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diskwrite-ffxiv · 4 years

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Timeline: Leading up to 4.5 MSQ

First Commander Bleiswys Junghberkwyn was a woman of routine. On the sixth and a halfth bell each morning, she was in her office. By six and three quarter bells she expected a crisp copy of the latest Harbor Herald and a hot cup of tea- usually an Ishgardian blend with a single cube of sugar only on the side- delivered quite promptly to her desk.

At the seventh bell she switched from the newspaper to whatever memos or reports had accumulated from the evening before, and at seventh and a half bells her secretary, Corporal Hemmet Green, was to enter her office for the daily briefing which generally went fifteen minutes or more.

It was generally acknowledged amongst the officers that served beneath her that the morning routine wasn’t something you interrupt. It wasn’t that it couldn’t be done, for the Commander always told her officers that to them her office was an open door- but in these early bells unless she deemed the matter important enough it didn’t matter how calmly the Commander carried herself. Through the entire thing she oozed a layer of irritation that made her displeasure vividly real.

This could be easily accommodated except for one simple fact. Green’s daily briefing frequently ran long. And in the event the Commander had an eighth bell meeting, there were days the gap between it and the briefing was scarcely long enough to say, “How do you do?” You could wait until after of course, but the Commander was a busy officer- and if you reported directly to her, so were you.

So, more often than not the officers beneath her found themselves faced with a choice. Either they threw themselves at the mercy of their Commander’s hectic schedule and hoped they could squeeze an appointment into a suitable gap, they delivered a message and waited for her to call on them, or they could interrupt the routine and hope for the best.

So it was that Ojene stood before Green’s desk with pocket chronometer in hand after the sixth bell, watching as the minute hand ticked from forty-five to forty-six.

It was a wide room, ensconced in the administrative wing of the First Squadron offices. One side of the room was given to sweeping cabinets full of records and files. Some were copies of laws and documents, while lockable drawers held relevant documents for whatever cases lay on the military legal docket. Windows spanned across the other side, their rectangular panes set in a subtle curve that fit the cylindrical wrap of the Coral Tower itself.

A center pathway cut through the room with a wide limestone arch at its end, framed by two Maelstrom banners, leading to the trio of commanders whose individual offices lay just beyond. And astride the pathway itself were six desks split half and half on either side. Even at this early bell half of them were already manned.

And so was the one Ojene lingered in front of- even if at this precise moment it was empty.

To the secretaries and filing clerks at their desks who thrust themselves into their morning business, Ojene was simply a familiar face waiting patiently for Corporal Green to return. But as she locked an eye on the ticking face of the chronometer, it was her breathing she focused on above all else. For the steady rush of air was the only way to batten down the thunderous cascade of intent that roared through her chest. The one that carried her here, from the moment she awoke. As if through a pane of glass it surged, demanding she spring to action, but in these few minutes she needed patience.

And so, to distract herself she turned her eye to the other desks. It was strange, in this liminal moment, to watch the officers work. It had been just a few scant moons since she’d come back from a diplomatic voyage to Doma- the moons-long trip she’d taken with the First Squadron Ninth Levy, the very levy her husband ran. And she’d returned to the final approving stamp of a promotion she knew she deserved, with all the extra duties that came with it. She’d only just found her routine, reclaimed old familiarity and struck a fresh stride. But now as she stood here waiting there was a sort of distance to this place, already baked in by the knowledge that her Maelstrom duty would once more send her far afield.

The chronometer ticked forty-eight, and she’d only just pocketed it when Corporal Green emerged from the rear archway. He was a bit short for a Midlander, with mousy brown hair and freckled olive cheeks that drew deep dimples every time he smiled wider than a twitch.

“Ah- Legalman,” he said, and there were no dimples in the smile he treated her with. Even as he shuffled back to his desk, there was a distracted jitter to his eyes that pulled his gaze this way and that. A harried sort of look- one shared by so many in the Coral Tower today. The weight, Ojene supposed, of a once-more escalating war.

As he stopped at his chair- but didn’t yet sit- he asked, “What can I help you with?”

Ojene leaned forward, but she kept a few respectful ilms from the desk. “Does the Commander have an eighth bell meeting today?” she asked.

“Ah- let me see.” Green claimed his seat and slid open the main desk drawer to his right elbow. He produced a slim leatherbound book. A few thin strips of cloth of various colors dangled out from between the parchment sheets, and his fingers slid to the orange one. Deftly he flipped the ledger open, and at the very top was marked today’s date.

