#and i had a 2+ year 30.000+ word thread where garrett and anders developed Feelings and it was a huge part of my developing his character so

[fellheros]

📚

meme: send 📚 for a drabble of an event from my muse’s past.

Kirkwall was a city of chaos. The markets were alive with goods from across the world, the docks a confusion of ships coming and going by the hundreds, and the streets a melding of many peoples from many cultures. It was condemned for its destitution and celebrated for its resplendence; praised for a righteous populace, and infamous for its criminal underground. Kirkwall was a city of conflict— but on that day, it was a city of cheer.

The Midsummer Festival had come. Once an ancient observance of the solstice, it was a time to celebrate life at its fullest, when everyone in the city came out to make merry under the blazing sun. The markets overflowed with flowers and food and bright–colored goods. Plazas filled with people performing; singers and storytellers and amateur minstrels. Average folk would strum a lute or start to dance and soon have a gaping, gleeful audience. Food was fresh and abundant, shared between friends and neighbors and strangers alike. Women dressed in light, flowing clothes and children ran naked through the streets. And all the while the air shimmered with the intense summer heat; ripples in a dreamlike vision of beauty and bliss.

Isabela was at home in the whirl of uproarious festivities, weaving effortlessly through the crowd as she led Anders through the winding streets. The woman shepherded him along, hanging from his arm, with one hand pressed firmly behind his shoulder blade, lest he need an encouraging shove.

She breathed in the many sounds and smells with a deep sigh. Floral perfumes mixed with the scents of sweat and smoke, burnt meats and sweet meads, until the air was thick and intoxicating. Delighter, she turned to Anders and flashed him a wily grin.

“Take a look around, sweetheart— this is what living looks like!” she exclaimed. Her eyes became shape and scintillating, and she inclined her head towards him, wicked red lips moving close to his ear. “You should try it sometime.”

She pulled away, holding him at arm’s length with a shrewd look, until something caught her amber eyes, and tore them away from her handsome companion.

“Now there’s a beautiful sight,” she said, turning Anders a little to the left so that he, too, could appreciate her view.

Past the trickling stream of people, in a small square at the end of the street, was a gathering of familiar faces. Not one or two, but several! The storyteller, sitting atop a barrel and serving up goblets of ale. Two surly swordsmen; one on either side of him. A slender maid in a short green gown, aflutter with nervous excitement.

Garrett was at the heart of the merry gang, standing before them all with arms swaying in a grand gesture, telling some story no doubt, and sloshing the contents of his cup in the process. Everyone was laughing. Varric slapped the side of the barrel, and Merrill brought her hands to her mouth to suppress a snicker. Fenris wore a faint smirk, which was about as close to laughter as the elf ever came. Carver laughed hardest of all, and the bright flush on his face betrayed his drunkenness. All of them were bedecked in crowns of daisies and dahlias, marigolds and sun blossoms.

Merrill was the first to see them. She hopped into the air like an excite hare, smiling and waving them over. Garrett turned to follow her gaze, his golden eyes sparkling with sunny enthusiasm at the sight of them.

“I almost didn’t recognize you without blood on you,” Anders quipped, a rare ringing of humor in his voice.

Garrett gave a toothy grin and an astonished hoot.

“Mmm,” he hummed, his laughter trailing of into soft chuckles. “Very clever—“ he teased, “but it was not so much a shock as mine, seeing you out in full daylight. How long have we been friends, and yet we’ve only met under cover of darkness? I was beginning to suspect you of vampyrism.” He took a step closer to Anders and leaned in, looking him over with cocked head and curious scrutiny. “You are quite fair…”

“If I was a vampire, you’d be taking an awful risk, coming to see me at night, covered in blood,” Anders replied with a smile of his own. “You’d best be careful. I don’t know how long my self control will remain.”

An amiable expression shattered Garrett’s act of seriousness, and he straightened, unable to keep his dry facade in the face of such ridiculous banter. It was not often he caught the mage in the mood for jokes, but when he was of a happy mind, the man had a singular sense of humor. It seemed Anders was not immune to the infectiousness of the festive atmosphere, and seeing him in such a state was impossible not to smile at.

Merrill appeared beside them, holding out a circlet of sunflowers and golden peonies, much like the one Garrett was wearing.

“Here, Anders,” she chirruped. “I made this one for you.”

She smiled kindly at the fellow mage, and fluttered off to bestow Isabela with flowers of her own. Anders stood there, staring down at his coronet of golds and creamy yellows, his fingers brushing gently at the petals. He often paused like this, looking mildly stunned, touching his calloused hands to a thing as if he were reaching from something which might not be real. It was a subtle, fleeting thing; but Garrett was a man of subtleties himself, and he noticed much.

“Allow me,” Garrett said.

The mage blinked his ambers eyes, their brightness returning as he glanced up at Garrett. Anders held still for him as he affixed the crown upon the man’s golden head. He adjusted it slightly until it sat at just the right angle, and tucked a strand of silky hair through the woven branches. Once he was certain the crown was secure, he stepped back, admiring the healer with a smile.

“I was wrong,” he said. “You look like a nymph.”

“A nymph?” Anders replied, laughing and cocking his head in an attempt to see the flowers on his own head.

“An overdressed nymph!” Isabela interjected. The pirate had settled herself beside the barrel, from where she could easily badger Varric for more blueberry ale. The dwarf was pouring her a glass, which she took and rose high above her head. “To Anders! and his decision to grace us with his presence on this grand day!”

Smiling, she extended her free hand to Varric, who filled it with a few silver coins. He had the distinctly disgruntled look of a man who had lost a bet, and offered a conciliatory shrug to Anders, who stared at them both with a look of bewildered affront.

“To Anders,” Garrett repeated, his lips a roguish smile at the rim of his glass.

Everyone took a swig of their ale, some more grimly than others. Isabela drained her mug entirely, gave an unladylike and utterly unashamed burp, and grinned at the lot of them.

“Now— onwards!” she declared.