#14dalovers

[14daysdalovers]

Welcome to the Fourth Annual ‘14 Days of Dragon Age Lovers’ Prompts Event!

I am so excited to be back to host this event for the fourth year in a row. I have a fun new list of prompts to get into the spirit of Valentine’s Day with some of our favorite Thedosian characters, and I cannot wait to see what this years list sparks for all of you!

As always, please make sure that you read through the events rules page (which is outlined below the cut) before you decide if this event is for you.

Let’s start with the basics!

How does the event work?

It’s pretty simple!

Step 1: Post your content

Step 2: Make sure to tag the event page (@14daysdalovers)

Step 3: Add the tag #14DALovers (don’t forget to add the prompt and pair tags)

It’s that easy! I will reblog all contributions to the event page for everyone to enjoy in one easy to find location.

I am hosting this event solo, so please be patient with me for reblogs. If I have missed your post and it hasn’t been posted on the blog page by the following day, don’t hesitate to DM me here with a link to your post. I will do my very best to make sure any content contributed is added in a timely manner so it can be viewed + enjoyed by the other participants!

Who can participate?

Anyone over 18 years old can participate! This event will allow adult themes and NSFW content, so unfortunately minors are asked to kindly please not to participate. Please make sure your posts are tagged as NSFW (lemons, etc) if they fall into that category, and tag anything potentially triggering.

How long does the event run?

The event will run for the month of February. Even though the prompts list only has 14 prompts, I want it to be a fun and relaxed event, so I am not putting deadlines on content submissions. Don’t have a piece of fan art/fanfiction finished on the 1st for the first prompt? No big deal! Just submit your content when you finish it and I will reblog it regardless of the date. The last day to submit your pieces for the event will be the 28th so make sure you post them before the end of the day to have them added to the event page.

Which fandoms & pairings will the event cover?

The event will be open to pairings from any of the Dragon Age games, novels, etc. Any pairing from the fandom as a whole, including rare pairs, are allowed and encouraged as long they are respectful to the character. Please make sure you tag your posts with your ship pairing!

What kind of content is allowed?

The event is open for original works of fanfiction, fan art, 2D and 3D rendered pieces. No mood boards or playlists please for copyright purposes. NSFW content is allowed as long as it is between two consenting characters. This is supposed to be an uplifting feel good event, but I understand the need for conflict, angst and drama in certain pieces to build a mood. However it should go without saying that any ‘dark’ content will be frowned upon and will not be added to the event page. 

Here is a list of content that will absolutely NOT be permitted for the event;

• Content that changes a queer character to a straight character.

• Graphic violence/torture or angst for the sake of torturing a character.

• Any content that is racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic, misogynistic, ageist, etc.

• Incest

• Underage

• Non-con/rape

• Kink-shaming

• Basically if it’s not respectful don’t submit it!

The purpose of the event is to most importantly have fun and uplift your fellow content creators! Comments and reblogs are encouraged, but please keep them respectful. Anyone leaving negative comments or tags on content posts will have their content removed from the event page and be blocked from participating in the event further.

That about sums it up! My ask box and inbox are open for any questions or concerns you might have so don’t hesitate to reach out if you have any.

I can’t wait to see all the wonderful romantic Dragon Age content!

[knuttydraws]

Day 7 of @14daysdalovers 2023 - Tangled  Pure fluff to balance out the angst of Day 5 😁🥰 Please remember that Farie Lavellan is not an Inquisitor.

[spiretdoom]

Prompt 1: Hart for @14daysdalovers

Though I don't think I'll be able to get through all the prompts this year the first prompt for this event really sparked my creative juices so here we are~

[shivunin]

A Fool and His Gold

(Maria Hawke/Fenris | 1,932 Words | CW: references to alcohol)

It was mid-afternoon, and Fenris was certain he was an unwitting part of some elaborate practical joke. 

He’d gone between the market and Hawke’s manor three times now, all three at her behest, and all three times she’d thanked him brightly, taken the package from his hand, and asked him for something else she’d forgotten. 

Fenris was no fool; he knew something was going on. He’d told her as much after the second errand, his grip on the brown paper packet too tight for her to take. 