Ojene’s eyes shot across the list, making every effort to peer around his fingers as they slid down the page. She spotted it before he stopped, and as he tapped the scrawling ink set just above a faintly etched line, her heart sank.

“Indeed she does,” Green continued. “It’s all to do with the Brooks trial, I believe.”

“Oh-” Ojene’s chin lilted upwards. “I forgot that was tomorrow.”

“Yes, she’s due to be in meetings til the first hearings at the tenth bell- do you need anything?” As he peered up at her, his squint drew an involuntary wrinkle in the bridge of his nose.

With a grating noise that rustled from the back of her throat, Ojene hesitated. Like wildfire the beat in her chest surged, but above its inexorable push wound a single thread of logic. It would make more sense to wait, it said. To slot in an appointment rather than risk interrupting Junghberkwyn’s morning routine with a personal matter.

It was right, she knew, and yet- to barricade these feelings was to lock a herd of aurochs in her chest. Her hands curled at her sides, and through her nose she forced a long steadying breath. On stillness, she focused. Through the moment, Green watched her. Waiting for an answer- but this was fine. She would give the correct response. She would wait. She would-

“Is that Suinuet I hear out there?” called the Commander’s voice from around the bend. “Go ahead- send her in.”

It surprised them both. Green’s brows darted towards his crimped hairline. Ojene straightened where she stood, and an unconscious hand smoothed down the front of her uniform. But after a beat, Green cracked a smile. This time, his dimples showed.

“There you go,” he said.

Commander Junghberkwyn’s door was already open, as it usually was at this point in the routine. And though she had a full view of the hallway, she didn’t look up from the Harbor Herald until Ojene stepped in.

It was a spacious office, as to be expected of an individual of the First Commander’s rank. The white limestone floor gave way to polished wood in a wide oval that kept the massive desk at its centerpiece. Shelves symmetrically lined the walls on the left and right, and between the records that filled them darted the occasional small curiosity from across the star- most of them from the New World. And behind the desk itself framed a massive array of ceiling-high windows. East-facing, they poured the haze of dawn through rectangular panes, cascading a golden fringe across the Commander’s hair so vivid it nearly blotted out the faint sections where its maroon color had begun to give way to age. Bleiswys Junghberkwyn was not as old as Ojene- or even Sylbfohc for that matter- but she’d served the martial interests of Limsa Lominsa for just as long as he had.

A single dark eye, its iris so deep brown it was almost black, turned up at Ojene- the other was ensconced by a wide eyepatch. Edges of scars poked out on either side, then etched down Junghberkwyn’s cheek and finally ended somewhere across her throat. An old injury, that if rumor was true was responsible for the permanent rasp that trapped the undertones of her voice.

With a smack of her lips after a hasty sip of tea, Junghberkwyn set both cup and newspaper down and gestured forward. “You can close it.”

Ojene shut the door, and the woman before her leaned forward, twining her hands atop the desk.

“You wanted to speak to me?” Junghberkwyn said.

“Yes.” Forsaking the trio of chairs that cluttered before Junghberkwyn’s desk, Ojene opted to stand there at attention, her hands neatly folded behind her back. “As you know ma’am, the war has once more been ramping up on the front between the Garlean Empire and the newly reformed nation of Ala Mhigo.”

Ojene hesitated. The sharp scrutiny of Junghberkwyn’s eye rested inexorably on her face, but so far her characteristic cloud of irritation at routine’s interruption hadn’t collated anywhere Ojene could see. And so- after a pause she continued.

“With my previous service the way it stands,” Ojene said, “I believe I could best serve Maelstrom interests from the front. I know my record wasn’t something you were as familiar with in the last campaign to liberate Ala Mhigo, but everything past and present shows when it comes to fighting Garleans I’m a valuable asset in the thick of it. I would like you to send me back to Ala Mhigo and the line at Ghimlyt.”

“And presumably,” Junghberkwyn muses, “you would like me to lend you to Ostulmsyn once again?”

“Ah… yes.” There was a subtle ripple of motion that threatened to marr Ojene’s stonelike stature- but she forced a small twitch through her shoulders and the sensation subsided. “That would suffice.”

With a deep wheezing sigh, Junghberkwyn leaned back. Her steepled fingers trailed to the very edge of the desk, and she regarded Ojene through a long, silent pause.

