blackwall-my-tiny-husband

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

Harding Week Day 7

Free Day

Thank you @datvcompanionweeks for hosting! (Previous prompts: Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6)

Started with a drabble, ending with a drabble. 100 words. Archery and how we started down the path.

(Also, this has been a ride. Thank you again to the mods and everyone participating/reblogging/commenting/reading. 💕 I've only recently jumped back into writing and would never have expected to do something like this. Finished something for each day with just shy of 7.5k words. This corner of the DA tumblr community has been super welcoming and lovely and I appreciate all of you!)

There was a space between heartbeats. Lace Harding knew it as well as she knew the area around her home. Arrow nocked, string back, target sighted, she found that moment of stillness and released.

It found its mark. Right between the eyes of the Hurlock that had sprung from the grass and charged the group she was guiding back to their camp. Their leader - the elegant woman with the Orlesian accent - her own arrow only half way out the quiver - did a double take then smiled.

“Miss Harding,” she said, “I think I should like to offer you a job.”

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

Yessssss everyone should do this for their Rook! It’s so much fun to write the little blubs and to get to see a lot of their life in one go! I just love it as a writing exercise

The Life Cycle of a Pirate

I had to do at least one piece for @rookappreciationweek on Laidir day. I need to celebrate my best boy. (Not like I don’t all the time, shut up I love him)

Thank you @blackwall-my-tiny-husband for the idea of this format and for helping me edit this so much.

I would love to see this for YOUR rooks too!

==

At 5 years old Turvi spends his days playing on the beach with his brother and sister. He’s not old enough to help his father on the fishing boat. He helps his mother with her laundry business sometimes, always with a smile. Turvi knows peace.

At 7 years old Turvi doesn’t have time for school. His family is happy despite being poor. But they need each member to help out as they can. His mother tries to read to him in the evening, but he’d rather be running than sitting.

At 10 Turvi is spending the chantry holiday on the beach with his siblings. They see a large ship coming to the docks, not knowing this was their last day, free, together.

At 10 and two months, Turvi’s family is separated as they are sold into slavery. The last thing his mother tells him is that she loves him and to stay true to his kind heart. He will try to stay hopeful for her.

At 12 Turvi works in the kitchen of a tevinter galley ship. He’s very scrawny still, too small to do much else. He spends his days cooking while wearing manacles on his wrists but he doesn’t let this wear him down. 

At 15 Turvi is still on the same ship. It doesn’t take multiple slaves to cook. He spends most of time alone, below decks, unable to see the sun. He wonders where the rest of his family is now.

At 17 he is still scrawny, but he’s old enough to row now. He splits his time between rowing and cooking. Cooking is lonely work, but at least it doesn’t leave him exhausted and sore. He refuses to become jaded.

At 18 the ship he is on is attacked by pirates. The captain- Isabela frees all the slaves, but Turvi has nowhere to go. Isabela lets him stay with her and the Lords of Fortune. And he finally sees hope manifest.

At 19 Turvi discovers that rowing built muscles that translate into shooting a bow. He trains hard in the Hall of Valor under the hot sun. He missed the sun.

At 21 he decides he wants to choose what marks are left on his body for once. And is showing off his first tattoos to Isabela and the lords. He knows laughter and good ale. 

At 23 Turvi swings in a hammock at night. He usually doesn’t have trouble sleeping; he keeps busy enough to ensure he’s exhausted at night. But this night he softly jingles the bangles on his wrists, and reminds himself that he’s free and surrounded by friends now.

At 24 Turvi is on a mission with the Lords of Fortune. They’re inside the ruins of an ancient temple, and he sees an amulet on display. He can’t resist it’s call. Rushing and impulsive, this acquisition ends in a curse and now he is a pirate who cannot swim. His friends need to pull him out of the water often.

At 28 his skill has grown and he’s chosen for an expedition to take a Rivaini noble into an ancient ruin. The noble double crosses his team and Turvi collapses the ruin to save his friends and destroy a dangerous artifact. Isabela sends him away with her old friend Varric to keep him out of trouble until things settle down.

At 29 Turvi is racing across Minrathous with Varric, trying to find their contact. He pops a magic bubble and his world tilts on its axis when he meets Neve Gallus. He thinks she must be the most amazing person he’s ever met. 

At 29 and a half, Turvi is skipping rocks with Neve and thinking that life doesn’t get better than this. He is quickly proven wrong when Neve kisses him. He’s still fighting to save the world but he’s never been happier. 

At one month before 30, Turvi is forced to face his regrets, trapped alone, in a place without sunlight. He softly jingles the bangles on his wrists, remembering how far he’s come. He is determined that he will make it back to his friends and Neve. 

Just shy of turning 30, Turvi and his remaining friends are victorious. Caught up in the moment of celebrating their win, he proposes to Neve, giving her one of his own rings off his finger. She looks like she might throw up but she still says yes. 

At 34 he is living in Dock Town with Neve. She has arranged a meeting for him at a safe house not far from where they live. He jingles his bangles on the walk, because it’s been such a long journey to get here. Neve gives his hand a squeeze before he enters the interior room alone. Inside waiting for him is an elven woman whose hair is more gray than blonde now. She holds her arms open to him, and as he hugs her, he hopes his mother is proud of him. 

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

Harding week day 7

Free day

Thanks so so much to @datvcompanionweeks @hyperions-light and @theunsinkablesappho for running and hosting this week you guys are all the best ;o;

A bonus bit (late as usual for me lol) for Harding week and my 5 times Harding threatens to shoot Zalan and 1 time she does. Pairing day 7 with words with friends; started by @hedwigoprah and hosted this week by @officialnostradamus thanks for the tags @aetherflowers and @serensama

This Week's word is :: Assiduously - Showing great care, attention, and effort : marked by careful unremitting attention or persistent application // Constantly; ceaselessly.

part 1 || part 2 || part 3 || part 4 || part 5 || part 6

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It would probably have been weird for anyone to walk into the little inn room and find Rook, shirtless, sitting back to the door on a little side table and one inquisition scout kneeling in front of him. Varric almost turned and walked back out of the room but it had been too late and the squeak of the door had alerted the pair to his presence. He winced as Zalan turned to look in his direction, he’d been here too many times; walking in on the inquisitor and Solas, or even before that thinking it was safe to walk into rooms unannounced in Kirkwall only to have to see Hawke and Anders. And his mind immediately went to the same thing here.

He raised his hands getting reading to backpedal all the way out the door, down the stairs, and out to the road but Zalan cut him off,

“She shot me Varric.” He was indignant sounding and gesturing to a spot on his lower waist that the older dwarf couldn’t quite see. Harding scoffed and there was the sound of water being rung into a bowl and cautiously the dwarf stopped his retreat and with a breath to steel himself, just in case, walked in the rest of the way.

Harding was there on the floor but with a basin of pink water where she was assiduously ringing out more blood and then dabbing at a dark spot on Rook’s middle. He hissed in pain which Varric knew was all dramatics- he’d seen the man take Antaam fire and keep cutting down enemies like pain was a choice that didn’t apply to him.

“It was one arrow, you big baby.” She was saying and pulling out bandages to wrap the wound. Her ear tips were pink but the rest of her looked more annoyed than like he interrupted something intimate. And he almost laughed in relief but instead only quirked a brow.

“We had to lie to some guards and Harding decided it would be a good idea to feign a heated argument and shot me.” Zalan flinched away from her when she touched his skin and Varric did chuckle that time, the kid must not have been paying attention. The old dwarf figured he was safe to stand and observe but the faint pink blush dusting the crow’s ears made him wonder if he wouldn’t eventually be walking in on something he would rather have wished he didn’t.