“Why, I’ve no idea what you mean,” Hawke had told him, her eyes wide and wounded in that way she had, tears beginning to gather along the lower lid, “I’m—I’m hurt, Fenris, that you would accuse your dearest friend of such a—”

“Stop,” he said, letting go of the package at last and rolling his eyes, “No theatrics. If you don’t want to explain yourself, then don’t.”

“There is,” she said, “One more thing.”

Fenris stared at her. Hawke stared back, her expression back to her base expression of neutral geniality. Something shattered in the room behind her and she squeezed the door even more tightly closed along her side, smiling broadly. 

“What—”

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly, “But if you wouldn’t mind doing me one teeny tiny favor…”

Fenris’s armored hand tapped a rhythm along his thigh while he thought, but at last he rolled his eyes again. 

“I’ll save us both the trouble of the story you’ll concoct to convince me. What is it?” 

“Oh, Fenris, thank you!” she cried, bouncing onto the balls of her feet just enough that all of her jiggled faintly. He averted his eyes, clearing his throat. 

“Don’t. If you’re going to send me on some other fool’s errand, there’d better be something good at the end of it.”

“I promise there is,” Hawke said, taking a half-step forward and lifting her arm. 

She caught herself just in time—and he hated that even after all these years he could still watch her decide not to try to embrace him anymore. She changed the motion at the last minute, awkwardly fumbling a note from her pocket. 

“Last one, I swear it,” she said, pressing a hand over her chest. Fenris didn’t answer. He just took the page from her hand, rolling his eyes again, and walked away. 

But he was back now, nearly an hour later, and he swore if she asked him to fetch her one more thing he was going home to work on his reading. Anything would be better than climbing all the steps to Lowtown one more time. 

He lifted his armored hand, knocking on the door and noting the slight scratches in the paint precisely at the height he always knocked. Lovely. He supposed he’d have to account for that at some point. Or—perhaps he could start knocking with the other hand instead. Would she even notice if—

The door swung open, revealing the highly decorated room beyond and Hawke, wrapped in a red dress that was downright cruel to look at so close. Why would she—

“Surprise!” a room full of people whisper-yelled. 

“I—” Fenris began, the heavy bag still hanging from one hand, “What…is this?”

“It’s our birthday!” she said cheerfully, snatching the bag from his hand and walking away, “Or, well—it’s the sixth anniversary of the day you arrived in Kirkwall, best I can tell. I’m pretty sure you were the last of us to get here, which means this is the day we were all in one place!”

“What…?” Fenris stepped inside hurriedly, shutting the door behind him and grimacing at the living room beyond. 

“Well,” she said, handing off the bag to Isabela, who extracted three bottles of wine from inside and wandered off again, “None of the rest of you ever do the fancy parties with me at the Viscount’s Keep—”

“I seem to remember differently, Hawke,” Varric said, walking past with several glasses in each hand, “Have you forgotten that disaster of a Summersend party?”

“Varric, why do you think I’m wearing this dress again? It deserves better than the Summersend party to remember it by, doesn’t it? Now shoo, the table still isn’t ready.”

The dwarf sighed, walking away again, and she went on. 

“Save Varric and Sebastian, none of the rest of you ever get to go up there. I know you’ve a taste for the finer things, so I thought you’d enjoy a more sedate version. It’s just for fun, really. Window dressing. I mostly wanted to get everyone together and…well. It can be whatever you want, really. I planned for us to play cards somewhere that smells better than the Hanged Man, but if you prefer something else I can arrange that. ”

Indeed, all of them were dressed more finely than was normal for them, even when they weren’t planning on hauling themselves to some horrible fight or another. Isabela was in a dress that nearly matched her usual things, save the delicacy of the cloth and the addition of blue embroidery around the hem. Donnic wore a dress uniform, Varric and Sebastian were in tailored doublets, and…

Hawke in her scarlet gown, the lace hardly a barrier to the decolletage below. She had gold along her ears, hanging in drops from the lobe, and in the pins that barely held her curls in place. When she waved Varric off, it shone lustrous along her fingers, in the bracelet clasped around one wrist. Fancy, she’d said; it seemed an understatement to him, if not an outright lie. She seemed made of finer stuff than fancy could possibly describe.

“Don’t worry,” Hawke whispered, leaning close enough that Fenris could smell the faint hint of that perfume she always wore, “I got you something, too.”

