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brialavellan · 5 years ago

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It has been 20 years since Inquisitor ‘Manehn Lavellan defeated Corypheus, and 18 years since the Exalted Council. Solas is furthering his plans and so far, all efforts to stop him seem to be in vain….until the Well of Sorrows begins to speak to ‘Manehn once more. Led by ancient magics and beset by enemies from Ferelden and Orlais to Antiva and Tevinter, ‘Manehn must gather allies old and new in a race against time to defeat Solas - at any cost.

(NOW ON AO3)

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8

CH 9: Smoke and Mirrors

“What good luck we’re having,” Katrina murmured to herself as she made her way down the stairs towards the Cathedral exit, her hands on the hilts of her daggers and a smile creeping across her face.

Everything was going as planned. The bait was irresistible. It was almost foolproof, if Briala wasn’t so cautious, so cagey. Decades of loyal-enough service had won her a spot in Briala’s inner circle among her most trusted spies. However, if Natalie was too sloppy, and if Katrina did not choose her words and actions carefully, the web of careful intrigue would be torn to shreds.

Briala would not look lightly on traitors. Solas would not look lightly on failures.

She was about to open the doors towards the outside grounds when she heard the faintest footsteps following her. She turned to see Briala hot on her heels in russet brown leather armor with a crossbody bag and a bow on her back.

Briala was trained for years in the art of subterfuge, misdirection and occasional assassination. Her calm masked her anger. This slaying was merely more retaliation. Or misdirection. None of Solas’s agents were so sloppy as to be seen. She was sure of it. But she couldn’t let any potential lead go to waste.

Briala pulled Katrina to the side and checked her surroundings to make sure no one was listening.

“Where did you say the boy took off to?”

“The catacombs, my lady.” Katrina whispered back, “I was on my way to inform Amir and -”

“No need,” Briala said, “We’ll look ourselves.”

Katrina paused for a brief moment, caught off-guard by Briala’s insistence, worried this meant Briala was getting suspicious.

“Of course, I can take you to the last location I saw him,” she said as they both left the Cathedral, crossed the grounds, and made their way towards the bustling streets of Val Royeaux in front of them.

Carts and carriages rumbled past while pedestrians darted in between. Merchants and peddlers yelled to the crowds from stalls, shops, and street corners, selling wares from Orlesian finery to Fereldan leathers, from Tevinter curios to Nevarran books. The cacophony of sights, smells and sounds would be nearly unbearable to those newly initiated to Val Royeaux’s streets, but both Briala and Katrina knew these streets intimately. They had wandered the hidden alleys and the underbelly as much, if not more than the cobblestone streets that weaved their way across the city.

Briala and Katrina darted into a nearby alley and nearly collided with a family of huddled, filthy, weary elven beggars, all tearing into a loaf of hard tack with skeletal fingers, their pale skin as pallid as bleached bone.

“My lady,” a small boy with matted auburn curls scurried up to Briala and tugged at her sleeve with wide and sunken brown eyes. “Can you spare something, please?”

Briala pulled out a sovereign and pressed it into the palm of the young boy and closed his fingers over it.

“Don’t despair, little one. Have pride.” she said as the young boy stumbled away, wide-eyed, clutching his prize. She let herself be still for a moment as the boy presented his gift to the others, who eyed her with a mixture of gratitude and suspicion. She could have coaxed him for information but she wanted to pay a kindness without demanding a price.

Katrina noted otherwise. “You could have pressed the boy for information, ask if he’s seen anyone around.”

Briala glanced back at the boy before turning to Katrina. “We’ll find a better lead in the catacombs, and I have sovereigns to spare for bribing.”

They kept walking through the alley, watching for anyone who would tail them or would attempt to accost them, before coming to a dead end. They crouched behind a wall of crates and bags, both scanning the ground and tracing the cobblestone surface with their fingers until Briala found a rim of steel and a small slot. She took a small socket wrench from her bag and placed the wrench into the slot and pushed hard with both hands, nearly wrenching her own fingers in the process. The cobblestone began to move and loosen with the shriek of grinding metal. Briala pried the circle of cobblestone from the slot and descended into the catacombs, Katrina following closely behind her and pulling the cobblestone on top of them with a loud scraping thud.

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Cassandra and Vivienne found a templar and a servant to clean up the body and the mess, respectively. Vivienne had suggested taking the body to a doctor to examine the wound and deduce any potential clue, and Cassandra had agreed. The Knight Vigilant had ordered rotations doubled and a pair of templars stationed outside the Divine’s office, which she had protested.

“I do not need a full garrison, not when forces are stretched thin. Put your men back in the Circles or out on patrol where they belong!” she argued, “We need to find who did this!”

“With all due respect, Your Perfection, your life is obviously at risk, and we will not allow you to come to harm,” the Knight Vigilant implored her. “One garrison to protect you now beats the ten I would have to put on the streets to calm rioters if you are slain.”

“We have men looking at the scene and watching for anything suspicious.” he said to mollify her. “We will let you know immediately if anything is amiss.”

Vivienne coaxed Cassandra to turn towards her and placed both hands on her shoulders with a gentle squeeze and reassuring tone. “It’s for your sake, darling. The Knight Vigilant speaks sense. Yes, you can handle yourself, but let them do their jobs.”

Cassandra closed her eyes, and took a long, heavy breath.

“Very good, Knight Vigilant,” Vivienne said with a wave of her hand in dismissal, “Let us know if you find out anything at all.”

“Of course, Grand Enchanter,” The Knight Vigilant said with a bow as he departed. Vivienne and Cassandra retreated into Cassandra’s quarters.

“Despite everything, Briala has her uses and her network of agents are vast enough. They will find something,” Vivienne said as Cassandra sat herself down at her desk. “Whether they will act quickly enough is another question. The important thing now is that we find out who was so brazen enough to do this. I will interrogate the girl’s associates.”

Cassandra shifted in her seat and rapped her fingers loudly on her desk, trying to displace her energy into something as close to punching as she could manage. She was far more comfortable with a straight and honest fight, but she was grateful to have someone well versed in the ways of the Court to advise and support her. She did not have the head for the politics of the Chantry and the patience to learn the intricacies of the Grand Game. For her, it was not only a distraction from her work as overseer of the religious life of all Thedas’s people, it was an affront. She believed that the Divine should not stoop to such pettiness. Many of her beliefs had been tested since she had been voted into her position.

“I don’t think you should do that.” Cassandra said after a long silence, “If you’re right, you’d be in danger. Maybe I should go with you. A Chantry sister would not think to lie to my face.”

Vivienne laughed at her naivete. “They will absolutely lie to your face, my dear.”

She saw Cassandra’s jaw clench and face redden and reached to grab her hand, gently squeezing it as she leaned against the desk. “Chantry sisters are Chantry sisters because they wouldn’t last even five minutes at a simple soiree without losing their status, their wealth, or their lives,” she said with an apologetic smile. “I appreciate the offer. And the sentiment.”

“Now, why don’t you change into some armor, take a guard with you to the training grounds, and beat out some of that nervous energy?” Vivienne teased her as she rose to leave. “I will inquire about her dealings. I’m positive, as I’m sure Briala is as well, that all traces will lead to Natalie.”

Cassandra took a deep breath and rose to her feet. “I will take your advice. All of it.”

“Of course you will,” Vivienne said with a mischievous smile as she departed. She walked down the hall and down the stairs, leaving the Apartments and crossing the grounds to the Chantry sisters’ living quarters. She would find a few initiates there, and a few answers. She had lied to Cassandra. Some sisters were actually quite good at the Game.

But she was better.

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Useless! Useless! Useless!

The word drummed in Mirwen’s head as she combed her way through every scrap of paper in every book she could get her hands on in that squalid library. They had nothing, of course. No information that she didn’t already know. In fact, most of the books were wild conjectures and half truths all bathed in anti-elf sentiment and disdain for every magic outside of a proper Circle’s purview. Contempt leaped from the pages.

Even the “forbidden” books were merely re-treads of the same theories in less palatable language for a rigid Chantry. All books with any mention of blood magic were here, she noted, not because they condoned such magic (none did), but because they mentioned it existed.

Mirwen took a deep breath to suppress her bitter disappointment.There was no reason for her to feel this way, she thought to herself, just as there was no reason to expect that the any shemlen Circles had answers. Maybe Tevinter’s libraries might bear more fruit. Their magics were appropriated from elven magic, after all. Legend did say their first magister, Thalsin, had learned blood magic from the elves.

And what all of Thedas had learned within the two decades she had been alive was that most of their legends were true.

As she lifted the last tome from her reading stand and put it upon the shelf, she noticed a small paper placed in the empty space, meticulously folded. She glanced around the room. The paper wasn’t there before, and her section of the library was sealed off. She took the paper and placed the book back on the shelf. She gingerly unfurled the paper. At her touch, odd symbols began to scroll across and envelop the page. These symbols could reveal themselves only to a mage’s eyes, she hypothesized, and though the symbols were unclear in their meaning, there was a definite pattern to them, a flow of structure that suggested that this was a cipher of some sort.

Footsteps and voices coming closer to her snapped her back to her senses. She took a few sidelong suspicious glimpses around her as she hurriedly shoved the note into her small belted satchel, just as the First Enchanter was unlocking the door.

Varric peered into the room, the First Enchanter standing behind him, with the smallest glimmer of a smile.

“Did you find what you need?” he asked. “Shall we go back to the Keep?”

“I found nothing at all, unfortunately,” Mirwen said as she adjusted her belt. “Let us move on.”

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Back at the Keep, Mirwen and Varric shared a small table and a scrumptious meal, with servants waiting to change courses and serve water and wine. The air was warm with the scent of succulent foods and the vaulted walls of the Keep’s dining hall were softened by the glow of candlelight and of a setting summer sun. Mirwen felt much more comfortable in this space than the squalor of the Alienage, the cold sterility of Kirkwall’s Circle, and the harshness of Sundermount’s rugged peaks. A small amount of guilt began to gnaw at her as she ate. She enjoyed such finery to the point that she almost expected it, while her brethren wanted for little more than food, shelter and safety.

She couldn’t help it. She was, in all arenas except magic, quite sheltered after all.

She tried to put her unease out of her mind by listening to Varric talk. She could see why he was a prolific author and she smiled softly as he weaved his tales of her mother’s heroics and their long-past battles. Mirwen placed her head in her hand, feeling strangely nostalgic as she listened to Varric wax on. She did remember his love of stories, and her love of his love of them from when she was small.

She remembered her mother’s other friends as well. She remembered Dorian. She remembered Iron Bull. She remembered Blackwall and Sera too. When her mother spoke of them, there were faint flickers of faces vaguely familiar from the time when she was a toddler in pinafores teetering around Skyhold. But that was all they were. She knew Vivienne well and Cassandra well enough, but these were her mother’s friends, her mother’s stories, and her mother’s memories - not hers.

Now, she wasn’t so small anymore. Now, she felt incredibly irked by her sudden complacency. Her mood soured immediately and Varric’s sweeping tales now sounded like meaningless drivel. There was no more time to waste on nostalgia, she angrily mused, her breath quickening. Not when her mother and Davhalla were aimlessly wandering Maker-knows-where while Briala was up to Maker-knows-what and while they fumbled for answers, an immortal self-proclaimed God was Void-bent on destroying everything.

His rising has shattered her small world once before.

And he was coming for whatever she had left.

As Mirwen silently groused and Varric talked to her to soothe her nerves, the doors slammed open and Aveline barged in with a full retinue of guards, her jaw clenched and her face as red as her hair. Three elves flanked her and the guards, dressed in bl leathers and brown cloaks with short swords on their belts and sour grimaces. Mirwen recognized their leathers and their faces. They were Briala’s people, she was sure of it.

“Varric, we need to go. Now.”

“That bad, huh?” Varric said with a weak chuckle.

She shoved a small, bloodstained paper into his hands. Varric’s eyes widened as he scanned the page.

“From my retinue stationed outside the Alienage,” she said grimly. “Sent by courier just before they were cut down.”

“Well, shit.” He looked at Mirwen, his jaw slack and eyes wide. “We need to get you back home. Immediately. You’re not safe here anymore, no matter how many guards I post outside my doors.”

“I can take care of myself -”

“This is a little beyond taking care of yourself, Sugar Plum,” Varric said, his voice trailing off, followed by a small stream of curses, “Ancestors preserve me, I didn’t want it to come to this…”

“They have not taken the docks yet, but we would have to go through Lowtown to get there.” Aveline said. “Unless…”

She drew out parchment and quickly scribbled a crude map of Kirkwall. “Remember Hawke’s estate? Her wine cellar leads straight to Darktown. And she would just be another elf fleeing the chaos. No one would know or notice.”

“Sure, you can get to the docks from Darktown, but how many of your guards would you like to send to their immediate deaths?” Varric pointed out, “Guards would draw way too much attention.”

“We don’t send my guards,” Aveline said “We send -”

“Here on behalf of Marquise Briala.” the youngest of them, a petite man with striking black hair and carrying a fourth cloak, addressed them with a slight nod of his head and a strong Starkhaven accent. “We’ll make sure she’s safe. We’ll stake our lives on it.” The other two nodded at his words.

Varric pulled Aveline closer and whispered. Mirwen couldn’t hear what he said, but could read his lips as he asked her the most important question.

“Can we trust them? If some of her spies have turned before - “

Aveline looked at Mirwen and back at the spies that stood at the doorway as the sound of shouts and fighting began to make their way up to Hightown’s sealed gates.

She whispered back. “We don’t have a choice anymore, do we?”

Aveline approached Mirwen and unclasped a small silverite dagger with a golden handle that gleamed in the warm glow of the candlelight from her belt.

She pressed it into Mirwen’s hands.

“Consider this a gift from us that we hope you never have to use,” she said firmly, her eyes darting to the side where the elves were standing.

Mirwen nodded as she took it and cinched it on her belt. “I understand,” she said darkly as she rose from the table. The young Starkhaven elf handed her a cloak to put on and carefully fastened it while pulling the hood over Mirwen’s head.

“Keep that cloak covering you nice and tight,” he advised with a crooked grin, “Fancy-dressed elves don’t last two seconds in Darktown. As long as you follow our lead, you’ll be fine.”

“Right then. I’ll take you to the estate,” Aveline said with a firm shake of her head. “My guards here will stay near the entrance to the Keep. Varric, I beg you to please stay put until I get back.”

————————

Aveline and the elves promptly left the Keep and sprinted to Hawke’s old estate, occasionally sticking to the shadows to avoid drawing attention and to give time for Mirwen to catch her breath. As they approached a Kirkwall mansion at the foot of the stairs that led to the Keep, Mirwen could see what time had worn away. The white marble that shone in the Kirkwall sun was a dull, drab gray from decades of accumulated dirt. The glass windows were shattered from vandals, and the crest that had hung above the door, a proud mark of Hawke’s heritage, was hanging askew and weather-worn away to the point that she could only see a vague outline and smatterings of blood red. This was formerly a glorious building, now decaying and dying, as if it too mourned the loss of the Champion.

Aveline wrestled with the rusted lock for a short while before impatiently bashing in the door with a plated boot. The elves scrambled inside and Aveline slipped them her map. As she pulled the door, now hanging off its last hinge, shut, she urged them one last time.

“Do everything in your power to keep her safe.”

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The Starkhavener moved down the stairs towards the cellar, keeping to corners and signalling with a quick wave of his hand to move forward. The other two trailed behind Mirwen, eyes darting towards the slightest hint of shadow or movement. Mirwen kept her cloak pulled close. She had reluctantly left her staff behind. It would draw too much attention, the spies had warned her. Varric had promised she would get it back “when the shitstorm settles down at least a little bit”.

The years of disuse had turned the cellar as fetid as Kirkwall’s sewers. Waves of vermin scurried across the tiles, parting at the sound of their footsteps. Rank puddles pooled in spots where slick water dripped from the ceiling. They had even found a couple of groveling squatters, who had seen a flash of the elves’ blades and decided not to take a chance on attacking the group, or the pangs in their bellies would no longer come from hunger but from steel. By the time they had descended the ladder into Darktown proper, Mirwen was queasy from the noxious smells.

They stopped for a moment to let her breathe, and huddled close to a corner, watching waves of elves and humans alike slip and scramble as they fled from the fires of Lowtown into the tunnels. The guards and rioters would not dare descend down here. That is what all four of them were counting on.

What they were not counting on was that someone was waiting for them.

As they crept forward towards a hatch that would take them towards the docks, they were met by three elves - a woman holding a staff and two men holding axes - all three grinning with homicidal glee as they approached.

“I didn’t think you would make it at all,” the woman taunted. “I’d hate to go through all this trouble to find out you were all eaten by giant spiders and such.”

Briala’s spies moved forward to guard Mirwen.

“Sorry to disappoint,” one of the other ones said in a brusque Fereldan accent. “But we have no time to stick around.” All three unsheathed their swords and rushed towards the mage but were intercepted by the two melee fighters.

The clatter of blades was muffled by the sound of people fleeing, but she could hear the death wail of one fighter falling, his axe clattering to the ground, and a hiss from one of Briala’s people as the other fighter made contact with his side.

Mirwen stood ready to cast but found her arms grow leaden, her head beginning to ache, and her magic sputtering away. The mage began to approach her as Mirwen’s knees began to buckle.

The mage, eyes gleaming, walked up to Mirwen and began to taunt her, “All of this effort over a child who is useless without her -”

She shrieked as Mirwen tackled her to the ground, flailing and reaching for the staff. The mage rolled over and grabbed her by the cloak, choking Mirwen and throwing her aside. Mirwen snapped back up and drew her blade but the mage had readied herself, grabbing Mirwen’s curls and slamming her head to the ground. She began to stand, assured in victory before a leather boot collided with her face. The black-haired Starkhavener rushed forward, snatched the staff from her hands, snapped it over his knee and threw it on the bodies of the melee fighters all three had slain. Then he calmly walked towards the mage who now struggled to her feet and cut her down.

Assured she was dead, the Starkhavener raced to Mirwen’s side, ready to apologize, but she waved him off with a weak smile.

He smiled back, “Guess you were right, you can handle yourself fine.”

The Fereldan elf lifted Mirwen from the ground, examined her head, and slapped a poultice on her scalp under the matted curls where she had begun to bleed. The third clutched his side, mildly limping as he approached. The Fereldan elf turned towards him and slapped another poultice on his wound.

“I can do better,” Mirwen said as she approached the man and gingerly touched his side with her fingers. He winced but stayed still. A few words from her lips and the bleeding stopped. Flesh and sinew began to stitch itself back together. He said nothing back but nodded with grim approval.

The Starkhavener walked towards the hatch and bashed it open with a swift kick. The Fereldan elf went first and motioned for Mirwen to follow as they all descended a long ladder. Mirwen could hear the rush of water and saw a small ballinger waiting in an expansive stone grotto. She could not help but gape at the size of this cavern, for she could not possibly fathom how Varric or Briala’s spies could have kept something like this hidden, though she had to assume someone knew something.

Otherwise, how could they have been attacked?

Anxious to get to safety as their feet found ground, the elves rushed towards the ballinger while several elves already on board wrestled with the sails. Mirwen and the others hurried on board. They set the ballinger loose, all exchanging wary glances even as they shook hands and smiled.

Mirwen watched from the deck as the ballinger emerged from the grotto and she caught a glimpse of Kirkwall within sight. Her veins turned to ice as she saw the furling of black smoke and flickers of orange that were starting to engulf all of Lowtown. She turned from the sight, took a deep rattled breath and descended into the hold below.

#da fic #dragon age fic #cassandra pentaghast #briala #vivienne #oc lavellan #fic by brialavellan

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pikapeppa · 6 years ago

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Cullavellan and FenHawke pirate AU: Safe

Chapter 31 of my and @schoute‘s lovechild project Where The Winds Of Fortune Take Me is up! Read here on AO3 instead.

In which the intrepid crew of the Lady Luck venture into the Arlathan Forest... [fades away mysteriously]

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

- PIPER -

Merrill beamed at everyone as they wove their way through the trees. “Remember, we want to tread softly and treat the forest gently. The forest is our host and we’re the guests, so we have to be polite.”

Dorian raised his eyebrows as he gingerly picked his way past some exceptionally large ferns. “Be polite to a forest? I’m sorry to tell you this, Merrill, but I was never taught forest etiquette. Will the trees will be offended by my using the wrong spoon? Because if that’s the case…”

Rynne snickered, and Piper slung her arm around Merrill’s neck. “Sorry, Merrill, but Captain Mad Piper doesn’t do polite, not even to a forest. Any other suggestions?”

Merrill tittered. “Oh, Captain. I just mean that we shouldn’t go cutting any plants or hurting any creatures that we meet. Remember what that old treaty between the qunari and Tevinter said: no one was supposed to make permanent lodgings here. As long as we pack up and keep moving every night and we keep to ourselves, we’ll be safe.”

“You don’t know that,” Fenris said flatly. “Our ill-advised presence in this forest is premised entirely on your assumptions and theories. You have no proof to reinforce your claims of safety.”

Cullen grimaced apologetically. “I must say, Merrill, I agree with Fenris. Not that we should turn back, necessarily,” he added as Piper shot him a chiding look, “but that we should err on the side of caution. We can’t assume any sort of safety here.”

Merrill gave Fenris and Cullen a sad sort of smile. “That’s all right. You don’t need to believe me. My clan didn’t either when I told them why I was leaving.” She turned back to Piper. “I’m just grateful that you’re giving this a chance. Thank you, Piper.”

Piper gave her a wink. “Don’t worry about it, lethallan. You know I’m in for any sort of madcap adventure.” And it was true; Piper was still certainly hoping to run into some interesting ancient ruins somewhere in the forest. But her motivation for this expedition into the Arlathan Forest was no longer the simple thirst for adventure that it had once been.

Piper needed this trip to be a lucrative one. She needed to bring something valuable back to the crew to make up for what they’d lost on the way here. Cullen and Varric could say that the crew knew the risks, but Piper knew the truth.

That insane storm shouldn’t have happened. The loss of four of the crew should not have happened. And Piper hadn’t been able to stop it.

Never mind, she told herself firmly. There was no point ruminating about it. All she could do now was make sure the rest of her crew were well taken care of. She was going to find whatever ruins were in this forest, and she was going to find something valuable in those damned ruins to bring back to her crew, even if it meant she had to kill every other pirate who was lurking in this forest.

In the meantime, however, Piper truly was enjoying how scenic the forest was. Every leaf and vine and patch of moss was a brilliant and almost unbelievably lush shade of green. The canopy overhead was thick but translucent, allowing the sun to trickle through the leaves in soft slivers of gold that only served to highlight just how verdant everything was. The omnipresent greenness was punctuated by copious flowers of many kinds, including some varieties that Piper had never seen before.

Merrill, however, seemed to know something about every plant. She was walking beside Rynne and pointing out the various plants to her. “That one is called misdalavur,” she was saying. “It means ‘knife leaf’, since the leaves look like little blades.”

“Not because they can be used as blades?” Rynne said with a grin.

“It’s funny you say that,” Merrill said excitedly. “Its stems can be peeled into strips and cured, then used as binding for the handles of daggers. So it is associated with real knives, in a way.”

Rynne stared at her in genuine wonder. “Well, that’s incredibly useful.”

Merrill beamed at her. “It is, isn’t it?” She pointed at a nearby orchid that was graced with a cascade of brilliant crimson blooms. “That plant is–”

“Oh, that’s embrium,” Rynne said.

Merrill widened her eyes. “You know it?”

“Of course,” Rynne said. There was a wry twist to her voice now. “It’s the most popular flower that suitors send to a lady they’re trying to court.”

“That is true,” Cullen put in. “I seem to recall there always being a bouquet of those flowers in the foyer of your family home.”

Rynne winked at him. “You recall correctly, my fine serrah. I’m sure my mother is missing the pop of colour on the hall table, if nothing else.”

Cullen gave her a sympathetic smile, and Merrill patted her arm. “Well, Hawke, that’s a good flower for you to get more familiar with. In Elvhen, it’s called gaildhalas, and its healing properties are really quite striking…”

Piper smiled as she listened to them. It was something of a relief to see Rynne having such a pleasant time. At least one of her companions was pleased to be here, aside from Merrill.

On that note, she decided to check on Dorian and Fenris, who were making up the rear of their little party. Dorian was jotting notes in a notebook and muttering to himself while periodically checking his compass, and Fenris was scrutinizing their surroundings, one hand resting on his scimitar in case of trouble.

Piper peered at Dorian’s notes, which consisted of a list of compass directions and rough sketches of landmarks. “How’s the mapping going?” she asked.

“Splendidly, if you enjoy taking notes while trying not to crush any precious beasties that might be underfoot,” he drawled.

“You could always take off your boots,” Piper suggested slyly. “Less likely to crush anything lethally that way.”

He gave her an affronted look. “And risk getting my precious footsies filthy? Don’t be ridiculous. Besides, Fenris will tell me if I’m about to step on anything important.”

“You stepped in feces about five minutes ago,” Fenris said.

Dorian’s face twisted with horror, and Piper slapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing out loud.

Dorian glared viciously at Fenris. “I – wha – why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were otherwise occupied,” Fenris said. “I didn’t want to distract you.”

Dorian stared at him for a moment longer, then tsked loudly. “Vishante kaffas, you brute.”

“At least I didn’t step in it,” Fenris replied.

His tone was so dry that Piper couldn’t help it; she snorted out a laugh, and Fenris smirked faintly in response. Dorian shot them both an extremely offended look before burying his face in his notebook and pretending to ignore them.

Piper sidled over to Fenris. “I’m surprised you’re in such a good mood,” she said. Indeed, he was scowling less than she would have expected, given how little he’d wanted to come into the forest.

He raised an eyebrow. “Do not mistake my levity for agreement with this course of action. I still think this is a mistake.”

Piper tilted her head curiously. “Then why didn’t you stay on the Lady Luck? You could have been the officer who stayed behind, and Varric could have come.”

Fenris gave her a flat look. “When have I ever refused to follow your foolish plans?”

“Fair enough,” Piper said cheerfully.

Fenris huffed in amusement, and they walked in silence for a moment as Dorian continued to scribble in his notebook. Then Piper lowered her voice. “Seriously though, Fen. You didn’t have to come. I purposely gave you and Varric the choice of who should stay behind in case you wanted to sit this one out.”

Fenris eyed her for a moment, then shrugged. “It is what it is. Besides, Hawke was looking forward to this adventure, as you well know.”

Piper smiled at this. It was certainly a boon to have Rynne along to keep Fenris from scowling too much.

Dorian seemed to agree, as he deigned to speak to them again. “Oh Fenris, that’s very sweet of you,” he said. “I suspect your fair lady was expecting something more mundane than some sort of mystical elven siren song, however.”

“Weren’t we all?” Fenris said rhetorically.

Piper shot him a wry little smile. He wasn’t wrong.

Just then, Rynne skipped over to join them. She had a flower in her hand: a multi-layered bloom with a dark pink center that melded into petals of a deep, rich gold.