“I only shot you a little. And then I also shot the guards.” Harding had withdrawn her fingers after he flinched but tried again and this time Rook didn’t move and she began wrapping the injury. Varric watched the two and shook his head, it had to be his luck. Watching his companions, no matter how unlikely, slowly start falling for each other. He wondered if he could make a bet with Cassandra about how long before they were sneaking kisses when they thought he wasn’t looking. He’d give them a month, maybe two. Cassandra would probably take that bet, right?

“Remind me never to get into an argument with you Harding.” He mused and Zalan practically pouted. Harding was rolling her eyes but her gaze flickered to Zalan’s face several times though it didn’t seem like he noticed as he struggled with putting his shirt on.

Maker’s breath they were going to be intolerable before they found Solas weren’t they? But he couldn’t stop the smile worming its way onto his face. Harding had done so much for the inquisition and the inquisitor was always worrying about their little scout. If she fell for Rook, Levellan would be excited and would want to hear all the gossip. Guess he’d have to keep his eye on them until then.

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

OC Vibes

Thank you for the tag, @redheadsramblings 💕

The rules are simple: go to Pinterest, search "your OC's name + core", post six pictures. Then tag six people!

I love an excuse to waste hours get on pinterest.

Elona

Yvette

I love seeing these little snippets and glimpses into your characters!

Soft tagging: @in-the-drowning-deep @woundedsoul12 @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @jenn2d2 @hedwigoprah @babydinosaur930 and yoooou!

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

Rook Appreciation Week Day 3: Ingellvar

Happy Ingellvar Day!!!! It's my favorite faction day!!!! Thank you for hosting @rookappreciationweek!!

I decided to do two today because I know of so many great Ingellvars and I wanted to bring in two of my favorite girls!

First we have Necropolis Research Party with @chaosherald's Amara and Sabi!

And second we have Laughing At Bad Murder Mysteries with @hedwigoprah's Veryl and Sabi! (They're laughing because the descriptions of bodies are hilariously wrong. Who let these people write anatomy without studying it!!)

Both of these I placed before the actual events of the game which is why Sabi doesn't have their scar (they get that in a fight during the war of the banners :3)

Hope everyone is having a good week! Thank you for sharing your beautiful Rooks!!

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

I love that Harding really thinks of herself as just a normal person nothing special when everyone else that knows her knows she’s a badass absolutely stellar scout it’s such a good contrast. I love the idea of Varric throwing her into a pond too lol over a ham and jam, perfect

Harding Week 2025 - Ficlet Series

Now for DAY SEVEN of @datvcompanionweeks’ #hardingweek2025! I really liked what I worked on for WIP Wednesday for this week, so for the first time I have cleaned up my WIP Wednesday and am using it for Day Seven!

A shoutout to @theunsinkablesappho, @hyperions-light, and the entire @datvcompanionweeks team for putting this week on!

Day Seven: Free Day

Lace watched as Mercar — Rook, Varric had called him, allegedly for obvious reasons — finished setting up his tent in the little corner of the Arbor Wilds they’d claimed for themselves for the night as they traveled south. His movements were precise when they made or broke down camp, it was like watching Commander Cullen when the Inquisition had been at Haven. Tent poles just so, and flaps straightened.

Maybe he’d been a soldier? Or maybe he was just very neat, like Ma. Not in his behavior or anything. He was pretty informal, which was lucky since he was stuck with her and Varric now. Neat in specific ways. Hygiene. Dress. Tents, apparently.

Whatever the reason, odd tent-flap-precision aside, he’d taken to following her and Varric around as they looked for Solas pretty well. Made it look easy.

She was almost envious.

It hadn’t been easy, for her. The Inquisition had been one thing. At first, she hadn’t been far from home. That was part of what had made her such a good scout, despite being a teenager. Lace hadn’t known much, but she’d known the Ferelden Hinterlands and Redcliffe near as well as anyone really could. People had been impressed, given her more work and more important jobs, because of it.

It had been wonderful; finally, being a surface dwarf from the farm had made her good at something. And lots of people had thought so! Not just Ma.

Still, nice as it had sometimes felt, it had been kind of…well…terrifying too. She hadn’t felt as prepared and as knowledgeable as everyone had seemed to think. Sure, she could map areas out, learn them quickly, track well; anyone could learn to do that, though. And what if she made a mistake?!

This was the Inquisition! Leliana was counting on her, the Inquisitor was too. Maker, the, well, the Maker was counting on her! Andraste, even!

Lace had spent four years waiting for someone to realize she had no idea what she was doing and was a fraud. Sure, she was perfectly good at some stuff, but it was nothing very special. She was just…her. And being surrounded by people — special, titled, larger than life people — made it real easy to expect to be caught out as a pretender any day.

It was still kind of surprising to her she hadn’t been, really, but when the Inquisitor had dissolved the Inquisition she’d been sent home with pay without incident.

And then the Inquisitor had shown up at Ma’s door. Asked her if she’d do one last mission for him: help Varric track down Solas.

Saying yes to the Inquisition the first time had been easy, she’d been defending Ferelden and serving the Maker, and it had lured her away from home only inch by inch. A druffalo following tall grass. Agreeing to leave home again, this time to go even farther, was tougher meat to chew. If she’d been asked by anyone else, even Varric himself, she probably would have turned the job down.

Maybe that was why the Inquisitor had come himself? Maybe he’d known? He always seemed to just…know stuff.

Of course, Lace knew, that could have been just Leliana. So the mystery might not be much of one at all.

“Thanks for catching the food,” Rook said, startling her out of her thoughts as he started cooking a fish on the fire for them all. She’d offered to make supper for them, but he’d insisted. So, not wanting to be rude or make him feel excluded, she’d accepted with a smile.

Luckily, he was an okay cook, even if he was a slightly boring one.

“I was happy to,” she assured him, over the sound of the crackling hearth and popping oils from the fish skin. “Stomachs don’t stop just because we’re tracking down Solas, right?”

“Right,” he agreed easily, a friendly and open smile on his face. He always seemed comfortable, never awkward or nervous. At least so far, though it had only been a few weeks.

Some people were just lucky, she guessed.

Before the momentary silence could turn weird, she asked, “Do you like to cook?”

He chuckled, and waved his hand in a non-committal way. “Not exactly? I mean, I’m okay enough at it. We won’t die or anything.”

Rook grinned and Lace wondered if she should be worried.

“But it’s the least I can do,” he continued, flipping the fish over. “I’m no expert scout, and even less an expert on ancient Elven gods, so I figure I should contribute what I can.”

Lace could sympathize with that. She always felt that way. “Well, we appreciate it.” She smirked a little, “Varric said the next time I give him a ham-and-jam slam that he’s chucking me in the pond.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Not sure how he thinks he’d get away with that unstabbed.”

Rook laughed. “Noted. Don’t piss off Harding.”

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

Too cute! Rook chasing chickens is everything, poor guy. I love the idea of them stopping by her Ma’s place during their travels that’s just so sweet and I’m glad Rook got to have farm fun chasing animals and (hopefully) not getting pecked too hard lol

Harding Week 2025 - Ficlet Series

My contribution for @datvcompanionweeks #hardingweek2025 for Day Six! Rook and Harding on the farm. Chicken: 2, Rook: 1.

Day Six: Farming/Scouting

The way Harding had talked about growing up on a farm, it had sounded idyllic. Peaceful. But staying with Harding’s Ma, a few days respite as they traveled across Ferelden and back again in their search for Solas, felt closer to being in the Legions again than to any childhood stories about farm animals.

Part of that, Rook realized, was his own fault. Harding’s Ma had told him he was a guest, but he’d insisted on helping since she was kind enough to get them out of their tents for a few nights.

He probably should have given more thought to what farm work actually was before trying his hand at it. Badly, if the way Harding was snickering was any indication.