“Is this not the gift?” Fenris asked, frowning at the room. 

He’d expected some kind of joke, but nothing like…well. This. 

“Oh,” she said brightly, “Yes and no! I meant that I found you some clothes, too, if you like. I laid them out in my room—not that you have to wear them. I mean you look—”

“No, I’ll…look,” he said, to prevent her from saying whatever it was she’d been about to say, and for a moment they stood and looked at each other. 

Foolish. Dangerous. Best to get moving. 

Fenris cleared his throat and walked away, heading for the stairs and her bedroom beyond. He hadn’t been in here since…since she’d recovered from her battle with the Arishok, he supposed. She’d been in a bad way then, and the room had been thick with the smell of sickness and blood. 

Now, it was lit by the sunset and the fire in the hearth, the room smelling of sage and anise, as she often did. The bed was made—a product of her maid, he assumed, because Hawke was steadfastly messy—and her clothes were neatly shut in her armoire. There was, in fact, a length of black cloth laid out on the trunk at the foot of her bed and Fenris crossed to it, his feet silent over the rug covering the hardwood. 

The fabric was soft in his hands, though sturdy enough. Parts of the lapels were stiff with silver embroidery that glimmered faintly when he angled it to and fro. He considered it for a moment, ignoring that part of him, deep but tenacious, that still flinched at touching fine things. 

Well—even if he hated it, he owed it to her to at least try the things on. 

They fit shockingly well, just slightly loose over his inner bicep as he preferred, for the lyrium was most tender there. Even the leggings, woven of some faintly stretchy fabric, looped just so under the arch of his foot. He’d truly intended to try them and then put his armor back on, but now…it seemed a shame to waste something so comfortable.

Even if he hadn’t asked for it. 

Several minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Fenris turned, still fastening the last of the silver toggles along the front of the surcoat. 

“Yes?” Fenris said, and the door cracked open. It was Hawke—of course it was—and one brown eye gleamed through the doorway, lit by the last of the sunset through the window. 

“Does it fit?” she asked. He spread his arms—not sure what he’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been for her to open the door, slide through, and shut it behind her. 

The fabric of her scarlet gown rustled when she crossed to him, the lace over the top of the bodice stark in contrast to her skin and the red of the silk velvet. Foolish, that he’d immediately recognized the exact shade of red; he wore it around his wrist every day, but that was no excuse. Hawke certainly hadn’t bought the thing to match that. 

“You look very…” she began and, uncharacteristically, stumbled over the next word. He should’ve said something, perhaps, and left—but Fenris waited instead. 

“Handsome,” she said finally, in a whisper, and reached up to touch the embroidery along his shoulder, “Black suits you.”

“Does it?” he asked, looking down. He didn’t move away from the touch, for all that he could barely feel it through the various layers of fabric. 

“Yes,” she said, and, with some of her more usual brightness, “But you know that, of course.” 

She’d moved too close. There were boundaries; there were lines they couldn’t—shouldn’t—cross now. They always kept a careful distance, always several steps away unless one of them was wounded, and they were never, ever in a closed room alone together. Not anymore—not for years now. 

But here they were now; and after everything with Danarius, with Varania…it did not feel as dangerous, as tight in his chest, to be alone with her now. There were words that they owed each other, explanations and apologies, but for the moment he could almost convince himself that such things had already happened at some distant point in the past, that she still felt the same for him as she had three years ago before he’d left her alone in this very room. 

Maria—Hawke—cleared her throat and tilted her round chin up. 

“Happy birthday,” she said, and Fenris scoffed. 

“Don’t laugh,” she said sternly, the corner of her mouth twitching, “Or I won’t give you any of the fancy wine I had smuggled in from Antiva.”

Fenris shook his head at her, but caught her hand when she began to turn away. It was warm against his, callused and scarred and wonderfully hers. He hadn’t felt her without the barrier of armor between them since…well. 

“Hawke,” he said, and she turned to look at him, her face limned golden with firelight, soft and half-laughing. It took effort, but he managed to clear his throat and go on. 

“Thank you,” he said, and he’d meant to say more: thank you for the clothes. Thank you for the party. Thank you for allowing me to stay. But he did not; he let the words fall without specificity instead, and Hawke smiled. 