Piper eyed the familiar flower as Dorian greeted her. “If it isn’t our newest explorer herself,” he said. “Enjoying the forest in all your natural glory, are you?” He glanced with some distaste at Rynne’s feet, which were bare like Piper’s, Fenris’s, and Merrill’s.

“I am, thank you!” Rynne said brightly. She poked his chest. “You should try going without boots, Dorian. Get those feet of yours–”

“I’m perfectly fine in my boots, thank you,” Dorian said loudly.

Piper gently stroked the petals of the flower in Rynne’s hand. “Does Merrill know you picked that?” she asked.

“Of course,” Rynne assured her. “She said a little blessing before cutting it for me.” Then she turned to Fenris and held out the flower to him. “I brought this for you.”

Fenris’s eyebrows jumped up on his forehead. “For me?” he said blankly.

“Yes,” she said. “It’s called felan'asahngar. It means ‘lucky plant’. It’s good luck!” She batted her eyelashes at him. “It’s also a very attractive flower, so it’s perfect for you.”

Piper smiled to herself. Felan’asahngar blossoms weren’t just a good luck charm. She wondered if Merrill had told Rynne the deeper significance of the flower among the Dalish.

Fenris scratched the back of his neck, then gingerly took the flower from her. “Um. Thank you, Hawke.”

He was holding the flower so awkwardly, as though he’d never even held one before, and Piper tried hard not to laugh. Then Rynne tutted and gently took the flower back from him. “Here, like this, so you don’t have to hold it.” She tucked the flower behind his ear, then kissed his cheek. “Now you’re even more handsome,” she said, and she winked at him before sashaying back to Merrill’s side.

Dorian and Piper both grinned at Fenris, and he hunched his shoulders slightly. “What?” he muttered. “Don’t stare at me.” He removed the flower from behind his swiftly-reddening ear and gently rubbed one of the petals between his fingers.

Dorian pouted playfully. “Oh, do put it back, Fenris. It was very fetching. Gold is a good colour on you.” He gave Fenris a speculative look. “Have you ever thought about piercing your ears? I could lend you some jewelry if you like.”

Fenris scowled at him. “Why would I willingly mutilate my own body?”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Dorian scolded, and he ran his fingers lovingly over his own many gold earrings. “It’s not mutilation, it’s decoration!”

Fenris rolled his eyes, but Piper noticed with amusement that he was still carefully cradling the felan’asahngar in one hand.

She shook her head fondly, then left Fenris and Dorian to their bickering to rejoin Cullen instead. He was walking with Merrill and Rynne, but as Piper drew level with him, he smiled at her. “Is everything all right with the others?” he asked.

Piper grinned and tucked her hands in her pockets. “Dorian stepped in shit,” she reported. “In other words, everything is great.”

Cullen sputtered with surprise. “He stepped in–? He must be, er, upset.”

“He is,” Piper said cheerfully. “Made us laugh, though.”

Cullen shook his head in amusement, then he reached out and smoothed one hand over her hair. “And you?” he said in a quieter voice. “Are you all right?”

Piper let out a breezy little laugh. “Of course. I didn’t step in shit, so I’m feeling particularly great.”

His smile widened, but Piper could clearly see the worry in that little crease between his eyebrows. Cullen was being particularly kind and solicitous since her stupid outburst last night, and his caring was not unlike that Rivaini pastry that was soaked in rich honey syrup: it was delicious in small amounts, but too much of it was almost too much for Piper to bear. If Cullen kept on being so gentle, Piper would keep thinking about why he was being so gentle, and she didn’t want to think about it.

She didn’t want to keep thinking about the disastrous storm and the Lady Luck being damaged and her four lost crew members. What she wanted was to fix the mess she’d brought them all into. There was no time to mope around and whine, not if she was going to find some valuable booty to bring back to the crew.

She smiled confidently at Cullen. “I think we’re going to find something interesting soon. I can feel it in my gut.”

His eyes widened. “You mean – is it that voice? Is that how Merrill knows where to go, even without a map to follow?”

Piper gaped at him for a second, then scoffed. “No, Golden Boy, I was just kidding around. And Merrill is finding the way by scouting, like how she would do with her clan.”

“I’m not, actually,” Merrill called over her shoulder. “I’m following the forest.”

Piper looked up in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I’m following where the forest tells me to go,” Merrill said.

Behind them, Fenris sighed loudly. “Fasta vass. This again?”

Merrill stopped and turned around. “Just be quiet, Fenris,” she said, but her tone was gentle. She waved for Fenris and Piper to come closer. “Close your eyes for just a moment, both of you. Try to feel the forest.”

Piper glanced at Fenris and nearly laughed at his petulant expression. Then Merrill tapped her arm. “Please, lethallan. Just trust me.”

Piper guiltily looked at Merrill’s pleading face, then closed her eyes. She breathed and listened quietly for a minute, but all she felt was stupid.

Beside her, Fenris grunted, and Piper bit her lips to fight a mad urge to laugh. Then Merrill spoke in a calm tone. “Just relax, both of you. Let your minds go empty.”

“That will be easy for Piper,” Fenris grumbled. “Her mind is always empty.”

Piper snorted a laugh and shoved his arm. “Fuck you, Fen.”

“Shh,” Rynne hissed. “I want to see what happens!”

Piper stuck her tongue out at Rynne, then closed her eyes again and tried to let her mind go blank. She turned her attention to the sound of the breeze sliding through the leaves, and she thought idly about the cushy moss beneath her bare dirty feet. When her mind started telling her how foolish she probably looked, she acknowledged that yes, she probably looked foolish, then went back to thinking about the breeze and the moss and the sun trickling through the leaves without really thinking about them at all.

That’s when she felt it.

It wasn’t a voice this time, to her mild relief; it was more of a… an intuition, or a sense. Despite her scoffing at Cullen earlier, it did kind of remind Piper of a gut feeling.

She opened her eyes to find Merrill looking at her expectantly. “Do you feel something?” Merrill asked eagerly.

Piper looked askance at Fenris, who was looking uneasy. “Which way should we go?” she asked him.

He frowned, then jerked his chin to the south, and Piper looked at Merrill. “That’s what I, er. Same here,” she said.

Merrill beamed at them. “Exactly,” she said, and she turned on her heel and continued to stroll through the forest in a southward direction.

Piper looked at Fenris once more. He scowled and shrugged, and they all set off in Merrill’s wake.

Dorian jogged forward to join Merrill, and they started discussing his mapping attempts. Meanwhile, Rynne drifted back to walk with Fenris, and Cullen and Piper fell back to take the rear.

Piper watched idly as Rynne stroked Fenris’s arm before taking his hand. Then Cullen spoke in a quiet voice. “What do you suppose is, er, happening here?” he asked.

Piper shrugged. She honestly wasn’t sure what to think. “Merrill clearly thinks it’s a spirit of the forest or something,” she said.

“But what do you think?” Cullen asked. “Do you think it is a… a forest spirit? Or could it be something about your, um, background…?”

He looked somewhat discomfited, and Piper grinned at him. “You can just ask if it’s an elf thing, Cullen. I won’t mind.”

He blew out a breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “I couldn’t decide if it would be rude.”

“Depending on the elf, it might,” she agreed. “But you can ask me whatever you want.”

His eyebrows rose slightly, and she immediately regretted her choice of words. She hoped he wasn’t going to ask her about her feelings about the storm and the crew yet again.

Thankfully, he stayed on topic. “Is there any truth to the, um. The rumours about elf senses?” he asked cautiously. “I had heard that your eyesight is better than a human’s....”

Piper nodded. “Yes, that’s true. Our hearing is better than yours, too.”

Cullen stroked his stubbled chin. “Ah. So perhaps this, er…” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps this is a matter of hearing something that we can’t, if your sense of hearing is superior to ours.”

Piper made a little face. “I don’t think so. Qunari and tal-vashoth have even better hearing than we do, but Kaaras wasn’t affected during the storm. Besides, it wasn’t a voice this time,” she said with a vague wave at the forest. “There were no words. It was just a sort of gut feeling.”

He looked at her in surprise. “But you said you were kidding about that.”

“I know,” she said testily. “I was kidding. I didn’t actually feel it then, or… or I didn’t think I did.” Feeling slightly unnerved, she ran her hands through her hair, then shrugged with a carelessness that she didn’t quite feel. “Either way, it’s not like we have a better plan in mind, so we might as well follow Merrill, right?”

Cullen took her hand. “We can go back to the ship at any time if you choose,” he said quietly.

Her gut twisted with nerves. She pushed the feeling aside and scoffed. “We’re not going back to the ship, Golden Boy. We’ve got an entire unexplored forest ahead of us.” She waved at the trees ahead with a grand gesture. “Green as far as the eye can see! We have to keep going until we find something that isn’t green. That’ll be the real challenge.”

He studied her for a moment, then huffed in amusement. “You may be right. As nice as this forest may be, it might become monotonous after some time.”

“Exactly,” Piper said with satisfaction — more at having distracted him than anything else, if she was honest. She released his hand and gave his butt a smack. “Now keep your eyes peeled for something interesting. I’ll give you a nice reward if you find me something ancient and elfy.” She wiggled her eyebrows lasciviously.

He shot her a chiding smile and playfully tugged a lock of her hair. Piper laughed and smacked his butt once more, and as the afternoon wore on and their stroll through the forest continued, Piper was able to relax and almost forget that their path was being determined by an odd phenomenon that none of them could explain.

Late that afternoon, when the sun was low enough for the forest to start growing dim, Piper was in the midst of entertaining the group with a dramatic retelling of Varric’s infamous nug king story when she heard it.

Min vir. This way.

She broke off in the middle of her sentence and looked to the west. At the same time, Fenris frowned in the same direction.

Merrill smiled at them both. “You heard that?” she said.

“Yes, unfortunately,” Fenris grunted.

Merrill clapped her hands. “We must be close to something,” she chirped. “Come on!” She hurried off to the west at a faster pace.

Dorian grimaced at Cullen and Rynne. “I don’t know about you, but I think I’ll hang back and make sure there are no booby traps before rushing after our dear Dalish companion.” He fell back to walk behind Cullen and Piper.

Cullen twisted his lips worriedly, and Piper patted his arm. “Don’t worry, Cullen,” she said with a boldness that was partly feigned. “I’ll protect you.”

He gave her a small half-smile as they followed Merrill’s path with Fenris, Rynne and Dorian close behind. The foliage they were walking through now was thicker than ever: the ferns now reached halfway up Piper’s thigh, and the moss coating the trees was so rich that their trunks were more green than brown. When they finally caught up to Merrill, it was to find her standing in front of a huge stone monument of obvious Elvhen make.

Piper stared at the monument in frank amazement. It depicted a wolf in a lounging position with its head proudly lifted, and it was taller than Piper at its highest point. The sculpture was not intricate, but based on the sharpness of the lines and the smoothness of the curves, the hands that had rendered it were uncommonly talented.

“Oh, it’s the Dread Wolf!” Rynne said.

Merrill beamed at her. “Yes, Hawke, exactly!” She turned to Piper with shining eyes. “Have you ever seen an elvhen monument so large and pristine?”

Feeling rather nonplussed, Piper shook her head. “Honestly, Merrill, I’ve only seen a couple of other elvhen monuments before. That one on Sundermount, and there’s that one of Mythal in Halamshiral that they tried to turn into a monument to Andraste…”

Merrill smacked her forehead. “That’s right!” she said. “I forget sometimes that you grew up in the city.”

Piper smirked. “Should I take that as a compliment?

Merrill’s face fell, and she clapped her hands over her mouth. “Was that rude? Elgar’nan, I didn’t mean to be rude, I just meant to say that I think of you as being Dalish even if you didn’t grow up among the Dalish, even though your father and Deshanna — oh dear, I’m babbling again…”

Piper chuckled and patted her shoulder. “It’s fine, Merrill, I know what you meant. Sort of.”

“Hawke,” Fenris barked. “Don’t touch it.”

Piper looked up to see Rynne hastily pulling her hand back from the statue. She grimaced at Fenris and Merrill. “Why? Is it rude to touch elven statues?”

Fenris strode over to her and ushered her away from the statue. “That doesn’t matter,” he said roughly. “What matters is that someone has been here recently.”

Cullen and Dorian looked at him in surprise. “Why do you say that?” Dorian asked.

Fenris gestured impatiently at the statue. “It is pristine, as Merrill said. No moss, no overgrowth at all. Someone has cleared it recently.”

Piper frowned. He wasn’t wrong about the statue’s condition; it was so clean that if Piper didn’t know better, she would have thought it was new. But if it was new, there would have been signs of whoever had dragged the statue here, and they certainly hadn’t seen that. In fact, they’d seen no signs of anyone else in the forest all day.

Merrill’s reply mirrored Piper’s thoughts. “No one else has been here,” she said confidently. “There was no evidence of anyone else coming this way.”

“So how do you explain how clean the statue is?” Fenris demanded.

“I’d like to know that, too,” Dorian said. “I wonder if they use a particular solvent? I could use that for cleaning my instruments. And my jewelry.” He reached out and ran one hand over the statue’s rump.

Fenris sighed loudly. “Dorian, you just touched it,” he complained.

Dorian looked at him. “Excellent observation, my friend. What’s your point?”

Fenris gestured angrily at him. “You were just talking about booby traps. What if it was poisoned?”

Dorian blinked. “Ah. That is a fair point. Well, in any case, you’re welcome. Now we know it’s safe to touch.”

Rynne coughed in a distinct cover of a laugh, and Fenris shook his head in disgust. Merrill, meanwhile, clapped her hands delightedly from her position at the front of the statue. “Look at this! There’s ancient Elvhen writing here!” she exclaimed.

Piper joined her and peered over her shoulder. Sure enough, archaic Elvhen glyphs were carved into the stone on the statue’s base in between its front paws.

Piper frowned. She didn’t know what the glyphs said, but it looked like two different people had worked on the engraved inscription. Most of the inscription had been engraved in small, tidy glyphs arranged in orderly rows. But the final two lines of glyphs looked considerably more haphazard, almost as though the person inscribing them had been rushed or angry.

She pointed at the last two lines. “Merrill, does that strike you as odd?”

“It does,” Merrill said keenly. “I’m going to take a rubbing and work on translating it tonight. Maybe it will tell us where to find the Vir’Tualthalan!” She shuffled around in her haversack for some parchment and charcoal.

Piper straightened and turned to the others. “Well, it’s a start,” she said cheerfully. “Looks like we’re on the right track.”

Cullen frowned thoughtfully. “Are we sure it’s the right track? You and Merrill’s stories depict the Dread Wolf as being misleading. Should we be wary that this statue is a sign that we are going in the wrong direction?”

“He makes a good point,” Fenris said. “We shouldn’t assume this is a good omen. In fact—”

Piper held up her hands. “All right,” she said loudly. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Merrill will take her rubbing from this statue, and we’ll find somewhere to settle for the evening while she translates the inscription. Based on what it says, we’ll figure out our next move.” She looked at everyone. “Is that satisfactory?”

Cullen and Rynne nodded. Fenris murmured his agreement, and Dorian shrugged affably. “As long as we can have a celebratory drink when we settle in, then I’m happy,” he said.

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Celebratory? For what?”

“For the fact that I’m still alive, of course,” Dorian said. “I could have died when I touched that statue. It’s a shame no one warned me not to.”

Rynne snorted, and Piper smirked at his blithe tone. Fenris clicked his tongue. “Vishante kaffas,” he said snidely to Dorian, and he began to lead Rynne away from the statue.

“At least you didn’t step in it,” Dorian called after him.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m just pleased that we have a plan.”

Piper elbowed him cheerfully. “See, Golden Boy? I told you everything was going to be fine.” She was feeling far more cheerful now that there was a clear sign of ancient Elvhen civilization in this forest. Surely this meant they would find a more significant structure soon, like a public hall or a temple or something that would hold some sort of valuables that Piper could sell to bring in coin for her crew.

Cullen smiled ruefully at her. She patted his arm affectionately, then turned to Dorian and Merril, who were peering at the charcoal rubbing. “All right, fools, let’s find a quiet place to camp so Merrill can get to work on that translation.”

They followed their own trail away from the statue and back into the forest, then began to make their way slightly east. Just as the waning light of day began to shift into evening, Piper spotted the hazy orange glow of a campfire through the trees – the first signs of other people they’d yet seen all day.

She held up a hand for everyone to stop. “All right,” she said quietly. “Merrill and I will go ahead and investigate. If we need help… well, you’ll know by the screaming. From them, I mean.” She shot them all a vicious smile.

Dorian chuckled. “Naturally.”

She winked at him, and she and Merrill slid through the forest toward the campfire ahead. As Piper padded silently through the moss and leaves, she surreptitiously checked her flintlock and her épée to make sure they were easily at hand. One could hope that the campers ahead weren’t hostile, but given what had happened yesterday, she wasn’t holding her breath.

She was right to be skeptical. She and Merrill stopped thirty paces away from the little campsite — close enough to hear and see, but not close enough to be spotted through the thickness of the trees — and as soon as they started listening in, it became clear that the five campers were definitely not friendly.

“... told you it was stupid.” The one woman in the group was pacing by the fire. “We should’ve waited to see if the others would come back before tryin’ to steal a whole bloody ship!”

A burly bald man replied. “How was I s’posed to know their whole crew survived? Entire crew of that other wreck was dead. Well, almost all of ‘em.” He waved his hands angrily. “Fuckin’ dwarf with a crossbow? I didn’t think that would happen!”

Piper glanced over and met Merrill’s eyes. They were talking about their attempted siege of the Lady Luck.

“That’s your bloody problem, Richie,” the woman snapped. “You don’t think. We should’ve waited. Can’t afford to lose any more men, or we can’t sail the ship out of this fuckin’ place.”

One of the other men piped up. “So we force their crew to sail the ship for us until we’re back in the Amaranthine again. What’s the big deal?”

The woman sneered at him. “Did the hurricane blow yer brain away, Grizz? There’s only five of us here. No fuckin’ idea if the others are still out there somewhere. How d’you think we’re supposed to force an entire crew of knife-ears and dwarves into doing what we want?”

“Just do ‘em like we do the slaves,” Grizz said. “Couple rounds to the head for some of ‘em, get the rest to fall in line. Show ‘em who’s boss!”

“With what fucking guns?” the woman retorted. “Brilliant bloody plan, the both of ye.”

Piper narrowed her eyes. These people were slavers in addition to trying to steal her ship?

She’d heard enough to know what to do next. She looked at Merrill and jerked her head at the others, and they slipped away soundlessly to rejoin their companions.

Cullen’s expression was businesslike when Piper returned to his side. “What did you find?” he asked.

“There are five of them,” Piper said. “Four men and a woman. Slavers.”

Fenris restlessly shifted his weight, and Piper gave him a grim nod before going on. “The woman seems to be the brains of the outfit. They’re from that group of shit-eating assholes who tried to steal the Lady Luck.”

Cullen frowned. “How long have they been here?” he asked.

“Not sure,” Piper said. “But they must be from one of those wrecks on the beach. They said the crew of the other wreck were mostly dead when they arrived. They didn’t expect to find so many of our people alive.”

Dorian wrinkled his nose. “Well, that’s reassuring,” he said sarcastically.

“Are they weakened?” Fenris asked. “Easy to eliminate?”

Rynne let out a little laugh. “That’s a very polite way to say we’re going to slit their throats.”

He turned her with a frown, and she held up her hands. “I’m not judging! In fact, I’m in. I’m ready. Let’s slit some throats.” She smiled at Piper.

Piper held up a placating hand. “Hang on. The woman implied that they’re low on ammo, but they each had at least one blade that we could see.”

Fenris nodded. “Good. Then we should–”

“Wait,” Merrill interjected. “There’s more. They might not be alone. The woman said there may be more of their people somewhere else in the forest, but she wasn’t sure they were still alive.” She suddenly straightened and smiled. “Maybe the forest swallowed them up because they’re awful people! Oh, I do hope so.”

Dorian stared at her, then turned to Fenris. “Is she serious? I can’t quite tell anymore.”

“I believe she is,” Fenris said in a flat tone. “Unfortunately.”

Cullen looked at Piper. “How do you suggest dealing with this?”

“We ambush them,” Piper said promptly. “Dorian, Fenris, Merrill and I are well-practiced at this, so we’ll take one each. I’ll keep the woman alive so we can question her. For the last one…” She looked at Cullen and Rynne. “You two can toss a coin for who takes him. I know neither of you are used to this kind of sneak attack, but you might as well start getting used to it now.”

Rynne blew out a sharp exhale, then squared her shoulders. “I’ll–”

Fenris interrupted her. “Cullen, you do it.”

Piper looked at him in surprise, and Cullen shot Rynne an uneasy look. “Ah. Um. I could, if Hawke is amenable…? ”

Rynne placed a hand on Fenris’s forearm. “Fenris, I can do this.”

“I would rather you didn’t,” he said brusquely.

Rynne scowled and opened her mouth to protest, but Piper held up a hand before she could speak. “Fen, you’re being bossy again, but I’m going to allow it this time because we need to get this done.” She turned to Rynne, who was looking heartbreakingly disappointed. “Sit this one out, all right?”

Rynne nodded. “Captain.”

Piper squeezed her shoulder. “Next time there are slavers to kill, you’ll be my go-to girl, all right? Now let’s get moving.”

Very quietly, they crept toward the enemy’s campfire once more and split off in the thick foliage to surround the little camp, with Rynne trailing behind Fenris. A tense moment later, Piper made a soft trilling sound.

All at once, Piper and her companions burst from the cover of the trees and rushed the camp. In less than three seconds, Fenris’s assigned foe was dead on the mossy ground, and Merrill and Dorian killed their foes moments later. Cullen’s approach was delayed by a split second – due to lack of familiarity with stealth attacks, Piper was certain – and the enemy managed to flinch away from Cullen’s dagger hand, but Cullen grabbed his shirt and sank his blade smoothly into the side of the man’s throat.

Piper, meanwhile, ploughed straight into the female pirate’s back and shoved her with all her strength.

The woman gasped and almost stumbled straight into the fire, but Piper didn’t give her the time to recover her balance. She quickly tucked her bare foot behind the woman’s booted one and shoved her shoulder hard, tripping her and sending her sprawling onto her back.

The woman hit the ground with a pained grunt, but she was a determined bitch; she was grabbing for the cutlass at her waist before she was even able to take a breath. Unfortunately for her, Piper was even more determined. She kneeled on the woman’s stomach with all of her weight, forcing the residual air from her lungs, then punched the woman in the nose with the heel of her hand – not so hard as to break her nose, but hard enough to make her eyes water.

The woman released her cutlass and reached up to grab her face, and Fenris strode over and kicked the weapon away while Piper straddled the woman’s waist and sat on her belly to obstruct her breathing.

The pirate dragged in a laboured breath. “F-fuck you,” she rasped.

Piper let out a humourless laugh. “Same to you. How many more of your crew are out there?” She lifted her weight slightly so the woman could speak.

The woman glared at her in silence, and Piper shrugged. “Fine. We’ll do this the hard way.” She pried the woman’s hands away from her face, then grabbed her injured nose and started to twist.

The woman shrieked. “Stop, stop! Fuck! I don’t know who else is alive, all right?”

Piper released her nose. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not,” the woman yelled. “We got split up. Haven’t seen the rest in days, maybe a week. Don’t know how much bloody time has passed since we got wrecked ‘ere.”

Piper harrumphed. “How many were your crew?”

“Sixty-four in total,” the woman said. “Half of ‘em died in the freak storm that stuck us ‘ere. We wandered into this fucking forest thinking we’d find summat to eat, some water. All we find is some crumbling wreck of a temple and a bunch of dead men’s bones.”

“Temple?” Merrill said keenly. “What sort of temple?”

“The scary kind with dead bodies ‘round it, you bloody stupid knife-ear,” the woman snarled.

Piper backhanded her across the face and grabbed her nose again, making her gasp in pain. “Where is this temple?” she demanded.

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” the woman squawked. “We didn’t stay! The smarter half of us left before we could find out what killed them fellas ‘round the entrance. Bloody Ianto and the others–”

Piper’s stomach jolted at the familiar name, and Cullen straightened. “Ianto?” he said sharply.

Piper looked up at him in alarm. Could it really be the Ianto? The same one who had kept Cullen as a prisoner ten years ago?

The woman was still talking. “... they said they was going to go into the temple, find some old elf treasure or some shit like that, but I know a rotten egg when I smell one. Not touching that cursed place with a ten-foot pole.”

Piper turned back to look at her. “Answer my question. Where was the temple?”

“I told you, I don’t know,” the woman said loudly.

Piper slapped her once more. “Don’t you fucking lie to me.”

“I’m bloody not!” the woman yelled. “We can’t tell our ears from our arseholes in this Maker-forsaken forest. It was total chance we found our way back to the fucking beach!”

Piper paused at this. This woman and her crew had gotten lost? And yet Piper and Merrill and Fenris were able to orient without a map, thanks to that weird voice-feeling-intuition thing...

She glanced briefly at Merrill, who was watching the woman with a fascinated look on her face. Merrill gave Piper a tiny nod, and Piper looked up at the others. “Anything else you want to ask?” she said.

“No,” Fenris said shortly.

Cullen and Rynne shook their heads, and Dorian shrugged. “My curiosity is quite satisfied,” he said.

“Good,” Piper said. She pulled her dagger from her thigh and stabbed the woman viciously in the neck.

Her eyes went wide with shock. She tried to scrabble for her copiously bleeding neck, but Piper ruthlessly grabbed her hands. When the woman passed out from blood loss, Piper rose to her feet. “Strip them of anything useful and let’s move on,” she said.

Her companions murmured their agreement and started searching the dead pirates for resources. Meanwhile, Piper sidled over to Rynne, who was looking rather pale.

“You all right, love?” she said gently. This was the first time Rynne had ever seen Piper interrogating someone.

“I’m fine!” Rynne said brightly. “No need to fuss, Piper, I’m absolutely fine.” She kneeled next to the pirate that Fenris was looting and started haphazardly searching the dead man’s pockets. “Did you know that I’m actually very stealthy? You wouldn’t think it since I’m such a loudmouth, I know, but I used to sneak into Carver’s room all the time without him knowing. I’d move things around to see if he would notice.” She smiled at Piper. “Subtle little things, you know, like shifting his boots in the closet or moving his comb from one side of this table to the other. It was just enough of a change to drive him up the wall without him being able to accuse anyone of anything.”

Piper studied her carefully. If not for Rynne’s perfectly cheerful smile, Piper would almost have thought that her story was a dig at Fenris for stopping her from trying a stealth kill.

She tried to give Fenris a disapproving look, but he was scowling and stubbornly avoiding her eye. She shrugged and squeezed Rynne’s shoulder instead. “That sounds really fucking stealthy, Rynne. You and I will have to try that in Varric’s quarters when we get back to the Lady Luck. If he goes nuts, then you know you’re really stealthy.”

Rynne beamed at her. “It’s a date.”

Piper gave her shoulder a hearty pat, then returned to Cullen’s side. Rynne might have forgiven Fenris, but Piper was definitely going to crack down on him the next time he tried to be a controlling ass.