“What?” He asked, pausing to catch his breath. The chicken he’d been chasing, sensing her victory, had stopped and was happily picking away at field grass. Outside the fence. Which was the whole problem.

“You can’t chase a chicken, Rook. Or at least not like that,” Harding laughed, looking altogether too awake for how low the sun still was. She shook her head, turning back to the bucket she was filling with vegetable scraps from the night before to bring to the pig pen. “Catching a hen is about patience and, if necessary, bribery.

“Think of it like getting paperwork approved back in Tevinter,” she added with a smirk.

He sighed theatrically. “I can’t even call that slander, since it’s true.” Okay. Patience and bribery. Rook wasn’t sure exactly where patience played into things, but bribery he might be able to handle. He’d keep that in mind.

“So you grew up doing all this?” He asked, gesturing around them at the feed to be fed upon, wood to be chopped, and buckets of water to divvy up between animals.

“And more!” She said cheerfully. “Not alone, of course. Everyone pitched in. You learn a lot about your parents when you all have to wake up with the dawn and go to work together.”

Rook slowly stalked the chicken, who was still picking at the grass, and hopping a few feet further away every so often. It was on to him.

“Like what?”

Harding finished emptying her bowls of scraps, and smiled softly. Wistfully, almost. “Like Da couldn’t chop wood if it was that or freezing, and Ma gets testy if she thinks you think she’s going too slow. Da was more gentle than you’d guess; the animals all responded to him like he was their father too. Ma likes to garden, and will pawn off cleaning the pig pen on anyone unlucky enough to be nearby.”

Having smelled the pig pen, Rook didn’t blame Harding’s Ma for that one.

He took a few slow steps forward towards the chicken, who seemed to be distracted by something in the dirt.

“Do you miss it?” He wondered. Rook doubted he was cut out for life on a farm, but Harding seemed perfectly at home here. Which made sense, since she was, but was also a little jarring. He was used to seeing her fearlessly leading he and Varric through new places, identifying new dangers. The idea of her staying in one place, like this, was foreign.

Harding propped a fist on her hip, shifting her weight in that way she did when she was either thinking or about to tease him. Rook, feigning disinterest in the escaped hen, took another slow step closer.

“Maybe?” She finally said. “No. I mean yes!I—”

“It’s complicated?” Rook offered. He was close enough to realize the chicken was trying to wrench a worm out of the ground, and quickly wrapped his arms around her.

He was pretty sure those squawks were threats of violence in chicken, but he carried her back to the fenced in pen she’d escaped from despite them and firmly shut the gate. He’d be receiving a medal for bravery any day now; or be should be, because the hens all had murder in their eyes.

“I miss parts of it, I think,” Harding mused. She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she looked over the gently rolling hills just outside Redcliffe. “I miss spending time with family, of course.”

She fell into a contemplative silence while Rook tipped his own bucket of scraps over the fence, resulting in a chicken frenzy that would haunt him.

“I miss…the certainty,” Harding said, sounding almost surprised by the realization. “Don’t get me wrong, I like adventure, going new places, but…there’s something comforting about knowing what the next day will bring.”

Rook hummed in understanding. “We don’t get that very often,” he agreed.

She shook her head, laughing quietly, and turned back towards him as she dropped her hand. “Definitely not.”

Harding’s smile turned sly, and Rook had a momentary fear about what she might be about to ask him to do. “But I’m pretty confident about one thing that will happen tomorrow.”

He arched an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“You’re going to forget not to chase a chicken again. And she’ll outsmart you again, too.”

“You wound me,” he gasped, exaggeratedly putting his hand to chest. He held the pose only a moment before breaking with a laugh. “But you’re probably right.”

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

I was wondering how you’d tie in these prompts and mother Giselle was perfect! I love all the inquisition call backs (gosh getting the meat for the stews was the hardest quest for me when I first started that game) and Harding questioning everything!!! Poor girl learned so much in such a short amount of time, I loved the longing for answers and truth in this one

DATV Companion Week - Lace Harding - Day 5

This one was hard to connect, but I said I'm going to make it a challenge for myself and I'm sticking to it. Not sure if it worked out for the best.

Prompts for Harding Appreciation week hosted by @datvcompanionweeks are:

Faith | Cooking

The letter looks crumpled and starts yellowing at the edges. Clearly it’s been written in haste, but never sent. Yet was reread multiple times.

Mother Giselle, 

I have heard that things in the South are not going too well. That it’s worse than the last Blight. That there’s more refugees in the Hinterlands than during the Inquisition days. But I know the people will come together–they always do–that’s how Fereldans are. 

I know we rarely spoke before. I never even sent a letter to you all these years, but I was cooking a ram stew today, like the one we fed refugees in the Crossroads in Hinterlands and I had to think about you. We’ve watched that place for weeks before the Inquisition could step up to help. And we always saw you there providing aid with what little you had. 

I think I’ve been feeling like that recently. Like I don’t have enough to do anything that counts. But not doing anything is entirely out of question. 

But none of this is why I decided to write the letter. I just… I have learned some new things. About myself. About what I believe. And I’m not sure if I like any of them. I can’t really say too much, not right now and not like this, but I don't know what to make of what I know is true and what I’ve always believed. 

So I wonder, how do I choose? Between what I know is true and not? I don’t want to believe in anything just to feel comfort, but… I don’t want to throw it all away either? Should I just pick and choose what I would like to keep and leave the rest behind? Patch it up with new details like it was a hole in a roof and the storm is coming? 

Scout Harding

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

I was told it is officially Harding week, so here's a little something I put together, based on some unused Veilguard concept art ✨

Featuring my beloved Aloisia Ingellvar 💛

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

Gosh I love these letters they’re so good and you write hardings voice so beautifully and I love every letter! Love varric trying to navigate badly, love that old man

DATV Companion Week - Lace Harding - Day 6

I realized yesterday that I somehow managed to have Lace write a letter to a different person on each day, so I decide to keep this one up, even tho I felt like I started running out of people to send correspondence to. So here's one of the first letters/ notes that Harding left for Rook after they started working as a trio with Varric.

Prompts for Harding Appreciation week hosted by @datvcompanionweeks are: Farming | Scouting

*Found shoved deep into Rook’s backpack. The letter is dirty and crumpled, the paper is torn on one of the folding lines. Clearly it’s been carried through many hardships and read many times.*

Rook, 

I hope you’re holding up alright and that Varric didn’t cheat your last shirt off your back in Wicked Grace yet. But it’s been about a week, so I’m sure that you’ve heard most of his complaints about the weather already. Don’t let that discourage you too much, the grumbling is part of the charm. 

I hope that Varric’s contact will show up soon, I’ve nothing against scouting alone, but I would very much rather have the two of you with me here, all things considered. I’m leaving the map of the area and my route along with this letter, so you can follow whenever you catch up. Normally I would not trust Varric with this, you may not know yet–he has absolutely no sense of direction–but I know you can handle it. Just don’t trust him when he says you need to take the right turn. He’ll insist. Don’t listen. It has never once worked out for us. 

Also I thought it might be important to mention that the Satinalia are approaching so all the farmers will probably start gathering up in the city to celebrate the harvest. It’s not exactly how we celebrate in Ferelden, but I’m sure you can expect good food and at least 3 tavern brawls before the sunrise. I’ve never been a farming type, you know, but it’s still a shame I won’t catch it. Maybe next year. 

Either way, I’ll leave another note at the next drop point. See you soon, 

Harding

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

Family

Hardingweek2025, Day 3 just a little late~

"You sure she'll like me?" Zoe asked as she studied the pastures, watching as herds of sheep wandered the land, grazing about. She remembered Lace saying they were a neighbors sheep, and how herding them is how she got to be a scout and start working for the Inquisition. Maybe after, they could come back to this.