“My pleasure,” she said, and, “Come on, before Isabela eats all the cake.” 

He didn’t untangle his fingers from his until he had to; just let her tow him on, down the stairs and into the noise and light of the room beyond. 

In the end, especially after tasting the wine, even Fenris had to admit: the party was worth the annoyance of the tasks that’d come before. Her obvious pleasure in his enjoyment was worth even more—not that he would admit so aloud. 

Not yet, anyway.

(For day 4 of @14daysdalovers: A Fool's Errand.)

[marshsano]

I’m definitely NOT going to do all of the prompts because of midterms, but i really want to practice couple stuff (and i need an excuse to draw my inquisitor and dorian) sooooo!

day one: hart! (I am found out about this last night so a tad bit late)

@14daysdalovers

[ninapedia]

13. Ravish

“Given my druthers I would say I prefer a soft and shapely woman...“

- Zevran Arainai

Starting out with a bang for @14daysdalovers my other pieces probably won’t be as polished because I’m having art difficulties lately but i do like how this one came out!

[smashingpigeons]

@14daysdalovers day 1: Hart

*shuffles in 9 days late with a Dutch Bros*

I have absolutely 100% not been in a good headspace for actually quite a long time but I guess I’ll come out of my hole for these two 😂 this is probably the only piece I’ll end up doing for this years event but we’ll see.

Happy 14 Days guys!!! I’ve thoroughly enjoyed all that I’ve seen! Keep up the fantastic work!

(Referenced the art “la Belle Dame sans Merci” cause I have not had a single original thought in my head 🤣)

[juniemoe]

unfold.

fandom: dragon age.

rating: explicit. minors dni.

pairing: fenris/male hawke.

word count: 3,074

A/N: written for @14daysdalovers​ for the day 6 prompt “encourage”. 

The second time they sleep together, they are in the Amell estate again, and Hawke is more careful, perhaps even a little guarded with his affections.

His hands are hesitant when they glide across Fenris' naked skin, his mouth is soft but kisses slower than the last time it touched Fenris' own. When he presses Fenris against the mattress of his bed, he leans on his elbows to leave space between them.

"I don't want to be too much too soon," Hawke tells him when Fenris questions it, sheepish, as if that could scare Fenris somehow away.

Nothing can anymore. There's nothing he wants more than to be by Hawke's side. Fenris is his. Whole-heartedly.

Hawke told him he loved him last time they did this. Fenris didn't stop thinking about those words for three wretched years filled with longing so profound that it left him emotionally bleeding like an enemy's sliced throat. Fenris never stopped wanting Hawke in this way, and seeing him so uncertain nicks a loaf out of his heart that has been preserved for this one man since they met, even if he didn't know that at the time.

He was a fool three years ago and he will be damned if he lets Hawke doubt for a second that he hasn't missed him with every fiber of his soul.

"Hawke," he says now, holding Hawke's beloved face between his palms as they watch each other, "you couldn't be. I'm… I'm yours," he says willingly as a free man and something softens in Hawke's insecure expression.

[ ♥ read in ao3 ]

[coryfirelion]

Day 1: Hart :3

Am I the only one that used to read Hart as Heart? (non native english speaker issues :v) Anyways, this picture is available for download for phone wallpaper :3

@14daysdalovers :3

[shanaraharlyah]

Chant

I'm having a hard time focusing on writing right now, but I wanted to share the piece I had been working on for this years 14 Days of Dragon Age Lovers prompts before the month is out.

After a long day on the road again, Sarovanya settles down with Leliana and asks her to share more of what she knows about the Maker and the Chant of Light. Leliana happily obliges, singing a version of the chant she'd learned as a lay sister.

Setup and rendered in DAZ Studio 4.21. Postwork in Photoshop Elements 8.0.

@14daysdalovers

[perlen-gold]

In the Darkness of the Night

😊 Even though I wrote this last July it was still for a 14daysdalovers event so I guess it’s ok to show this now again 😳 Prompt: Captured for @14daysdalovers​ Pairing: fenhawke Once upon a night ashore In the dunnest of the dark The moon in shroud, its glance so bore No silver arch upon its spark, Gloom’ness veiled its eye so bright In the darkness of the night.