An hour later, when the waning sun had left the forest in darkness, Piper and her companions were settling in for the night at their own little makeshift camp. They were forgoing a fire in case it attracted enemies, relying instead on the dimmer light of the small oil lanterns that they had brought along for this very purpose. They had already eaten their supper of hardtack and dried meat, and Merrill was busily working on translating the charcoal rubbing from the wolf monument while the others discussed the events of the day.

Dorian pursed his lips thoughtfully. “That thing she said about their crew getting disoriented in the forest. That was interesting, yes?” He tapped his notebook, which was open on the ground in front of him. “Especially with how much trouble I’ve been having trying to map this place. Merrill was able to help me a bit, but it’s quite absurd, really. I never usually have difficulties with mapping, seeing as how clever I am.”

Fenris huffed and ran his whetstone along the length of his scimitar. “Dorian, do you think that if you keep telling everyone how clever and handsome you are, they will eventually believe you?”

Dorian shot him a charming grin. “I didn’t say anything about handsome, Fenris. Interesting that you came to that adjective on your own. Is there something you wanted to tell me? An amusing proposal of marriage, perhaps?”

Fenris shot him a flat look, and Rynne giggled and leaned into Fenris’s side. “Nice try, Dorian, but if you want to get to Fenris, you’ll have to go through me.”

Fenris smirked and continued to sharpen his blade. Piper, meanwhile, was idly watching as Merrill studiously inspected her charcoal rubbing and cross-referenced it with her own notebook of Elvhen glyphs.

After a while of watching in silence, Piper spoke. “Hey, Merrill?

“Yes, Piper?” Merrill said distractedly.

Piper awkwardly tugged one of her braids before going on. “In the… the elf dreams we’re all having. The voice says something in Elvhen, but I can never remember what. Can you?”

Fenris looked up attentively at her question, and Merrill finally lifted her eyes from her parchment. “Yes,” she said. “And in fact, I think it might mirror what I’m seeing in this inscription.” She sat back and looked at them all. “The dream voice says this: ‘I will find her. Until then, they will know sorrow.’”

Piper’s stomach jolted uncomfortably. ‘They will know sorrow’? That did not sound good.

Oblivious to Piper’s discomfiture, Merrill was pointing to a particular line in her charcoal rubbing. “And here in the inscription, there’s a reference to a–”

“Wait a minute,” Fenris interrupted. “‘They will know sorrow’? That is what the voice says?” He put down his whetstone. “The voice that lured us here and is pulling us around in this cursed forest: it said ‘they will know sorrow’?”

His tone grew increasingly sharp and incredulous as he went on, and Merrill frowned. “Yes, Fenris, that’s what I said,” she replied. “And as for who the ‘she’ might be, I think–”

Fenris cut her off again. “You were aware of this premonition, and still you brought us here?”

Merrill folded her arms. “Why are you getting so angry? I thought you didn’t believe in the Elvhen gods.”

Her tone was challenging and very slightly snide, and Piper grimaced and glanced cautiously at Fenris. Indeed, he was positively glowering at Merrill now. “I don’t, because they don’t exist!”

“They obviously do, and you know it,” Merrill retorted. “You can feel it. That’s why you’re scared.”

He rose to his feet and pointed at her accusingly. “What scares me is your presumption that this cursed forest is safe, if you knew all along that that voice was an omen of ill fortune!”

Merrill pouted. “It’s not a sign of ill fortune. Look at all the evidence!” She started counting off her fingers. “That voice only talks to the elves. It helped us get to this beach without smashing the Lady Luck to pieces–”

“That was a near miss, and you know it,” Fenris snapped.

Merrill ignored him. “–and there’s a perfect statue of the Dread Wolf in the middle of the forest that no one except us has seen in ages? That’s proof!”

“Proof of what?” Fenris demanded.

“That this forest is protected by Fen’Harel!” Merrill exclaimed.

Fenris recoiled at this, and Piper stared at Merrill in total bemusement. The others all seemed equally nonplussed; no one spoke for a few long seconds.

Cullen was the first to speak. “Protected by, er, Fen’Harel?” he said faintly.

“I’m confused,” Rynne said.

“I am too,” Dorian said. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but anything involving the Dread Wolf is a bad thing, isn’t it?”

Merrill waved impatiently in the direction of the camp they’d eradicated. “For those humans, yes, but not for us. We’re safe and protected because Fen’Harel is guiding us!” She poked her parchment. “It says right here: Fen’Harel ma ghilana. ‘Fen’Harel guide you’, and that’s what he’s been doing!”

“Shut your mouth,” Fenris snarled.

Merrill gasped, and Piper shot him a forbidding look. “Fenris,” she said warningly.

Fenris ignored her and gestured angrily at Merrill. “You knew this forest was a trap. A – a cesspool of danger thrumming in the air and straight into our ears. And you led us here.”

“It is not dangerous!” Merrill insisted. “We’re protected!”

“And what about Hawke?” Fenris yelled. “And Cullen and Dorian?”

“Thank you, Fenris,” Dorian interjected. “I knew you cared.”

Fenris ignored him as well and continued to glare at Merrill. “You claim that we are protected, but what about them?”

“They’re protected because they’re with us,” Merrill said impatiently.

“You don’t know that!” Fenris shouted.

Merrill folded her arms and lifted her chin. “You know what, Fenris? Fine. Don’t believe me. No one ever does. But I know I’m right.”

His face twisted with rage, and Piper held up a hand. “Fenris,” she said firmly.

He exhaled hard, then snatched one of the oil lanterns from the ground. He pointed at Merrill once more. “If any harm comes to them, it is your fault,” he snarled. Then he began to stalk away.

“Hey. Don’t go wandering off,” Piper barked.

“I need a minute alone,” he yelled, and he strode into the forest.

Rynne rose to her feet, taking another lantern with her. “Well, that was invigorating,” she said brightly. “I don’t know about you, but Fenris yelling always gets my blood pumping.” She jerked her thumb in his direction. “I’ll just, er…”

Dorian grimaced. “Careful, Hawke. When he says he wants a moment alone, he means it.”

Rynne looked at him, and her face was uncharacteristically serious. “Not from me,” she said. “He doesn’t get to walk away from me.” She hurried into the dark after Fenris.

Piper watched her go, then sighed and ran her hands through her hair. Then Cullen wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

Piper leaned into him, suddenly and violently grateful that he was there. He’d been rather quiet through all of this, and it wasn’t until now that Piper realized how much she was cherishing his quiet and solid presence at her side.

“Piper,” Merrill said softly. “You believe me, don’t you? You believe the forest is safe?”

Piper gazed into Merrill’s big green eyes. She wanted to say yes; she wanted to believe that this forest was safe, because if it wasn’t – if there was danger here, to Rynne or Dorian or her beloved Golden Boy – then they’d have to turn around. Piper would have to return to the Lady Luck empty-handed, with nothing to show for the suffering she’d brought upon her crew.

But Fenris’s words to Merrill were ringing in her ears. If any harm comes to them, it is your fault. He’d yelled this at Merrill, but Piper knew the truth: If any harm came to her human companions, it would be Piper’s fault, not Merrill’s. Piper had signed off on Merrill’s plan, and Piper was the captain of the Lady Luck. If any harm came to Cullen or Dorian or Rynne, it would be Piper’s fault.

But the thought of going back to the Lady Luck with nothing to offer the rest of her crew – of not providing her crew with the lucrative bounty and luxurious lives they deserved, especially when a very promising-sounding ancient temple was looming in the forest somewhere not too far away…

“Please, Piper,” Merrill pleaded. “Trust me. I know what I’m talking about.”

Piper gazed at her for a moment longer. If she was honest, she didn’t have a great feeling about all of this. But she was Captain Piper Lavellan, and Captain Piper Lavellan didn’t balk in the face of danger.

“Don’t worry, Merrill,” she said. “We’re moving forward with our little adventure.”

Merrill smiled and clapped her hands, then went back to her translations. Dorian shuffled over to sit next to Merrill while she worked, and Piper pulled Cullen’s arm more securely around her neck and tried to focus on his comforting scent of spice and leather and sweat.

Like Fenris, she wasn’t convinced that the mysterious voice was really the voice of Fen’Harel, or that they were quite as safe as Merrill believed. But all she could do was push forward and hope that things would turn out for the best.

All she could do was keep making her own luck.

23 notes · View notes

typhonserpent · 7 years ago

Text

Dancing In The Moonlight

Fandom: Dragon Age 2 Rating: General Genre: Romance Pairing: Fenris/Anders Summary: Cinderella AU. Anders, a poor apostate farmboy living under the tyrannical thumb of his templar stepmother, has his shoe snatched by a passing eagle. The eagle carries the sandal far north, and drops it in front of a rebellious Tevinter prince. Thus begins a journey of romance, betrayal, adventure, and true love.

Notes: HAPPY HOLIDAYS @goatbazaarofdragons I WAS YOUR WINTERSEND SECRET SANTA!!! I’ve been sitting on this puppy for nearly a month hoping it would meet your expectations! I hope I did a good job!

This was for the wintersend event hosted by @fendersassoc

My Writing Tag ✦ Ao3 Link - Please leave me a comment!

Cullen and Alistair were sparring outside the manor when Meredith screeched, “It’s BURNT! You can’t eat it if it’s burnt. Get it out of my sight! Feed it to the pigs you worthless cur!”

They both froze, Alistair’s shield up and Cullen’s wooden sword raised to strike. Both glanced back to the manor to see Anders stumbling out through the kitchen door, a loaf of bread cradled under one arm. Meredith appeared a few seconds later, leaning out the door frame to shout, “Alistair! Come here!”

The pair lowered their training weapons, Alistair left his sword and shield leaned up against the manor wall and headed her way without a word. Anders was already wading through the muck to get to the pig’s pen.

Anders tore off a chunk of bread and tossed it into the feeding trough, summoning a round pink hog from where he had been napping in the sun. Its curly tail wagged as it scarfed down its treat, then looked up expectantly while Anders tore off a second piece.

Coming up behind him, Cullen said, “It doesn’t look burnt to me.”

Anders jumped, swiveling around to meet his step brother. Cullen cocked an eyebrow, then nodded at the loaf in his hand.

“It … she insisted she could smell the burning. I told it was because cake batter had boiled over and the oven was still burning it off but … well you know how she is.”

The smile quickly faded from Cullens’ face. “Yes … unfortunately.”

Anders tore off another chunk of bread and threw it into the trough. The sun shined down on both of them, lighting their blonde manes ablaze and making even Cullen’s dented and mud-caked practice armor glimmer. An eagle screeched overhead, and Cullen covered his eyes to get a look at it.

“Shit.” Cullen whispered.

“Oh no!” Anders dropped the remains of the loaf of bread into the mud, “Is Pounce indoors?”

“You look for Pounce, I’ll check on the chickens.”

They split in opposite directions. Cullen’s boots made loud splats in the muck. Anders took two steps with mud squelching between his toes before he looked down and realized his left foot was bare. Another screech had his eyes on the sky. The eagle was swooping, a blue glint in its eye. It was all he could do to duck, covering his head. In an instant, the eagle sank it’s claws into the mud, and then surged back into the sky with Anders’ sandal in grasped in it’s talons.

He stared back at the bird, jaw agape as he could swear the eagle was looking back at him with glowing blue eyes.

Cullen was already running. “Anders! Are you alright?” He asked as he came to a halt.

“Was that bird possessed?”

“What?”

“I thought I saw ...” He trailed off. It hardly mattered. Demon or not, it had still made off with his sandal and not any of the farm animals. He looked down at his bare foot and sighed, “Rotten bird. These were my last shoes that didn’t have holes in them.”

Cullen half-laughed, half-sighed, and wiped a sheen of sweat off his forehead, “Tell you what, I’m going into town next week to apply for a guard position. While I’m there, I’ll buy you a new pair of shoes.”

Anders ran his fingers through his hair and gathered it into a ponytail. “I couldn’t ask you to do that. If she found out-”

“If Mother asks,” Cullen interrupted, “I’ll tell her I bought them for myself and they were the wrong size.”

The words turned Anders’ blush into a smile. “You’re a good brother, Cullen. Thank you.”

x – X – x

Blood splattered across the sand.

Fenris had to admit to having a bit of a sick fascination with executions, but when he was forced to watch them it was another matter. He was lounging in a comfy chair under a canopy, legs sprawled, head resting in his hand, and wishing he were somewhere other than in the hot sun.

The guard kicked the body, and it rolled off of the executioner’s stage. Unfurling his scroll, he shouted out the next name, and a dwarf was ushered towards the block.

Fenris held up his hand. A halt signal. And at once armor clattered as the guards around him rushed to carry out the order. The dwarf was laid with his neck against the block, and Fenris stood, making his way to the stairs which led to the stage. The executioner had only just placed his foot on the dwarf’s back when one of Fenris’ guards came up and tapped him on the shoulder.

Fenris stepped onto the stage, and held out his hand. “Give me the axe.”

The executioner made a confused grunt. “Y-your highness?”

Fenris yanked the axe out of his hands and pushed his chest to usher him aside. “If Danarius is going to force me to perform his duties I will at least practice my aim while I do so.”

Fenris rose the axe, all the while thinking how angry his father’s adviser would be when he arrived to dinner with his velvet clothes splattered in blood.

Then, a sandal dropped onto the dwarf’s back.

An eagle screeched, and six or so arrows were knocked onto bows. It took Fenris a second to actually tear his eyes away from the sandal, and look up to spy the eagle. A glint of blue shone in its eye as it made a sharp turn, and grew smaller by the second while it fled the scene.

Dumbstruck, he turned back to the sandal on the dwarf’s back, and stared.

“Sire, are you alright?” One of the guards ran forward, and stopped in his tracks when Fenris held up his hand again.

Leaning the axe upright, he knelt, and brought himself down to face the prisoner, “You, dwarf. What is your name?”

The dwarf turned, revealing a crooked nose that suggested he had at some point been punched in the face, “Varric Tethras, your highness. To what do I owe the honor?”

“What charges have brought you here?”

Varric wheezed a laugh, “That’s a story for the ages. How much time do you have?”

Fenris cocked an eyebrow, and waited. After three seconds, Varric took the hint and continued, “Look, you piss off the wrong people while gambling and they wind up thirsty for blood. Nobles pull strings. You know how it is.”

“Yes ...” Fenris hummed.

After another two second of silence, he stood, and thrust the axe back into the executioners hands. “Untie the dwarf and escort him to my office.”

“Y-yes, your highness.” The executioner stammered, and sprang to work.

Fenris picked up the sandal and descended the stairs.

An hour later, Fenris was lounging in his desk chair turning the sandal over in his hands, when there was a knock at the door. “Come in!” He called.

In came Varric, cuffed and escorted by two guards.

“Uncuff him and leave us.” Fenris ordered.

Albeit slowly, the guards obeyed, and shut the door behind them.

Fenris had not taken his eyes of the sandal in his hand the entire time. When they were alone, he finally held it up, and looked to Varric. “Do you recognize this sandal?”

Varric chuckled, “Trust me, if I could take credit for what happened out there, I would.”

“The eagle that dropped it … I’m sure I saw a glimmer in it’s eye. Like a spirit.”

Varric whistled, “A magic bird leaving you a shoe. Doesn’t happen every day. You think it means something?”

“It has to. Or at least, that’s what I’m going to tell people.”

“Pardon?” Varric cocked one eyebrow.

“You said you were a gambler, correct? Tell me, how is your acting?”

x – X – x

Anders was scrubbing the floors when Meredith approached him, her feet making an echoing stomp on the newly polished floor.

“Tell me something,” She said, “Why is it Cullen mentioned you were more concerned with your worthless cat than you were about our own livestock?”

Anders sighed, dunked the scrub brush into the bucket of soapy water, and resisted the urge to roll his eyes while he worked. “Cullen was checking on the chickens, and Pounce means a lot to me. He knows that, so-”

“So you let him take care of your duties when he should have been saving his energy for training.”

He took a deep breath. There wasn’t any arguing with her when she got like this. Setting down the scrub brush, he turned so he was facing her on his knees. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“I’ll see to it that it doesn’t. I want that cat out of the house by tomorrow morning or else I’ll tie it up in a sack and throw it in the river.”

He jumped to his feet, heart in his throat. “You can’t be serious. Father loved Ser Pounce. I can’t-”

“Karl is dead.” Meredith snapped, her lips pursed into a thin line, “I didn’t marry a cat. See to it that that animal is gone or he’ll be fish food by this time tomorrow.”

x – X – x

Fenris knew who was at the door before he even heard the knock. “Come in!” He called without looking away from his wardrobe.

Danarius threw open the doors, robes flapping with the force, his face pinched into a scowl. “What’s this I hear about you going on a quest, Fenris? Why are my guards reporting that you freed a prisoner sentenced to the death penalty?”

Opposite Fenris, Varric was lounging in a chair and reading a scroll twice as long as he was tall. He gave Danarius a small wave.

“Your guards?” Fenris asked, raising one eyebrow, “I appear to have missed the portion of my father’s will that granted you ownership of the castle calvary.”

For a brief second, Danarius’ lower eyelid twitched, and Fenris took immense pleasure in watching it happen. Danarius pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, obviously I didn’t mean it literally. But as Adviser to the Throne it is one of my duties to command the castle guard.”

“Not for much longer.” Fenris yanked a shirt off of its hanger and swiveled, “I am engaged.”

From the look on Danarius’ face, Fenris may as well have said he was turning into a dragon.

“T-to who!?”

“To the owner of this sandal, of course.” Fenris gestured towards the table Varric was sitting by, where the mud-caked sandal sat in defiant opposition to the silk pillow it had been placed on.

Varric tapped a line of the scroll he’d been reading, “There’s no law saying you have to have met your fiance in order to marry them. Hell some cultures encourage that sort of thing.”

“That is … true.” Danarius crossed his arms, glaring daggers at Varric while Fenris folded his shirt and stuffed it into a bag, “But I … doubt the people will trust a prince who bases his marriage off of a dirty shoe.”

“I will be King by the time they object to it.” Fenris continued, “Nevertheless, should they hear about how we met thanks to the blessing of a sacred eagle, I should think they wouldn’t hesitate to rally behind their new leader.”

“Sacred … eagle?”

Varric hopped off his chair and rolled up the scroll, “The bird that dropped that shoe was spirit-possessed. Ask anyone who was there. A couple meeting because a sacred bird stole a maiden’s shoe and carried it miles away to land in front of her true love? It’s a union blessed by the maker himself!”

“Almost storybook, wouldn’t you agree, Danarius?” Slowly, Fenris turned to meet Danairus’ eyes, “Don’t worry. In a matter of days you’ll be able to retire knowing that the kingdom is finally in the hands of its rightful heir.”

Danarius clasped his hands together and took a deep breath. “It’s … a very beautiful notion. However I am … concerned that you may not find your new spouse in time. Do you really have time to scour the globe before your next birthday?”

“Scouring the globe will not be necessary.” Fenris selected a few more shirts from his wardrobe and draped them over his arm, “I already had my tailor analyze the sandal. From the stitching and position of the straps, he swears it must have been made in the Free Marches. I intend to travel south to Kirkwall and send out word from there.”

“No maiden would turn down the chance to appear before a prince.” Varric added, “He’ll have people lining up for miles in no time.”

“Then ...” Danarius continued, “Please consider it my duty to accompany you on this quest.”

Fenris paused in his packing and gave Danarius a hard stare, “That will not be necessary. I am sure your duties here require far more attention.”

“Nonsense!” He scoffed, “I insist. After all, this is the kingdom’s future we’re talking about. No, I will appoint a member of the magisterium to command in my stead so that I may help you on this Maker-sent quest.”

There wasn’t room for another word. Danarius was already out the door, slamming it shut behind him. They remained silent until the sound of his footsteps disappeared.

Varric whistled, “You weren’t kidding about him.”

“Danarius will stop at nothing to take my birthright away from me. If I am not wed by my next birthday, he will convince the Magisterium to allow him to take my place.”

“Nothing like a deadline to light a fire under your ass, huh? What are you going to do if the person who owns that sandal doesn’t want to marry you?”

Fenris hummed while he stuffed his clothes into his bag, “I am hoping it will not come to that. If it does, I hope they will understand my position. As soon as I have been crowned king, they will be free to stay or leave as they please.”

“Well … best of luck, your Highness.”

Fenris gave him a warm smile, “You can call me Fenris, Varric. When this is over I’ll see to it that your crimes are pardoned.”

x– X – x

Two weeks had passed since Meredith’s threat, and Anders had seen to it that Pounce didn’t make an appearance anywhere near the house.

Not that it had been easy.

He was adding the finishing touches to dinner. Sprigs of parsley atop the roast, a splash of cream in Meredith’s tea. He pocketed the cream bottle, then added two sugars.

The tea was delivered to the dining room, in the midst of yet another of Meredith’s lectures. “I just don’t see why you want to waste perfectly good skills with the city guard all things.” She scoffed, not even looking up when Anders set her cup down.

Cullen sighed, “I’m tired of being a Templar, Mother. The lyrium and the constant in-fighting are … exhausting. The guard is a way I can use my abilities while helping people.”

“How is guarding the circle not helping people?”

Anders left the room before Cullen could respond, and with a platter bearing three dishes. He set it in front of Meredith first, then Alistair and Cullen.

“It looks lovely, Anders. Thank you.” Alistair said. Anders managed a baggy-eyed smile in response.

Meredith picked up a fork and prodded at the pile of vegetables. “Are there onions in this? You know I hate onions.”

“No onions.” Anders replied, “Potatoes, celery, peppers, carrots. Garlic and salt for taste.”

Cullen continued even as the plate was set in front of him, “I’m constantly accused of receiving special treatment because you’re my mother. I can’t perform a single duty without someone whispering, ‘oh, he got off easy because the knight-commander is his mother.’ but if I accept hard labor suddenly they’re saying, ‘he must have done something at home to anger mommy’.”

“So ignore them! That’s what I do. Your abilities should speak for themselves.” Meredith replied.

Anders left and returned later with a cake and three plates. “I have to put out the fires in the stove so I’m setting out desert now. If I leave it in the kitchen, it will freeze.”

“Thank you, Anders.” Meredith sneered through clenched teeth, “You are dismissed.”

He couldn’t leave the room fast enough.

He put out the fire in the stove, served his own portion of food on a wood plate (Meredith didn’t permit him to use the silver dishes), tucked a water skin under his shirt, and ducked out through the kitchen door.

Past the pig’s pen and through the cattle field, into the woods and past a series of trees with ribbons tied around them, rested a clearing where Anders still had memories of holding picnics and playing with his father. Now it held only a grave.

They’d buried him under his favorite tree, marked by a gravestone with lovingly carved words.

KARL THEKLA

HUSBAND – FATHER – FRIEND

And behind the grave, in a little alcove at the base of the tree, Anders had set out a bowl of water, a little saucer, and a plate. He’d lined the base of the hole with old blankets, and drove a nail into one wall where he tied a string that led to a homemade harness that wrapped around Ser Pounce’s chest.

He’d tried it without the leash at first, but Pounce had showed up in his room the next night. It was only by pure luck that he’d managed to get the cat back out before Meredith saw. He couldn’t risk that happening again, so here Pounce was. Tied up and no doubt hating Anders for it.

The cat didn’t even look up when he poured cream into the saucer, or filled up his bowl from the water skin, or tore up his portion of the roast into bite-sized chunks and set them on the plate.

“Pounce?” Anders tried, but there was no response. Just the silhouette of the cat curled into a ball inside it’s makeshift shelter.

Anders sat back on his haunches and sighed. His plate was still next to him, a measly serving of roast vegetables that he couldn’t even look at without feeling a pit in his stomach. Why shouldn’t Pounce hate him for this? He didn’t understand that it was for his own good … all he knew was that his master had left him tied up outside with winter fast approaching.

A shadow was being cast by Karl’s tombstone, but that was never where he felt Karl’s presence anyway. When he looked up, he could see a ribbon on one of the branches. Karl had to hold him on his shoulders to tie it up there. The tree had grown with him, and as Anders grew up the ribbon only grew further away.

“What am I supposed to do?” He choked.

He hugged himself, shivering against the cold breeze that swept through the clearing. Holding up shaking hands, he summoned a little fire in his palms. Meredith didn’t permit him to have a staff. This was the most he could do without anything to use as a focus point.

Magic made him feel closer to his father. Even if they had to hide and practice their magic deep in the woods, even if Meredith complained loudly about the indignity of marrying into an apostate family, Anders felt immense joy in casting spells whenever he could. He mended wounds the chickens got from pecking one another and more than once erased the evidence of Cullen and Alistair’s rougher training sessions.

His father used to dance with magic. Oh, how they both loved to dance.

Anders rose, and made his way to the center of the clearing, flame still in hand. Unwrapping his arms from himself, he summoned a flame in the opposite palm.

He danced.

When he moved his arms, it drew shapes in the night air with the fires. His feet stepped to the beat in his head. One-two-three, one-two-three, while his hands drew swirls and waves in the air.

A bush rustled.

He jumped, extinguishing the flames right away. “Pounce?” He whispered, then ran to the far side of the tree. Another fire in his palm had his eyes widening in panic. His worst nightmare come true. The lump he’d mistaken for Pounce’s silhouette was a fold in the blankets. The leash led only to a chewed-through end.

Pounce was gone.

“Maker no.” He breathed, rising to his feet and swiveling towards the tree line.

“Pounce!” He called, summoning a wisp of fire to his palm.

Another shuffle came from the foliage, and Anders darted towards it. “Pounce!”

When he pushed past the bushes, he saw an elf.

The fire in his palm illuminated snowy white hair and dark skin. He was wearing armor unlike any Anders had ever seen, spiked gauntlets and pauldrons custom-cut to fit his body. His arms were bare, revealing swirling tattoos that matched the ones creeping up his neck.

He had an orange tabby in his arms.

“I … apologize.” The elf said, then held out Pounce, “Is this your cat?”

“Pounce!” Anders breathed, extinguishing his spell so he could take the cat. Pounce gave an indignant mrow as he was hugged, “What am I going to do with you?” Letting Pounce settle into a crook in his arms, he nuzzled his fur and stroked his neck.

“I have never seen a leash-trained cat.”

Anders was pulled from his little world by the mystery elf’s words. The elf glanced down at the harness on Pounce’s back.

“Oh, he’s not-” Anders felt his cheeks grow hot, “He doesn’t walk on the leash he’s just … on it. Right now.”

“A bit cold for him, is it not?”

“Oh, he’ll be fine … should be. I hope. He can’t be at home right now, I don’t have … much of a choice.”

The elf tilted his head, summoning to mind the image of a curious bird.

“If … Pounce, was it? If Pounce is in need of a place to stay, I may be able to accommodate. If only for a little while.”

Anders felt a tidal wave over emotions over the span of one second. Relief that this stranger would offer to care for Pounce followed by realization that he didn’t know this person, then fear, suspicion, and guilt.

“I couldn’t ask that of you, we only just met.”

“Well then, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Fenris.”

Fenris held out his hand. After shuffling Pounce to be in one arm, Anders accepted his handshake. “Anders. You already know Ser Pounce-a-Lot.”

“Yes. He greeted me during my nighttime stroll and led me to a rather beautiful dance show.”