"She'll love you! I promise!" Lace assured her, but Zoe still felt doubt. Even when she knew Lace's Ma was excited to finally meet her.

But as they neared the small cottage, Zoe froze, heart racing as if it was trying to run away from her. Make her flee in the other direction.

A warm hand grabbed hers, "it's okay," Lace said again, her voice softer as she threaded their fingers together. Zoe could feel herself calm as she focused on their hands together, felt the calluses on Lace's hand. She pulled the dwarf a bit closer to place a kiss on her forehead.

"Thank you," Zoe murmured against Lace's freckled skin before pulling away.

She let Lace lead the rest of the way to the little cottage. Zoe could see various clothes hung on the line yet, and flowers at the door. It was amazing to see how well things were here yet, but life always found a way didn't it? Kept on even when things were bad. Maybe-

Lace's resounding knock pulled Zoe back. She gave her girlfriends hand another squeeze just before the door flung open and inside stood Lace's Ma, her haird held back in a tight bun. A few whisps of the same red as Lace's tried to escaped.

"Well it's about time!" The older woman pulled Lace into a fierce hug, holding her daughter a moment before pulling away and looking at her up and down awhile before turning to Zoe. "Do you do hugs?"

Zoe nodded slow, then felt her whole body jerk down nearly falling into the woman.

"It's so good to meet you finally. Lace doesn't talk enough about you in her letters-"

"Ma-"

"What? I just want to know who my daughter is dating?" Lace's Ma said as she let Zoe stand up again.

"Which is why she's here."

Zoe bit her lip as she watched the exchange, trying to hold back the laughter. Lace's Ma giving her daughter a look before heading into the kitchen.

"Which is good, I can feed you both and get to actually talk to the young lady herself from someone other than you or her parents."

Zoe's ears snapped up, eyes wide as she looked to Lace who could only offer a shrug "My parents?"

"Yes, it was a while back. I believe it was your mother specifically that came to check in me that first time. We both bonded over the both of you being so far away. She came a few other times before she left back to Orlais."

Zoe swore she felt her heart was about to explode this time. Maybe it could save her any more embarrassment.

"She was very sweet, and I can see where your pretty eyes come from," Lace's Ma continued as she set some food to the table, "now come on, sit, eat. And don't look so worried, dear, I don't bite."

Zoe could only nod as Lace pulled her to the table, her own shock and bewilderment in her eyes. This was definitely going to be an interesting visit.

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

Harding Week Day 6

Farming/Scouting

Thank you @datvcompanionweeks for hosting! (Previous prompts: Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5)

Also, Thursday Bangers hosted by @woundedsoul12 (tagged by @jukkaricity @blackwall-my-tiny-husband and @davrinsleftpectoral. Thank you all! Sorry you had to wait!)

Baby I'm so into you // Darling, if you only knew // All the things that flow through my mind - Fantasy by Mariah Carey

Harding X Taash (and Everyone X Watching Their Attractive Friends Spar 😂)

It was a beautiful day. Not unusual at the lighthouse, with its not entirely real light and imitation air. The eternal dream of a mild spring reflected through the lens of ancient magic.

Today, however, the group sparring in the courtyard added to the ambiance. It had started with Davrin and Lucanis and blade work. A graceful, violent dance peppered with shows of strength and dexterity that drew an appreciative audience. Taash then joined the fray, bringing a new energy to the scene and adding to the drama as the three combatants made and broke alliances as they sparred.

Eventually, weapons and layers of clothing were discarded and everything devolved into a wrestling match, much to the delight of all the lighthouse’s other occupants.

Bellara had brought out her writing journal. When inspiration decided to take it's shirt off and roll around in the courtyard, well, who was she to argue?

She sat on one of the incomplete stone walls, nestled between Neve and Rook. Emmrich and Harding stood nearby. Even the Caretaker was visible, hovering at the other side of the impromptu arena.

Yep. The day was beautiful. The view spectacular. The writing, though…

Sighing, Bellara snapped her journal shut. “Guys, I need some help.”

Neve made a sound, a hum with a slight upward inflection. “What do you need, Bel?”

“Well, My noble running away from her arranged marriage needs to meet her love interest in the woods,” Bellara said. “But I need to figure out some reason for them to be out there by themselves.” 

“That's easy,” Harding said, not taking her eyes off the match. Taash had just managed to break a hold Davrin had put them in. “Make the love interest a scout. We go out in the wilderness by ourselves all the time. It's kind of the job.”

“Oh, I'm not sure.” Bellara smiled and half shrugged apologetically. “I just don't know if making the love interest a scout is, you know, sexy enough.”

Harding gasped, looked away from the wrestling match to face Bellara. “Not sexy enough. Not - Bellara!”

“I'm sorry! I don’t mean you aren't sexy, you're amazing, like, totally hot, just the idea of scouting is kind of.” Bellara looked at her fellow mages for support. “I mean, what do you guys think of when you think of scouting? Like, dirt and lots of walking and, I don't know, examining animal spoor, right?”

Rook snorted, shaking her head. “Don't drag us into this.”

Neve patted Bellara's arm. “Seriously. You dug this hole all by yourself, Bel. Besides, how many scouts do you think hang around Docktown? Can't say I have an opinion.”

“Oh, I think it's a splendid suggestion.” Emmrich looked at Bellara, his smile lighting up his face. “The rugged outdoorsman, a gruff but knowledgeable loner who longs for some softness in their life. It's a lovely premise with so much potential.”

Rook grinned at him. “And I'm sure you aren't thinking of anyone in particular.”

“Well, drawing upon one's experiences does add authenticity to a tale, does it not?” 

Bellara tapped her pen against her lips. “That's true, Professor. I have an expert here, she made a suggestion. I should hear her out.” Bellara put her hands on top of her journal, grinning at Harding who was still glowering in her direction. “Give me your pitch. Why should I make the love interest a scout?”

Harding looked slightly mollified, and utterly determined to prove her point, standing in front of Bellara and the others like a general addressing their troops. 

“Just picture it,” she said. “The hero is in danger - bandits, a bear, whatever - she's running, thinking she's all alone and out of options when an arrow comes out of nowhere, hitting the threat right between the eyes.” Harding mimed firing her bow, then tapped her forehead and staggered back dramatically. “The hero looks at the fallen foe and then turns around and - surprise! - there they are. A shadowed figure with a bow, nothing but an appealing silhouette exuding an air of feral mystery and intriguing danger.”

Bellara slowly opened up her journal, setting her pen to the page. “Alright. You have my attention. Keep going.”

Harding walked towards Bellara, smirking as she continued. “More bad guys might be coming. Maybe the scout offers to guide the hero to safety and leads the hero to a secluded overlook. The kind of place where you can see everything but no one can see you. The view is breathtaking, the whole forest spread out before them, glowing in the sunset. The scout then points out something of interest on the ground - a beautiful flower or a useful herb or an interesting track. And when the hero kneels down to get a closer look, the scout grabs them by the horns and shows them exactly where they want to be kissed!”

“Damn, Lace.” 

Bellara had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Harding's face flushed, matching her hair as her brain apparently caught up with what she had just said and who had just heard her say it.

The scout turned around to look up at Taash, standing right behind her. The wrestling match had ended about halfway through Harding's story. The Qunari had their arms crossed and was wearing the biggest grin Bellara had ever seen. “What happens next?”

Bellara paused her writing to watch Harding, curious to see what she would say. She was pretty sure the rest of the group was doing the same.

Harding cleared her throat, and glanced at the others before turning back to Taash and gesturing for them to lean over. Taash obliged, still grinning. Harding stood on her tiptoes, holding Taash’s arm for balance as she whispered something into the Qunari’s ear.