“I am quite aware of your record,” she said at last. “I wouldn’t lend you to other commanders so often if it weren’t the case. There are those of us in this Grand Company whose skill sets are too wide for a narrow box, and I acknowledge that you are one of them. You’ve got your experience, and all else aside the commanders you worked with in that prior campaign spoke highly of you, and so yes- I agree with you. You would be an asset on the front.”

“That being said-” Junghberkwyn continued, and a wrinkle marked the broad slope of her nose, “I’ve already thought this out. And the answer is no.”

A rush prickled Ojene’s skin, as if a cold glop of something unpleasant slapped onto her neck and rivuleted down her back. It took a moment for her to find her breath again, swallowed sharply by disbelief. “I… beg your pardon ma’am, you’re… declining my request?”

“Indeed I am, Suinuet. Because I’ve been thinking about this for some time.” At once, she leaned forward, and her single eye narrowed. “We’ve all been hearing about the resurgence of the war for weeks. But through all this time I never expected you to walk in here and ask me this- that is until the news I learned last night. Do you want to guess what I heard?”

When Ojene didn’t answer, Junghberkwyn drew herself up in her chair. “Tell me what you think I heard,” she demanded.

A muscle flexed in Ojene’s cheek, and as her jaw rolled her fingernails dug into her palms. “The First Squadron Ninth Levy’s deployment orders,” she said, her voice clipped, “wasn’t it?”

“Right you are!” One finger stabbed forward. “Because I knew you wouldn’t want to go anywhere until that very moment! Your entire career since you signed on good and proper, whenever that levy’s commander gets posted somewhere, you jockey to go along with him. You’re right that you would be an asset up there, but it’s got nothing to do with why you swiving asked.”

One eyelid twitched rapidly as Ojene fought to keep her expression steady, but the rushing in her veins thrummed. “It’s hardly the only reason. I would be invaluable up there.”

“Which is all well and good, except I need you here. I can’t go replacing all my captains because they decide to rush off to the war. Someone has to keep this damned country running, and you know what? For us-” one hand cut a sweeping circle through the air, “that often means staying put.”

Ojene’s fingernails drew a sharp bite into the flesh of her palms, but she hardly noticed. “I understand your position, ma’am,” she forced. “But if we don’t defend this country and our allies when the Garleans push in, then we won’t have a country before long. I should be out there- protecting us!”

But Junghberkwyn’s eye flashed. “I did not push you up to captain just so you could run off at every foul wind.” She loomed forward, and her painted lips curled in a toothy snarl. “You’re my captain. Not his!”

A taut silence snapped between them. At last, Junghberkwyn leaned back. “Anything else?”

“No. Ma’am.”

“Dismissed,” the Commander said, but Ojene was already turning on her heel to go.

As a steady clack of footfalls swept his way, Corporal Green looked up. The dimples on his face died, shriveling just as fast as his smile. He bent his head back to his hasty outline of the day’s agenda, for it only took one look at Legalman Suinuet’s face to decide it was better to let her pass without a word.

At the egress of her wake, Green’s eyes met the corporal’s across from him, and between them passed a silent, unexpressed shrug. Without comment, the two of them went back to work.

#ffxiv #ff14 #limsa lominsa #4.5 #ghimlyt dark #my writing #IC #ojene suinuet #rubs hands together #time for this angst

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mikauzoran · 5 years

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Lukadrien/Lukadrienette Drabble: Nachtmusik Chapter Ten

A Little Night Music (Eine Kleine Nachtmusik) Chapter Ten: The ACDC Residence

Adrien was ready to pass out.

…After he scrubbed the rest of the stage makeup off.

Luka and Marinette would fuss if he got the stuff on the sheets (on them and their clothes and the pillows) again, so first he’d take a shower, and then he would crawl into bed between his husband and his wife, and Adrien would pass out.

He opened the front door of their house in the sixteenth arrondissement as quietly as possible, gently pushing it open as he debated whether or not he wanted to risk waking Hugo and Emma by sneaking into their rooms to check on them and give them kisses. Hugo was such a light sleeper, and Emma had been sick when Adrien left that morning. If he woke Hugo up, Hugo would want to cuddle. Ditto with Emma, and he was sure they were both in need of the rest.

Adrien slowly pulled the door closed behind him, only letting go of the knob when the door was flush to avoid making noise.

He needn’t have bothered.

Once inside, he heard the soft and steady sounds of Chopin’s Raindrop Prelude emanating from the front room off to the left of the foyer. The piece was just getting to the deep, rumbly thunder part low in the register that made Adrien shiver in pleasure.