Shadows roamed the air around, Ghostly wraiths upon my heel Hieing swift, obscured, unbound, Thralls to blackness’ endless wheel. Thus I stumbled sought of sight In the ponders of the night.

Sudden, as of lightning clapping, As of thunders whispering far Came a rustling, raking, racking, Embers written into scar – this I harkened, stone and bite, In the pitches of the night.

Wary closer drew my soles, Coal-cool curtains slith’ring by T’where midnight deeply spun its shoals, Threads to strings to noirest dye, A tipping, tapping, recondite In the silence of the night.

Halting twixt the webbing woven Stepped I stepping into nil To behold gloom all but cloven By a knife-beaked pennon will, He whose wings the skies would smite In the fetters of the night.

As in shattered minds I stood The ink-glossed bird with flaming coin Released its stare, seared down its hood Where forging sun and waters join For fell and beaut’ous deadal light In the trembles of the night.

Fending I recoiled, for light And I had parted paths, and sworn – Thunderstrokes, of theirs and mine, despite Grazing each embowering thorn – Thus I stumbled but in fright In the irons of the night.

Yet, as soon his spear of gold pierced my lashes’ blinking flight, His wings began to beat the hold Against dark knots and not a mite! Near I stepped his bonds to fight, In the velvet of the night.

Yet, asudden, just as my Obisidian hand would touch his prison He burgeoned wild and with a cry His wings in hurricanes had risen – Gasping I beheld his flight In the spirals of the night.

And then, as flotsam floated onto Shore in night-tide, pitch-tormented Surf-shade-scented sea, he, drawn to me, my right arm, fluttered, Flew the hawk, to settle tight In the tossing of the night.

To my skin his talons clasped, His eye of auric keenly set, Flinching did I view what grasped This brazen bird for me to fret, And flung my arm to hurl his might Into the blackness of the night.

His claws but held, his hold unbroken No matter how I fought to free From his grip, his gilt-etched token, Furnace, fire, jesting me, And in his gold my scars burnt bright In the tempest of the night.

Last, at last my strength prevailed And I flung him from me wide Up the eesome peril sailed Into depths’ and darkness’ hide! Running ran I from his sight – The foeman of my heart, abide – In the pursuit of the night.

Long I wandered, night ashore, Soul, mine seared with gold and ghost, Ever, anon, shadows bore A feather’s shadow at the most. Till finite, ignite, to aright In the blindness of the night

Did rise through midnight’s sea my hand! And swift, so swift he came to me, Caressed his gilt-gold my maimed land. And we wandered, firm and light, In the darkest, waning night.

[nirikeehan]

Heeeeeeey! Happy Friday! How about a prompt? For Blackwall/Thalia, Longing or Tangled from the 14 Days of DA Lovers list. Hope the muse talks to you on this one!

Happy Friday, Ocean! I def looked at this one and thought, "Why not both?"

For @dadrunkwriting and @14daysdalovers

WC: 983

---

Thalia had thought she would simply take a stroll outside of the Hinterlands camp in which they’d settled for the evening. She hadn’t counted on the foliage being so thick she would have to beat it back with both hands. As she fought her way through, a spindly branch snagged her hair where she had braided it back from her temple. Every time she attempted to free herself, her scalp seized with pain. Exasperation turned to fear in the deepening dusk.

“Help!” She sounded pitiful and embarrassed; she was both. 

“My lady?” 

Relief flooded her. “Warden Blackwall.” She had not strayed so far from camp that her companions could not hear. 

A lumbering silhouette crashed through the underbrush. “Are you hurt?” His voice, low and velvety despite its gruffness, made her pulse quicken. 

“No, no. It’s silly, really. It’s— my hair.”  

A large man formed out of the shadows. Thalia shot him a grateful grin. “I don’t know know how it happened, but it’s just really stuck.” She pointed to her head.

“Hold still.” Blackwall rose to his full height, resting one hand on her shoulder.  “Let me see.” 

Thalia’s heart beat faster. She stood eye level with his shoulder; his sleeve had been stitched in place with an inexpert hand. Blackwall possessed the look of a man who had been on the road for many moons. This made sense, though she wondered if the Grey Wardens hurt for coin so badly that they couldn’t afford their recruiter a new doublet. 