Taash’s grin shifted, their mouth going slightly slack. They stood up, Harding still holding onto their arm. “Huh. Yep. Harding and I are hitting the bath. Don’t wait up.”

Taash started walking towards the bathhouse. Harding looked over at Bellara, quirking a brow. “So. Figured out what you want to do with the love interest yet?”

Bellara was already back to writing. “Oh, they’re going to be a scout. Definitely going with scout. Thanks, Lace.”

Harding grinned. “You are very welcome. Now, if you all will excuse me.” She turned and started walking after Taash. “And you thought scout wasn’t sexy enough. Ha!”

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

A Word With Friends 6/23

Thank you so much to @hedwigoprah for beginning this fun game and to @notyourmamasdeerbat for hosting this week. This week's word is so delightful!

Softly tagging: @in-the-drowning-deep @woundedsoul12 @redheadsramblings @davrinsleftpectoral (Nug E Cheese word of the day??) @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @p0lkadotdotdot @babydinosaur930 @jenn2d2 and :

You!

Rules: Use the challenge word to write a sentence or scene and then tag a few friends.

This week's word is:

Balter

to dance or tread clumsily, without particular grace or skill

It's a fluffy word, I think. Have some fluff. (Also inspired by this post from @animezinglife)

Word count: 1100-ish

Between training with Helaine in her free time, dance lessons, and fittings with tailors, Yvette’s days in Skyhold became full to bursting. Still, her nights were his. They stole kisses on the battlements and traded moves on the chess board they set up in the war room, though Leliana and Josephine jested with them by moving pieces around from time to time. Little moments kept them sane.

Elona had not held back on sending additional materials for her to study. A crate arrived filled with tomes on arcane warriors and battle mages, some of them with handwriting in the margins from when her half-sister had used the same books to study. She sent along long letters that detailed everything that had been imparted to her in the ruins of the Brecilian Forest and her own experience wielding the magic. Helaine had given all of it a cursory look and a shrug of approval. If the woman was pleased she made no sign of it in her rigorous lessons.

Templar training had been regimented and difficult, but she had also been fifteen years younger. Cullen had chuckled the first night she’d collapsed on her bed, exhausted and sore. “I bet this is what your men feel like,” she groaned into the sheets. He had dutifully rubbed her shoulders and arms, but she could see the amusement dancing in his eyes. She would let him laugh at her weak little mage muscles all he wanted as long as he kept massaging them.

At the end of her first week, he found her lying on the floor of the little room she kept her bathtub in, clothed in a thin robe. 

“Eve?” 

“I’m all right,” she assured him. “I just needed a minute.”

“On the floor?”

“The stone is cold,” she explained, rolling over to look up at him. “It feels nice.”

“I can leave you to it,” he offered.

The way she bit at her lower lip made him pause in the doorway. “I’m not entirely certain I can get up.”

Much as he tried to fight back a chuckle, it escaped him. He knelt and helped her sit, and she winced as her muscles stretched. “It wasn’t so bad until the dance instructor started insisting on Orlesian footwear,” Yvette insisted. “Those heels are worse than high dragons.”

With a sigh she trailed her fingers through the water until it steamed, and then she tipped a pouch of salts into the bath. “Join me?”

“I will,” he promised, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “I’ll let you boil and be in soon.”

Her lips curled into a grin. He often complained about the temperature she took her baths, but she knew the inflammation in his joints didn’t get along well with heat. The torn and sore muscles in her body craved it, and she sank into the water with a sigh.

By the time he joined her, she was dozing and the water was tepid at best. They exchanged a smile before she made space for him to slide in behind her. As nice as the scalding bath had been, reclining against his chest was better, especially when he carefully gathered her hair and moved it over her shoulder so he could knead the back of her neck. She moaned and leaned forward so he could have access to her back, and he obliged.

With careful strokes he worked his thumbs from the base of her skull to the base of her spine, chasing knots and soothing muscles. She laid her forehead against her knees and focused on breathing. His attention to detail and dedication to duty meant he wouldn’t stop until he found every spot that bothered her, at least the ones that could be soothed with his hands.

“You are the Inquisitor,” he reminded her. “If you need a break, you can take one.”

She hummed in thought; it had seemed like cheating to use her position to get out of training or dance practice. “I have a stack of reports to read and a list of correspondence to write,” she sighed, her chin on her knees. “Josephine’s dance instructor is very religious so I have the next two days off.”

“You’re pushing yourself–”

“What would you tell your soldiers?” She interrupted, and he could hear the rise of her brows in the challenge of her tone.

“I would tell them they’re no good to the Inquisition if they’re not at their best,” he answered carefully.

“So suck it up and get back to training.” She grinned and twisted in his arms so he could see the little victory in her eyes.

“That’s not what I said.” He sighed but the corner of his lips tugged up into a grin he couldn’t fight. “I’m not that mean, am I?”

She opened her mouth to respond but he stopped her. “Let’s leave that one rhetorical.”

Yvette laughed and wrapped an arm around him so she could rest her head on his shoulder. “You aren’t as bad as my childhood dance instructor,” she assured him. “She was a demon in an old woman’s body, and she had a little switch she used to correct my posture. ‘Lady Yvette, this is a waltz, stop baltering about like an unwashed peasant.’”

His chuckle vibrated through her.

“Orlesian dances have so many steps.” He was one of the only people she could complain to, though she planned to spend one or two of her free hours complaining to Dorian over a few bottles of wine. “And I don’t see why I need to train with a weighted sword when mine is made of magic.”

She could feel him suck in a breath to tell her exactly why so she stopped him, echoing his words back at him. “Let’s leave that one rhetorical.”

“I’ve seen you fight, you’ll pick up Commander Helaine’s techniques.” He ran his hand down her arm and twined his fingers through hers. “We can always tell Josephine to keep you off the dance floor.”

“The bait has to dance, Cullen.” She winced softly when his thumb brushed a blister on her thumb. “Just not in heels. Tomorrow we pick fabric samples for the uniforms. I still need–”

He kissed her fingertips slowly, one by one, and her thoughts scattered. 

“Tonight all you need to do is rest.”

She craned her neck to meet his eye and he brushed his nose along hers. “Is that an order, Commander?”

“It is if it’ll make you do it.”

“Well,” she considered, lips brushing his as she spoke. “I am very good at following orders.”

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

A Word With Friends | June 23rd

Hello hello, my friends! I got a little carried away after work so this is very delayed, but happy Monday and happy word of the week, I am so so pleased to be hosting this beyond delightful game for the generous @hedwigoprah ! 🧡 Thank you @officialnostradamus , you absolute vernacular genius, for hosting last week as well. I loved your word!

Rules: Use the challenge word to write a sentence or scene and then tag a few friends.

This week's word is (my all time favorite word) Balter

to dance or tread clumsily, without particular grace or skill

Happy writing, dear ones! I can't wait to see what you all come up with!

Enjoy some sorely needed fluff under the cut; 2K+ words, a continuation of my very very late submission for last week, Rook and Harding recovering from dour conversation and foul portents

“No no, like this–” Rook laughed, gently taking Harding’s hand. It was a little difficult, and the dwarf had to stand on her toes to reach the rogue as they tried to bend down, awkwardly accommodating one another as Rook led them in another stumbling turn. 

Harding dissolved into giggles again, breathlessly clinging to Rook’s fingers with her own. “I’m getting dizzy. How many times do you have to spin?” 

“Twice, then come about. Ready? One, two-three, one, two-three, one two-thr– Harding!” Rook wheezed as Harding trod heavily on their foot, laughing aloud and from their chest for the first time in days. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” Horrified, the scout went to release their hands. Rook kept a gentle hold and spun the dwarf slowly under their arm, recovering as they spun their shorter partner out a few steps and drew them back in just as carefully. 

