#also like if you've read the rest of the series brosca is in a committed relationship with alistair

[silhouetteofagirl]

Quandary (from a Study in Synonyms)

Just as a general headcanon, I feel like dwarves use both tattoos and piercings as markers. But I'm very much of the opinion that piercings are a very class based thing and that casteless get theirs by taking them from upper castes (that or being a noble hunter and getting them to be alluring. Kinda like their whole golden teeth thing.)

Just as a general content warning: hella body piercings and supposed-to-be-but-not-quite-platonic touching of said piercings. Also pining, lots of pining.

Read on AO3

The dust has mostly settled after the siege, the dead have been buried, and the worst of the rubble has been cleared.  Still, their days are busy between the repairs, her duties as Warden-Commander, and the general mayhem left after the fight.  Her province had rallied behind her, as weird as it was to think she has a province to rally behind her, so there is no shortage of people willing to help out in exchange for a warm meal. But still, it is nice to find a quiet moment on a quiet night to just be Sigyn and not Warden-Commander or Arlessa.  So she is pleased to find the time sit with Sigrun on the roof of a tower on such a clear night.  

She isn’t entirely sure if the path she had found was supposed to be used or was merely a forgotten, cramped hallway leading to nowhere particularly useful, but it had led her to the roof which allowed for privacy.  Between the two of them, they have gotten through most of a bottle of mead that had been left alone by Oghren.  The alcohol sits inside her, but for once it feels warm instead of feeling like a dead weight.

“So, wait, explain this to me again,” Sigrun is saying as she leans close so they have a similar line of sight.  “Those six stars are supposed to represent a sword?”

“Of mercy, I believe.  It’s called Judas.  Jadeux? Something like that,” Sigyn replies, glancing at Sigrun.  The pale moonlight makes Sigrun look much paler than usual, though she is starting to develop a very light tan and, much to Sigyn’s delight, a few freckles.

“But why?” Sigrun asks.

“No idea, just something they give meaning to.” Sigyn shrugs and takes another swing of the mead.  “Why do brands mean what they do? Someone put meaning into our marks.”

“The surface really changed you, didn’t it?” Sigrun’s face looks thoughtful.

“Sunshine, dogs, seasons? How could it not?” Sigrun gestures for the bottle.

She nods her thanks when Sigyn passes it.  “Not that, although I am curious about this winter thing, but being a duster, being casteless, and then coming to the surface.  That changed you.”

“Perhaps, but how could it not?” Sigyn asks. 

“It all puts it in perspective.  My ancestors may have done some wrong, but these marks are meaningless to humans and elves.  And now I’m a warrior caste, even though my mark will always state otherwise.  It makes it hard to believe we are our brands.”

“I suppose that makes sense.  But if there is nothing wrong with being a duster on the surface, why not be proud of our collective heritage?”

Sigyn scoffs, “I have some pride; I keep my trophies.”

Sigrun shakes her head and says before taking a sip, “What? You have trophies?”

“Oh.” Sigyn pauses, “I guess I haven’t been wearing them out.”

“See what I’m saying?” Sigrun gestures as she hands the bottle back to her.  “If you are a duster, why not be proud of it here? Where no one truly knows what they mean?”

“Because all of them would intimidate the tall folk.” Sigyn brings the bottle to her lips.

“Yes!” she says brightly; she’s so bright it almost hurts at times.  “And then when they learn what they mean, let them be really scared.”

“I have a lot.” Sigyn says, leaning forward to rest her head on a fist.

“And I would love to see you wear all of them,” she says softly, leaning into her space.

Sigyn tries to ignore the way her heart flutters at the admittance.  She stands before she can second guess herself and offers a hand to Sigrun to help her to her feet.  “All right, come with me.  But, I did warn you.”

They walk quickly down the tight set of stairs that lead them to the living quarters.  There are a few places where there are holes in the walls from the attack, although most are covered in canvas.  Thankfully the weather is fair enough that the holes offer no real inconvenience to anyone unless they happen to sleep walk.  But it is late enough that the halls are fairly empty; though they come across Anders at one point.  He’s carrying a purring Ser Pounce-A-Lot in his arms and he gives them a knowing look.  They exchange a few pleasantries before Sigrun kisses Ser Pounce-A-Lot and then dramatically kisses Anders’ hand when he pouts comically.  Then they continue on their way.

“Woah, you weren't kidding about the size of this room.” Sigrun says in awe when they enter Sigyn’s chambers.

“Yes.” Sigyn frowns, “I hate it.”

“Why?” Sigrun asks as she spins around slowly, taking in the room.  Half of it is more of an office space, lined with bookshelves with a large desk covered with neat stacks of untouched papers that faces a fireplace that serves as a divider of the two spaces.  In front of each of the hearths are sets of plush chairs and the other side of the room holds a large bed, a few chests, a small mirror.  “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s too big for just me.” She leads Sigrun past the fireplace.

“Is that why you have so many pillows?” she asks in a teasing tone.

“I spent the last year with my mabari for all of it and Alistair for most of it.  Rica and I shared a bed— it feels too big.” She clears her throat and goes to one of the chests.  “Anyway, this wasn't what we were here for.”