She swallowed, the sound of his measured breath filling her ears. “Is it terrible?”

“Not so much. Though it’ll be tricky to get you out, unless someone’s brought a pair of scissors.”

“I couldn’t,” Thalia cried, horrified. “Highborn girls aren’t supposed to cut their hair. Not in Ostwick, anyway. I know we’re not in Ostwick anymore, but I—”

“It’s all right, my lady.” Blackwall’s hand moved to her chin, steadying her. “I rather like your hair the way it is, anyway.” 

A thrill shot down her spine. Thalia stared up at him, shocked by the familiarity of his gesture. His face betrayed nothing, though he dropped his hand and slid behind her. “I think I can get it out on my own.”

“Good. That’s good.” Thalia felt the quake in her voice, but hoped he couldn’t hear it.

“I’ll need to remove my gloves to work properly. Is that all right?”

Now he asks for permission to touch me? Thalia swallowed. Maybe he realized his mistake after all. Not that she minded.

She felt his breath stirring the wisps of hair at the nape of her neck. She suppressed a shiver. “Of course.” Thalia tried to make her voice sound older, more authoritative. Like a woman used to the attention of a man. She squared her shoulders.

She listened to the rustle of fabric, and then his fingers were in her hair. Thalia inhaled sharply. The warmth of his fingers bled into her scalp, and his light touch sent tingles through her skull. 

“If I’m hurting you, just say so.” 

“Okay.” She hated her own voice, soft and meek, like a child. 

How would he ever think of her as an equal, if she continued to get into trivial scrapes like this one? Even her protest about her hair — how frivolous could she be? She imagined Blackwall among his fellow Wardens, in the company of fierce warrior women who weren’t vain about the length of their hair. She chewed her lip, wondering what Blackwall’s life had been like before meeting her. 

His fingers threaded the strands of her hair, picking at a tangle she could feel at the top of her head. She felt no pain, just tension as he worked. He smelled of the smoke from tonight’s cookfire, a musky undertone she couldn’t place. Was that just what men smelled like? She’d never really been close enough to one to tell. 

“How’s it going?” she asked nervously. 

Blackwall grunted. “Not as well as I’d hoped. Don’t move.” 

He put his hands on her shoulders and moved in front of her. “I might have to do something drastic.”

“O-oh?”

“Do you trust me?” His eyes met hers. Under his thick brows, they bore into hers. They reminded her of the sea by the Ostwick Circle Tower when it threatened to storm: a deep, impenetrable grey.

Thalia stared up at him, swallowing hard. “Of course, Warden Blackwall.” 

He leaned over her, holding her back steady with one hand. With the other, he seized the branch above her head and twisted violently. With a sickening crack, the branch snapped in twain. Thalia was able to stand upright, mobility returned. “That was— incredible.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” It took another minute for him to untangle her from the now disembodied branch, but at last, she was free. Blackwall tossed the branch to the ground. It surprised her how sizable it was — one she might have dared to put her weight on, if she’d been climbing the tree. 

“Your strength is commendable, ser.” Thalia ducked her head, blushing. 

Blackwall shrugged. “Everyone’s good at something, I expect.” 

She pressed her fingers into her hair, feeling the braid that had been entrapped pulled loose and unsightly. She had an urge to let her hair down and redo each plait — but that would be scandalous to do in front of a man like the warden. She pulled the braid loose and tucked it behind her ear. 

Blackwall watched with intense interest. Thalia swallowed, all too aware they were alone together in the darkening wilderness. “I would be grateful if you escorted me back to camp now.” 

“As you wish, my lady.” He gave her a curt bow. She liked that about him; he always remembered his courtesies to a noblewoman. “This way.”

She followed him back to camp. She suspected she would follow him almost anywhere, given the chance. 

[knuttydraws]

It sings again. --- The first of several prompts that I chose to celebrate this year's @14daysdalovers event! To no one’s surprise, this year im focusing on the pairing that is circling around my brain 24/7. We’re starting a bit angsty, but I promise it’s going to get fluffier! Please remember that Farie Lavellan is not an Inquisitor.

[bumblerhizal-art]

For Day 7 of @14daysdalovers: Tangled

Early in the morning, Novhen Tabris asks to comb Morrigan's hair for her.