That made Anders turned a shade of strawberry pink. “Oh you … you saw that?”

“I didn’t mean to spy.”

“It’s not that, I ...” He trailed off. He felt his heart in his throat. Had he seen the magic? Why wasn’t he saying anything about it? Was he biding his time so he could report Anders in the morning? Why not just get it over with now? He’d be thrown in the circle, Meredith would be disgraced, his father’s estate would be sold, and his step brothers would be thrown in the street by this time tomorrow.

“Never have I seen it’s equal.” Fenris continued.

In his panic, Anders had squeezed his eyes shut. When Fenris’ words sank in, he opened them to meet forest green eyes, glistening in the moonlight.

“In Tevinter, magic is a source of power. My father always found it tragic that I was not born a mage. His adviser suggested the use of these.” He removed one of the gauntlets and ran his hand over the tattoos on his arms. They stretched all the way across his hands to the tips of his fingers, “They were the most painful experience of my life. The process burned away my memories. The first thing I remember is being told that my father passed away while I was recovering.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.”

Fenris shrugged, and replaced the gauntlet on his hand. “Apologies. I shouldn’t burden you with my life story. What I wanted to say was … I’ve never seen magic used to create something so beautiful. Would you show me again?”

Anders hadn’t looked away from those eyes, though now he noticed the subtle way in which Fenris’ cheeks had darkened. Was he blushing?

“Well … alright.” He decided aloud.

Going back to the clearing, he set Pounce down next to his dinner. Once he was satisfied that the cat would stay there and eat, he moved to the center of the clearing, and summoned a flame in either hand.

Fenris leaned against a tree, watching Anders’ light dance draw shapes in the night air. Twists and swirls of light, illuminating dust motes so that it looked like the stars had descended to dance with him. Anders could hear the tune in his head. His father’s humming, counting one-two-three one-two-three so his feet would move in time to the rhythm.

He only stopped when his hand was snagged, and the flame extinguished as Fenris pulled him close, their hips flush.

“May I cut in?” Fenris asked.

Fenris dipped him, and Anders let his weight fall onto Fenris’ arms. He realized now, as the muscles in Fenris’ arms bunched to catch him, he must be an accomplished warrior. Fenris took the lead, swinging Anders around and stepping him into a silent waltz. Anders knew the beat even with neither of them saying it. One-two-three, one-two-three. The way Fenris’ armor was built for him allowed for very little space between the two. They could feel one another’s body heat.

Hands on Anders’ hip, Fenris lifted him into the air, and set him back down on his feet. Anders found himself grinning as he was dipped again, fingers interlacing with Fenris’. In one smooth motion, Fenris leaned down and kissed him.

Sighing, Anders gleefully allowed Fenris to capture his lips. Fingers tangled into blonde hair, Anders’ hand cupped Fenris’ cheek. Their lips parted to a hair’s width apart. They could feel one another’s breath.

Then, a dog barked.

It didn’t phase Fenris, but Anders recognized the sound of Alistair’s mabari, followed by shouting. He couldn’t make out words, but the pitch and tone were none other than Meredith’s.

“Oh no.” He breathed, then pushed Fenris off of him, “I have to go!”

Fenris spent a moment dumbstruck, enough time for Anders to push away and start running. As he went, he only barely made out Fenris calling, “Wait, when will I see you again?”

But he couldn’t turn back. He had to keep running. He left Fenris alone in their clearing without another word.

x – X – x

Fenris was laying on his back, with Pounce on his stomach. His eyes drifted in the general direction of the ceiling, but every time he closed them he could see the starry sky that bathed Anders while they had danced. Every so often, he would absentmindedly stroke the cat. Anders cat. The cat with a name as cute as Anders’ little button nose.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He ushered the cat off him, and opened the door to Varric.

During their trip, Danarius had complained loudly about the prison rags Varric was stuck in after his sudden departure from the headman’s block. A representative of the royal family should look the part, after all. Varric seemed to have take the advice, as he stood before Fenris in laced leather pants and matching leather gloves, a red velvet jacket lined with spun gold, and a wool tunic that was just a little too unbuttoned.

“What do you think?” Varric asked, holding his arms out.

Fenris stroked his chin and nodded, “I can see why you managed to rub elbows with nobles.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised what kind of people I can rub elbows with, Prince Broody.” Varric winked and nudged his side, “But we’re getting off topic. Adviser Control Freak wanted me to fetch you for the meeting.”

“Best not to let Danarius hear that nickname.” Fenris fetched a cloak off the hook, and then shut the door behind him. He tied it on and tugged the hood up while he walked.

“Trust me, I’ve heard the staff call him worse on a daily basis.”

They both snickered, then quickly fell silent as the left the cabin. Danarius was already in his private carriage at the front, arm resting on the window sill and fingers drumming impatiently. Fenris nodded to him as he passed, then stepped into the carriage behind him. With a mock salute at the adviser, Varric followed suit. Danarius signaled the driver, and the caravan was off.

In their efforts to keep a low profile, they’d rented a cabin in the castle’s shadow where they could easily post as many guards as they wanted. Fenris didn’t see much of a point in it if the entourage was going to announce their presence anyway. Already, common folk walking along the side of the road stopped and gaped at the ornate carriages and warriors on horses which bore saddles in the colors of the Tevinter flag. The city gate opened for them, and villagers stretched their necks out of their windows to catch a look at the procession.

Fenris found himself searching the crowd that was gathering, hoping to catch a head of strawberry blonde hair. Whenever he closed his eyes, he could clearly picture Anders’ face. High cheekbones, whiskey warm eyes, dimples at the edge of his smile. He was sure he could pick him out of the crowd.

“Why your highness, you look positively … glowing.” Varric said, “Something on your mind?”

“I was just looking for someone.”

“Someone special?”

“Perhaps.”

“Well, I highly doubt you can get a good look at their feet from in here.” Varric said, making Fenris’ ears droop. It suddenly sank in that they were looking for someone specific. Whoever fit the sandal was meant to be his new spouse. Even if he found Anders … what would he say?

He sank back into the carriage, and stayed there until it came to a halt in front of the castle. The driver opened their door to an entourage of guards surrounding a man in green velvet who could only be Kirkwall’s Viscount.

“Prince Fenris of Tevinter!” He shook Fenris’ hand, then turned to Danarius as he stepped out of his carriage, “And you must be Adviser Danarius.”

“I am.” Danarius replied, shaking his hand, “I trust you received our message?”

“I did, but you must be exhausted from your trip. Come inside, we can make arrangements over tea.”

Fenris followed, keeping a close eye on Danarius all the while. A smaller group of guards cut themselves off from the rest of the group and accompanied them, two of them even positioning themselves along the wall while the trio of nobles (and Varric) settled into a sitting room.

“First, I believe introductions are in order.” The Viscount said, “I’m Viscount Marlowe Dumar, this is my captain of the guard, Aveline, and her trainee, Cullen.”

The red-haired guardswoman bowed, and the blonde man behind her scrambled to follow suit.

“A pleasure.” Fenris said, nodding at him, “Has Viscount Dumar told you why we’re here?”

“No, sir.” Aveline replied.

Fenris gestured at Varric, who produced a silk-wrapped package from his jacket pocket. Untying the folds unveiled the sandal, almost as dirty as it was the day he’d found it. Cullen gave a tiny gasp, then stood at attention.

“This sandal was given to me by a spirit-touched eagle. I have taken it as a divine sign that I am to wed whoever it belongs to, even if I have to try it on every foot in the kingdom.”

“Say no more!” The Viscount said, “I’ll send word to the town criers at once. We shall organize a formal ball where you can-”

“That will not be fast enough.”

In complete unison, Danarius and the Viscount gaped at Fenris. “I’m sorry?” Danarius said with a cough.

“A formal meeting would take too much time to organize. Tell the town criers I intend to visit every house myself. If I do not find the sandal’s owner here, I will move on to the next town. I won’t stop until I find them.”

x – X – x

Cullen came home and went directly to the kitchen, where he found Anders doubled over the sink scrubbing out a frying pan.

“Anders!” He called, and Anders turned with a start, revealing a dark half-circle under one eye.

Cullen stopped halfway through the room, covering his mouth.

“Oh, Anders, what did she-”

“It’s fine.” Anders interjected, “My fault. I shouldn’t have snuck out last night. You heard her. That coyote wouldn’t have gotten into the chicken coop if it weren’t for me.”

Anders flinched when Cullen set a hand on his shoulder, head down so that his hair was covering the bruise. “You need to get out of here.” Cullen whispered, “It’s not safe for you.”

“You know it’s not that simple.”

“It might be. I met with the visiting dignitaries today. Once of them is a prince. He’s looking to make a spouse of whoever fits the sandal he found.”

Anders cocked an eyebrow, lips pursed. “Why not a ring? Seems a bit unromantic to use a sandal.”

“It’s your sandal, Anders. Prince Fenris is looking for you.”

That left Anders’ eyes wide as saucers, blood rushing to redden his face. “Prince Fen-” He covered his mouth.

“Yes, so if you just go to him-”

“NO!” His breathing grew heavy.

“Why? I saw the sandal. It’s the same one that eagle made off with, and Prince Fenris even said an eagle dropped it on him.”

Anders made an incoherent squeak. How was he supposed to explain that he couldn’t meet with the prince because he’d spent last night dancing in the woods while the chickens were being slaughtered? Meredith would kill him. “I just can’t, okay?”

“Why not?”

“Yes, Anders, why not?” A sly voice hissed from the doorway.

Cullen swiveled to see Meredith, leaning on the door frame with hard eyes glaring daggers at Anders.

“Tell me, Anders,” She repeated, stepping into the room, “Why can’t you meet with your prince?”

“It …” He struggled to find the words, shaking more and more with each agonizing step she took towards him, “Just wouldn’t be proper. I’m not worthy of a prince.”

She snagged his chin, sharp nails digging into his cheeks, forcing him to look at her.

“You’re lying.”

Without warning, she grabbed his neck and slammed his back against the wall. “Mother! Stop it!” Cullen called. Anders’ hands shot to her fingers. He reached for a spell, only to find his mana rapidly draining under her templar abilities.

“Don’t let him fool you!” She spat at Cullen before turning her attention back to Anders, “I found the tracks leading out to your father’s grave and the boot prints there. How long have you been conspiring against me?”

“I … haven’t.” Anders choked, eyes watering.

“Liar! I don’t know what you and that accursed Tevinter prince are planning but you won’t get away with it!”

Fist in his shirt, she dragged him out of the kitchen before Cullen could react further. Anders could barely hear Cullen calling from the bottom of the stairs as he was dragged up to the second, and then third floor, and then was finally thrown into his bedroom at the top of one of the manor towers. He landed ungracefully against the dresser. A throbbing pain in his back would leave another bruise later. Throwing himself to his feet, he barely made it to the door in time to hear the click of the lock from the outside.

x – X – x

Fenris spent the whole of the trip to the cabin with Danarius seething. Not that he had stopped seething all day, but when their search turned fruitless and night had fallen, he grew disturbingly fidgety. Fenris had never been more grateful for the fact that Danarius insisted on a private carriage.

When Fenris stepped outside, there stood Danarius, arms crossed and foot tapping. Fenris did his best to ignore him and retreated immediately to his room, Varric following not far behind him. He was just hanging his cloak on the hook when Danarius threw the door open.

Fenris steeled his face and stared while Danarius spat, “Just what is the meaning behind embarrassing me in front of the Viscount!?”

“Now, Adviser,” Varric said, “There’s not need to be angry-”

“Silence, dwarf! You should have been worm food by now!” He turned back to the dead panned Fenris and jabbed a finger into his chest, “Refusing a noble’s offer for aid, bending down in front of every commoner’s dirty feet, dragging the royal procession into the most disgusting parts of town. Just what in Andraste’s name do you think we are? Immigrants from a savage tribe of foot-worshipers?”

Fenris had his lips pursed tight. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before replying, “The time it would take to plan and execute a ball would be ultimately wasted. Even if it managed to attract anyone other than nobility, by the time the party would be held, my birthday will have already passed, meaning-”

“Meaning I would assume control of the kingdom, as it should be!”

Fenris turned to retort, and was immediately struck with a mind blast spell that sent him flying backwards until his back hit the wall opposite the door. Dazed from the attack, he didn’t react to Danarius approaching him until the adviser reached into his shirt’s inner pocket and pulled the sandal out.

“A shame you couldn’t find your love before the accident.” Danarius growled, “I’ll be sure to let the viscount know his town criers should spread word of Prince Fenris’ tragic death.” Fenris looked on in terror as he walked away. Varric, also hit by the spell, was on the ground just two meters away. Fenris jumped to his feet as the door was closing, and reached the doorknob in time to hear the click of the lock.

Danarius pocketed the key and made his way to the cabin’s living room, where one of their guards was standing by the entrance. “Our prince wishes to be left alone after today’s failure. Tell your men they have the night off to explore the town, and don’t return until morning.”

Without question, the guard left, Danarius following close behind him. He waited on the porch until the guard had disappeared. A quick fire spell lit the silk covering the sandal like a torch, and he tossed into a leaf pile beside the house, where the dry autumn leaves quickly caught aflame.

With that, Danarius left.

x- X - x

Anders threw his dresser over and kicked it until. Once, twice, and on the third kick with a loud CRACK one of the boards broke off. Picking it up, he whacked the door knob with all his might. Once, twice, thrice, until the board cracked in his hands. Scoffing, he threw it aside, then pounded on the door.

“HEY!” He screamed, then jiggled and yanked the door knob again, “LET ME OUT!”

His pounding slowed as his arms grew tired, fists red and sore, “ALISTAIR! CULLEN!” He cried, slowly slumping against the door until eventually, he sank completely, defeated hands flopping to his sides.

“… anyone?” He choked.

There was an eagle’s screech outside.

Kicking aside a pile of clothes as he went, Anders ran to the window and leaned outside. Barely visible against the stars, he spied the eagle’s shadow high above him. “Hey!” He shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth, “You got me into this mess! Your job is to get me out!”

The eagle passed over the full moon, a perfect silhouette with a tiny glimmer at its feet. As it passed above Anders, he watched the glimmer drop from its talons and rapidly fall. Leaning a little further out, he was just barely able to catch the clear crystal.

“That … was not what I expected.”

He ducked back inside. It was a largely raw, unpolished piece of quartz with a flat bottom where it might have once been been stuck atop a staff. His eyes widened with sudden realization. The primary component of a staff … what helped mages focus … was the crystal. He couldn’t exactly use it for melee like he could a staff, but maybe …

Crystal in one hand and opposite hand flat on the door, he focused his mana, and cast a fireball spell which burned a massive hole in the center of the door. The fireball dissipated against the staircase wall, scorching the stone.

Anders made it two steps out the door before he stopped, turned back into his room, and reached under his bed to grab the lone sandal there. After pocketing it, he ran downstairs.

He passed Meredith’s room first, stopped, and tapped the lock with one finger. A layer of ice gathered starting at the doorknob, eventually freezing around the frame. As he turned to continue down the hall, he was met face-to-face with Alistair. Anders froze, clutching the crystal close to his chest, eyes widened.

Alistair’s eyes darted to the crystal, then the door, then back to Anders.

“Go.” Alistair said, jerking his head to the hallway behind him, “Cullen told me everything. I’ll keep her off your trail.”

If there was time for a thank you, or a hug, or any exchange between them, it wasn’t allowed, as Alistair quickly stepped behind him and pushed him further down the hall. Anders didn’t need any more coaxing, and took off in a sprint.

He was intent on running into town, to the castle, and made it to the edge of the property before he stopped at a familiar sight. Pounce padded out of a thicket and stopped in front of him, meeting his eyes. After a second of staring, the cat turned and padded away, making it a few meters before stopping again and looking over his shoulder at Anders.

Unsure of what was possessing him, he followed Pounce.

x - X - x

Varric was kneeling in front of the door, and cursed under his breath when the lock pick broke in his hands. Fenris was pacing from one end of the room to the other. Varric reached into his pocket and produced a second pick. “He sure doesn’t mess around with locks, does he?” Varric grumbled.

A scent made Fenris pause his pacing. Tilting his head up, he sniffed. “Do you smell smoke?”

Varric sniffed the air. “He wouldn’t ...” Looking down, he discovered tendrils of smoke already creeping up under the door.

“Of course he would!” Fenris balled up his fist and punched the wall, “Fasta vaas … I can phase through the walls, but-”

“Phase through, then. Better than burning to a crisp.”

“I’m not leaving you here!”

He made his way to the window and gave it a yank. It was jammed with only a tiny gap, which had been barely enough room for Pounce to squeeze through and escape. It stayed stubbornly stuck. Orange light was cast on the trees outside.

Footsteps outside the door made Varric pause and Fenris turn around. A fist pounded against wood. “Fenris?” Anders’ voice called.

“Anders!” Fenris ran to the door, pressing his palm against it.

“Thank the maker … step away from the door, I’m getting you out.”

Fenris and Varric did as they were told. A black mark formed in the center of the door and quickly spread, burning red in the center. Fenris spent a split second terrified that the fire had reached them until the door burst open and Anders stepped through, his shirt collar tugged up over his mouth. The second the couple laid eyes on each other, they fell into each others arms. Fenris tugged Anders’ shirt away to give him the most passionate, grateful kiss he’d ever had, pulling back only so he could admire the most beautiful person he’d ever seen in his life. Anders wore a huge smile, tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

Varric cleared his throat, “Uh, boys? Think we can save that for later?”

Anders had carved a tunnel with ice spells, but it was rapidly melting. Crystal clutched tight in his hand, he led the way back out with bursts of frost extinguishing any fire in their way. They stumbled out gasping, none of them stopping until Anders doubled over coughing with his hand braced against the fence. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

“Anders?” Fenris asked, patting his back.

“I’m fine,” He gasped, “Too much smoke, that’s all.”

A shadow passed in the corner of Fenris’ eye. Danarius came up behind Anders, and Fenris barely shoved him out of the way in time for an ice spike to lodge into his arm. Fenris cried in pain, clutching the arm, while Danarius approached, staff in hand.

“Why. Won’t. You. DIE?” And with the last punctuated word, he cast a cone of ice spikes which spread out from where he stood, stopped inches away from Fenris by a barrier.

Anders stood, hand out, glaring at Danarius as the ice cracked and fell off of the barrier. “I don’t know who you are.” Anders said, “But you stay away from him.”

“Who I am?” Danarius shouted, “I’m the greatest magister who ever lived! I’m the future king of Tevinter!”

“Hey, future king of Tevinter,” Varric called, drawing a dagger, “Catch.” And with that threw the dagger so that it lodged itself in Danarius’ arm. He staggered, giving Anders the opening to cast mind blast and knock the staff out of his weakened grip. While Anders scrambled to take the staff from him, Fenris stood, and approached Danarius. The markings on his arm activated, turning his hand a ghostly transparent blue. In one smooth motion, he thrust it into Danarius’ chest and hoisted the magister into the air.

“You,” He growled as blood bubbled out of Danarius’ mouth, “Are no king.” And with a sickening crunch, Danarius’ heart was crushed in his hand.

Danarius fell into a crumpled heap on the ground. Fenris flicked the blood off his hand, and turned to face Anders.

Anders ran up and embraced him. “Oh Fenris,” Anders breathed, “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

“As I am for you, Anders.” Fenris returned the embrace with a tight squeeze, “How did you find me?”

Huffing laugh, Anders pulled back just enough to look at Fenris, “It was Pounce. He led me here.”

With a mrow to announce himself, Pounce rubbed up against Varric’s leg, and Varric gave the cat a scratch on his neck. “Smart cat.” He mused, “Shame about the sandal, though. So much for your Maker-sent fiance.”

“That’s … actually why I’m here.” Reaching into his pocket, Anders produced a familiar shoe. The second half to the one Danarius stole, “I have the other sandal.”

Fenris stared, green eyes wide, mouth agape. It took three seconds for his mouth to tug upwards, and a few giggles escaped while he ran his hand through his hair. “Maker ...” He breathed.

Anders’ cheeks turned bright red, “W-was it wrong? Cullen told me-”

“No, no!” Fenris set his hand on Anders’, covering the sandal, “It’s perfect. It’s meant to be. It’s just not what I was expecting.”

Fenris closed the gap between them for a quick kiss, and Anders’ eyes fluttered shut to bathe in the moment. When they parted, Fenris brushed a lock of hair behind Anders’ ear.

“Anders, I would be honored if you would marry me.”

Smiling, eyes glazed with tears, Anders choked, “Yes! Absolutely.”

“Hey now,” Varric interrupted, nodding at the sandal between them, “Make it official, Prince Broody.”

Taking the sandal from Anders’ hands, Fenris knelt. Anders lifted up one foot, allowing Fenris to remove his shoe and fit the sandal on in its place. It was the perfect fit. When Fenris stood again, they embraced and kissed.

Their wedding was held the following spring. With the threat of Danarius gone, they had more time to plan a proper ceremony. Anders had sent an invitation to his old home, receiving back a letter of congratulations and the news that Meredith had perished while performing her templar duties. Cullen and Alistair attended the wedding, bringing with them several assurances that they were taking good care of the old estate. The kingdom sang praises of the holy couple, brought together in the holiest of ways. Pounce spent the rest of his life in the lap of luxury, free to wander the halls of Fenris and Anders’ castle.

And they all lived happily ever after.

#typhon writes #long post #wintersend 2018 #fenders #fenris #anders #fanfic #fanfiction #dragon age #dragon age 2 #au #cinderella au #things i am incapable of doing:#keeping it short #following canon #writing anything that doesn't end in fluff

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rawrzimon · 7 years ago

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I'm sorry you're in a funk, love. *big hugs* Prompt for you! Athena, Leafy, and Kain go around Skyhold on a calm day and somehow, shenanigans ensue, preferably involving Cullen.

I blame you. Warning: I kind of got carried away listening to ABBA and this ended up silly.

They all were gathered in the War Room, save for the Commander.

The Spymaster paced on the opposite side of the table with her hands clasped behind her back, a wicked spark of mischief on her face. “Are you sure you are up for this? It could very well be the most difficult mission of your lives.”

Athena and Leafy looked to one another and nodded, crossing their arms over their chest in unison. The matron of the pair arched a brow and looked down to the war table. There weren’t any new markers on the board and they hadn’t shifted since the morning meeting. What could have changed? “Whenever you’re ready, Lady Leliana.”

“We have an important visitor coming in today, but it is important that we keep her from the Commander at all costs. At least not until the dinner at sunset that will be in tavern. She’s a surprise – and doesn’t want anyone spoiling it.” The former bard continued on, rearranging some of Cullen’s pieces in an obvious attempt to mess with him in the future. The Commander loved having his ducks in a row, and that especially included his pieces for the War Table, which had been used less and less since Corypheus’s defeat almost a year prior.

It was Leafy’s turn to talk. She put one hand on the table and leaned forward, expression suddenly turned into one of annoyance. “Who is this ‘important visitor’? If they’re so fancy, why are they getting a dinner at the tavern? Wouldn’t Ambassador Montilyet be putting something better together?”

Leliana, as if preparing for a dramatic reveal, turned towards the table and met the young elf’s eyes by slamming both of her hands on the table. Leafy didn’t flinch one bit. “Because the guest is the Commander’s sister - “

“Mia?!” Athena nearly screeched, eyes widening in happiness and shock.

“None other. She wants to surprise him for his name day – since he never takes a moment to breathe for himself. It is your job to keep him distracted and out of the tavern and main courtyard today. Athena, can the Inquisitor keep Kain today so you can keep track of their movements? It will give you some warning to when you are close to colliding.” She knew she was right. The connection between her and her wolf reminded her of a familiar like she used to read about in books or watch on shows. She knew that right now he was sleeping in a pile of the Commander’s clothes that he made a bed of most nights.

“That will work. How long do we have before she gets here?” Leliana looked outside to determine the sun’s height before pressing her lips together.

“Not long – she’s due to arrive at midday. I would be off. He’s probably on the training grounds or in his office.” Athena grabbed her daughter’s hand and took off through the Keep. Things had been just as busy since the fall of the Tevinter Magister, but in a different way. There were more nobility visits, but the troops were sent off on different peace-keeping missions. Not a day went by that Skyhold wasn’t bustling as it always had been.

Cullen ended up being in his office surrounded by a pile of papers. He was sitting with one head in one hand and the other writing feverishly on a piece of parchment. Athena didn’t even bother to knock; he knew better than to expect her to. The first time she burst in he had just thrown a lyrium vial at the door and it sliced her foot open. He looked up with a glance and raised fingers in greeting before drumming them against his head. “Morning.”

Leafy had a child-like grin on her face and strode over, instantly jumping on his desk to sit on its edge. “G’morning, Commander!”

Cullen blinked twice before looking up to the rebellious teen’s mother. Athena merely laughed, coming to kiss her on the top of the head. “Athena. Lev’adin. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Leafy opened her mouth to speak but Athena nudged her in the arm to shut her up, leaning on her daughter’s shoulder before looking down to the parchment that Cullen was writing on. They were updates on the Keep and different mission reports written by his lieutenants. “We are here to save you from a day of what looks to be incredibly boring paperwork. What do you say? Lunch over a game of chess?”

He rubbed the back of his neck and sat back in his chair, looking over the two women with an assessing gaze. “Why do I have the suspicion that ‘no’ is not an answer I can give?”

Athena gave him a playful wink. “Because you’re learning, Commander. Come on, we don’t want to waste any time.”

She reached forward to grab him by his overcoat but he pushed back in large, wooden chair until he was out of reach. “Allow me to at least finish this missive – it won’t take long. Kain’s been whining for attention anyway.”

Leafy looked to the black wolf who was pathetically wagging his tail while glancing up from his laying position on Cullen’s old clothes. He emitted a soft whine as the young elf narrowed her gaze at him. “He needs to hunt.” She walked over and sat down so that the wolf could rest his head in her lap. The wagging of his tail accelerated as she found his favorite spots behind his ears and underneath his chin.

By the time they got to their third game of chess, Kain was dutifully with the Inquisitor and the group was exploring the battlements since the Commander was absent from his usual post. Athena positioned him just right so he wouldn’t be able to see the walls of the Keep at all. Plus, he was just a competitive warrior his entire attention was on the board. During the course of the Inquisition, he, Dorian, Solas, and Bull would play her in chess. On Earth, she had maybe played once or twice a year, but now she was fluent in three different styles. Qunari was the most difficult but it was rigidly straight forward.

Leafy was napping on the stone bench next to them under the gazebo, her toe tapping in the air to an imaginary beat. Cullen made a hum of decision-making before moving his piece forward, taking one of her pawns. “How have things been, Athena?”

She moved her bishop to take the piece he had just moved nonchalantly, swapping them out with a quick gesture. “Great, actually. My people are getting settled in the Emerald Graves and I’m due for a trip to visit them. Supposedly the bears are getting restless with a dragon so close nearby.”

He huffed a chuckle under his breath. “Are you going to slay this one as well?”

She smiled, feeling a light ache in her dragon’s scar across her belly. “I don’t plan on it. Can you shoo away a dragon?”

Cullen couldn’t help but laugh at her, moving his last piece into position. “Not likely but I would love to see you try. Checkmate.”

