, planted herself, and struck him with a headbutt to the chin, but he barely staggered.

Black spots flickered at the edges of her vision. Her lungs burned for air. She was desperately trying to angle her leg between his for a kick to the groin when the man dropped like a stone. She whirled back to see him flat on his belly, her throwing dagger neatly embedded between his shoulder blades. She glanced up and there was Varric further down the alley, pulling back his arm after the throw.

“Nice one, Varric!” she called, but his name hadn’t quite left her lips when the last man darted forward and buried his dagger in Varric’s back.

She screamed as Varric crumpled to his knees, but the sound caught in her bruised throat. So she ran forward in a vicious charge, blades singing in the night air, and she hurtled into the last bastard so hard she knocked him over. Then she was upon him, panting, scrabbling for any weak spot in his armor, blades tearing through belly and elbows, back and throat. Blood fountained in a black torrent, punctuated only with a terrible, fading gurgle. She ripped her blades out of his body and ran to Varric’s side, dropping her daggers on the stone below with a piercing ring.

He was curled on his side, the blade’s handle still visible around his right shoulder, cruelly jutting out at her. She ignored it for the moment -- one never knew if removing it right now would do worse harm -- and gently rolled him enough to see his face. “Varric,” she gasped. “Varric, please, tell me you’re all right.”

A hoarse, rattling cough as she rolled him. “Ahh, fuck,” Varric groaned, staring up at her. He was pale, face twisted, sweat beading on his forehead. “That’s my favorite coat. Do you know how much --” he winced, gritting his teeth, “--good tailoring costs?”

“How bad is it?” she asked, slipping her arm under him so that he could sit half propped up, leaning against her. Her heart thundered in her chest.

“Not a healer, remember?” Varric asked with a wheeze. He was getting greyer by the minute, his breathing rapid and labored. He coughed, blood flecking his lips. “A guess? Bad.” He closed his eyes, sagging against her.

“No,” she hissed, “we are fixing this, Varric, that’s your -- your crossbow arm and your writing arm, and your wanking arm probably, and you’re going to be just fine, do you hear me, this isn’t that bad --”

She suddenly remembered Anders, packing potions into a hip pouch for her. You’ll want to keep this on you, love, if ever I’m not with you. I couldn’t bear to think of you being hurt. Poultices that smelled of deep mushroom and elfroot, things he’d charmed with wisps of spell and healing mana. Not as good as a healer at your side, of course, but they’ll do in a pinch.

Her hands fumbled at her belt, digging frantically. She cursed the fact that the last few ales had her dizzy, or was that the fear? “Hang on, damn you!” She ripped off the pouch she’d never needed before, her hands shaking, and pulled out two cloth-wrapped poultices and a small silver flask. She pulled the top off with her teeth and thrust the flask’s mouth through Varric’s lips, hand still shaking violently against his cheek. Once she’d emptied it into his mouth, she tore the front of his shirt open, searching for a wound.

Nothing on the front. At least the blade hadn’t gone all the way through. “Stay with me, Varric dear, got to see how bad it is,” she muttered as she shifted him so that he lay half across her lap, leaving access to the hated blade buried in his back. He was dead weight on her legs, a realization that only served to increase her terror. She grabbed her fallen dagger and sliced through layers of leather and Highever weave, tailoring be damned, until she could peel off the blood-soaked cloth in strips and finally expose the wound.

The blade rose and fell with each shallow breath he took. Hawke stared at the blood slicking his broad back, trickling from around the blade’s base in steady rivulets. She tore open the outer cloth bindings on the poultices, remembering Anders’ words. See this inner binding here? Keeps it all together, but it’s thin enough the herbs can get through to do their work. You could place it into a gut wound or an open fracture and it’ll work right through that inner layer. I just hope you never need it.

She packed them around the blade and into the edges of the wound, blood hot against her fingers. She took a deep breath, then leaned down and whispered.

“I’ve got Anders’ healing poultices on you. They need to get down into the wound to help, but I’ve got to remove the blade.”

A faint reply, enough to make her vision blur with sudden tears. “Trust you,” he mumbled.

She wrapped her hand around the dagger’s haft, her other hand hovering over the poultices. She pulled -- a short, sharp groan -- the blood welled in a rising flood -- and she stuffed the poultices deep into the wound, flinging the blade aside and putting pressure on the wound with both hands.