Morrigan x Male Tabris; Mildly NSFW (Nudity)

[shivunin]

To the Last Drop

(Maria Hawke/Fenris | 1,682 Words | No warnings)

It wasn’t that Fenris had never seen liquid lyrium in use. 

Obviously, that wasn’t the case. The mages of the Imperium had always made sure it was in reach, of course, and Hawke and the other two kept it on hand whenever they expected a brawl. He’d seen empty vials of it tossed aside mid-fight, seen it sipped from the finest gold goblets, passed from mouth to mouth in intimate moments—yes, Fenris had seen plenty of lyrium in use. 

He wished it weren’t the case, though. Because if he was unfamiliar with it, that might explain the way he couldn’t seem to help watching Hawke when she drank it down. 

Unfortunately, it was not novelty but something else entirely that kept his eyes on her lips, pressed to the glass, on the long line of her throat when she tipped her head back to finish the draught. 

On…on her tongue, when she traced it over her full lower lip to gather up any loose drops. 

“Ready?” Isabela asked, twirling a dagger in one hand absently, “I’ve an itch I need to scratch.”

“Oh?” Hawke said, laughing, her head still half-back. She was all but a silhouette to him, standing near the top of a hill while he leaned against a boulder at the bottom. 

“Again?” Merrill asked, peering at the Rivaini, “Is it the one under your shoulder blade that you can never reach? D’you want me to try—”

“No, no,” Isabela laughed, slinging an arm over the elf’s shoulders, “Not that kind of itch, Kitten.”

“Oh,” Merrill said, as the two began to wander back toward the road, “I thought…” 

Fenris had already stopped paying attention to them. Hawke was looking at him, one arm stretched across her bountiful chest, her head angled to the side. Fenris pushed off of the boulder and made his way very deliberately up the last rise. He stopped a decent distance away—he knew because he was measuring the space between them very carefully in his mind—and went on looking at her. 

He’d intended to say something. He knew he’d intended to stay something. 

Hawke eyed him carefully, then stretched the other arm across her chest, wincing faintly. She only ever did that when he was the sole observer—and yes, he only knew this because he was so often watching her—but Fenris could find no reason for it. 

Under other circumstances, he might think she was trying to get something from him. For anyone else, he would be right. But this: that he was the only one she allowed to bind her wounds, aside from the healer; that he was the one she balanced herself with when she was limping or woozy from blood loss. Fenris could not understand it, and he dare not ask. The obvious explanation—that she still trusted him after everything else that had happened—was simply beyond consideration. 

There had to be a reason. If she were anyone else, he thought with a sense of dissatisfaction, he would almost certainly ask.

“Stiff?” he asked gruffly, tapping the fingers of one hand against his thigh. 

Maria—her given name, not that anyone ever used it; Fenris only thought of her thus because she’d gasped it into his ear that night three years ago, told him not to call her Hawke while—

Nevermind. 

Hawke sighed and her mouth turned down at the corners in an exaggerated pout.

“I’m getting old, Fenris,” she said, so woefully that he almost believed her for a moment, “I feel it in my bones. Soon, I’ll only ever talk about…oh, gout and how young folk these days never know how to treat their elders.”

“You could have just said no,” he told her sternly, but the corner of his mouth lifted faintly. She must have seen it, for her lips curled up in answer, even as she lifted her eyes dolefully to the sky. 

“No, Fenris, you don’t understand,” she said, and set the back of her hand against her forehead, “Who will chase mercenaries all over these hills when I can’t hobble after them? Soon I shall be all wrinkles and white hair and—”

“And still look just as—” 

Fenris bit the end of the sentence off before he could make the fatal mistake of speaking it aloud, but both of them froze anyway. 

And still look just as lovely as you do now. 

The words hovered on his tongue for a moment, kept caged behind his teeth, and it was a force of will not to say the words aloud. 

They’d only made it this far by pretending it—that night—had never happened. Three years, nearly, and they were both still here together. That first night at cards in the Hanged Man, Fenris had hesitated at the door, abruptly itchy everywhere, as if the air itself were anathema to him. He’d thought to leave, to prevent the inevitable discomfort, but she….