Athena frowned before leaning back in her chair, checking in with Kain through their connection. I smell flowers! The wolf remarked with excitement, leading her to think they were coming to the part of the battlements that dropped down to the halls beside where they were sitting. She stood from the chair with a faux-expression of boredom. “All this defeat makes me crave wine, how about a glass, Cullen? Not you, Lev’adin. One glass will have you falling from my tower.” She shut down the teenager before she could even ask.

“I have enjoyed playing, but I should really get back to work, Athena.” He pled, standing with her while glancing around. She needed to keep his attention on her and Leafy so she wrapped her arm around his shoulder and led him towards the main hall.

“First - wine. I’ll help you with some of your letters and bring some of my own.” They breached the great hall and she pushed him towards the cellars. “Go pick your favorite and meet me back here.”

He looked to her with a miffed expression before succumbing to her demands, rolling his eyes with a half-smile. As he left ear-shot she leaned down to Leafy and whispered, “Remember that wind swirl spell I taught you?”

The young mage nodded enthusiastically with a wicked grin spreading on her lips. “Go cast it and fade-step back here like nothing happened. Open the window but then close the door on your way back.” She saluted to her mother and took off like a bullet towards Cullen’s office. He returned a few minutes later with a basket of sorts.

“I think I got everything, shall we go?” Athena nodded and took the basket from him, smiling while panicking on the inside that Leafy wouldn’t be back in time. But thankfully she appeared from a side-door like nothing was wrong even though her hair was slightly frizzier than before she left. The Commander didn’t seem to notice and they continued talking until they reached his office. He pushed open the door for them but then his jaw dropped at the utter destruction that was now his office. The papers were blown everywhere and the pile that was Kain’s bed was hanging from the ladder up to his loft.

It was like a literal tornado had torn through his office, and Athena couldn’t have been prouder.

There wasn’t a single piece of paper that was in place. The look of shock on Cullen’s face was priceless. Athena instantly gasped, putting her hand on his shoulder while looking around in feigned terror. “What happened? How could this of - “She then looked to the side. “Oh, Cullen, the window is open. You know how this season brings strong winds up into the mountain.”

“Strong winds? This was -!” He lost the words and put his hand to his forehead instead, taking in a deep controlled breath before letting it out in a sigh. “Let’s get to work then. The missives were dated so those should be easier to organize. The rest…will have to be done later.”

Hours. It took hours to put the office back together again and the entire time Leafy and Athena would exchange secret, knowing glances. Cullen almost enjoyed reorganizing his office, the detail maniac that he was. Things were tidier by the time they were done and the sun was beginning to set. The Commander finally sat down in his chair and looked at his desk with an expression that she could only describe as pride. It was something she understood, the feeling of a job well done.

Athena felt a sharp jolt in the back of her head and she knew it was Kain. She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, closing her eyes to that she could see through the eyes of her wolf. Rathein and Mia were bending over her companion with smiles, scratching behind his ears while going, “Can she hear us boy?” Kain nodded and gave a small yelp. “Oh good! Hey Athena, we’re in the tavern now but we’re setting up. Just don’t let him come here but get him riled up okay?”

A rambunctious blonde woman leaned in, her curls coming over her shoulders as she smiled. “Sister’s orders!”

Kain then returned to receiving his affections and Athena faded back into her own consciousness. She didn’t know it but Cullen had stood up and walked over to her and put his hands on her shoulders, looking her up and down. “Athena, are you alright?”

“Headache.” She lied, giving him a smile before shrugging underneath his touch. Leafy cleared her throat to the side, tapping her foot impatiently. Just as she was about to speak the door burst open to the side, Kain running in at a full sprint. He ran circles around the Commander and Leafy then pushed himself in front of Athena before bending down into a play bow, his tail furiously wagging. This would have been typical behavior for him just before dinner time, save for the fact that he was wearing Cullen’s helm. “I think we found the source of your tornado, Commander.” Athena teased while silently praising her companion.

“Andraste help me – Kain, get back here!”

The chase began.

Lev’adin had been right, Kain was in desperate need of a hunt. Skyhold, for as large as it was, could be a prison for a natural born hunter. They raced down the battlements and through the courtyard, Leafy and Athena laughing the whole time. It was also the first she had really seen Cullen sprint in nearly full armor. At one point she thought he was enjoying the chase but then she caught a glance at his expression. It was pure competition at that point.

Athena gestured for Leafy to go ahead to the tavern and lead Kain there. They had played long enough. Kain made a sharp turn down the stairs out of sight towards the meeting place for the evening. Leafy was hot on his tail and they were all en route to get there in seconds. The door to the tavern opened and Rathein stuck her head out, mouthing ‘one more minute’ while allowing Kain and Leafy to enter before slamming the door shut just as Athena and Cullen came close.

She cursed under her breath and rubbed the back of her neck, thinking of a way to buy time before pointing to the side of the building. “I think he ran this way. He loves smelling what the kitchen is cooking.”

“I really think he came into the tavern – did you not hear that door slam?” Cullen asked between winded breaths. They both looked ragged and worn down but she wasn’t going to give up so easily.

“Hey - shapeshifter magic, remember? Come on this way. He’s probably lost energy like us and needs a place to sleep.” They went to the side and she led the ‘search’ in all of the nooks and crannies She heard a loud groan behind him and turned just in time to see him throw his hands in the air.

“What are you playing at?” Shit. “Ever since this morning, you and your daughter have just been odd. It was fun but I’ve lost an entire day of work and -” He itched the back of his head and allowed his hand to drop, trying to reign in the frustration on his face. “I’m going to cool myself down with a meal and return to my duties. You’re free to join, but no more nonsense.”

Not enough time. She panicked, which was silly considering the topic, but her body thought quicker than her mind. Soon she was gripping his shoulder and turning him to face her, his back nearly against the side of the tavern. “What?” He asked curtly even with some of the frustration falling from his voice.

She could only think of one thing that would pause him, or at least silence him for enough time. She bit her bottom lip before collecting her bravery, gripping him by the overcoat and pulling him towards her. He didn’t fight it, but as she pressed her lips against his she heard him gasp. It wasn’t entirely unexpected between them, but she had hoped for a better moment. It took a second, but he sighed, relaxed, and cupped her face between his hands and fully accepted the kiss. His entire presence shouted warm. It enveloped her and replaced the butterflies that represented panic with affection. His war-worn hands brushed over her skin and sent a shudder down her spine. She moved until his back was pressed against the tavern behind him and they broke apart at the sound of the door opening. “Kain! Where did you get this?” Rathein’s voice called out in amusement. “We need to return this to the Commander.” Cullen chuckled under his breath, eyes completely fixed on her mouth as he ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “I suppose we should make her search shorter. Can we talk about this later?” Athena could only manage a nod while pushing him towards the tavern door playfully. He looked over his shoulder back at her with a boyish smile on his lips, rubbing the back of his neck as he greeted the Rathein. “I see you have captured the thief, Inquisitor.” “Oh yes he is inside, can you help me pry your helm off of him?” She asked, opening the door as Athena rounded the corner to usher them both inside. The moment he cleared the door there was a loud, resounding scream. “Surprise!” “Maker help me - “ He cursed at the group of people, his eyes narrowing in on his sister. Athena saw him stiffen, he had admitted to being almost distant with his family since joining the Templars. But that rigidness faded away once Mia brought him in for a tight hug. Once she was done with him she moved to Athena, wrapping her arms around her and nearly lifting her from the ground. “Thank you, Athena! I knew you could do it!” Once she was firmly back on the ground she laughed, fighting the blush on her face and chest. Mia spun and went to grab food with the Inquisitor as Cullen walked over to her, a single brow raised as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I should’ve known my sister was involved. Only she can bring such chaos to a place. That wasn’t - er – idea was it?” He asked with his voice growing soft, eyes dropping to the ground between them before shyly meeting her gaze. Athena shook her head with a genuine smile, putting a hand on his shoulder to turn him towards the group. “Silly Lion, of course not.”

Like my writing? Buy a tired nurse a coffee.

#writing prompt #thank you friend #cullen #cullen rutherford #athena #athena wolfsbane #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #my writing #rawrwrites #woo night shift #pumping through prompts #lev'adin #leafy #kain the wolf #rathein #post-corypheus

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stitchcasual · 7 years ago

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Ferelden Fury (a da2/pacrim au, part seven)

(part one) (part two) (part three) (part four) (part five) (part six)

The repairs required to get the Fury back to fighting shape are extensive. It’s faster and more efficient to simply replace the Fury’s arm with another one from a decommissioned jaeger that there aren’t pilots for. And it makes sense: this is war and waiting around to rebuild the Fury’s original arm for aesthetic purposes isn’t smart. The darkspawn are coming out of the rift faster, less time between incursions, and they simply can’t bench one of their only players. But still…

“She looks ugly,” Hawke complains to Fenris as they sit together atop one of the nearby scaffoldings, watching the replacement take place.

Fenris raises one eyebrow and takes a deliberate bite of his food instead of responding.

“It’s doesn’t match!” Hawke continues, gesturing hard enough at his jaeger that whatever food was on his fork gets flung out into space and down into the yard. Hopefully not onto someone’s head. “It’s big and clunky and—” He breaks off and just waves both arms in the air, still clutching his fork.

“I do not think the darkspawn will care if we….match.”

“The darkspawn are known to have poor taste already. They created that rift in Ferelden, Fenris. That should tell you something.”

Fenris blinks. “Aren’t you Ferelden?”

“Only technically.” Hawke shrugs. “And anyway, I feel like that makes me the perfect authority on my country being shit. Just like you could tell me all about how shit Tevinter is.”

The din of the work in the yard fades away as Fenris freezes, perfectly still. Through the fading sensation of their drift connection, Hawke can feel the ripples of a memory rushing its way to the surface, agitating the waters until the ripples turn to waves turn to a tsunami, crashing down at Fenris. Hawke reaches out, dropping his fork in favor of grabbing Fenris’s hand and squeezing it, creating a patch of ground to stand on as the water breaks around them.

Fenris looks at Hawke, and for a moment Hawke can see the dual layers of reality and drift. He sees Fenris sitting on the scaffolding, his expression blank; he sees Fenris barely able to lift his chin out of the tide of memories swirling around him, his eyes panicked and wide. Hawke lifts his other hand to cup Fenris’s face, brushing his thumb over Fenris’s cheek. After a moment, the dual images flicker and coalesce into one, and Fenris’s eyes focus on Hawke’s, blinking slowly. Hawke offers him a little smile.

“Welcome back.”

Fenris covers Hawke’s hand on his face with his own, leaning briefly into the touch. He closes his eyes, gripping Hawke’s hands to keep him in place a moment before Hawke tries to pull away. So they stay there, hands twined against Fenris’s face and in his lap, their breaths synchronizing.

“Drifting in Tevinter is...not the same as it is here. It is not about partnership; it is about control. One pilot is only there as a catalyst, a battery, another body to hold the jaeger together and keep the other from taking the brunt of the neural load. It is an inglorious role, but a necessary one, or so I once believed. Danarius was… I owed him a great deal, for saving my family when I could not. It was an honor to be chosen as his secondary.”

Hawke has one eyebrow raised and another climbing his forehead when Fenris finally opens his eyes again. But he doesn’t speak and for that, Fenris is grateful. He breathes in through his nose, holding it before exhaling slowly.

“They do not tell you of the excruciating pain that comes with dividing the neural load this way. It is, of course, your fault if you are unable to bear it. That moment you saw, that was the first time I drifted with Danarius. I know you felt that agony. It nearly broke me; I am not fully certain that it did not, given all that I participated in over the next few years. You must understand, Hawke, that the Marshall has good reason to mistrust me. If you knew when we first sparred that I was Tevinter’s Little Wolf, would you have let me on the mat?”

Hawke recoils slightly out of instinct, and Fenris huffs a bitter laugh. The Wolf of Tevinter was known by reputation only down south, as the Tevinter jaeger program had generally kept to itself unless a mutual border was threatened, which didn’t happen often. Though the rift had appeared in Ferelden, the Tevinter were the first with a functioning jaeger...and they never let the rest of the world forget it, either. For the first year or two of the war, they were the ones who fought the most and lost the most, but their jaegers were the fastest and the heaviest hitters, and it seemed they understood that if they stood aside and waited until the darkspawn reached Tevinter, it would already be too late for them to fight back then.

The Wolf of Tevinter was associated with one of the highest kill counts on record, and most of Ferelden and the Marches spoke about him in hushed tones, saying he was half-feral, that his savagery was only held in check by his partner, that it was remarkable Tevinter had let someone like that in their jaeger program, but, well, you know, they were desperate at the beginning. But then the Wolf went dark about four years ago...and it all starts to click together in Hawke’s brain. The rest of the world thinks the Wolf dead, and in a manner of speaking, perhaps he is. Hawke can feel through the drift the memories that connect Fenris to the Wolf, knows by tracing them that the two are in fact one and the same. But he can also feel the distance Fenris puts between them and himself, knows unequivocally that the guilt that plagues him would sever the ties if it could.

“How did Bethany find you?”

Fenris blinks. It’s not a question he’d been expecting; of the swirling morass of queries in Hawke’s mind, it had been the bottom rung on the ladder of importance.

“Magic?”

Hawke snorts. “Sounds like my sister. Still not sure how she does...whatever it is she does, but—” He shrugs. “I like the results.

“Look, Fenris, I can’t say I’d have been as accepting of you if I’d known who you were initially. So I’m glad I had no clue because it means I met you, the you that you want to be, not the one everyone assumes you are. The Marshall is living in the past while the rest of us are fighting for the future. I think he’ll join us eventually. And today may have done a lot to push him there.”

“We got knocked out of alignment again.” Fenris’s lips twist to one side.

“We got ourselves back in.”

Hawke lifts their twined hands from Fenris’s lap and places them against his heart. Up here on the scaffolding, they’re removed from the rest of Skyhold, the hustle and bustle around the jaegers, and against the steady thrum-beat of Hawke’s heart beneath their hands, the drift surges around them. It’s just the after-effect of the neural handshake, but it’s strong. It’s the work of a moment to find the new center of their storms, their peace in the hurricanes. The wonder in Fenris’s eyes as he looks up at Hawke matches the intensity of the feeling rushing through Hawke’s veins as he gazes back.

“It’s nice to meet you, Fenris.”

According to the darkspawn clock, they still have about a day after the repairs are done on the Fury until the next piece of ugly crawls its way through the rift. Hawke and Fenris spend time sparring in the gym, both against each other, to further investigate and deepen their drift connection, and against the other pilots in a friendly competition. Now that they’ve been in the field, Riordan, Stroud, Zevran, and Isabela are keen to know exactly who they’ll be fighting with, and the best way any of them know to size someone up is a good old-fashioned fist fight. Orsino and Meredith are conspicuous for their absence, but they never did fraternize much with the rest of the pilots anyway.

Rutherford calls them all for a meeting less than twenty-four hours before the next expected incursion. In the repurposed base of Skyhold, there are only a few rooms large enough to hold the Marshall, all the assembled pilots, a few of the most important control room personnel, and two people Hawke has only seen in passing before. The mess hall is occupied, the yard is too noisy for anyone to hear properly, and the control room is in use 24/7. So they all shove into the Marshall’s office, which works well enough as long as most of the furniture is removed and everyone isn’t too picky about the size of their personal space bubble.

Fenris folds his arms, hunching his shoulders, and Hawke makes sure they’re near the front of the room so he can position himself between Fenris and as many of the assembled people as possible.

The two strangers stand to the side of the Marshall’s desk, both of them fairly tall and willowy, but that’s where the similarities end. The taller one looks more anxious, tucking strands of dirty blond hair behind his ear several times before the meeting starts. He’s dressed in faded and patchwork clothes that speak to a divided mind, where work is more important than wardrobe. His long fingers clutch a small tablet. The other stranger is more put together, wearing a collared shirt and slacks as though this weren’t the end of the world and most people had given up looking fancy, especially on base. He seems calm, surveying the pilots in front of him with a detached curiosity. The smooth, hairless surface of his head dully reflects the lights above.

Once the pilots have quit jostling and ribbing each other for space, the Marshall clears his throat.

“This is it, everyone. The next time that rift opens and spits out a darkspawn, we’re shutting it down. For good. Our scientists,” and he gestures at the two strangers, “have devised a weapon that they believe will cause the rift to destabilize and collapse, sealing the darkspawn off from Thedas. The Gallows Child will carry this device with the rest of the jaegers running interference. No matter what, the Child must reach the rift with the weapon in tact for us to have a chance at this. Dr. Anders Howden is the head of our theoretical physics lab, and Dr. Solas Ouef has logged the most contact hours with the rift to study its structure and composition. They can tell you more.”

Rutherford nods and cedes the floor to the scientists. Anders, the blond with the tablet, presses a few things and projects an image against the wall behind the Marshall’s desk. It looks like the schematics for the Child, but as it rotates, Hawke can see an additional piece has been added to her back. Solas moves closer to the wall to point while he explains.

“The Gallows Child has been equipped with the most scientifically advanced weapon ever to be created in Thedas.”

Hawke smothers his snort behind a cough, and Fenris elbows him in the side.

“Crews have already installed it to the back plating on the Child, to be detached and deployed upon reaching the rift. Her pilots will receive a more detailed briefing on the procedures, but the execution is simple: release the clamps, aim the weapon, and fire. There are two warheads attached to the Child. One should be sufficient for the task, but the second is there as a failsafe, should something happen to the first. The jaeger’s guidance system has been updated to include the rift’s unique signature in order to target lock the missiles.”

As he speaks, Anders flips more images up to the wall: close ups of the warheads and the clamps that hold them in place on the Child’s back, an animation of the unclamping process, a simulation of the rift closing after a hit from the weapon.

“The warheads are a unique construction,” he says, taking over from Solas, “utilizing both modern technology and the “magic” of ages past, which we understand now to be advanced forms of alchemy that have practical contemporary chemical applications. Based on the information we’ve been able to gather from the rift and data on the darkspawn collected after kills, we are confident that this delivery system is up to the task.”

“How confident?”

Anders looks at Hawke, as though surprised someone has questions, then to Riordan who, on the other wall of Rutherford’s office, has nodded in agreement with Hawke.

“Well, based on our calculations and the simulations we’ve run—”

“How. Confident.”

“Eighty-five percent?”

Hawke raises his eyebrows and looks at the Marshall, against the wall and fighting for a calm he seems destined to lose. Rutherford pinches the bridge of his nose as Hawke simply watches him without saying anything, then shakes his head and approaches his desk again.

“And how confident are any of you that you can take down the next darkspawn out of that rift without losing a jaeger? How confident are you that you can give our scientists another...how long, doctor?”

Anders looks up at the ceiling, mental calculations flying behind his eyes. “To truly fine tune the system and get above ninety percent? Optimistically? Six months. Realistically, a year to two.”

“So that’s six months to two years of these four jaegers, these eight pilots, and a growing number of darkspawn that are increasing in strength. We have no more jaegers, no more pilots. If we lose any one of them, or any one of you, then we’re down a crew and that makes this attempt that much harder.”

Rutherford stands in front of his desk, hands clasped behind his back, staring down each and every one of them. “It’s not a guaranteed shot, you’re right. It might cost the lives of each jaeger and her crew. It might not even work. But that’s what you signed up for when you entered the program and became a pilot: the chance to die protecting the rest of Thedas. Now, if that isn’t a risk you’re willing to take anymore, then get the hell off my base and let the rest of us try to save the world without you.”

A hush falls over the pilots. Hawke licks his teeth and stares at the floor rather than meet the Marshall’s eyes. It is what he signed up to do, he just didn’t really think the time would come. Sure he’d stepped into his jaeger every time with the theoretical knowledge that this darkspawn could be the one to take him out, but it never happened and somewhere along the line, being on the edge of death lost its threat. Now, faced with it again, confronted in a way he hasn’t been before, Hawke wavers. He has people he loves, people he wants to live with, be happy with, grow old with, and getting into the Fury next is potentially a suicide mission. A noble end, but an end nonetheless.

He looks to the back of the room where his sister stands with Varric and the few other control room personnel invited to the briefing. She locks eyes with him, and Hawke can see the anguish in her eyes, can nearly feel from here the way she shakes with barely suppressed fear. To lose both her brothers to darkspawn, to watch from the control room as it all happens, to be alone after it all… Bethany’s lips tighten and she closes her eyes for a brief moment before nodding at him, her eyes bright and shining and defiant when she opens them again.

He turns back to Fenris then, to find calm, green eyes staring up at him and a tattoo-lined hand reaching for his. He lifts his hand to meet Fenris’s and watches as Fenris brings their hands to his heart, holding them there as surely as his eyes hold Hawke’s. Underneath his hand, Hawke can feel Fenris’s heartbeat, slow and steady. Measured. Unconcerned. Hawke furrows his eyebrows, and Fenris smiles and shrugs. Their drift flows around them, buoying Hawke instead of dragging him under, and he huffs a laugh and shrugs back. The lines around Fenris’s eyes wrinkle as he smiles again, but though Fenris shifts to face the front of the room again and drops their hands from his chest, he does not let go of Hawke’s fingers. Hawke squeezes lightly and is rewarded by an answering squeeze.

When he surveys the room again, no one has moved. Or, rather, no one has left the room. Most of the pilots are standing closer together, as he and Fenris are, and even the desk jockeys from the control room have closed ranks. They’re all looking back at the Marshall, as if daring him to doubt their resolve again. Rutherford looks a little relieved and so proud before he shunts it all aside and scowls at them.

“That’s what I thought. Now if we’re quite finished with all of that, we’ve got a world to protect. My apologies, Doctor Howden. Please finish your presentation.”

Anders blinks several times, his eyebrows falling back down his forehead from the height they’d climbed to during the Marshall’s lecture. “Right. Right… So the warheads function on a different level than anything we’ve used before. It’s got the wrappings of a traditional weapon with the inner workings a wizard would be proud of…”

Half an hour, some domestic scientist squabbling, and a bunch more images displayed on the wall later, the darkspawn siren sounds, freezing Solas mid-sentence. And then Varric from the back of the room puts a hand in the air to keep everyone still for a minute while he listens to something on his radio. He pales.

“Marshall, it’s… It’s a double event.”

Silence in the office.

“Pilots! To your jaegers!” Rutherford yells, coming forward and waving his arms. “Everyone else, to your stations! Let’s move, people; this is it! I don’t care if there’s two of them; we’ll send ‘em both to hell!”

The occupants of the office stream out, rushing off to where they need to be. Hawke drops Fenris’s hand and rushes to Bethany first.

He hugs her close as the siren wails above his head, holds her hands and kisses her forehead, nearly letting her go before pulling her back in for another hug. He’s terrified but doing his best to not show it; she doesn’t need his anxiety on top of her own. Pretty soon the room is empty around them, yet Hawke still can’t let go.

“Watch my back?” he asks, offering the hints of a smile.

“No matter how far,” she answers, and they embrace one last time before parting to go their separate ways.

(part eight)

#dragon age 2 #pacific rim #fenhawke #hawris #da2 #ferelden fury #i am so excited for these cameos #and this whole thing!#we're getting up to the end here #just a few more parts #stitch fic

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heartslogos · 7 years ago

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newfragile yellows [431]

“I suspect you have questions.”

The recording ends there and the general hush that had taken over Lavellan’s office is completely obliterated by everyone collectively losing their minds.

Sera stands up so fast her chair screeches before falling over, “Questions? That fucker is asking us if we have questions? Yeah! I’ve got one question! How does he want me to cook his head? Scrambled or over easy?”

“This is an obvious trap and we cannot entertain this,” Cassandra says, “How can he possibly think - did he just send this message out to everyone on every single illegal channel? Is he honestly attempting to call the Inquisition out in the face of all of organized crime?”

“There were better ways for him to do it,” Leliana says, “This is a targeted strike. We need time to analyze this and work on checking behind the scenes. I don’t think he broadcasted this to the general underground. This was most certainly targeted to the people he knew would get this message to the Inquisition the fastest. We have to rework our networks and tighten the holes. I think we need to do another purge of our people.”

“We can’t afford to do another pruning of the forces,” Cullen says, rubbing his eyes, jaw clenched, “We’re already stretched thin. The only reason we’re managing so well is because we’re outsourcing to smaller groups and relying on allied organizations to help pick up our slack.”

Bull feels every single knuckle in both his fists pop as he tries to collect his thoughts into something that isn’t wordless fury. He turns to glance at Lavellan in the corner of his eye.

She’s texting. She texts faster with one hand than he does with two and it’s taken her all the way up to this point to get there. They’re all proud and in awe of her for that.

He does not want this to set her back. He does not want her recovery and her steady work at refocusing herself and putting herself together - not fixing herself. Not putting herself back together. No. Bull knows, and Lavellan knows, that she’s never going to be back to the way she was before. It’s not the arm, it’s not the sudden change in her body. It’s the betrayal. It’s the things she’s had to do since to cover the wound of the betrayal. It’s the things she’s done in order to repair the damage done to the people who trusted her and therefore trusted the people she trusted. It’s the shattering of her credibility. It’s the reduction of her to the one who got suckered by the near legendary mob boss the Dread Wolf. It’s sudden and powerful shadow that looms over her actions that screams fooled.

Bull does not want this message to put her back in that place where she looked haunted by every move, where she hesitated before, during, and after every breath. He does not want this to put her back in the place she was when she first woke up in the hospital that Hawke’s family owned, tended to doctors provided by the Warden group and guarded by the Theirin clan while the Inquisition was picking up its pieces.

He does not want to ever see her come close to that again.

She’s texting, and her face isn’t a mask because it doesn’t cover anything. Her face is stone. Steady, solid, and present with a gravity of its own.

“Sera is out,” she says suddenly, instantly cutting all of the sound in the room down to complete and utter silence.

“What?” Sera exclaims.

“I’m sending you to Antiva,” Lavellan says, “The Jenny presence there needs to be strengthened and I want some of them to get Crow allegiances. By the time I come back to the South I want Crow trained operatives in the Inquisition and I want the Crows to really like us. Josephine, begin drafts to get Sera installed in Antiva for the foreseeable future. We’ll work out a timetable for that before I leave. While you do that I also need drafts for new work contract drafts to the Hawke family, the Warden Group, if we can reach them the Avaar, and a few Mortalitasi from Nevarra.”

“Yes,” Josephine says on reflex, automatically writing all of that down. “But - ah. What?”

“Leliana, we are not cutting our forces down any more than we have already. Cullen’s right, we can’t afford it,” Lavellan says, slipping her phone away, “That said, I want a recall of our under cover agents. Do it as naturally as possible. For our most sensitive agents let’s look at about four to five months to tie things up. We will discuss whether we can leave room for return on an individual basis once we have a preliminary list. Cullen, see if we can start absorbing some of the smaller groups we’ve allowed to grow.”

“Yes, Inquisitor,” Leliana and Cullen say, blinking in startled confusion.

“Leliana, get a coded message to Dorian,” Lavellan continues, “I need him to prepare for me.”

“What do you mean, prepare for you?” Bull asks as Lavellan turns to him.