Hawke whimpered, fighting back a sob that threatened to overwhelm. She bowed her head, hands trembling with the effort of putting pressure on Varric’s blood-stickied back, and she tried to count his breaths. “Come on, come on,” she bit out. Her voice seemed to catch in her throat, making it hard to form words, but she didn't care. She couldn’t think of anything else to do but pray, though it was nothing like what you’d hear in the Chantry.

“You’ve got to make it until we can get you to Anders. You’ve got to. I can’t lose you, you foolish dwarf. Why didn’t you bring Bianca? Why would you ever leave without her? You know what a shithole this city is, you know there’s wretched thieves and murderers round every step, we both know it. Look, you can’t go like this, it’s not nearly noble enough and we both know you’ll either go out in a blaze of glory, or comfortably in your old age atop a pile of ill-gotten gold, and, and, neither of those is today so just come on, Varric, come back, come back to me.”

Movement beneath her. Varric’s back muscles shifting as he moved his arms, tensing beneath her pressure. “Hawke?”

“Careful, careful. Let me see how it looks,” she said. Cautiously she lifted up one hand a few inches, and when there was no fresh bleeding, she lifted the other one. The poultices were bloody, but seemed to be holding even without her hands applying pressure. She wiped the tears from her face and fumbled in the pouch again, finding a roll of clean bandage material. “Here, let me wrap it. I think the bleeding’s stopped.” She wrapped the bandages round his chest and shoulder, tying them in place. “How do you feel?” she asked uncertainly.

“Weirdly, like I got stabbed in the back,” he said, voice still faint. “But… better. Help a dwarf up?” She obliged quickly, helping him up to a sitting position so that he leaned against her, her arm around him. He rested his head against her chest. He no longer had that awful, greyish cast to his skin; he was still pale, but there was at least a hint of color to his cheeks again. Blearily, he blinked up at her. “Shit, Hawke, what happened to you?”

Hawke swallowed past the bruising in her throat. “Got choked a bit, but I’m all right.”

“No, I mean…” He gestured weakly at her face and arms. “Lot of blood. You okay? Any of it yours?”

“It’s all yours, you daft dwarf,” she said, making a noise that might have been a laugh, or a sob. She couldn’t tell which. She noticed her hands, coated in blood past the wrists, and remembered wiping her face just a moment ago. She probably looked a bloody maniac, though it didn’t matter. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

The sound that followed was decidedly not a laugh. She leaned her head down against his, her cheek pressed against his sweat-damped hair, and cried.

The summer dawn was bright and piercing, heralded by the screams of gulls and the smell of rising chokedamp. Hawke spent it sitting on a cot in Anders’ clinic, keeping watch over Varric as Anders worked.

Poor Anders. The expression on his face when he saw the pair of them -- Varric bandaged and bloodied, shirt and jacket in tatters, Hawke covered in his blood. He’d clearly been shaken, though his fear had turned to relief when Hawke explained that Varric was the one who’d been hurt.

Hawke ached for Anders and his worry, yes, but she also resented the relief that had crossed his face, brief as it had been. She knew it was only that he feared for her, but she was still strangely irritated. It might not have been me, but it was still Varric!

Together they helped Varric onto a cot. “What happened?” Anders asked, magic flaring crisp and clean from his hands over Varric’s bloodied back. His face showed intense concentration; he’d always found Varric the most difficult of them to heal due to his dwarven nature.

“Dagger in the back down in Lowtown,” said Hawke, watching closely as Anders laid down his magic in weaves and layers she didn’t quite understand. His style had always been so different from Bethany’s, or Dad’s. “I had your healing kit on me. I don’t know what might have happened without it, Anders. Thank you.”

“I hadn’t realized you’d gone out,” said Anders sadly. “I might have been able to help more, had I been there.”

“I knew you were at the clinic tonight,” said Hawke. “I didn’t want to trouble you.” Which was a lie, of course, but she didn’t find the distinction to be important. She swung her heels, kicking them back and forth as she sat on the edge of her cot.

Anders spared her a small smile, which made her feel worse somehow. “It’s true I was needed here tonight. There are five other patients in the back.” He let out a long breath, the magic flickering down to nothingness. “I’m glad you were with him, Hawke. The poultices helped a great deal. Varric?”