“I’m fine. You should have seen Revas. He can’t waltz for anything. He likes to say he can, just don’t believe him.” 

Harding giggled, returning carefully to their starting position in the golden glow of the music room. “You’re pretty good at this. I’ve never waltzed before.” 

“Maybe you can impress Taash later.” 

Harding went cherry red right to the tips of her ears. “I– Oh, no, I don’t think–” 

Rook snickered and smoothly transitioned into another series of slow steps, rotating them round and round across the floor in the silence. Past the piano, around a low table scattered with letters and documents. “Take it slow. One, two-three, one, two three, slow quick-quick, slow quick-quick, now you’re getting it!” 

Harding exhaled, brow furrowing in concentration as she watched their footsteps move in tandem, shadows dancing on the creaking floorboards of Solas’ old respite. Lips moving quietly to continue Rook’s count, she anticipated the extension of Rook’s long arm and turned beneath it, coming back to center without pause. 

“Excellent, my friend! Oh, you’re a natural! Lady Lace Harding. You’ve got the soul of a dowager empress!” Beaming, Rook spun them once more, a little wider apart, across the floor to crash together again, picking up the pace. 

“Oh Maker— Rook–!” Harding protested breathlessly, laughing and out of breath. 

A curious hiss rippled through the chamber underneath the hollow scraping of stone as the door to the music room slid out of sight, revealing the ghostly lilac rays of the astrolabe in the library’s sanctum beyond. 

Harding threw a glance over her shoulder with a grin. “We have an audience!” 

“Manfred!” Rook slowed and carefully released Harding, whose braids stopped swaying when she did, touching her brow with a dizzy grin. “Hey, love! What are you–” 

An indignant screech echoed and bounced off the stones. Manfred startled, hissing animatedly as he clattered into the room, waving his arms wildly, clacking his mandibles together and grinding the teeth of his permanent grin. The stone door began to slide shut behind him, just a furry bundle of lightning skidded around the corner, lifted a bright eyed head, shrieked its recognition and sprang in after him. 

Assan pounced on the wayward skeleton in a tumbling bundle of bone and feathers. They scrambled against the floor, shrieking and hissing as Assan lifted his wings, flapping and squawking in triumph. 

“Woah, woah, hey!” Rook scruffed the thick skin and fuzz at the nape of the griffon’s neck, hoisting him up with a grunt as Assan went immediately limp, foreclaws hanging. “Be careful, be careful!” 

Manfred scuttled back on his hands, bony knees knocking with a joyful cry, mouth still open wide. 

Assan’s tufted tail lashed back and forth eagerly as he panted. 

“Are you two playing?” Rook laughed. 

Manfred hissed happily, and Assan squawked, wings flapping in assent. 

Harding cackled, slumping back down onto the piano bench. “Oh my goodness. I thought maybe Manfred had taken Assan’s favorite carving or something.” 

Manfred asssshhhed indignantly as he wobbled to his feet, taking both bony hands to cover his glittering lenses and bunching his shoulders. 

“You were…? Hiding? Oh, hide and– Assan, you’re supposed to let him hide first!” Rook released the griffon, heart lightening another few degrees as Assan chirped and bounded in happy circles around the skeleton. Manfred turned to follow him, clapping his hands in delight, before settling and planting his booted feet to point at Harding. 

Her hazel eyes widened as she touched the embroidered front of her overalls. “Me?” 

Manfred hissed and turned to point at Rook. Harding hmmed in understanding, starting to smile. “Oh! Us! Rook and I were— well, we were trying to dance. I think.” 

Manfred perked up like a freshly watered lily, seeming enchanted by the thought. Assan squawked and sat, curling his tail over his feet to regard Rook doubtfully. 

“What?” Rook demanded. “I can dance.” 

Assan preened a forefeather, unconvinced. Manfred bounced his hands excitedly, hissing and gurgling as he held out his phalanges to Harding. 

“Oh, no,” Harding laughed. “I’m done. I’m really done for today, I think.” 

Spirit undamped, Manfred only shrugged his collarbones and scapulas to clatter in a jaunty circle, proceeding to balter alone around the space while chattering a rhythmless melody of ‘ra’s and ‘shk’s. 

Rook grinned full tilt, amused by Curiosity’s antics. Assan concurred, cocking his head to one side as his ears folded back, eyes fixed puzzled on the skeleton and his uncoordinated jig. 

“Manfred!” The stone door ground open once more. “If I find even one vertebrae out of alignment, I assure you, I will be very cross ind– Oh!” Harried, Emmrich paused in the archway of the music room, eyes widening at the sight before him. Neve lingered close behind as she tried to catch her breath, smiling to herself with a whole host of glowing wisps drifting behind her. 

Manfred fizzed and whistled, waving over his shoulder by way of greeting as he continued to clatter and spin and wave his arms. 

“Having fun there, Fred?” Neve stepped into the room, the rhythmic clink of her prosthetic leg underscoring the skeleton’s clicks, clacks and whispers of marrow against leather. The wisps chittered curiously, drifting in to follow and illuminate the space even further. “Hey, Rook. Lace.” 

One of the wisps swooped down across the piano after stirring a few strands of Harding’s hair affectionately, bouncing across a few of the keys in a short series of discordant notes. The spirits immediately gathered round the instrument, as if recognizing it through enraptured study.

Assan purred and twined around the detective’s legs, nudging his beak under her hand. “Saw these two thundering by– wanted to see if they needed wrangling.” 

“Wrangling indeed,” Emmrich sniffed, stepping inside, even as his very stern expression was beginning to reluctantly melt into something much softer as he watched his ward sway and wiggle to his own music. The necromancer sighed and folded his hands behind him with a weary smile, regarding Rook sidelong. “I do hope we’re not interrupting.” 

“Not at all. Seeking levity. Manfred followed our example after Harding and I had a heavy chat.” Rook’s lips quirked as the wisps continued to bounce and play along the keys, before everyone grew very very still as the contradictory melody smoothed into something harmonious. Several of the wisps had lined up, jostling each other in line, before moving one after the other in an almost choreographed sequence. 

Everyone but Emmrich seemed dumbstruck as the wisps began to play a dreamy Orlesian waltz in perfect time. The professor’s mouth curved in earnest as he relaxed and settled back slightly on his heels. “Well now. Memory astounds.” 

“You mean–” Harding, enamoured, watched the spirits over her shoulder with a disbelieving grin. “They’re playing something from memory?” 

“Something from this room, or the mind of an occupant. I gather they are all quite familiar. How fascinating.” Emmrich studied the phenomenon fondly, gaze drinking in each tendril of phantasma. Neve chuckled, leaning a shoulder against the wall as she watched the spirits at play. 

“Now that’s something you don’t see every day.” 

Manfred, absolutely overjoyed by the addition of music beyond what he alone could hear, shrieked and redoubled his efforts, beckoning for Assan, whose ears shot straight up as the griffon bounded over to his friend, wings lifted experimentally. Manfred mimed reaching for Assan’s feathered joints and the griffon only spun out of his grasp, chittering and cooing, pleased with this new game as he seemed to trot in time. 

“Oh, here we go.” Grinning, Rook clicked their heels and held a hand out to Emmrich. “Professor?” 

The elder gentleman made a noise, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Oh. It does seem a shame to let the wisps’ talent go to waste.” He took Rook’s hand. “But I warn you, it’s been some time since I–” 

“Me too!” Rook interjected reassuringly, still beaming in the golden hour glow of the Fade beyond the windows. “Don’t be shy. Show us how it’s done.” 