“I want you to pick from the Chargers whoever you think would be best to come as my guard to Tevinter,” Lavellan says, “Krem will be their commander while we’re there. I’ll need obvious muscle but if possible I’ll need some stealth and reconnaissance assistance as well.”

“What do you mean your guard to Tevinter?” Bull asks, “And what do you mean Aclassi will be their commander? I’m their boss.”

“No, I’m their boss, and you’re going to be in Kirkwall.”

“What?”

Lavellan raises an eyebrow, “I cannot walk into Tevinter with you next to me, not unless I want every single person of consequence coming down on my head like an axe before I can get anything done. I’m sending you to Hawke in exchange for Fenris. He’ll be my personal guard while I’m there. Hawke and Fenris just agreed to it, they have their own interests they’d like to pursue while Fenris and I are there. They’ve just needed a way in.”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

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tristinai · 8 years ago

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Cullrian Seasonal drabble

The tag needs some love so here’s a self-prompted seasonal drabble, inspired by this list.

10: I forgot to buy a Christmas tree and I tried to cut one in your garden, you caught me, please, don’t call the police, I can explain. (Cullrian, modern Thedas AU, rating T)

Just to note, many liberties were taken with this prompt, the largest being the assumption that Satinalia traditions share similarities with Christmas. Any and all mistakes are my own since this drabble has not been beta-read. Happy Holidays!

Dorian didn't know what he had been thinking when he agreed to be responsible for procuring a Satinalia tree for their weekend outing in Dragon's Peak. It had seemed like a good idea at the time: Ellana was scrambling to make last minute arrangements to secure the family cottage from her (evidently, rather large) extended family just before Satinalia and Dorian had been more than happy to relieve her of some of the planning. Sera and Bull had been left in charge of alcohol (a decision that had Dorian raise his eyebrows because if the two had it their way, everyone would be left drinking cheap whiskey and that Maker-awful spirits qunari favored) while Varric and Garrett in charge of the baking. In hindsight, it was all a disaster in the making, made worse by the final push for holiday shopping that saw Dorian working overtime these last few weeks, all while struggling to find time to prepare for his dissertation. Before he knew it, it was already Friday evening and he had to make the drive up to cottage country, hours later from when he had told his friends he would arrive.

Bloody ridiculous, thinking I had the luxury of going out to buy a blasted tree, he thought, moodily, grunting as he impaled the ax into the tree's base.

That he even had found the tool in his trunk was a miracle that he supposed he'd have Bull to thank for later, who frequently borrowed Dorian's car. It was only slightly worrying that the qunari had done anything recently involving an ax.

Snow flicked off the evergreen branches in an annoying, powdery spray that threatened to muss Dorian's carefully oiled coif and put him in an even fouler mood. Cutting down a tree – incredibly illegal, he had no doubt – had been his last option. Never mind that he was an international student on a Ferelden study visa and could see more than his study rights revoked if he was caught. He was far enough up the road from the nearest farm that he doubted anyone would discover him and the need to not disappoint his best friends outweighed being a model resident in that moment.

He cursed beneath his breath as snow splattered onto his face, pausing to swipe a gloved hand over his eyes. Great. Now his face was wet, he was freezing his arse off because Ferelden winters bloody-well sucked, and he was barely even halfway into chopping down this tree.

“You'll never get it down. Not with that sloppy form. And if you keep swinging like that, you'll throw out your back.”

Dorian nearly choked on his next curse, ax fumbling in his unsteady grip. He hadn't expected anyone to find him this far into the woods and certainly not to sass him upon seeing him committing a crime against the environment. His immediate reaction was a vicious retort to match his bitter mood but panic prevented him from running his mouth before he found himself in even hotter water.

Turning to face the man who had interrupted him, the Tevinter tried not to let his surprise show at seeing a handsome blond standing not yards from where he was chopping, an unleashed mabari at the man's side. The beast had its head tilted, sniffing the air as if to discern whether it liked this trespasser, while Dorian's brain was trying to come up with anything to say other than the word FUCK, which was running on a loop in his head.

“...this isn't what it looks like,” he said, realizing how stupid it sounded once it was said.

“Really?” the Fereldan questioned, a hint of disapproval beginning to creep into his feigned tone of bemusement. “Because if I didn't know better, I'd think you were trespassing on private land and attempting to chop down one of my sister's trees.”

Okay. So maybe it was what it looked like.

Fasta vass. He had been caught with literally ax in hand, hacking away at a tree.

“Perhaps we can come to some agreement that doesn't involve inconveniencing either of us further,” Dorian tried, using that same, smooth tone he had to employ often to defuse the ire of disgruntled customers. “I apologize, take my leave, and we forget this rather embarrassing situation. Poor judgment on my part.”

“Or, I have you fined for illegally attempting to fell a tree,” the man answered, arms folded over his chest, grim lips beginning to curl in a scowl.

“There's no need to get the authorities involved,” Dorian replied, quickly. He didn't even want to think of what could happen to his student visa if he was entangled in a violation of the law. “I'm sure we can find other means to settle this. I'm more than willing to compensate you, Mr...?”

“Detective Cullen Rutherford.”

…FUCK.

It would be just his luck that he ends this shitty week being caught by a police officer in his first flirtation with crime.

How was he going to get out of this without making things worse?

"Detective Rutherford? How wonderfully Fereldan-sounding. Do appease my curiosity and tell me you have an equally endearing middle name, like Nathaniel or Bryce. Detective Cullen Nathaniel Rutherford. It rolls off the tongue quite nicely."

If the detective was annoyed before, he was absolutely baffled by now, staring incredulously at the would-be tree feller. The gray mabari barked at the sound of its master's name while the officer began to flush.

"What are you--t-that's not my--"

"No need to correct my assumption. You can tell me over a cup of coffee. How does next Thursday sound?"

The poor blond looked even more bewildered at the turn of conversation. It took him a few seconds to process the silky, flirtatious tone Dorian was using. And when he figured it out, his face went a deeper shade of red.

"A-are you attempting to bribe an officer of the law with coffee to avoid being charged for a misdemeanor?"

"Bribe?" the Tevinter laughed, his voice taking on a coy lilt. "Is it so hard to believe that I find you far too handsome to pass up this opportunity, even if we must deal with such frivolities as charging me for attempting to cut down a tree?"

"M-Maker's breath!" Cullen mumbled, dropping his red face into his gloved hands. “Th-there's no need to—you really shouldn't—”

And much to the detective's dismay, his loyal companion bounded through the snow towards Dorian, wagging its stubby tail, to which the Tevinter rewarded the dog with a generous pat on the head and some very appreciated ear scratching.

“Man's best friend indeed,” the detective muttered, feeling more than a little betrayed by his pet.

“I must commend you on your excellent choice in four-legged companions, Detective Handsome.”

“Rutherford!” Cullen quickly corrected, looking for all the world like he was about to die of embarrassment.

“A big, fierce beast like this? And you know what they say about a man with a big dog. He's also got a big—!”

“By Andraste, if I drop the charges, will you stop?!”

Dorian smirked triumphantly. “I was going to say, 'big heart'.”

"Look...it's Satinalia. The weather's not the best and it's hard to see anything clearly this time of night. Let's say a would-be violator of Ferelden's rather important,” Cullen emphasized, with a slight glare, “environmental protection laws managed to get away before any real damage could be done and we forget this whole incident.”

“...that sounds reasonable.”

“And for the love of the Maker, please stop attempting to flirt your way out of trouble. It's not a habit you should be employing every time you anger an officer.”

“But it worked, didn't it?”

The Tevinter's answer was a groan but he swore the Fereldan was hiding a smile behind his gloved hand.

“Alright. No more flirting with officers so gorgeous, they're making me rethink my lifelong hatred of plaid,” Dorian said, winking salaciously at the detective. “From now on, I'll curry favor with officers of the law by bewitching their beloved pets.”

��Something tells me Brixon and I will need to have a long chat about accepting scratches from 'perps',” Cullen said, giving a mock glare to his dog.

"Brixon? What a lovely name for a big, scary mabari," Dorian said, smiling down and scratching the mabari's ear once more.

The dog whined, giving what seemed to be a disapproving look at his master, which only made the detective chuckle.

"Don't be like that. I know you're as good as any one of the men and women who serve on the Denerim police force."

Dorian's head perked up at that. "You're from Denerim as well?"

"Transferred from Honnleath only a few months ago," the Fereldan answered. "You've come quite a ways out of the city to find a tree."

The Tevinter had the humility to look somewhat embarrassed at the observation. "I'm spending the weekend at my friend's cottage and, of course, the one thing I was tasked with, I failed to do until the last minute."

The blond fell quiet for a moment, deep in thought. "If it's a tree you need, I may be able to help you out.”

-*-*-*-

"I can't thank you enough for this," Dorian said, as Cullen helped him secure the tree on the roof of his car.

Checking the ropes one final time, Cullen gave the Tevinter a small smirk. "I'd much rather give you one of my sister's left over trees than have you commit another crime."

"Attempted-crime," Dorian corrected, to which the Fereldan simply chuckled.

As luck would have it, Cullen's sister Mia was the owner of the tree farm he had been attempting to steal a tree from. She had been more than happy to treat Dorian to cocoa as Cullen fabricated a story about finding Dorian at the side of the road and helping him to jump start his car. And when Dorian had added that he had been on his way to find a tree farm that would hopefully still be selling trees at this time of night, Mia had generously offered one on the house.

"It's the least I can do after the night you've been having.”

And if that didn't inspire guilt that had Dorian pulling out his wallet, he wasn't sure what else would. But after much insisting, most of it by Cullen, the Tevinter accepted the gift.

"You really didn't have to do this for me," he added once more, standing a bit sheepishly by the door to his car.

The detective smiled rather shyly and as his cheeks grew pinker, Dorian couldn't help but think, for not the first time that evening, how adorable the (“still quite tragically single,” Mia had declared overly loud over warm beverages, earning her a mortified look from her younger sibling) man was. “When you attempted to flirt your way out of a fine, I knew you had to be in some financial trouble. Times are tough. Plus, it's Satinalia. I hope you and your friends put that tree to good use.”

The Tevinter grinned widely. “You have my word, detective. Thanks again for the tree. Please tell your sister I wish both of you a happy Satinalia.”

As he unlocked his car, he paused, glancing sideways, with a smug smirk on his face. “And just so you know, I would have flirted with you even if you hadn't caught me in the middle of destroying the local environment.”

This time, Cullen's blush reached the tips of his ears, which peeked out above the thick, plaid scarf he wore around his neck.

“About next Thursday...”

Dorian, with one leg already in the vehicle, stopped. “Hmm?”

“I-I'm free. If you still want to know my middle name,” the detective said, ducking his face bashfully.

Dorian's stomach did a flip.

“I-it doesn't have to be a date,” Cullen added quickly, still not quite able to meet the Tevinter's eyes. “I-I don't have many friends in Denerim and—well, it would be nice to—and coffee. Coffee would be great.”

“So, in exchange for coffee, you'd tell me your middle name?” Dorian teased. “Then I, in good conscious, must inform you that Mia divulged that information in private while you were feeding Brixon, Detective Cullen Stanton Rutherford.”

But the Fereldan took the teasing another way, an apologetic look on his face. “Ah, I-I suppose that means you're busy and—”

“And free after 4. If that works for you.”

Dorian had thrown out a random day when he had initially made his suggestion. Luckily, he had nothing planned after his shift.

When the detective looked back up, his honey-colored eyes widened in shock. “Y-yes t-that's great. I—would you like to exchange numbers?”

In his nervousness, Cullen fumbled with his phone and nearly dropped it onto the road. Dorian did his best to hold back a chuckle but seeing the embarrassed smile on the detective's face made the Tevinter's own lips curl in a grin, a flutter in his chest. Once numbers were exchanged and they had added each other to Let’s Chat, a popular Thedosian app, they said their goodbyes and Dorian started his car.

Before pulling off onto the road, he rolled down his window and called out, “Oh, and just so you know, Cullen, Thursday is very much a date!”

The poor man nearly slipped into the snowbank but that didn't stop him grinning from ear to ear as he waved Dorian off.

Perhaps this week wasn't so terrible after all.

#cullrian #cullen x dorian #seasonal fluff #my writing #dragon age

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somevirtualnolife · 8 years ago

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Five Straight Losses

3061 Words

Rating: T Pairing: Hawke x Cullen Rutherford Summary: It's weird for Aerianne to see Cullen not working, but somehow, chess suits him. Previous One Shot: A Scowl and a Smile Author’s Notes: Woo~ A real update rather than a late repost. This turned out longer than I expected it to be! I had a lot of problems trying to figure out this chapter. I kept writing something, then deleting it. Then writing something again, then hating that and deleting that. It took forever. Finally, I decided to settle on chess. I haven't been giving a whole lot of Hawke's POV in this story, so I figured I finally would this time.

There may be a lot of typos in this chapter, just because I wanted to get it out before I was tempted to delete it again. Either way, enjoy!

“Alright then. With this, everything should be ready for your departure. Thank you again, Hawke,”

“Not a problem. If anything, I should be thanking you,” Aerianne replied, as she stood up.

Working with the Leliana had proven to be more than fruitful these past few weeks. Aerianne had done more than her fair share of smuggling and spying back in Kirkwall, so she was no beginner to this line of work. But the Inquisition’s spymaster was easily the most skilled ‘employers’ she had ever worked with. The way that Leliana not only managed to collect information, but use it to her advantage was truly a work of art. Varric wasn’t kidding when he said that he could take a break from his own network and just count on hers.

“Oh, if I could bother you for one more favor,” the spymaster placed some the documents they just looked over in a large envelope. “I hate to treat you as a messenger, but if you could give the report to the Inquisitor, that would do me a great help. Last I checked of his schedule, he should be in the gardens,”

“Not a problem. I was planning on heading there anyway,” Aerianne replied as she grabbed the envelope with a slight bow before heading down the spiralling staircase.

With the Hissing Wastes and Fallow Mire relatively stable, the preparations for Crestwood were finally underway. Honestly, was quite ready for it. She enjoyed her time in Skyhold for the most part. Even in preparation for war, there was a certain serenity within the walls. One could collect their thoughts without the constant threat of immediate danger, but she could feel herself starting to get antsy. Something telling her that she had to move on soon. She never really stayed anywhere for long, not since Kirkwall. The title of Champion came as both a blessing and a curse over the past few years. Very few saw her as just Aerianne Hawke, the person. For some, she was a symbol of freedom and change. Others considered her a bad omen, someone who ruined their lives and futures. Honestly, she often wondered the same.

In Skyhold, there was some relief from it from time to time. She’d hear her name whispered from time to time among the servants and soldiers when she walked by, but they restrained themselves well enough, most likely due to the fact that they all had a common enemy.

It also helped that there was someone whose names and actions were even more divisive than hers in some ways. Reagan Trevelyan, the Inquistior. Herald of Andraste to some, heretic to others and most interestingly (in her opinion), the mage who saved the Order from the grips of red lyrium. If he was bothered by the opinions of others, he certainly didn’t show it. He took it all in stride. Aerianne couldn’t help but compare herself when she was his age, in a similar position. She was terrified of letting anyone down and cared deeply about what people thought of her. Even those who disliked her. That was her biggest mistake. Maybe if she had just been more decisive, less compromising…

No. What’s done is done, as Isabela said. She couldn’t keep dwelling on the past. It was better to try and focus on fixing the problems of now. Corypheus was their target now.

She eventually snapped out of her thoughts and back to the present when she heard two familiar voices, goading each other.

“Well, that is a clever move, but I believe the match will be mine,”

“Do you? Are you sure don’t want to reconsider your strategy, Commander? Because I have you in three,”

“That sort of trickery may have won you a few games back in Ostwick, but you won’t be getting any second guessing from me. Watch and observe,”

“We’ll see about- Oh, Hawke!” Reagan said, a large grin on his face as Aerianne approached them. He recovered rather quickly for a person who just spent weeks fighting Tevinter extremists in a barren desert. When he and the rest of the group first returned a few days ago, they looked like sandy, dishevelled and exhausted. It was the first time she ever seen requests for baths taking a priority over other repairs to the fortress. Aerianne was pretty sure that Varric just spent a whole day sleeping, occasionally mumbling about sand.

“Sorry to disturb your game,” she said with a bit of a smile. “Leliana wanted me to give you the latest reports for Crestwood,”

“Oh, not a problem. We’re just about to finish this match up. Commander Cullen seems confident that the match is his,” he replied, reaching out and taking the large envelope after moving one of his pieces.

“Is that so?” she said, tilting her head as she crossed her arms looked over to Cullen and the chessboard.

“What’s that look?” Cullen furrowed his brows and looked at Aerianne suspiciously.

“It’s not a look!” she protested. “It’s just interesting to see you do something that doesn’t include work. Why do you always think I’m out to make your life difficult?”

“…Because you’re always out to make my life difficult,” he shrugged and then looked back at the chessboard and moved his knight.

“Oh please,” If anything, she had been exceedingly nice to Cullen as of late. It was on him if he chose to groan rather than laugh at his occasional joke. Or a compliment, or flirty remark, or any human interaction that she considered normal among her friends. He really was one of the most easily flustered people that she’d ever met. And she was related to Carver.

Nonetheless, they were friends now, right? Aerianne felt that they were at least beyond acquaintances by this point. Perhaps close colleagues? She normally wasn’t one to categorize relationships with people beyond the typical social circles, but considering they were no longer ‘enemies’, it was worth investigating where they stood with one another.

The Inquisitor looked from Cullen to Aerianne, very clearly wanting to comment on their conversation, but then clearly deciding it wasn’t it place. Instead, he only held back a bit of a smile.

“Are you all done for today, Hawke? Off to go and see your other half?” he asked, moving his tower piece across the board.

“Varric? He’s been writing quite fervently since last night,” she replied. “ ‘A special request that requires my utmost attention’, is what he told me when I was in his quarters. I looked over a few of his pages for any obvious mistakes and it seemed like something for his old Sword & Shields novels. Figured I’d let him be until he had another pile of papers for me to proofread,” he was also lowly cackling throughout his writing, but she really didn’t feel the need to bring that up. He was always behaving overly dramatic for no reason.

“Really? He’s working on that now?” Reagan stood up, almost in a scramble. It was then that Aerianne could’ve sworn that the Inquisitor’s eyes light up in excitement.

“Wait, you’re not that one person who actually reads that series, are you?” Surely not. Or maybe he was? Actually, if she were to think hard enough about it, she could see Reagan reading that sort of genre. She didn’t mean that as an insult. Strong and a born leader might be the words that she used to describe him when dealing with Inquistior Business, but he was rather different off the clock. Charismatically cheesy was a word that came to mind.

“Me? No, no. I much prefer his historical works. Hard in Hightown is great as well. This is for… a friend,”

“Say no more,” Aerianne laughed a little, lifting her hand. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you popped in to check it out,”

“You mind as well, Inquisitor. I believe the game is done,” Cullen replied, moving his knight once more to take the Reagan’s king. Reagan let out a bit of a sigh, but he didn’t seem particularly surprised. The commander did call it.

“Bah. So it is. Rematch soon?” the Inquisitor asked as he rolled down the cuffs of his sleeves before nodding to both the Commander and Aerianne.

“I always look forward to them,”

Aerianne gave a slight bow and watched as the Inquisitor ran off. Why did she have the feeling that Reagan was somehow involved in this latest burst of Varric’s writing? And it somehow was all connected to Cassandra?

“I never realized that you played chess,” she finally said, looking back at Cullen, who seemed quite comfortable, leaning back in his seat. A strong contrast to being hunched over a pile of reports.

“A hobby I’ve had since I was a child,” he replied with a bit of a smile. “It’s a good way to get my mind off work,”

Aerianne nodded. It was rare to see Cullen relaxing. Especially as of late. He almost seemed intent on burying himself in it, as though he were trying to distract himself. Anytime she caught him in his office for lunch, he seemed to be talking to a scout, or signing some document, or finishing up a meeting. He didn’t seem to dislike his work by any means, but even those with the best job in the world needed a bit of rest.

“Would you care for a game?” he continued, looking a little embarrassed. “If you’re up for it of course. I’ve still some time before I’m needed on the training grounds,”

Aerianne almost thought that she misheard Cullen for a moment. For the amount of time they spent together recently, she’d never heard him properly invite her to do something beyond work. She was tempted to say something jokey as she often did, but decided to hold it back. She was curious to see what a relaxed Cullen was like rather than a grumpy, irritated one.

“That would be lovely actually,” she replied, taking the seat that Reagan sat in previously.

“Now that I think of it, I didn’t realize you played chess either,” Cullen said as he arranged the pieces back to their original spaces.

“I used to a bit with my family. It’s been awhile, but I imagine it’s just like riding a horse. It’ll all come back to me soon enough,” Surely it couldn’t be that difficult.

The first match went to Cullen. That was no big deal. He just finished playing a game against the Inquisitor and Aerianne hadn’t played in years. She needed to warm up a bit first was all. Nothing too odd about that.

And then Cullen took the second match. Well, no big deal. He did say this was a hobby of his, but she was catching on to his strategy.

But then she lost a third time.

And then a fourth.

And then…

“Okay, this is ridiculous! You can’t be this good,” Aerianne complained. It wasn’t even a challenge for him! He beat her in such a short amount of time too… He had to be cheating. Okay, no that was even less likely. Cullen could barely tell a lie, let alone cheat. Still, she refused to believe that he was some sort of unbeatable chess god. There had to be a reason for it all.

“You’re right. I’m not that good at chess. Dorian and Reagan have beaten me a few times. Leliana has as well, though she does have a habit of cheating,” Cullen then tried to hold in a laugh, but a smirk still managed to creep out as he took her king for a fifth time. “…But I think you might be bad at chess. Terrible if I’m being honest,”

Aerianne gaped at his comment. She was more than used to his cutting remarks when they got on each other’s nerves, but it somehow threw her off when he was so confident and distractingly smiley about it. He was using her own techniques against her! Ugh, is this what chess did to him? Is this where he saved all his charisma and confidence?

“That’s not true!” she then shook her head, quite insistently. “My sister and father were excellent at chess and I beat them all the time. Well, a few times,”

Sure, maybe she didn’t play all the time, but it’s not like she was that bad. She really did win against her family a handful of times. In fact, she still remembers beating them both for the first time. And they…

Were not as surprised as they should’ve been about it. They weren’t mad, or surprised, or even annoyed. If she were to think very carefully about their tone, it was a sort of fake-shock. Like when you let a child win in a race. Wait…

Andraste’s tits, they let her win.

“I’m terrible at chess,” A bit of an odd realization for a woman in her thirties to have, but there could be worse epiphanies to have.

“I’m sorry that this was the way you had to find out,” he joked as he started to put away the game pieces. Perhaps five straight losses within an hour was enough for the day. “Do you want to know what your biggest issue is when playing chess?”

“What?” she said, crossing her arms, clearly feeling a little sore about how bad she was. And she knew how Cullen could be when he had the upper hand. He’s get that annoying, satisfied smirk and proceed to find ways to work in ways to chide and lecture her. Lord it over her for weeks.

You know, essentially what she did to him half of the time. But it was worse because it was him. Obviously.

“You play chess like it’s a game of Wicked Grace,” he responded. “They both require different strategies, different risks,”

Aerianne chewed the inside of her cheek in annoyance, but she knew he was right.

“I’m sure if you ask Leliana, she’d be more than willing to teach you a few good strategies. Ideally ones that don’t include cheating,” continued.

“Not you?”

“Do you want me to? I quite recall you saying you hate it when I lecture you,”

“That’s when your scolding turns into a lecture,” she corrected. “I would hardly mind you lecturing me about something you enjoy,”

“Is that so?”

And there was that smile again. No, not the smirk. Just a normal, content smile. It was usually so rare, but she had seen it surface a number of times throughout each match. She’d even seen it briefly when he was playing against Reagan. Aerianne didn’t want to say that he should smile more often. That sounded a little ridiculous considering everything that was going on around them (also it was a gross pick-up line that she heard far too often back at the Hanged Man). But still… it suited him well. She wouldn’t mind seeing it more often. It was…

Okay, now she was beginning to sound like one of the staff in the kitchen. She really had to stop going there before she started acting like a giddy young maiden herself. They were all about true love and romance which Aerianne was far beyond that point in her life now. Yes, yes, Cullen was handsome. And considerate. And hard working. And adorably awkward. The list could go on. And sure, the way their sparring match had ended a few weeks back may have sparked a bit of curiosity of what he was like out of that armor. But ultimately, she knew it was a silly infatuation and nothing more. She would get over it, as she often did.

Perhaps Aerianne wasn’t the only one with a lot on her mind, as she also noticed the commander shaking his head slightly, as though trying to remove whatever current thoughts he had out of his head.

“But, uh, we’ll save that for another time. I should probably head to the courtyard. Recruits, unfortunately, do not train themselves,” he slowly started to stand up.

“Right. Yes,” she replied, doing the same. “And I’d best prepare for Crestwood tomorrow,”

While the others still had a few days before they headed out, she needed to inform Stroud of the situation and see if she couldn’t deal a little bit with the bandit problem in the area. The Inquisitor already seemed to have to deal with another giant glowing hole that could threaten the nearby town, so it was the least she could do. Plus, she moved faster on her own.

“Ah right,” Cullen replied, doing the same. “Glad I got to see you before you left then. It’ll be a little unusual not having you around for a bit. Lunches will certainly be different,”

“Well, I’m sure one of the kitchen staff would love to have lunch with you in my stead,” Aerianne replied with a bit of a smirk. “The red-headed young lady is quite cute. I’ve seen you glance her way a few times,” and she’d done more than a few in his direction.

“That’s not- Hawke…” he said with irritation. There he was. The grumpy Cullen she knew far too well. She could relax again and get out of her head.

“I assure you that I won’t say anything to her. It was just a helpful suggestion,” What a better way to get someone out of your head than to try and throw them into the arms of someone else? A flawless plan (a terrible plan).

“Suggestion noted, but ultimately disregarded,” he said, crossing his arms furrowing his brows. It really was amazing how easy it was to get under his skin as soon as the topic of romance and women came up. But she wouldn’t push it too far. He just got rid of his stress. She didn’t need to immediately pile up on it again.

“Alright, alright. I know that look and tone, I won’t pester you further,” she smiled a bit and gave him a casual wave before turning around. “Take care, Commander. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks, hopefully,”

“Just… please be careful out there,” she heard him say. “For Varric. I know he, uh… he worries about you,”

Aerianne looked over her shoulder and back at Cullen. His arms were still crossed, and his eyes still stern with annoyance.

Or was it concern?

“…I will,”

#da:i fanfic #da2 fanfic #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age 2 #hawke x cullen #cullen rutherford #rogue hawke #female hawke

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novamm66 · 8 years ago

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Pic-Lit 8 (Part 1) - Cullen

So this one got a bit long and I decided to break it into 2 parts. Gives me more time to do the sketch I wan to for the second part.

"What do you mean, 'She's gone'?" The faces around the room echoed the shock in Cassandra's tone, except for Bull and Solas, Cullen noted. Everyone else's couldn't hide their surprise. Cullen also wondered why Dorian was looking so smug.