It had to be Luka playing, as Hugo’s little hands couldn’t span an octave yet.

Sure enough, when Adrien peeked around the corner, he found his husband at the piano, their two-year-old daughter in her sling, her head resting above Luka’s heart.

“Hey, Orpheus,” he called softly as he made his way over to his family.

Luka looked up, eyes filled with exhaustion, but when they met Adrien’s, they lit up with renewed energy. “Hey, Perfect Fifth. Welcome home.”

In one fluid motion, Adrien sat on the bench beside Luka and leaned in for a kiss. He could feel Luka smiling into it even as Luka’s fingers still found the right notes on the keyboard.

“Why Chopin?” Adrien chuckled against Luka’s lips before gently nipping and pulling back slightly. “Isn’t that kind of my thing? Why not Ravel?” He carefully reached down and tucked a loose strand of thick, obsidian hair behind Emma’s ear.

Luka’s smile turned pained. “Because Chopin is your thing.” He tipped his chin down at Emma sleeping fitfully, eyes cracking open only to slip closed once more.

“She’s been calling for you all day, Adrien-bocchama,” Nooroo informed, fidgeting nervously as he came to settle in his customary spot on Adrien’s right shoulder.

Adrien gave the butterfly kwami an affectionate scritch under the chin.

“I got her to settle for ‘Daddy’s music’ until you got home,” Luka explained with a weary sigh.

Adrien gave Luka’s ear a nibble. “How’s Hugo?”

Luka took a deep, tired breath. “…Hugo should be back to sleep by now, but he’s already been down here twice fussing over Emmie and asking why Chopin’s always crying in his songs. He said it sounds like ‘Chopin lost something he loved a whole lot’, so we had to talk about how Chopin was sick and lonely and heartbroken. The whole time I was thinking, ‘What four-year-old talks and thinks like this?’”

Adrien rested his chin on Luka’s shoulder as he hummed, “I bet you did.”

Luka rolled his eyes fondly at his husband. “Not even I was that spooky-perceptive that young. I may be considerably empathic, but Hugo looks at you with those big, blue eyes, and he sees into your soul.”

“He would be a good Butterfly Miraculous user,” Nooroo noted, nodding in satisfaction. “I feel a deep affinity with him.”

Luka winced. “Please keep the arcane magic away from our four-year-old. He’s enough of a handful as it is without the ability to create an army. I don’t want him turning out like his grandfath—er…uh…” He turned his head to smile apologetically at Adrien. “Sorry. No offence.”

Adrien shrugged, sitting up straight. “My father has the capacity to be both a very good and a very bad man. I’m proud of him for choosing to fight his inner demons, and I’m grateful that he’s winning. I love my father, but I’m about as eager as you are for our son to take after him. At least Hugo has genetics on his side.”

Luka winced again. “So if he turns out like Gabriel, it’s nurture. If he turns out like my father, it’s nature, and that’s on me and my inferior genes. Thank you, Angel.”

“Any time,” Adrien snickered, giving his husband’s cheek a lick.

Luka tried not to laugh as he ended the Chopin piece on a satisfying closed cadence. “Come here,” he whispered, voice husky and completely enamored as he cupped Adrien’s face, running his thumb tenderly over Adrien’s cheek as he took Adrien’s lips in a deep, unhurried kiss.

The music lapsed, and, with a muted whine, Emma starting to blink sleepily into wakefulness, startling her parents apart with her quiet yet pained cries.

In a flash, Plagg flew out of Adrien’s left shoulder and down to check on his grandkitten. “Hey, Minette,” he purred, rubbing against her cheek.

“Blague,” Emma burbled as Plagg phased through her and came out the other side.

“She’s still hot,” Plagg observed. “I’m intimately familiar with what the internal temperature of a human being is supposed to feel like, and she’s too hot.”

“Her fever hasn’t broken yet?” Adrien gasped, suddenly going cold. He looked to Luka in wide-eyed panic. “Marinette said she was doing better when I called between shows.”

“She is, but she’s still running a temperature. It’s not super high, but…it doesn’t seem to be breaking, so I’m starting to get a little worried. I was waiting for you to get home to decide whether we should take her to the hospital.”

Adrien shook his head. “I’ll ring up one of the doctors Dad has on call and have them come. It’ll be easier than trying to take her out in the cold.”

Luka nodded slowly. “I always forget that we’re rich and can do things like that. I don’t know how I feel about relying on your father, though.”