Emmrich exhaled through his nose with a fond smile and offered his other hand with an elegant sweep of his arm. Rook took it as Emmrich rested another broad, thin fingered hand on their shoulder and Rook settled a hand carefully at his side. 

The wisps renewed their melody, a little more quickly than before, and Emmrich took a deep breath before lifting his chin and surging into a graceful tri-step with Rook in tow. The Veil Jumper caught their breath in surprise, beaming as they were swept along and adapted to the necromancer’s dapper pace. 

Harding whistled. “Wow!” 

“That’s what I was thinking,” Rook laughed as Emmrich turned them once in a neat and tidy spin, resuming their tandem. 

“Not too fast, I hope,” Emmrich hummed, confident in his earnesty. 

“Oh, bring it on,” the Veil Jumper challenged, feeling like their face might crack from smiling. 

“It may not be a waltz in definition if we push ourselves too far. Maker forbid– a foxtrot.” 

Rook laughed and shifted their hips one way, gently tugging Emmrich along with them to make way for Manfred and Assan’s spirited clamoring. 

“You’re rather adept at this,” Emmrich observed. 

“This and no other– waltzing was a force of habit in Orlais.” Rook laughed and allowed the necromancer to turn them under his arm, light on their feet. 

“Drilled into muscle memory, I gather.” Emmrich spun them across the floor in a gentle extension of his hand and Rook turned back to meet him as they resumed their dance. 

“Very much. You’re excellent.” 

“Why thank you, Rook. I admit, it took years and years of practice.” 

Neve smiled from her perch, she’d settled down beside Harding on the piano bench. “And how does a mortalitasi Fade-expert come to learn ballroom dances?” 

“Spirits have the most curious habits. Most adore music just as much as we do.” The waltz slowed and eventually drew to a close. Emmrich released Rook with a careful bow, and they returned the gesture gallantly before whirling on the piano bench and holding out their hands eagerly to Neve. 

“Your turn.” 

“No, I don’t think so,” Neve hummed, reproachful, even as her dark eyes glittered with surprised laughter. 

“Oh, but I do. Take it away, garçons.” Grinning as the wisps resumed another, jauntier melody that may have once been some kind of shanty, Rook gently pulled the detective to her feet as she sighed and relinquished her hands. 

Rook gathered her arm and Neve settled her hand in the curve of the Veil Jumper’s waist. Manfred hissed inquisitively and tapped Emmrich on the shoulder, offering both of his hands. 

“Why, Manfred, I’d be delighted.” The necromancer’s crow’s feet crinkled endearingly as he took his ward’s hands in his own and began another, slower waltz, humming along with the piano. Manfred followed determinedly, keeping time with the click of his subtalar joints. Assan sprang up onto the piano bench (barely keeping his haunches from falling off the edge in the limited space) to lay his head in Harding’s lap. 

“I don’t dance, Rook,” Neve said, even as she allowed the rogue to lead them in a graceful turn. 

“You might, if you like. You’re probably better at it than you think.” 

“You’re a little insane, you know that?” 

“What?” Rook hummed, smiling as they spun the detective under their arm and across their chest as she followed, near graceful, almost practiced. Neve never half assed anything, not even an unfamiliar dance. “You hadn’t noticed? The world’s ending and we’re all a little insane. But the wisps are playing piano. I think I’ve been out-crazied. Just for tonight.” 

Neve grinned and tossed her head to flick a lock of dark hair over her shoulder as they turned and spun throughout the music room, the steady clink-clink of her leg keeping excellent tempo. “Watch your toes. This thing isn’t built for waltzing.” 

“Oh, don’t worry. These boots have seen everything.” 

“You invest in anything steel capped?” 

“Next stop at the market if you manage to break my foot. Which you haven’t.” 

“Yet.” 

The uplifting melody grew romantic and classical once more as the door to the music room slid open with the rattling groan of marble and granite. Lucanis stood in the doorway, eyes widening slightly at the sight before him in the warm glow of the chamber. 

“Ah, Lucanis!” Emmrich greeted, waltzing by in the arms of his skeletal companion. “Fine evening, isn’t it?” 

Harding giggled at the look on the assassin’s face. 

Rook beamed over Neve’s shoulder, suddenly feeling startled and exposed, even as they valiantly recalled their count and turned with the detective once more, face heating. “Hey, you.” 

“Hello.” Lucanis blinked, cradling a cup of coffee in his hands. “Am I interrupting?” 

“Not at all.” Neve broke from Rook abruptly and pushed them towards the Antivan Crow with a palm against their lower back, her voice low and sly. “The more the merrier.”

Tagging my beloveds! Do with this what you will and enjoy the game! Remember to have a snack and drink some water- your kidneys will thank you. 🫗💝

@fenrelmercar @draco-illius-noctis @redheadsramblings @the-bear-and-his-sunbird @davrinsleftpectoral @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @sunny374940 @nevarrantorte @caughtnyact @seaglassmelody @strugglinggranola @jenn2d2 @thesummerstorms @woundedsoul12

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

Ship Sleep Dynamics

Thank you so much for the tag, @p0lkadotdotdot! This is such a cute one.

No pressure tags: @in-the-drowning-deep @redheadsramblings @woundedsoul12 @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @jenn2d2 @davrinsleftpectoral @hedwigoprah and:

You!

Elona & Alistair:

How often do they sleep together?

Not very often at first, what with them being two awkward lil weirdos, but eventually it just makes more sense to only have to put up one tent instead of two. With Elle's insomnia and mandatory watches, they still aren't actually getting much sleep at the same time unless they're somewhere where they have four walls and a bed, and then they might actually manage to sleep the better part of the night. After the Battle of Denerim, it becomes much more frequent.

Where do they sleep?

Almost exclusively bedrolls at first. Luxurious. They have no shame about sharing the royal suite once in Denerim. I like to imagine the servants in the castle find a little relief in seeing their new king happily in love after everything the country just went through, especially once heirs come along.

How do they prepare to sleep?

There's typically little fanfare; on the road they take what they can get. Elle has a habit of reading herself to sleep from her Circle days that she takes back up once settled in Denerim as she's usually the first to retire to their rooms. Once Alistair gets there, he usually unwinds by telling her all the ridiculous things he's dealt with that day. Sometimes that continues into the bath, depending on the day he's had. A hot bath helps them both relax before bed and there's a rule to not take their work with them into the actual bed--the bed is the one place they get to pretend they are just two normal people living a completely normal life.

What do they wear to sleep?

On the road they got used to sleeping partially clothed in case of emergency. Hopefully they get down to linens before they pass out. On good days, smalls. On bad days, they figure out how to make it work in armor. If you're tired enough, you can fall asleep in anything.

In Denerim they have paid their dues. Alistair sleeps in the Thedas equivalent of very fancy sweatpants. Elle has robes and night gowns. There's a 50/50 chance the clothes last or not.

Do they cuddle?

Alistair is a big cuddler. It helps to keep her trapped in bed and combat her insomnia.

What are their preferred sleep positions?

Mostly Elle on her back and Alistair wrapped around her in some fashion. Side sleeping and spooning became more common in Denerim when pregnancy made it more of a necessity. Alistair loves to be the little spoon when he can.

How easy do they fall asleep?

Alistair learned how to fall asleep fast and even after, in Denerim, he's able to push everything aside and pass out. He even doesn't mind if she lights a candle to read. Elle slowly gets better about sleeping but at the beginning she sometimes just dozes.

Do they toss and turn a lot?

Blissfully, neither move a lot (even if Elle can't sleep). But Elle knows Alistair is having a bad night if he does. They happen, thankfully less and less.

Do they snore?

They've been known to sleep so hard they snore, mostly Alistair.

Who hogs the blanket?

They tend to cocoon themselves quite a bit. Elle runs cold, Alistair keeps her warm.