"My agent..." Leliana only got two words out before the room erupted with comments and opinions.

"Agent?"

"You were watching her?"

"Who else are you watching?"

"Ha! Missy Magicpants got past Lady N’s birdies! Good girl!"

Cullen's hand hit the table in front of him with enough force to knock every piece on the map over and silence the room. Leliana smiled at him and something flashed across her face that Cullen couldn't place, concern maybe?

"There was a letter, here on the table," Leliana held up a piece of parchment. "Basically she says she will be back," there was a collective exhale of held breathe, "to close the Breach when the mages have arrived from Redcliffe and have had a week of training with Solas, Dorian & Madame de Fer."

"Well I'm not surprised!" Dorian waved his hands to command the attention of the room. "We barely made it back from the nightmare that was the future. She now feels more responsible for the future of the world and she alone carries the responsibility." Dorian straightened his back and continued, "That future existing because she disappeared and didn’t remove the mages from Tevinter control. She is scared out of her mind. What we saw there, what was real for us, is going to be very hard to forget."

The room exploded with everyone talking at once, Cullen closed his eyes and thought back to the last time he had seen Kiaya. Two days ago, she and her companions had returned from Redcliffe. Their reports had arrived just that morning and Cullen had not had time to calm his anger over the freedom granted to the mages. The withdrawal had been growing for days at that point and the nightmares worse. He shook his head, no excuses. The back of his eyelids chose that moment to present him with Kiaya's face as she walked through the Chantry doors. She had looked exhausted, like she hadn't slept in days. There were pain lines around her eyes and she was favouring her shoulder again. But when she looked up and her eyes met his... Cullen felt the blush rise to his face as he remembered how happy she had looked; all her pain and exhaustion had vanished like the sun coming out from the clouds. She lit up the room. And he had yelled at her. Cullen winced when he thought of it, the pain at the base of his head throbbing. It had been like dumping water on a fire. Kiaya had looked crushed. And then the Mask had snapped back on and she had returned with her own anger and yelled back. Then she stormed out, leaving Dorian to fill in the details left out of the report. No wonder she had refused to see anyone, if she was planning on leaving.

“So what are our options?” Cass’s brash tone cut through the chatter. “Commander, do you think you could track her?”

Cullen barely managed to hide the winch at the question. “Possibly, but we would need a clearer starting point. Kia-, Lady Trevelyan” Cullen swallowed his embarrassment at his slip “has been all over Haven. We should leave as soon as possible if we are to find her before dark.” Cullen stopped talking and turned bright red. Maker’s Breathe had he just said all that out loud?!? “What I mean is, no one should be travelling far alone. We still have not cleared all of the hills and it is too much of a risk, and it is too much of a risk, for anyone.” Cullen swallowed.

“Leave the Boss be” Bull had been silent up to this point, standing in shadow, his eye flicking from face to face reading everything. “She’s not one to run from things she starts, and she can certainly take care of herself. She’s use to it. When she says she will be back she will be back.” With that Bull left the room.

“Missy will come back.” Sera leapt down from the edge of the table, “she’s got tons of reasons to want to be here, and ‘sides I still owe her.”

As everyone was voicing their opinions, Varric had appeared at Cullen’s side. “Smudges can take care of herself out there Curly. It’s inside her head where she could get into trouble.” And Varric left quietly as he appeared. For all of his theatrics Varric’s stealth could be surprising when he used it.

After everyone had left, only the advisors and Cassandra remained. Leliana met Cullen’s eyes and Cullen again got the feeling that there was something hovering right out of reach on Leliana’s face, like she was trying to push it back down out of sight. “I believe that we should trust our Herald.” Leliana’s eyes focused on the far wall as she continued. “She is carrying more than the rest of us, no matter how hard we try to lighten the burdens. We trust her that she will be back as she trusts us to have everything ready to close the Breach.” Leliana looked at the markers strewn across the table, her lips curving up like a cats. “We will leave you to restore order here Commander.”

Cullen sighed as Leliana left the room, quietly talking to Josie and heading for her office. Cullen’s mind was racing, where could she have gone? Was it his fault? Driving her away from her friends those who could protect her? “Cullen,” Cullen just about jumped out of his skin, knocking over the markers he had just set up. “Maker, Cass, I thought you had left.” Cullen gulped air as he tried to slow his racing heart. Cass rolled her eyes.

“It’s not your fault, well not all your fault...” Cullen groaned “No listen to me.” Cass paused, setting up some makers. She had the look of someone who was weighing her words carefully. “She watches you die, my friend. That is what she dreams about every night since Redcliffe.” Cass shook her head, grunting with frustration. “Cullen, she cares for you. More then I think, she knows.” Cullen couldn’t stop the rush of red in his face.

“Maker, you think so?” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck not meeting Cassandra’s eyes.

“That’s not... I mean,” Cassandra snorted and rolled her eyes. “You two are so dense! Both of you deserve the happiness you both spend so much time denying. Kiaya doesn’t trust her own feelings and she doesn’t know where this is going to go for her so she struggles to open herself up.” Cass had started pacing, her accent getting thicker as she continued. It seemed like she wasn’t able to stop talking. “She draws you constantly, or parts of you at least. And you know that Sera refuses to share a tent with her anymore because Kiaya talks so much in her sleep.” Cass paused here, not wanting to betray her new friend while helping an old one. “She says your name more than any other.” Cassandra thinned her lips like she was stopping from the words tumbling out. Cullen couldn’t believe what he was hearing, could it be possible? No, no it couldn’t, but what if...

“Cullen” again Cass’s voice was softer than normal, drawing Cullen’s eyes back to her face. “She couldn’t safe you in that future. She couldn’t save any of us. She isn’t afraid of dying, she is afraid of losing one of us, of losing you.”

Cassandra leaned on the table, her eyes never leaving Cullen’s face. “You can’t leave it as it is. You must go after her. She doesn’t understand why you were so angry with her for making the choice she did. She doesn’t know that you aren’t taking lyrium anymore. You never gave her a chance to explain and you need to.” Cassandra’s face turned into a fierce scowl “And you need to apologise. You were a horse’s ass” Cass shot him one last glare before she walked out the door.

It took Cullen less than two minutes to make a decision.

I am having so much fun writing these, who knew! If you enjoyed this one check out the others on my Master post.

Kiaya’s Art; A Group of Writing & Drawing Dabbles

Feel free to reblog, I would love that. But please, respect my work. Don’t Steal it.

#Kiaya Trevelyan #dragon age inquisition #pic-lit #cullen #cullenrutherford #cause I can't get enough Cullen

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pikapeppa · 6 years ago

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Fenris/f!Hawke modern AU: Please

Chapter 10 of Damned Spot is up! This is the second last chapter - eeeeek! Previous chapters can be found here on Tumblr.

In which things settle down in the wake of Danarius’s death, and Fenris and Rynne Hawke KEEP DANCING AROUND EACH OTHER LIKE IDIOTS.

Very long chapter (~11k words UGH) so only an excerpt here. Includes smut. Read the full thing on AO3.

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

Two weeks after Danarius’s death…

Rynne tucked her feet up on the couch in Cullen’s office as he spoke to Fenris and Varania. “The court hearing will be the deciding factor,” he said. “But as I told you before, I expect the charges will be dropped after a single session.” He looked at Fenris. “With the history of your flight from Danarius, combined with Varric’s CCTV footage and the testimony from all the witnesses, it’s clear that it’s a case of justifiable homicide. The second-degree murder charge was more to cover their bases than anything else.”

“And after the hearing?” Fenris asked. “What happens then?” He glanced at Varania, who was sitting in a chair beside him with her arms folded.

“Assuming a positive outcome for us, you two will have some decisions to make,” Cullen said. He tapped his pen idly on his desk as he spoke. “Varania, you still aren’t sure where you’re going to go after giving your testimony. If you remain in the Free Marches, you’ll need to apply to become a permanent resident, like Fenris is planning to do. But if you choose to return to the Tevinter Imperium, the danger that places you in-”

“I don’t recommend it,” Fenris interrupted.

“You’ve said that already,” Varania drawled. “At least a dozen times.”

Fenris pursed his lips in annoyance. Rynne made very brief eye contact with Cullen, then pulled out her phone and pretended to be interested in her Facebook feed. She’d witnessed this argument too many times in the past two weeks, and she was trying very, very hard not to interfere. It wasn’t her family, after all. It wasn’t her place to tell Varania she was being an idiot.

Cullen tactfully cleared his throat. “If you do decide to return to the Imperium, I still may be able to help you. There is a particular Tevinter judge, a woman named Maevaris Tilani. I have worked with her once before on an international case, and I assure you,” and this he directed at Fenris, “that she is reliable and of sound judgment. She may be able to help keep Varania safe.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows skeptically. Clearly Cullen had proposed this idea to him already, and his opinion was obvious from the look on his face.

Varania, meanwhile, shifted in her chair. “Thank you, Cullen. I’ll… think about it.” She shot a quick look at Fenris, then folded her arms again.

Cullen nodded an acknowledgement. “Fenris, meanwhile, will simply resume his normal life in Kirkwall.” Cullen looked askance at Fenris. “But I understand you were considering legally changing your name after you gain your residency.”

Rynne looked up from her phone. She wasn’t aware that he was thinking of changing his name. Why was he thinking of doing that?

Varania raised her eyebrows in equal surprise. “Change it to what?” she asked. “Are you going to keep ‘Fenris’, then?”

This made Rynne even more confused. “Wait. ‘Fenris’ isn’t your real name?”

Varania snorted and settled more comfortably in her chair. “I guess there is something he didn’t tell you, after all.”

Fenris shot his sister a disapproving look. Rynne stuck her tongue out at Varania, then moodily folded her arms. It was too bad, really; Rynne got the sense that she and Varania could have been friends in another lifetime - if Varania hadn’t tried to sell Fenris out to his murderous ex-boss, that is. Fenris might be willing to look past his sister’s betrayal, at least to some degree, but Hawke certainly wasn’t.

Aveline had given Rynne and Fenris the option of pressing charges against Varania for reckless endangerment, but for Fenris’s sake, Rynne had declined. She knew too well the guilt that came with the accusation of harming a family member, and she wouldn’t wish that on anyone, least of all Fenris’s sister.

“Let’s, er, stick to the matter at hand,” Cullen suggested delicately. “The bottom line is this: Varania, let me know as soon as you can what you wish to do. Fenris, stick to your bail conditions - no leaving the Free Marches, no changing your address, and obviously, no criminal activity. Break any of these conditions-”

“... and Varric will call Aveline to bring me in, and he’ll break my legs for good measure,” Fenris deadpanned. He nodded respectfully to Cullen. “I understand.”

“I still think you should have made me your surety instead of Varric,” Rynne piped up. “I’d be much more fun. I’d even let you smoke elfroot in the house.”

“Elfroot is legal in Kirkwall,” Cullen told her.

She stared at him in surprise. “What? Since when?”

Cullen wilted in exasperation. “Since two months ago, Hawke. It was all over the news.”

Rynne waved her hand dismissively. “Oh come on, Cullen, you know I don’t watch the news. Well, guess what Fenris and I are going to go buy right after this?”

Fenris smirked. “Thank you, Hawke, but no. I prefer to avoid dubiously legal drugs.”

She shrugged and stretched out on Cullen’s couch. “Fine. Suit yourself.” She smiled as Fenris rolled his eyes. They both knew Rynne was just as unlikely to use recreational drugs as Fenris was, but it was still fun to get a rise from him.

Now if only she could get a different, more physical kind of rise from him as well.

She pushed the errant wistful thought aside. It wasn’t the time to be thinking about where she and Fenris stood from a romantic perspective. He was far too preoccupied for her to bother him with juvenile blather about whether they could be together, now that he wasn’t planning to kill anyone anymore.

After his court date, she reminded herself. That was the timeline she’d privately decided upon for when she would ask Fenris to be with her. He was too busy juggling work and the murder charge and meetings with Cullen and sorting things out with bloody Varania to think about anything else, so Rynne could give him that time.

To that end, though, it would be helpful to know when exactly his court date would be.

Almost as though he’d heard her thoughts, Cullen gave her and Fenris a pleading look. “Getting back on topic: Fenris, just follow your bail conditions and come to your court hearing. It is on…” He checked his calendar. “... Ferventis the 7th.”

“Ferventis the 7th?” Rynne sat up in dismay. “That’s almost two months from now!”

Cullen frowned at her. “That’s extremely quick for the courts, Hawke,” he said. “If there were more doubt about Fenris’s case, the delay would be even longer. You should be pleased.”

“We are pleased,” Fenris said hastily. He rose from his chair and extended his hand to Cullen. “You have been… unbelievably kind,” he said. “Thank you. From both of us,” he added, with a nod at Varania.

Varania rose from her seat as well. “Yes. Thanks very much,” she said politely.

Cullen firmly grasped their hands. “You’re very welcome. It’s my pleasure and my duty to help, truly.”

Rynne pushed herself up from the couch, then flung her arms around Cullen’s neck in a hug. “You’re the best,” she told him fondly. “Piper is the luckiest bitch in the world. I’ll make sure to tell her so. Then she can give you a proper reward for being the nicest man in Thedas.”

Cullen gently patted her back, and when Rynne pulled away, his cheeks were bright pink. “Yes, well, I - er - thank you, Hawke, that’s very kind.” He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck.

Rynne chuckled at his bashfulness. She waved goodbye as she, Fenris, and Varania left his office.

Once they were back on the ground floor of the Hightown high-rise, Rynne turned to Fenris. “Ready?”

“Yes, let’s go,” he confirmed. He turned to his sister. “I will see you… soon, I suppose.”

Varania shrugged and tucked her hands in her pockets in a gesture that forcibly reminded Rynne of Fenris. “Sure,” she said. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she gave Fenris a quick hug.

Rynne raised her eyebrows, and Fenris’s eyes widened with surprise as well. He briefly hugged her in return, and he and Rynne watched as Varania walked away.

Rynne and Fenris followed her out into the late spring sunshine at a slow, relaxed pace. Then, as had become their routine in the past couple of weeks, they headed to Lowtown for coffee and tea at Athenril’s café.

“Well, that was nice,” Rynne said blandly. “That hug.”

Fenris gave her a chiding look. “Hawke.”

She winced and tugged on her earrings. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I’m being a bitch. Varania’s been… pretty okay this past week especially.” She shrugged innocently. “I would just hate to have to punch her if she crosses you again, that’s all. I’m quite fond of my knuckles, you see.”

Fenris tsked at her feeble joke. More seriously, he said, “Varania and I have spoken at length about… everything that happened. She sees more clearly now how Danarius lied to us both.” He shrugged. “It is not perfect by any means, but I don’t think she’ll speak against me in court, for instance.” Then he shot her a little smirk. “Besides, as some insufferably flirtatious woman once said, blood is thicker than water.”

Rynne batted her eyelashes. “Was that woman also incredibly beautiful and stunningly humorous?” she asked. “You should introduce me sometime.”

Fenris chuckled, but as they continued on their way to Lowtown, his expression fell into a pensive frown. He seemed uncertain, and Rynne didn’t blame him; Varania had been under Danarius’s wing for years, and Rynne didn’t think that kind of influence could be erased in the space of a couple of short weeks. But if Fenris wanted to rekindle a relationship with his sister, Rynne didn’t want to naysay him. He’d only ever been supportive Rynne’s endeavours to mend bridges with Carver, after all, and that had been going surprisingly well. Rynne thought that perhaps her brush with death might have made Carver realize that life was too short to hold grudges.

Now if only her mother would realize the same thing.

Rynne shrugged off the unpleasant thought, then tilted her face up to enjoy the springtime sun. It was too beautiful a day to think about her mother. The sun was bright and warm, she was wearing flip-flops for the first time this year, and best of all, the most handsome man in Thedas was walking by her side.

As always, Rynne was seized by the urge to reach out and hold Fenris’s hand. And as always, she forced herself to shove her hands in her pockets instead. Just two months, she reminded herself. It wasn’t too long to wait.

And the self-imposed wait had nothing at all to do with the little spike of fear that jumped in her belly at the thought of propositioning Fenris again.

Her friends didn’t understand the wait. Isabela, for instance, thought Rynne was just being a coward. She’d made that quite clear this morning as Rynne was getting ready to leave the condo.

“So remind me again,” Isabela yawned. “Why are you two still not fucking yet?”

“He’s got other things on his mind,” Rynne said, for what felt like the tenth time. She wandered over to the hall closet and pulled out her jacket. “The murder charge and his sister and-”

“No man in the history of the world has ever had too much on his mind for sex,” Isabela said loudly.

Rynne tossed Isabela a chiding look, only to find all three of her roommates standing in the kitchen and staring at her with various degrees of skepticism on their faces.

Maker’s fucking mercy, she thought. She gave them a salacious smile. “Well well, look at this saucy lineup. I do love an audience.” She slowly bent over and showed off her ass as she picked up her flip-flops from the floor.

Isabela laughed. “Sweet thing, you know we could stare at your ass all day. But you also know you’re being a pussy.”

Rynne dropped the flirtatious act and shoved her feet into her flip-flops. “I am not. Pipes knows what I’m about. Right, Pipes?”

She looked over her shoulder, then wilted slightly as Piper shrugged. “I still think Fenris could use a good punch in the face for leaving you the morning after,” she said. “But… come on, Hawke. He spends all his spare time with you. And he spends all his time at the Hanged Man staring at you when you’re not looking. It’s pretty sickening, actually.” She pressed her lips together as though to hide a smirk.

“Puppy eyes?” Merrill gasped. “Oh, Hawke, he must be in love! That’s so romantic.”

“Romantic?” Isabela said indignantly. “Who said anything about romantic? I’m talking about a good, hard, we-almost-died survival fucking. Two weeks too late, sure, but-”

“Okay, bye everyone, have a great day!” Rynne called out cheerfully, and she fled the penthouse before they could give her any more unsolicited advice.

Rynne knew they were wrong. She wasn’t being a coward. She was being cautious and giving Fenris his time. It only made sense to not tell him how she felt until she was sure he was in the right headspace to hear it.

Besides, why do I have to be the one to make the move? she thought mulishly. If Fenris wanted to be with her, he could just as easily be the one to initiate. Never mind that Rynne had never been shy about making an advance before.

At that moment, Fenris’s lovely voice broke into her thoughts. “You seem preoccupied. Is there something on your mind?”

She smiled brightly up at him. “Who, me? Nope! Nothing at all. Blank slate up here, that’s me.” She tilted her head. “Why, what are you thinking about?”

He paused thoughtfully before responding. “I was… wondering what it will be like to be free. Assuming the charges are dropped, of course.”

“They will be,” Rynne reassured him. Cullen was confident, and so was Varric, and Carver had told her in private that even Aveline felt that the charges were very unlikely to stick.

Fenris nodded an acknowledgement. “At any rate, I… can’t recall what it’s like to be free. Not looking over my shoulder, not carrying that… that vitriolic hate.” He was quiet for a moment before speaking again. “The truth of my mother’s death is a new kind of burden,” he said quietly. “But Varania being alive, albeit a bit of a brat, is an unexpected boon. I still don’t quite know what to make of it.”

His face was creased in a deep frown, and Rynne studied him with a warm kind of ache in her chest. Then he shrugged and ran a hand over his hood. “There’s so much time now,” he said. “I don’t know what to do with it.” He looked at Rynne. “What do I do now, Hawke?”

She fought off an inconvenient urge to hug him. “You could travel, maybe,” she suggested. “Once you’re allowed to leave the Free Marches, that is. Is there anywhere you really want to go?”

“Truth be told, I have had enough of travel for some time,” he admitted. “What with the fleeing from Danarius…”

Rynne winced and smacked herself in the forehead. “Right. Obviously.” She awkwardly tugged her earrings, then shot him a cheeky smirk. “I’m still a bit surprised you want to stay in Kirkwall. I thought you hated it here, with the whole unequal-division-of-wealth thing. And the smell.”

“I do hate the unequal division of wealth,” he confirmed. “The contrast between Hightown and Darktown is absurd. The true character of any city is found among its poor. But… the smell is not so terrible. Not everywhere, at least. And Athenril’s coffee is very good.”

Hawke chuckled and pulled her sunglasses out of her purse. “Glad to know there’s something that you like about this city,” she teased.

“Mm. Indeed,” he grumbled.

Hawke chuckled at his deadpan tone. She put her sunglasses on and glanced at him again, only to find him gazing at her with a thoughtful look on his face.

Thoughtful and… quite intense, really. A leap of excitement and undeniable anxiety pulled at her belly, and she released a nervous little laugh. Maker’s balls, maybe she was being a pussy. It wasn’t like her to be this meek. She’d certainly never been anything less than bold with any other person she’d been attracted to before.

But Fenris wasn’t like any other man. Rynne had never fallen for anyone as fast and hard as she’d fallen for Fenris, and… well, if she was being brutally honest, it had never hurt so fucking much to be rejected as when Fenris had walked away from her. Her fantasies of being with him were in direct competition with her nightmares that he would tell her that now wasn’t the right time, or that he’d turn her down altogether…

Her anxiety abruptly overrode her excitement. She tore her eyes away from his gorgeous green gaze and seized desperately upon a new topic. “So, changing your name?” she said. “What’s that about?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Ah. Well. ‘Fenris’ is not my legal name. It was a pseudonym given to me by Danarius’s gang.” He ran his hand over his hood again. “‘The Wolf’, they called me,” he said, then grunted in disgust. “A foolish nickname. Wolves hunt in packs, and… I worked alone.” He fell silent and looked away from her.

Hawke bit her lip. Unable to resist, she reached out and gently squeezed his arm.

He gave her a very small smile, and she smiled back at him before releasing his arm. “So… so are you thinking of keeping ‘Fenris’ as your legal name, then?”

He nodded. “Yes. It might seem strange, since I don’t particularly like the name, but I thought… well, all of my official documentation in Tevinter is under my old name. If I start over with a new name in the Free Marches…” He shrugged again. “Perhaps it will be my version of a fresh start. A clean break with the Imperium.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to reclaim your old name?” she asked gently. “Especially if you hate ‘Fenris’ so much.”

“I don’t… hate it,” he said slowly. “I have grown accustomed to it, I suppose. It is the name that all my acquaintances in Kirkwall know. And my legal name belonged to a very different man. A different… boy, really. I am not that boy anymore.”

Again, he looked uncertain, and Rynne’s chest was squeezed by another surge of sympathy. This was why she was holding back on gushing her feelings all over him. He had so many things to think about, and she didn’t want to add something else to his plate.

He looked troubled. It was time to cheer him up. Rynne blinked innocently at him. “Well, whatever name you decide to keep, you should make a decision fast.”

He frowned at her. “Why?”

“So you can get a credit card,” Hawke said brightly.

He raised one eyebrow suspiciously. “And why is it urgent that I do that?”

She punched him lightly in the arm. “So you can stop leeching off of me and Pipes’ Netflix account and get your own. I can’t binge the old episodes of Gossip Girl because you’re in our account half the time.”

Fenris’s frown instantly transformed into a smirk. “You should consider that a favour. That show is insipid trash.”

Rynne gasped in mock offense. “And Devilman Crybaby is any better? Don’t think I haven’t been checking out your viewing history.”

He lifted his chin in a dignified manner. “Devilman Crybaby explores the dichotomy of good and evil, and the way the two can intersect.”

Rynne barked out an incredulous laugh. “It’s an anime where a guy has a wet dream and jizzes so hard that it hits the ceiling!”

“Ah, so you have been watching it then,” Fenris said shrewdly. “Don’t judge my viewing choices if you are guilty of making the same ones yourself.”

She elbowed him. “I was curious,” she retorted. “It’s a stupid show!”

Fenris shrugged and tucked his hands into his pockets. “Stop watching it, then.”

Rynne grinned at his smug little smirk. He knew she’d have to finish the series now that she’d started it.

They continued to bicker amicably during the rest of the walk. But as they stood in line at Athenril’s, something odd occurred to her.

She looked up at Fenris. “I just realized I didn’t ask you what your real name was. Or is, I guess.”

He smiled faintly. “It’s… Leto,” he said softly.

Rynne tilted her head. “Leto,” she said slowly. Her gaze drifted up to his face. “Leto, Fenris… I can’t decide which I like more. They’re both very handsome names.”

She smiled cheekily at him, but to her surprise, his expression was serious and thoughtful. “Perhaps there’s no need to like one more than the other,” he suggested quietly. “Perhaps… perhaps they are akin to two sides of the same coin.”

His gaze on her face was pensive, and Rynne’s smile faded at the intensity of his expression. He was studying her carefully, as though she was the interesting one, and suddenly her heart was beating in her ears.

They stared at each other for a long moment, and Rynne couldn’t breathe. Then Fenris smiled. “It’s another dichotomy,” he said. “Not unlike in Devilman Cryba-”

Rynne laughed and shoved his arm. “Oh, fuck off with your stupid devil-sex anime,” she said, equally relieved and disappointed as the tense moment melted away.

Fenris chuckled, then nodded to Emile and ordered for them both. They chatted idly as they waited for his coffee and her tea, and when Emile slid their drinks across the counter, they meandered back out into the sunny spring day.

They wandered around the Lowtown market, their attention primarily spent on talking and joking around rather than looking at the eclectic arts and crafts and organic homemade foodstuffs that were on sale. Once their drinks were finished, Fenris tucked his hands in his pockets and faced her.

“So,” he said. He idly jangled his keys in his pocket. “I will see you at work, then.”

Rynne tapped the lid of her empty cup and nodded. “Yep. But before you go, I have a really important question.”

Fenris frowned and stopped jangling his keys. “What? What is it?”

She took a deep breath and gazed seriously at him. “When will you be getting a smartphone? I’ve been dying to send you emojis and reaction gifs for months.”

He stared at her dumbly for a moment. Then a sudden, brilliant smile lit his face. “You’re an idiot,” he said, then pinched her waist.

A warm flush of heat washed over her cheeks, and she squeaked and batted his fingers away. “Only for you, Fenris,” she giggled. “Only for you.”

He shook his head and chuckled, then adjusted his hood over his hair and walked away with a casual wave.

Rynne watched him go with a smile on her face and her heart in her throat. He was barely out of her line of sight, and she missed him already.

She took a deep breath, then turned away and headed home. Just until Ferventis the 7th, she thought. After that, Rynne would make her move.

Maybe by that time, she’d have racked up the guts to actually make it.

Read the rest on AO3.

#fenris #fenris fic #fenris modern AU #damned spot #fenhawke #fenris/f!hawke #fenris x f!hawke #fenris/femHawke #fenris x femhawke #fenris/hawke #fenris x hawke #pikapeppa writes

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roksanalyasin · 8 years ago

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OC Interview - Valina Voclain

Adapted from @elfsplaining very cool interview with Shaera Lavellan.

1. Pick an original character! 2. Fill in the questions/statements as if you were being interviewed for an article and you were the character/muse. 3. Tag people to do the same.

An Interview with ‘Vicious Val’

Valina organises and shuffles the day’s reports aside, tidying the desk as she often does in the evening. The lantern beside her flickers, the warm flame casting shadows across the room. Skyhold is quiet apart from the roaming guards, but little can be heard in their quarters except for the breeze that sweeps through the broken roof and Cullen’s soft snores as they drift down from the loft.