Adrien waved away Luka’s reservations, already dialing the doctor on call and getting up to pace. “Dad knows she’s sick. When he calls me tomorrow morning, he’s going to ask how she is, and if she’s not better and I haven’t called one of his doctors, he’s going to freak.”

Luka put up his hands in surrender, familiar with how fanatically Gabriel Agreste doted on Hugo and Emma.

“Papá, piano,” Emma whimpered, reclaiming Luka’s attention.

Tears were beginning to form in the corners of her eyes, so he gently wiped them away before obliging her entreaty.

Luka pressed down on the mute pedal as he began Chopin’s Spring Waltz so that Emma could still hear the song but the playing wouldn’t disrupt Adrien’s phone call.

“Thirty to forty minutes depending on traffic, he said,” Adrien reported a minute later, coming back to sit on the bench beside his husband.

Luka smiled wryly. “Seeing as it’s just past one in the morning, I don’t imagine traffic will significantly impact arrival time.”

“Daddy!” Emma called, beginning to struggle. “Papá, down,” she pleaded. “Daddy!”

“Just a sec, Minuet.” Luka stopped playing to loose their daughter from the sling.

“Hey, Angel-Baby,” Adrien cooed, taking the carrier and child from Luka and fitting her to his own body so that she rested snug against his chest. “You not feeling so good?”

Emma made a little grumble, large green eyes staring up distractedly into his own.

Adrien dropped a gentle kiss to his daughter’s forehead and nuzzled her hair, wrapping his arms around her and patting her back. “Hang in there, My Sweet One.”

All the while, Luka looked on with a besotted grin.

Adrien glanced up, caught his husband staring, and quirked an inquisitive eyebrow. “What?”

Luka shook his head, reaching out to run a hand through Adrien’s hair. “You’re so incredibly beautiful; I can’t believe you’re real.”

Adrien laughed in delight, catching himself by surprise. A delicate rose blush spread like spilled ink across his cheeks. “You’ve been married to me for how long?”

“Four years, eleven months exactly now that we’re past midnight,” Luka decreed, immeasurably pleased with himself. “And I thank the powers that be for every hour.”

Adrien gave Luka a warm, soft look. “You and me both.”

Luka leaned in to nuzzle Adrien’s ear. “You holding our daughter ties for second place as my all-time favourite sight.”

“What’s first place?” Adrien wondered.

Luka didn’t even have to think about it. “You and Marinette holding both of our children. No contest.”

“You’re so sappy,” Adrien purred. “I love it. You turn my insides to mush…. You know, when Marinette finally kicks this stomach bug, we should seriously discuss making more babies.”

Luka hummed in amusement, running his hand down Adrien’s neck and back up to rub behind his ear. “You’re already ready for another one?”

“It’s been two years,” Adrien whined, nuzzling Emma’s hair. “…Speaking of our lovely wife, how was Marinette today? Like I said, I called her between shows to check on her and Emmie, but she was really evasive.”

“I’m beginning to think she’s not really sick,” Luka confessed.

Adrien gave him an odd look. “She’s been throwing up for a week. How is she not sick?”

An impish smile unfurled on Luka’s lips, and an excited glint came into his eyes. “You’re out of tofu.”

Adrien frowned, even more confused. “I had half a block left after I made my tofu scramble this morning. How am I out of tofu? No one else eats it.”

“After Marinette finished throwing up this afternoon, she announced that she had the strangest craving for tofu and rose jam.”

Adrien’s eye flew wide. “You think we’re pregnant,” he gasped.

Luka shrugged. “Only Marinette would know for sure, but…I am seeing similarities between this and the other pregnancies.”

Adrien had to restrain himself from tackling Luka or leaping for joy so that he wouldn’t jostle Emma. “I can’t believe it,” he breathed, leaning in and resting his forehead and nose against Luka’s shoulder.

“Please don’t get too excited yet, P5,” Luka begged, beginning to regret telling Adrien. “Please don’t get your hopes up too much until it’s confirmed and the doctor says we’re out of the woods. I don’t want you hurt, and you know how torn up you were after…” Luka bit his lip.

Adrien nodded. “…the miscarriage,” he completed in a whisper, nuzzling Luka’s arm and holding Emma closer. “I know. I’ll calm down,” he promised. “But…a baby,” he giggled. “Even the possibility of a baby is just so…” He looked up and shook his head, grinning. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Luka whispered against Adrien’s lips, taking a long pull from them.