What do they dream about?

On the road, Alistair has the standard Grey Warden nightmares mixed with "everyone I care about dies" nightmares. Those ease post-Denerim, but sometimes he still has nightmares about it all. If asked he'll joke and say it was just another of those "show up on the throne naked" types of nightmares. He usually doesn't remember his dreams but he has fun making up things.

Elle is a vivid dreamer, which led to her insomnia. She dreams mostly of memories - her childhood, the Circle, their time on the road. Particularly vivid dreams involve her time in the Fade. In her nightmares she can't summon her magic or save people. Sometimes she's stuck in the Fade and can't find her way out. Time and stability help to mellow those out.

How easily do they wake up?

They both wake up very easily, at first from being on the road and eventually because they prefer not to be caught unaware by servants.

How awake they are afterwards?

Give them a breath and a few blinks and they're good to go, though they may not always be happy about it.

Yvette & Cullen:

How often do they sleep together?

After Redcliffe they enjoy one night before the mages start to pour in and Eve shares her cabin. But then after Haven, when she almost dies, he's in her tent every night because he needs to see and hear her breathing to even think about relaxing. In Skyhold it takes a couple of weeks to get things fixed up and settled but if they're in the same place they're sleeping together.

Where do they sleep?

Eve's (ridiculously) ginormous bedroom, if they're in Skyhold. I envision there being an old servant's entrance that isn't totally safe but is manageable and they're the only two people who use it. Staff knows that if the sun is down, her room is off limits unless the world is ending.

If they aren't in Skyhold, they will typically default to bedrolls. Less noisy than cots, and more durable.

How do they prepare to sleep?

There's a routine with Cullen's armor to maintain it properly that helps him at least start to wind down. A cup of tea while reading a few more reports. They make a list of things that need to get done the next day to help unburden their minds. If one is particularly busy, work is allowed in bed so the other can go ahead and rest. Neither like to be in bed alone.

What do they wear to sleep?

Typically just smallclothes, if anything.

Do they cuddle?

Cuddling is essential. Even if it's just holding hands across cots, they need the solid presence of the other to feel comfortable.

What are their preferred sleep positions?

Tangled. They don't tend to have a regular sleep position so much as the tendency to end up in a knot. The weight of one another's limbs, the warmth--those are the most essential parts.

How easy do they fall asleep?

It takes them both a bit to fully relax and succumb. Together it's faster but still takes time.

Do they toss and turn a lot?

When not together they're very restless sleepers, but together they settle one another down. There's still a lot of sleep twitching, though. Even together they still have demons to fight in their sleep.

Do they snore?

I don't think either of them ever sleeps deeply enough to snore; they're both light sleepers.

Who hogs the blanket?

They both tend to kick the covers off through the night.

What do they dream about?

What don't they dream about? Cullen's dreams tend toward nightmares--the past, his fears, his endless to-do list. His more pleasant dreams involve his family. The best nights are when he doesn't dream at all, which sometimes is accomplished through magic when his nightmares wake up Eve.

She has a pretty even split of dream and nightmare. Dreams tend to involve whimsy and the future; nightmares the past, particularly the Ostwick rebellion, Envy demon, and future she experienced in Redcliffe. If her nightmares wake him up he has permission to wake her from them.

How easily do they wake up?

So easily; they can wake just from the other muttering in their sleep. For a while their nights mostly consist of waking one another from nightmares. Sometimes they go right back to sleep, others they take advantage of both being awake.

How awake they are afterwards?

They are both immediately ready to go upon waking unless it was a particularly bad nightmare, and then they might need a minute. In a situation they can compartmentalize and jump right into action. Over time it improves marginally.

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

Cole on the Veilguard Companions

I started replaying Inquisition and I had too many Thoughts about how Cole would talk about the VG companions so now I’m making it everyone else’s problem. Enjoy!

-

Bellara: Tired eyes, tired hands. Cracked skin by her nails. A history unknown, forgotten, distorted. She can fix it. She must fix it. The hummingbird must keep flying so she can fix it.

Davrin: A false sacrifice. A false promise. He was supposed to die. Why doesn’t he die? Pride of a father watching his son learn. Always learning. Too clever for him to keep up, but that’s the thrill of the chase.

Emmrich: A lone heart beats in the halls. It races at the thought of stopping. Will he join the ones he cares for? Will he be cared for? Yes. Curiosity will always care for him.

Harding: Ma’s soup brings her comfort, but the fire to keep it warm burns too hot, too bright. An anger burning. Should it burn brighter? Why doesn’t it burn brighter? Magic taken and taken back. The stone sings her name.

Lucanis: Two souls in one home, neither can fit. Too tight. Tight like the clothes grandmother put him in, they will never fit. Choking under the collar, choking on the blood spilt beneath the water. He is suffocating, but he survives, despite it all.

Neve: Always a mystery, always something missing. Helping helps. Helping distracts. A warm heart frozen over. It’s easier this way. Letting it thaw will bring Trouble.

Taash: A broken language sitting on a broken tongue. Fire burns the consonants away. Too much of one or the other, yet never enough of either. Never enough for her. Through struggle, they find who they are.

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

Harding Week 2025 - Ficlet Series

YEAH! Lace Harding for always, and her week is here!

We (she said, speaking in the plural for some reason) are back for @datvcompanionweeks #hardingweek2025! I challenged myself for these weeks (other than Neve Week) to write day-of in response to each set of prompts. I’m so excited for this week, I’m going to go see what y’all made today this evening after I’ve recovered from the life agonies. But so far, I spent this afternoon writing my first ficlet offering!

Day One: Ferelden/Traveling

Blue skies, crisp breeze, and the gentle scent of freshly cut hay filled Lace’s senses as they crossed into the Hinterlands. Funnily — annoyingly, really, given the sheer amount of travel required — the lead they’d found in Nessus had brought them straight back to where it had all started.

Well, for Lace anyway. Not for Varric and Rook, who were both complaining about mud and the chill in the air behind her.

Because of course they were. Marcher and Tevinter as they were. Varric’s complaints she was used to, and if Rook could come up with a Tevene complaint about Ferelden that Dorian hadn’t made she’d owe him a gold sovereign.

Still, the boys’ whining behind her couldn’t dampen the contentment seeping through her sore and sleep-deprived body thanks to being back. To being home.

No pretension. Open fields. The sound of the wind and of bells from the Chantries. Cheese — Maker, real stick-to-the-ribs food at all.

The rest of Thedas ate like birds.

And sure, Ferelden had its quirks, she knew. Better than most, probably, as the weird surface dwarf from the farms outside Redcliffe. The people could be…informal, she guessed. Dorian would say coarse. It wasn’t a guess. He’d mocked the South constantly, and his voice had carried in that library at Skyhold, while the Inquisitor had repeatedly replied that it wasn’t so bad.

And, okay, maybe Fereldens weren’t much for the softer luxuries of Orlais, or perfumed fineries of Nevarra. They definitely didn’t have the spectacles of Tevinter.

Of course, that was probably a good thing. Considering.

Admittedly the mages here didn’t have the same acceptance as they did in Tevinter —which was less good, she’d give Rook and Dorian that — but the Divine was working on it. She was too. Things were changing.

Still there was something to be said — a good something, not whatever swearing Rook was doing behind her — for the simpler, cozy life of Ferelden. Her Ferelden.

Being back, temporary as it was, was like pulling her favorite flannel blanket over herself. It was warm porridge, and fresh bread, and a crackling hearth surrounded by regular folks jokes about druffalo and nugs. It was Ma.

It was Lace.

So the other two could cry all they wanted, but she was going to enjoy herself. Well, as soon as the ache in her legs and back from traveling wore off she’d enjoy herself. Because she was finally back. At least for now.