“Right! Let me see them!” Sigyn chuckles at her enthusiasm as she pulls out a small pouch from the chest.  Sigrun has perched on the bed and looks excited.  Her back is to the fire, so her tattoos almost look sinister, yet Sigyn finds herself having to swallow to try to push her heart back from where it has tried to leap.  She crosses to the bed and dumps out the contents of the bag onto the bed spread, the amalgamation of jewelry creating a small pile.  Sigrun lets out an impressed breath.  “You must have pissed off a lot of people.”

“You could say that.” She chuckles.  She goes to the wall and unhooks the small mirror before returning to the bed.  She sits across from her and waits as Sigrun looks over each piece of jewelry.

Then Sigrun looks up and smiles, “Well, don’t tease! Put them in!” She holds out a plain gold hoop.

Sigyn frowns, “It’s—” she searches for words but can’t come up with any,

“I want to see how beautiful you are with every victory you have won worn proudly,” Sigrun says earnestly and Sigyn can only nod silently and take the hoop.  She inclines her head to the mirror and Sigrun lets out a quiet ‘oh!’ and holds it up for her.

She opens the ring and slips it over her lip.  It’s one of Alistair’s favorite for a variety of reasons, “Taken from a silent sister, my second time in the proving”.  Sigyn has to cross eyes to see exactly where the ring was supposed to go.  Sigrun chuckles and she grants that she must look a bit silly.  But after a few moments, it slides in and she twists it through.

She picks up a stud and a hoop made of silver that have matching onyx accents.  “Twins, same proving, counted as one opponent, I still took both.”  Sigrun moves the mirror so she can slip the stud in through her ear.  The nose ring takes a bit longer and she has to turn at one point to sneeze because it tickles.

“How did these not close? I’ve never seen you wear them,” Sigrun asks as Sigyn fiddles to close the ring.

“I wear them.  Not all at once and not out often.” There is a soft click and she smiles triumphantly.  The silver bar goes across the shell of her ear, a large bronze hoop goes through the hole in her conch and hugs her helix,  a series of small gold rings go down the helix of her other ear, two small curved bars go under her eyebrow so just the ends stick out, and finally she relaxes her face as she slips a gold bar through her bridge.  With each one, she tells a bit of its history and Sigrun chuckles in delight when she hears about the delicate hanging earring.  “I rarely wear this one, but I actually took it off a human.”

“That must have been a shock to them.” she says and Sigyn just smiles wickedly.  Finally, there is nothing but a long curved silver bar that looks similar to the two bars she has in her eyebrow.  “Where—?” She starts to ask, but the question gets caught in her throat as Sigyn starts to pull her shirt over her head.

“Is this alright? You did say you wanted to— I'm sorry.”

Sigyn lowers her shirt, but Sigrun shakes her head vigorously, “No! I’m okay, please continue.”

Worn shirt and warm chest bindings fall to a pile on the floor next to the bed.  There is a quiet moment that passes as they sit and just look at each other.  Sigyn’s brown skin is laid bare between them in the firelight, a bar through each nipple.  Then Sigyn glances down to pick up the curved rod, removes the gem from one end, and slowly presses into the valley between her breasts.  She winces and has to try a few times, but finally, the length of it sits underneath her skin so only the decorative ends rest above.

“Beautiful.” Sigrun murmurs, eyes traveling over her chest and up to her face.  Sigyn flushes but straightens her back.  Sigrun lifts a hand and pauses, “May I?”

She nods and Sigrun traces over the bar between her breasts, up her neck to run a hand along the shell of her ear, across her forehead, pausing at each eyebrow piercing and tapping her bridge, down the other to finally trace from her bridge, down her nose to rest warm fingers on her lips.  Sigyn shivers despite the warmth of the room as the world stills.  The flickering of the fire casts Sigrun’s face in shadow and she cannot tell what Sigrun is feeling, but Sigyn silently damns her own body as it continues to flush.  The moment hangs between them and her heart skips a beat.

Sigrun removes her hand as if she had been burned and Sigyn shakes her head to clear it.  “I should go,” Sigrun stammers as she scrambles to get off the bed.  Sigyn nods a bit too vigorously.

“It’s late.” She agrees as she slips off the bed to grab her shirt to hastily put it back on.

“Thanks for showing me.” Sigrun stumbles over her words as she makes her way to the door.  Sigyn merely nods, not trusting her words.  “Have a good night, Commander.” While normally her use of this title is a friendly jab, this time it hits Sigyn like a wall.

“You too,” she says, words feeling weak.  The door clicks behind the other dwarf and she is left alone.  Sigyn swallows a few times before she goes to remove her jewelry.  She only manages to remove the dangling earring before she has to stop.  There’s a lump in her throat that won’t go away.  She swallows again.  She wants.

She wants.

Sigyn looks at her too large room, her too large bed, and she wants and she misses.  She wipes away a tear, then two, then three, until she choking on her sobs.

She wants and she misses.  She misses her dog trying to crush her and take over the bed.  She misses Alistair’s soft snores and quiet murmurs in his sleep.  She misses waking up sweating because she’s too warm from being sandwiched between the two.  She wants them back to make her feel less small and make this room feel less suffocating.  She wants them.

But she also wants her.  Wants to trace every line of her tattoos.  Wants to make dwarven curses and blessings fall from her lips.  Wants to make her blush just as badly as she makes her blush.

Sigyn wants and misses and wants and cries.