After a day of meetings with the Inquisitor and a long evening of assessing reports, she’d finally sent Cullen to be a half hour ago. Valina’s eyes trail up the ladder, a smile on her lips. She’s eager to joining her tired Commander, eager to slip beneath the covers and snuggle into his warm embrace.

She rises from her chair, stretching languidly as she approaches the stairs. She pauses with her foot on the first rung, her focus on the door that leads to the Great Hall. Footsteps echoed outside the door, her curiosity piqued. It’s not unusual for someone to knock on their quarters in search of the Commander of the Inquisition so late, but Valina does not recognise the pattern of footsteps.

She opens the door, startling the man before he can knock, a small shout escaping him and he nearly drops the bundle of parchment in his arms. Her serpentstone gaze flickers down, examining the traveller - warm clothes, sturdy boots, and a generous pack giving him away - while he recovers his composure.

‘Are you lost?’ she asks, closing the door behind her so as not to disturb Cullen.

'Ah, I don’t think so. I was told I could find someone by the name of Val here,’ he says, shifting awkwardly on his feet, rearranging the scrolls in his arms.

'And why ever would you want to do that?’ she asks, 'it’s awfully late to be knocking on someone’s door. You never know who might greet you with a dagger.’

'I’m from Denerim. I’m compiling a history of the Inquisition and its supporters. I was hoping to speak to the woman known as Vicious Val?’

Valina smirks at the nickname coined by the recruits she trains, unsurprised to see it has spread outside the walls of Skyhold.

'You’ve found her.’

He smiles with a nervousness that flickers over his slim features. 'Oh, wonderful! Wonderful!’ he says, scrambling again to rearrange his papers, 'would you be willing to answer a few questions?’

'I would be, but you’ll have to decide for yourself if what I tell you is true.’

'That is the job of a good biographer,’ he said with a firm nod, 'would now be suitable?’

Valina inclines her head, placing a finger upon her lips in a gesture of silence before she beckons him into her’s and Cullen’s quarters, picking up the lantern from the desk before she leads him through another door and onto the section of the battlements between Cullen’s office and the Herald’s Rest, where only the wind might interrupt their discussion.

The biographer sits on the stone floor, rummaging in his pack for a writing board, ink, and a quill. She places the lantern beside the biographer and leans against the battlement wall, the cobblestone cool and reassuring at her back. She waits until he glances up, his quill poised above the page, an eager light in his soft blue eyes.

'Ready when you are,’ she says.

1. What is your name? 'Well, it’s certainly not Vicious Val.’

2. No seriously, what is your name? 'Valina.’

The biographer gawks. 'As in Valina Voclain, next Marquise of the Voclain family? One of the biggest trading families in Orlesian history?’

Valina smiles, a wicked turn of her red lips that sends the interviewer’s heart fluttering. 'Do you know of any other Valina’s? she asks.

The biographer clears his throat.

3. Do you know why you were called that? 'Valina was my grandmother’s name.’

4. Do you have any abilities or powers? 'A few.’

5. Stop being a Mary Sue. 'I’m sure my father and mother would disagree with you. I’m much too stubborn.’

6. What is your eye colour? 'Serpentstone green, the same as my father’s.’

7. How about your hair colour? 'Black, also from my father.’

'Where is your father from?’

'Tevinter.’

'Is he a…’ the biographer waves around the word.

'A magister?’ Valina finishes for him. 'Technically, but he left his heritage behind many years ago.’

8. Did you leave behind any family when you joined up with the Inquisition? 'For a time. They have since joined the Inquisition’s cause also.’

9. I see… what about your parents? ’Yes?’

10. Do you have any? 'My mother and father both live if that is what you’re asking. They are my only family.’

'Didn’t you say your father was from Tevinter? You have no relatives there?’

'I’m not inclined to view them as such.’

11. Right, okay. How about pets? Did you have any growing up? 'My mabari Bones died a few years ago. He was a sweet, kind-hearted, and intelligent beast. I miss him terribly, but I have many fond memories. We had a great deal of fun in my youth.’

12. Speaking of fun, what does a member of the Inquisition do for fun? 'I quite enjoy a game of Wicked Grace when I can convince someone to risk a game against me.’

'Risk?’

Valina offers that wicked smirk again. 'Ask any of the core Inquisition members. They’ll all tell you a similar story about losing their clothes to me in a single round.’

13. Certainly that can’t be it. Have you made any friends, or met anyone special? 'A few. I quite enjoy the company of many of the Inquisition’s members, but I most enjoy the… company of a particular Commander.’

14. Do you have any hobbies/activities you like doing? 'I enjoy chess and reading.’

15. Ever hurt someone before? 'Well, that’s a silly question for a rogue, isn’t it?’

16. Ever… killed anyone before? 'Some.’

'What do you mean by 'some’?’ the biographer asks, his quill poised above the page.

Valina smirks. 'You’ll run out of fingers and toes if you attempt to count the numbers, that I can assure you.’

17. What kind of animal are you? 'A snake.’

'Venomous?’

'Very.’

18. Name one of your worst habits. 'I tend to be blase about matters of the court, but that is half the fun of 'the Game’ isn’t it?’

19. Do you look up to anyone at all? 'My parents.’

20. Do you go to school? 'My education was conducted at home in my youth.’

21. What are you most afraid of? Valina ponders the question for a time, her expression unreadable until she finally says, 'Loss.’

22. What do you usually wear? 'Boots, well-worn leather pants, a tunic, my coat, and my daggers, of course.’

23. Do you love someone? 'Yes. Deeply.’

24. Would like to marry and have kids someday? 'Much to the dismay of some, I’ve not thought about it yet. I’ve only recently found my Amatus. I’m sure it is something we will speak of in time.’

25. What class are you? 'As I said, I’m a rogue. I specialise as an assassin.’

26. Thoughts on pie? 'There are much finer foods, but it is suitable enough if you need sustenance. I do enjoy sweet citrus pies on occassion.’

27. Favourite drink? 'Strong Orlesian tea of any variety.’

28. What’s your favourite place? 'There’s a spot I used to go to as a girl, at the river beside my family’s estate. It’s pleasant there.’

29. Would you rather swim in a lake or the ocean? 'Lake.’

30. Camping indoor or outdoors? 'Outdoors, always.’

31. Sexual orientation? 'Such a personal question.’

'Too personal?’ the biographer asks.

Valina smirks. 'We’ll just say that I’m… flexible.’

32. And what attracts you, to men? 'Their voice, their physique, their intelligence. But I could say the same of women.’

33. Are you interested in anyone? 'I am. Intimately.’

34. Well, what’s your type? 'Tall, rugged, and commanding.’

35. Any fetishes? 'Sturdy desks.’

'Sturdy desks?’

'I believe the details will be far too steamy for your history. Besides, I’ve already promised a certain dwarf first dibs on that story.’

36. Seme or uke? Top or bottom? Dominant or submissive? 'I’ve been told I’m very dominant but for the right person, I willingly relinquish control.’

37. Tell me about something you don’t like. 'Nobles.’

'Aren’t you a noble, my Lady?’

'Yes, but I don’t chase after myself with half-baked promises or send myself love letters written so poorly that it would make you cringe. That’s been my main experience with nobles throughout my life.’

38. Are you wanting the quiz to end, miss? 'Only if you think you’ve collected enough for your book. I’m sure you’ve already heard a number of saucy details and rumours about my history.’

39. What’s your bra size? 'That implies that I actually bother to wear smallclothes.’

The biographer flushes. He knew it was an audacious question, but her forward answer surprises him. His cheeks brighten as he packs up his writing gear, checking that the ink is dry on his parchment before he rolls it and bundles it with his other scrolls - other interviews.

'Thank you for your time, my Lady,’ he says as he scrambles to his feet, offering a curt bow, 'may I walk you back to your quarters?’

'I’m quite capable of walking a few metres,’ she said, pushing off from the battlement wall, 'good luck with your book, biographer.’

Valina bends to pick up the lantern, leaving the biographer in darkness with only the light of the moon as his guide through the many paths and doors of Skyhold.

As she walks she smiles at the unusual turn of the evening’s events, making a note to research the biographer’s book if he indeed intends to publish it.

Valina returns to the familiar sounds of her’s and Cullen’s quarters, to the song of the drafty roof and Cullen’s quiet snores, all the more eager to be in her Commander’s embrace.

There is no obligation @fereldenpeach @ekoorb03 @fadedforyou @thirsty4bioware and @princessvicky01 but I’m tagging you in case you are interested. It was a lot of fun to do :)

Roksy’s Shadows & Daggers: A Rogue’s Love Story OC Master Post.

#elfsplaining #oc #my oc #oc valina #valina voclain #dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #da:i #dragon age universe #my fanfiction #fanfiction #my writing #writing #writing exercise #oc interview

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mysdrymmumbles · 8 years ago

Note

Drabble prompts! "Quiet me," any characters of your choosing u v u

Thanks for the prompt :D This one fit in with where I’m going with KD, so I used it for the next chapter.

Pairing: Josephine Montilyet x F!Lavellan

Word Count: 1038

Kaitrith Disapproves

Don’t Worry

“Don’t worry.”

Lately, it seemed like that was all Kaitrith ever said, andJosephine would give anything in the world if she could manage not to.

Corypheus was dead.

The rifts were finally sealed.

They should have been happy.

Would have been, were it not for the fact that those…attacks—orwhatever they were—were back. The mark was growing again, and this time therewas no Solas to fix it. Worse, because Kaitrith had unwittingly shunned theRebel mages—she’d explained she’d sought to stem the templars’ damage first,not knowing what the Ventatori were doing to the mages while she sought tobring them the assurance that their tormenters would not be able to lord theirpower over them anymore—and so it was a nightmare to try to find even one magewilling to come to Skyhold, even with promises that they would not be hurt.

Kaitrith may have intended to help the mages, but the worldonly saw that she’d ‘helped’ the templars, and as such, the mages who remainedscattered in Thedas were not going to come to her rescue.

Dalish, the Charger’s archer, and Dagna had been searchingfor ways to help, and Josephine knew that Clan Lavellan and a few other Dalishclans were looking into things that could be done, but so far Solas’ knowledgeseemed to be his and his alone.

Kaitrith had been listening to the voices, too. She couldmake them out much better now, according to her, and Josephine worried overjust what those voices were. She’d talked to Kaitrith about it, and the elf hadadmitted that she wasn’t always sure herself, but that she had faith, and soJosephine tried to have faith, too.

It was harder, some days than others.

Like today, where Kaitrith had woken them both withconvulsions as a result of the mark’s growing. As Josephine had tried to help,Kaitrith had accidentally hit her in the face, busting her lip.

Josephine hadn’t even noticed until it was all over, andKaitrith was looking up at her in genuine horror.

Kaitrith had apologized over and over, near tears that shehad hurt her, and Josephine had reassured her over and over that it had beenthe accident that it was.

When she was sure Kaitrith was alright, she’d suggestedKaitrith stay in bed while she sent a healer up to her. Part of her had wantedto stay, but Kaitrith had withdrawn so completely, telling her that she neededtime alone.

She’d sent the healer anyway, and then gotten to work. Therewas still much to do, even with the world saved, and most of their peoplereturned home or headed back to their lives.

Leliana was Divine, and she was doing her best to reform thechurch. There had been backlash after her initial changes, but the Inquisition hadassisted with that.

Once things were stable enough, however, Kaitrith hadordered the Inquisition to downsize.

Dorian Pavus had returned to Tevinter, Varric to Kirkwall,Vivivenne to her Circle to make sure that it would weather Leliana’s changes.Sera had simply disappeared one day—though Josephine was certain she’d seen herrather recently, though the maid Sera had been talking to swore she hadn’t seenher around Skyhold in months—and Blackwall had joined the grey wardens.

Cassandra still checked in on occasion, though she was busyremaking the seekers.

She was sure that there had been a boy who had helped themfor a while, could swear that he’d sat in on a few meetings and been there whenCorypheus had been dealt with, yet she could never remember a name or face,only that he’d been there and had left.

Cullen had been let go some time ago, once Corypheus and theneed for a major army had passed, and he worked in Ferelden now, helping othertemplars quit lyrium.

Ser Barris had taken over oversight of what little of theirarmed forces remained, and Josephine wished they had replaced Cullen years ago,as Ser Barris and Kaitrith got along so much better.

The only adventurers still present, really, were Bull andhis Chargers. They occasionally headed out with Kaitrith to deal with whateverproblem sprung up, but even they were talking about heading off, now that thethreats were gone.

Josephine had a feeling that everyone would be leavingSkyhold soon enough.

For now, however, there was still much to do. People towrite to, supplies to secure, research into the mark and how to get rid of redlyrium once and for all to be done.

It was not enough to concentrate on to keep her distractedfrom how much the mark was growing and how it was affecting her love.

As she’d written a letter to one of her Orlesian contacts,Kaitrith had knocked on the door to her office with her good hand and waiteduntil she motioned her in to walk up to her desk. She’d moved around it and runher fingers down Josephine’s cheek, brow pinching when she saw that her lip wasstill split.

“I’ll send Stitches to take a look at you,” she’d whispered,and then leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I want you to know that everything’sgoing to be fine, okay? Don’t worry. This won’t happen again.”

The assurance worried her.

There had been such finality in Kaitrith’s voice, in herstance. Josephine had assured her that she knew it hadn’t been intentional, butKaitrith had just shaken her head and kissed her again before heading off andrepeated that oddly foreboding phrase.

“Don’t worry.”

How could she not when it felt like a goodbye of some kind?

The words had been nagging her ever since they’d leftKaitrith’s lips, and she’d barely been able to concentrate on her work, fearingthat something terrible was coming, though she didn’t dare try to think ofwhat.

As she took in a few breaths and turned her attention backto her work, the door to her office banged open and Krem stumbled in, bloodied andpale, with a message that made her blood run cold. “Lady Josephine, you shouldknow! There’s been an accident on the training grounds.”

#dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #fanfiction #kaitrith disapproves #josephine montilyet x f!lavellan #josephine montilyet #lavellan #kaitrith lavellan #angst #romance #voidprincess

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stitchcasual · 7 years ago

Text

Ferelden Fury (a da2/pacrim au, part five)

(part one) (part two) (part three) (part four)

Marshall Rutherford paces behind his desk. Hawke stands at attention but his eyes follow the Marshall to and fro; Fenris is stiff beside him, staring at his toes. They've been like this for several minutes, and if it goes on much longer, Rutherford will wear a rut in the tile.

He pauses, finally, behind his desk, spreading his hands on its surface, and stares back at Hawke.

“What do you think you were doing?” Still quiet, still a lid on his temper.

“Trial run, sir. Exactly what it looked like.”

“What part about 'he’s not piloting one of my jaegers’ did you not understand?”

“Technically, I understood every word you said. What I don't understand is why you're keeping my only drift compatible pilot from helping us save the world.” Hawke drops from attention to a sloppy parade rest. He's already in trouble; a bit of insubordination won't really hurt him. Rutherford’s eyes narrow but he doesn’t say anything about it which means he’s way more wound up about a Tevinter in a Ferelden jaeger than Hawke had originally imagined.

“We’re up against a wall, Marshall. We need every jaeger we can get. The darkspawn aren’t going to wait forever for us to find a replacement pilot for me. It’s kind of them to have held off this long, but that just means the next attack is going to be sooner rather than later.”

“You think perhaps I am unaware of that, Hawke?” Rutherford sweeps an arm at his desk before gesturing out to the war clock in the jaeger yard, and Hawke realizes there’s a miniature version dead center on the desk’s surface, placed so Rutherford can’t help but be confronted by the ticking numbers any time he sits down. That still doesn’t explain it though.

“No, but you do seem to be laboring under some sort of delusion about my drifting capabilities. You’re still thinking there must be someone we’ve overlooked, that I can’t possibly be that hard to match with. Give my sister some credit, won’t you? She pulled everyone with even the smallest possibility. Now, unless you can produce Aveline Vallen from somewhere and tell me she’s willing to step into a jaeger again, Fenris is it. He’s the best shot we have, the only shot we have. Like it or not.”

A full minute passes as the Marshall looks between Hawke and Fenris. He folds his arms across his chest and exhales slowly before speaking. “This is my base. Like it or not, Hawke, Fenris will not be piloting with you. You are both dismissed.

“Fenris. I will not expel you from Skyhold, but you are confined to the living quarters unless in the presence of security personnel. I cannot run the risk.”

Fenris nods sharply and turns on his heel, marching out of Rutherford’s office without a word in his own defense. After a moment staring at the Marshall, Hawke follows, rushing to catch up. He's a second away from opening his mouth when the darkspawn sirens go off. They both pull up short in the hallway, Fenris looking back at Hawke as Hawke reaches a hand out for him.

“What—”

“Darkspawn. Come on.”

A bare second’s hesitation, then Fenris takes Hawke’s hand and lets himself be pulled down the halls.

“We’re going to the control room,” Hawke says, answering the question he could feel brewing from Fenris as he rounds the final corner. “Marshall may have grounded us, but I can still help.”

“And me? I am not useful outside of a jaeger.”

Hawke stops outside the control room door, drawing Fenris to the side so personnel can still move in and out unobstructed. “One, there’s no way that’s true. Two, I’m not running all the way to living quarters to get you if it turns out we’re needed. Stay right by me and you’ll be fine.” He grins and squeezes Fenris’s hand, and they join the contained chaos of the control room.

Bethany’s at a console near the back, coordinating pre-drop checks on the jaegers. She raises her eyebrows as Hawke and Fenris enter, but she just points up to the front, near Varric’s station and the window, where the pilots for the other jaegers have gathered, already suited up. Hawke remembers the days of living near his suit, just waiting for the alarms to sound. A pang of loss runs through him and he grinds his teeth. He’d thought after all these years he’d be over it, but the rush of constantly living that close to the line of death is an addiction he can’t shake that easy.

Fenris squeezes his hand and gives Hawke a small, tight-lipped smile when he shakes out of his thoughts and looks over. There’s understanding in those green eyes, and Hawke closes his eyes, nodding in acknowledgment. If nothing else, he supposes, if they’re never allowed inside a jaeger together again, if Fenris leaves Skyhold after this, at least he had the chance to make another connection with someone who understands him on a level unmatched by anything else. It’s something he never thought he’d have again after Aveline. Just his luck that they’re all about to die.

Marshall Rutherford strides into the control room from a door near the front as Hawke and Fenris make it to the back of the assembled pilots. The Orlesian pilots are conspicuous for their facial hair: Hawke’s always been a little in awe of the mustache Stroud manages to keep perfectly groomed, and his partner, Riordan, though in possession of a full beard, has it trimmed and detailed so it looks like the only natural way to have a beard. It makes Hawke a little self-conscious of his own, which has a tendency to curl and stick out at his chin. He rubs at it, absently smoothing down the hair.

The Antivan and Rivaini pilots spend most of their time joking with anyone they can, elbowing each other in the side with every ribald remark. It’s usually thanks to them that the atmosphere in the control room is less stretched and tense than it by rights should be. They both look supremely unconcerned with the current situation, slouching where they stand, arms loosely crossed except to gesture widely (and elbow each other). They don’t even look at the clock, which most people unconsciously glance at every few moments. The Antivan, Zevran, has two curling tattoos beside his left eye, highlighting the wicked glint that appears there more often than not. He’s golden and beautiful and unashamed of anything...and has propositioned Hawke on more than one occasion. Isabela, the Rivaini, encouraged that, as she does everything with Zevran, even though half the base is convince that they’re in a relationship together. Her curly dark hair is cropped short around her ears, giving her a cute, impish look that she definitely deserves as she catches sight of Hawke and Fenris and wiggles her fingers at them, raking her eyes up and down Fenris’s form. Hawke scowls at her, but Fenris just looks amused.

The last duo of pilots stand together but a full arms’ width apart, not talking. No one’s quite sure exactly how the two of them drift since they hate each other with a fiery burning passion, but their neural handshake is one of the strongest on record. Their fighting style is brutal, they tend to tear the darkspawn into chunks by the time they’re done, but they get results, and at the end of the day in a war like this, that’s what matters. They’re physically mismatched too, kind of like Hawke and Fenris are. Meredith is a tall, imposing woman with the definition of resting bitch face. She stands at parade rest, hands behind her back, staring at the Marshall. Next to her, Orsino almost disappears. He’s shorter than Meredith by nearly a foot and slender where she’s broad. His feet shift every so often and his eyes don’t leave the clock. Hawke hasn’t spent much time with them, either together or separately; they’re both aloof and can really only be seen when it’s time to gather for the pre-drop briefing.

Rutherford frowns when he sees Hawke and Fenris behind the pilots but he doesn’t say anything. There are much more pressing issues to address than their presence here. He looks at the screens in front of Varric for a moment before turning back to the assembled pilots and control room personnel.

“At 1634 standard time, a new darkspawn signature was detected coming through the rift in the Korcari Wilds. Category 4, the largest on record. It’s also heading straight for Skyhold, so we need to move, now. I want the Gray Warden and the Siren’s Call on the front line. Gallows Child, you’re on the miracle mile. Don’t engage unless you have to. We need you to seal that rift.

“Play it smart. That goes for all of you.” The Marshall sweeps his gaze around, looking at each pilot in turn. “We’re not here to lose people; we’re here to save them. Now get going! We don’t have all day.’

The pilots salute and file toward the door in the control room that’ll take them to the central elevator for the yard. Hawke and Fenris had taken what amounted to the public lift what feels like ages ago but was, in reality, less than a few hours. When the pilots have left and it’s just the control room staff remaining, Rutherford still ignores them, as though he can make them disappear if he just avoids looking at or thinking about them. Hawke’s not about to let that happen.

He takes the station next to Varric, flipping a few switches and squinting at one of the readouts. Varric usually handles this side of things too, what with how short-staffed the apocalypse is, but he nods at Hawke when he swivels in his chair to do just what Hawke already had and turns back to all the other systems he’s monitoring. If the Marshall sticks true to not letting Fenris pilot with him, working up here wouldn’t be the worst thing Hawke could do. Really, it’s impressive the setup they’ve managed to get for this last stand even if they couldn’t find enough people to fully staff it.

“Jaegers ready to drop,” Bethany calls from the back of the room, and Hawke and Varric flip a few more switches as Varric sends back a verbal confirmation and radios in to each jaeger team, finalizing checks and connecting the pilots’ neural handshakes to the full jaeger body.

“How’d we look?” Hawke asks as they work. It’s nearly effortless to fit in where Varric needs him again; they’d worked together when Hawke stopped piloting, and though the systems have upgraded some since then, they haven’t changed so much that he can’t figure it out.

Varric whistles low and shakes his head. “Gray Warden, you are clear for launch. It was something else, Hawke. Pretty nearly—Siren’s Call, ready to go. Good hunting, ya rogues—gave ol’ Meresino a run for their money.”

Hawke shudders. “Please don’t call them that. That strong, though?”

“Would have gotten there if you’d been able to sort out whatever happened to throw you out of alignment. Bring me back a darkspawn head for my trophy wall, Gallows Child. You’re clear to go. Just ran out of power before you could get there.”

Hawke doesn’t miss the murderous look Rutherford shoots Varric from behind his right shoulder. “Well, too bad we don’t have the time.”

“Yeah, too bad.”

They watch the jaegers walk out to meet the darkspawn, and Hawke grits his teeth as he reads the display for the monster. It’s huge, nearly half again the size of anything he faced in his piloting days, and still larger than anything he deployed other jaegers against. They’ll need at least the Warden and Siren against this thing; he’d be surprised if the Child wasn’t called up to help. They’d had to send out multiple jaegers against smaller ‘spawn; he’s not looking forward to seeing how this fight goes down, especially not from a control room chair.

“Me either.” Fenris’s hand rests on his shoulder. “It won’t be pretty.” He looks embarrassed when Hawke and Varric turn to look at him for answering aloud Hawke’s internal thoughts.

“No, it won’t,” Hawke agrees. “I just hope they don’t need help.”

Rutherford stolidly ignores him, staring out the front window at the yard, empty but for the Fury in her corner.

“Maker, the size of this thing!” Isabela’s voice comes over the comm. “You know what this reminds me of, Zevran? That time in Denerim when—”

“Focus,” Rutherford cuts in. “Status report.”

“We’re about a klick from engaging,” Riordan says, all business. “Can see the thing from here. It’s massive, sir.”

“That’s exactly what I said,” Isabela protests.

“She and Zevran are brilliant pilots,” Varric whispers to Fenris, “but our poor Marshall doesn’t quite know how to handle them.” Fenris snorts and Varric grins, first at him then at Rutherford.

“Siren, we’ll take the Warden to its left, pull its attention so you can get behind and surprise it.”

“Oh, darling, that sounds like a plan, and I try my best to avoid those. You do what you’re going to do, and we’ll fit in where it makes sense, okay? That’ll work best for everyone.”

Hawke can mentally hear the sigh Riordan holds back. Both he and Stroud were military men before they joined the jaeger program, and it shows in the way they approach fighting the darkspawn. The Warden wouldn’t have been Hawke’s first choice as a dance partner for the Siren, but he also wouldn’t pair them with the Child, either. Meredith and Orsino don’t play well with others. He and Aveline in their prime, though, would have matched well. He bites his lip and looks from the Fury to Rutherford to Fenris, then expels an angry breath and focuses on the readouts before him.

It’s hard to tell what exactly is going on from up here, dots circling each other really don’t give a comprehensive idea of how the fight is going, and Hawke remembers why he hates the control room. Because however it’s named, the people up here have absolutely no control over what happens out there. He can listen to Riordan and Isabela call out their moves and that gives him some picture, but he can’t see the darkspawn and that’s half of the battle. At least when he’s in the cockpit, he’s got visuals to augment his instruments. As it is now, after several fraught minutes listening to the one-sided clash, when he sees the Siren’s symbol flash and flicker on the screen, there’s not a lot he can do but comm over.

“Siren, what’s going on out there? Got some fluctuations here.”

“Skyhold, this is the Siren. Darkspawn got us pretty good. Warden’s got it occupied so it won’t finish us off, but—” Zevran breaks off in a grunt. “Not sure they can take it alone.”

“Gallows Child to Skyhold. Permission to engage?”

“Hold, Child.” Rutherford’s lips thin and he cups his chin in one hand. “Warden, status.”

“Siren’s right, sir. We can hold it, maybe, but no way we can take it down alone.”

Hawke watches the gears twisting in Rutherford’s head as he stares at the screens. He doesn’t envy his position, the decisions he has to make that could affect the rest of the world, not just the base at Skyhold. The easy choice is to send the Child in to back up the Warden, but if the Child’s needed for something else like the Marshall seemed to indicate in the pre-drop briefing, that’s not really an option anymore. The other choices are to hope the Warden can handle it by themselves or…

“Prep the Fury. Hawke, Fenris...come with me.”

(part six)

#dragon age 2 #pacific rim #fenhawke #hawris #da2 #ferelden fury #looking to get this wrapped up in under 10 parts so #hold on to your butts #stitch fic

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