“You should head to bed,” Adrien suggested as they pulled away. “I’ll sit up with Emmie; you’ve had her all day while I was gone and Marinette was sick.”

Luka shook his head. “Adrien, didn’t you have a matinée on top of an evening performance? You must be exhausted.”

Adrien shrugged, downplaying his fatigue. “My understudy is filling in tomorrow; I have the day off, so I can sleep then. You, on the other hand, need to go to bed. Don’t you have some kind of concert tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow night,” Luka countered. “I can sleep all day tomorrow once our daughter is doing better.”

Adrien rolled his eyes at the stubbornness of his spouse. Figuring it wouldn’t do much good to argue, Adrien shrugged. “You know best.”

“Finally he admits it,” Luka snorted, but his smile was all fondness and teasing.

“So…I’m horrible, but remind me of what kind of concert exactly you have tomorrow?” Adrien asked sheepishly. “Are you a rock star or a piano soloist or in with the first violins? You’re too talented. I can’t keep up.”

Luka shrugged and wrapped an arm around Adrien, thumb rhythmically stroking the top of Adrien’s shoulder as Luka tipped his head to rest against his husband’s. “I’m performing with the symphony tomorrow—just one violinist among thirty—so it won’t be as bad if I’m a little tired. The band has shows on Thursday and Friday. Next Saturday and Sunday I’m soloist for Beethoven’s Third Piano Concerto. Don’t worry about not being able to keep it straight…. I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I can’t remember what show you’re in right now. Are you…Raoul in Phantom of the Opera?”

Adrien chuckled, shaking his head as he smoothed Emma’s hair. “That’s next month; we’re in rehearsals, so that’s what you’re thinking of. Right now, I’ve got one more week left of playing Gabriel in Next to Normal.”

Luka nodded, licking his bottom lip. “That’s right…. Isn’t that…a challenging role for you? Maybe a little taxing emotionally?” he carefully inquired. “I remember being a bit nervous when you were telling me about the part.”

Adrien hummed thoughtfully. “…Yeah. Yeah, it is a difficult, draining role. I’m glad it was only for a month. I mean…I play the manifestation of the main character’s dead son and spend the whole musical feeding my ‘mother’’s mental illness, at one point encouraging her to join me in death, and constantly taunting my insecure ‘sister’ and being denied and dismissed by my ‘father’. It’s tough to be in that headspace, but…in the end, each of the characters reaches a sort of closure, and when my ‘father’ finally looks at me and acknowledges me…when he looks at me and says, ‘Gabe…. Gabriel?’, and I smile and say, ‘Hi, Dad’…it’s a good feeling. The whole show I feel like I’m working up to that scene, and that scene makes the rest of it okay.”

Adrien turned his head so that they were face to face and smiled self-consciously. “Does that make any kind of sense? It’s okay if it doesn’t.”

Luka considered for a minute and then nodded. “In a way, yes. I have songs that I wrote about painful things. It stings and throbs and itches when I play them, but when I hit that final note…there’s resolution there. It’s cathartic. Now, I don’t know if I could make it through a two-hour musical experience like that, but…I kind of get what you’re saying.”

Adrien hummed, satisfied. “…It’s different now than it was a decade ago. I wouldn’t have been able to play Gabriel when I was eighteen. Now, it’s okay because the wounds have scabbed over a bit. My relationship with my dad is…I mean, we have a relationship. It’s not perfect, but it’s good. It’s strong. He’s hurt me, and there are things that are difficult to forgive him for that still kind of hang between us, but I’m mostly at peace with my dad. And I finally have closure about my mom.”

Luka tightened his hold on Adrien.

“Just knowing that she’s dead and that she didn’t abandon me…that’s a huge weight off. There’s still a lot of pain there, but it’s better than the decade I spent thinking not even my mother loved me.” Adrien smiled sadly at his husband. “It’s also different because I have my own family now. You and Marinette…with you two beside me, I don’t have to be afraid of anything. I know you two will always catch me if I fall. We had a bit of a bumpy start, but we fell into place, and now we’re unshakeable. And our kids…”

Adrien looked down at Emma, and his heart swelled. “This is pure, untainted, uncomplicated love. Having kids of my own with the two people I love most in the universe has given me all kinds of closure and a new perspective on my relationships with my own parents. I couldn’t have played Gabriel ten years ago, but now…with my family, our home…it’s a healing experience more than reopening old wounds.”