There was only a quiet snore from the cot, and Anders reached out for a nearby bowl of clean water and a few cloths. A shimmer of a flame spell heated the water briefly until steaming. “Good, I hoped he would sleep. He’ll mend fully within the week, though it’s going to leave a nasty scar.” He sighed. “I love Varric, but dwarves are just beastly to heal.”

They both turned at a faint voice from the backroom. The call came again, and Anders looked down at Varric’s sleeping form. “I’m sorry, love, but would you mind looking after him? One of the boys back there is quite ill with fever. Would you be able to clean him and get him some blankets when you’re done?”

Hawke nodded. “Of course, Anders. Listen--” She reached out and gripped his wrist, dried blood cracking and flaking off her hand as she flexed her fingers. “Thank you.”

He just gave her one of those crooked, wistful smiles, pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and headed into the back, grabbing up his staff and some bandaging as he went. She watched him go, then shook her head.

She turned her attention to her hands. The dried blood seemed a baleful omen, even though the danger had blessedly passed. She dutifully scrubbed them clean in the water Anders had left her, tingeing the water pink. Once they were clean she took the cloth, soaked it in the water (it was all his blood anyway) and began carefully washing Varric’s back, taking great care to stay away from the wound near the shoulder. It was beginning to close up already, thanks to Anders’ magic, but she knew from experience that terrible injury wasn’t healed in an hour. It had taken her a full two weeks to get back to fighting shape after the Arishok, even with Anders working on her daily. Varric’s wound was centered now in a field of blooming bruises in purple and yellow, and she shivered to see it.

She cleaned gently, methodically, dipping the cloth in water periodically as the water turned darker and darker. His skin was firm and surprisingly smooth beneath her hands. She cleaned and cleaned until no more blood remained, then got to her feet and fetched a cloth to dry him off.

As she worked she found herself murmuring to him. “I thought I’d lost you back there, you know.” His back rose and fell with deep, steady breaths. “It’s something I learned leaving Lothering. You don’t always go out in glory. Sometimes the other man just has one good day.” She sighed. “With Carver it was an ogre. It was stupid, cut off from the rest of the darkspawn. It wasn’t supposed to be that far from the horde at all. But when Carver raised his sword, it veered left instead of right. It struck him down. And it was so stupid, you see, I was just so struck by the unfairness. The suddenness. It only took one mistake. And that ogre had a real good day, up until Bethany and I killed it. Just like that bastard in the alley nearly did.”

She finished drying his back, then stood up and collected a few ragged blankets from the cupboard. She laid them down tidily over Varric, pulling them up to his chin. The way he was laying, turned away from her, she could just see the curve of his cheek and one closed eye. His color was good; his cheeks were ruddy again. She sat down on the cot across from him, simply watching.

“I don’t know if you’re all right, Varric. You have letters you don’t want me to see, that make you upset; you left Bianca on a fool’s errand, just to bring me back a knife when you knew I’d be back tomorrow. Maybe you don’t want to be at home either, these days. I don’t know.” She pulled up her feet on the cot, stretching out onto her side. It might feel good just to lay down for a bit. It’d been such a long day.

“Do you ever think we ought to run away together, you and me?” she said softly. “Far away from mages and templars and letters and knives?” She closed her eyes, laying her head against a thin, threadbare pillow. “I’d run away on my own, but honestly, I don’t want to think of my life without you in it.”

“Flatterer,” said Varric faintly.

She cracked open one eye to see him on his side facing her, the blankets surrounding him like a cocoon, his hair a rumpled mess, his eyes deeply shadowed. It took her a minute to realize he was winking.

“Honestly,” said Hawke, “you are terrible.”

“Guilty.” He yawned, blinking sleepily at her. “Though it’s rude to insult the gravely injured.”

“It’s rude to get gravely injured in the first place,” she said. “Oh, no, awful. Now you’re making me yawn.” She reflected for a moment. “Did you hear all that nonsense I was saying?”

Varric smiled a little. “Some of it. You just keep unfolding like a flower, Hawke.”

“Oh, shove it.” Impulsively Hawke reached out, patting Varric’s arm under its blanket fortifications. “Glad you’re all right.” She pulled her hand back, tucking it under her head as she burrowed into her sparse bedding, and she yawned again. “Drinks tonight? On me.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

#hawke x varric #varric x hawke #dragon age 2 #da2 #hawke x anders #varric tethras #blood tw

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