She’d met his eyes and scooted over, nudging Isabela with her, clearing room at the other end of the table. So…so he’d know he still had a place there, even if it wasn’t at her side. Fenris thought he might be grateful to her for that forever, no matter what else happened between the two of them. How strange, not to realize how much having a place of one’s own meant until one faced down the possibility of losing it permanently.

“Well,” Hawke said after a moment, blinking first and lowering her eyes, “In any case, maybe I’ll be lucky and go bald. I cannot believe I forgot to tie all this up before I left the manor this morning. The wind is wreaking absolute havoc.”

“I can—” Fenris began, then winced inwardly. 

He could, in fact, help with that; it wouldn’t be the first time he’d tied someone else’s hair up, nor the first time he’d done it for her—but those had been simpler times. 

“If you have a bit of leather, or…anything, I can manage,” she said. 

Fenris’s fingers touched her token, still tied around his wrist, but he would not part with it—not even for the sake of her comfort. He reached into his pocket instead and retrieved a loose bit of leather he’d intended to tame his own hair with in case the weather turned. He despised the way wet hair stuck to one’s skin, and he’d endured it several times too many on these outings to the coast. The leather ought to be long enough for her hair, too, if he plaited it first.

“Turn,” he told her, his voice thicker than he would have liked, and she turned without a word. 

Fenris gathered the bounty of her hair in his hands, untangling several knots as carefully as possible. It seemed to cling to his fingers, twining around the joints, black against the pale blue lyrium that lined his skin. It had looked like that three years ago, too, had tangled around him just so when he’d tilted her head back over his hand to kiss down the length of her neck. It had felt like this draped over his chest when he’d combed his fingers through it after, and—

“Are you coming down from there anytime soon?” Isabela demanded from the bottom of the hill, and Fenris realized he’d been combing his fingers through Maria’s hair without moving onto the next step. For how long? Her chest rose and fell too quickly, as if she’d just climbed a very steep hill, but that was…probably just exertion. 

Fenris let his eyes focus again on her dark curls, pulling them into a simple plait down the middle while she answered Isabela. They were laughing about something—not him; it sounded different when Hawke was laughing about him—so all must be well enough. He finished the braid, tied it off as intended, and then he just…stood there, holding the end of her thick hair. 

It was soft as silk between his fingers, shiny as a raven’s wing and dark against the brown of his hands, against the pale blue of the lyrium that thrummed beneath his skin like a second heartbeat. Hawke was underneath his skin, too, in her way; and it was all the worse for knowing it had all been his choice. That having and leaving her had been his choice. And for all the times Fenris had wished he could forget what her skin had felt like, how she’d sounded when—

Well.

For all he’d wished he could forget, he was deeply, deeply grateful that he could still remember every second of it. What would he be if this, too, had been taken from him? He did not wish to consider it.

“Finished?” Hawke asked, turning her head. 

There was a faint quiver to her bottom lip that made him want to press his thumb to it, but he did not. He hadn’t the right. 

Fenris didn’t move at all. He just stood, and looked, and wished. 

Finished, she’d asked.

“I am…not certain,” Fenris told her. 

Hawke’s fingers found the end of the braid, tested the leather tie, but her attention was on him. He could tell; one could always tell when Hawke’s full attention was fixed on them. 

“Are you?” he finished, the words nearly carried off by the wind. She opened her mouth to answer and—

“Let’s go,” Isabela called from the other side of the hill, “I have plans for tonight that don’t include murder!”

Hawke turned, shaking her head at the words, but for a moment—just a moment—her hand brushed against Fenris’s, the warmth of her fingers barely felt between the joints of his armor. As she set off down the hill, the hand she’d touched curled into a fist, tight enough to dig into his palm, and flexed loose again. 

Fenris set off after her, eyes carefully on the steep ground ahead, but a careful observer might have been able to note the color in his cheeks, and the matching red that spilled over Hawke’s. 

It was unfortunate, then, that Varric had not come with them that day—for there was nobody present who would notice such things at all.

(For @14daysdalovers, Day 5: Lyrium. In case anyone is keeping track, this was about a week before the party ficlet I posted yesterday c: )

[marshsano]

day six: encourage!

the idea of taegan sending dorian on missions with a bit of encouragement had me in TEARS, so I had to go all out for it. this took me like a week though because of midterms, so that was fun.

@14daysdalovers