“Yeah,” Luka whispered, kissing the side of Adrien’s head. “Yeah. I know what you mean. These past five years…our marriage, our children…even though there have been dark times, these past five years have done a lot to heal the wounds inside of me.”

“Blague?” Emma called as she came into wakefulness once more.

Plagg was hovering at her side in a heartbeat. “Yes, Minette?”

“Purr?” she entreated, turning her big, peridot baby eyes on him.

Plagg nestled up against Emma on Adrien’s chest and started a gentle, comforting purr.

“Plagg, you’re so whipped,” Adrien snickered.

Plagg gave a little snort but kept purring. “It’s been a long time since one of my kittens had kittens. This is special, Kid. Precious.”

“Yeah,” Adrien sighed contentedly, raising a finger to scratch between Plagg’s ears.

“Daddy?” Emma called, eyes glassy with fever.

Adrien’s ears perked up. “Yeah, Angel-Baby? What is it?”

“Piano?” she mewed interrogatively.

“Looks like she’s tired of hearing me play,” Luka chuckled, giving Adrien’s arm a pat before scooting over on the bench to give Adrien better access to the instrument.

“You have been playing for several hours,” Nooroo reasoned, poking his head out of Adrien’s right shoulder to gaze down at Plagg and Emma. “Poor baby.”

“What do you want to hear Daddy play, Emmie?” Adrien inquired as he warmed up with some scales.

“Papá song,” she answered sleepily.

Adrien and Luka looked at each other, raising eyebrows in tandem.

“Ravel?” Adrien guessed.

Emma made a little hum of assent. “Woof,” she specified.

Luka and Adrien traded glances.

“I believe she means barque,” Nooroo translated.

Adrien and Luka nodded, sharing an, “Ooooh” of elucidation.

“Miroirs Three: Une Barque sur l’Ocean,” Adrien announced and began to play a series of shimmering, rolling notes: sails billowing in the soft breeze, seagulls calling in the distance, waves gently lapping at the side of the boat, the sun shining down in a bright, even shower of tangible warmth.

Emma’s eyes slipped closed two minutes in, and she quickly fell back to sleep.

Adrien kept playing with a soft smile.

Luka was content just to watch and treasure the moment.

“You know,” Adrien chuckled quietly. “I was talking to the people in charge of marketing and programs for the production of Phantom of the Opera I’m going to be in, and I managed to convince them of the efficacy of crediting me as ‘Adrien ACDC’.”

Luka cracked up. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did,” Adrien snickered. “Didn’t I tell you I would? They were a little reluctant to lose the ‘Agreste’ because of name recognition, but I reasoned with them that it was a ridiculous amount of space on the line, not to mention the ink, to print ‘Adrien Agreste-Couffaine-Dupain-Cheng’. They suggested just going by my maiden name, so I told them that those three other names were a hard-won battle that I shed blood, sweat, and tears for and that I wasn’t giving them up without a full-scale war…. So ‘Adrien ACDC’ it is.”

“That’s too wonderful,” Luka laughed, putting a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound so as not to wake Emma. “I might need to talk to my agent about crediting me as ‘Luka ACDC’ going forward. That’s too wonderful.”

“Aren’t you glad I thought of it?” Adrien preened.

Luka nodded appreciatively. “It’ll make signing autographs a lot easier.”

Just then, a trampling of feet came pounding down the stairs, long nails clicking on the wood floors.

Adrien made a mental note to schedule a grooming appointment to have those nails trimmed. The children often roughhoused with Mélodie and were liable to get scratched.

One hundred pounds of pony-sized Anatolian Shepherd lumbered into the front room, a sleepy-eyed Hugo loosely hanging onto her creamy tan coat.

“Papá?” Hugo yawned. “Daddy?”

“Hey, Buddy. Up again?” Luka got to his feet and scooped Hugo into his arms, bringing their four-year-old to sit on the bench with them.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Hugo explained, resting his head on Luka’s shoulder.

“Hey, Sweet Prince,” Adrien greeted, leaning in to kiss his son’s forehead and nuzzle his thick black hair.

This resulted in Adrien fumbling a few notes and Emma stirring once more with a little whimper.

“Sorry, Angel-Baby,” Adrien whispered.

“How’s Emmie?” Hugo leaned in to look down at his sister, sapphire eyes wide with worry.

“Gogo,” Emma whined, and Hugo reached out to stroke her hair.

Nooroo flew over to nestle in his favourite spot on top of Hugo’s head.

Mélodie sat at Adrien’s feet, resting her head on the piano bench and nosing Adrien’s thigh for attention.

“Hey, Baby Girl,” Adrien cooed.

Mélodie gave a tired thump of her tail. She would be ten years old in December, and she was beginning to slow down. She adored her little siblings, but Hugo and Emma wore Mélodie out.

“Emmie’s in pain,” Hugo observed, beginning to tear up himself.

“She’s going to be just fine, Young Master Hugo,” Nooroo assured, petting Hugo’s hair.

“Yeah. No need for tears, Minou.” Plagg flew up to wipe Hugo’s eyes before returning to his post cuddled up with Emma.

“We called one of your grandfather’s doctors, and he’ll be here soon to take care of her,” Luka added with a big, encouraging smile.

Hugo looked deep into Luka’s eyes and frowned. “You’re worried, Papá.”

Luka grimaced. “But that’s no reason for you to be. This is a grownup worry thing, not a Hugo worry thing. …Why don’t you play something for your sister? Emmie, would you like to hear Hugo play?”

“Mmm. Gogo,” Emma agreed.

Hugo pursed his lips, staring Luka down for a minute before relenting. He turned himself on Luka’s lap and slowly worked through Adrien’s usual set of ‘bare-minimum-warmup’ scales. He took a deep breath and carefully, slowly started to play Mozart’s Twelve Variations on “Ah, Vous Dirai-Je, Maman”.

“Twinkle, twinkle little bat,” Emma sang along, substituting in the lyrics from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland that Adrien had been reading the children as their bedtime story. (It was a dramatic reading complete with singing and dancing and character voices and sound effects. Sometimes Marinette and Luka would come stand in the hall to peek in and listen without disrupting the children’s one-on-one time with Adrien.)

Hugo’s hands were sometimes too small to hit all the notes, and his motor control wasn’t good enough to always play at tempo, but he did his best, and, although his best paled in comparison to his professional and hobbyist pianist fathers, he far outshone most other four-year-olds.

“That’s really awesome, Hugo,” Luka praised as Hugo finished playing the theme section with relative control and fluidity.

Hugo smiled up toothily at his fathers. “I can do more. It’s not that good—I can’t do it like it’s supposed to be—but I can do the first six variations.” He proceeded to play the first variation slowly and imperfectly, but his performance definitely showed promise.

Luka let out a low whistle. “You’ve got all that in your head?”

Hugo nodded, moving on to the second variation.

“Where did you learn this?” Adrien wondered, awed. “We don’t have the sheet music, do we? Was it in one of your beginning piano books?”

Hugo shook his head, concentrating hard on the notes. “Grandpa plays it with me. He says the songs in my books are too simple for me, so we play Mozart when I go over.”

Luka looked at Adrien quizzically.

Adrien put his hands up in surrender. “I did not know about this.”

“And you like playing Mozart with your grandfather?” Luka asked neutrally, testing the waters.

Hugo nodded, hitting the wrong key, frowning, and starting the measure over to fix the mistake. “It’s fun. We play other stuff too.” Hugo gave up on talking and playing at the same time and looked up at his fathers. “Grandpa likes Ravel like Papá, so sometimes we play Ravel. I like the fairytale pieces.”

Adrien nodded knowingly, his nose scrunching up. “He used to make me play those.”

Luka frowned. “You didn’t like them?”

Adrien’s grimace turned sheepish. “I didn’t like that he made me play them.”

Luka hummed in understanding.

“Is that why you didn’t love the piano until you met Papá?” Hugo inquired, big sapphire eyes boring into Adrien.

Adrien blushed, head tipping to the side. He adjusted his hold on Emma. “That’s part of it.”

Luka rested a hand on Adrien’s knee and squeezed.

Adrien placed his hand on top of Luka’s, rubbing his thumb back and forth in a quiet, unspoken declaration of love.

“Grandpa doesn’t make me play piano,” Hugo remarked thoughtfully. “I have to make him some days. Some days he has projects he has to work on, so I play on his tablet painting clothes until he can play piano with me.”

Luka and Adrien blinked down at their son.

“He lets you play with the tablet? He never let me play with the tablet,” Adrien pouted, giving Luka’s hand a squeeze. “Orpheus, I think my father loves my son more than me.”

Luka tried not to laugh too hard. “It’s okay, P5. Don’t get a complex. I love you.”

“I love you, Daddy,” Hugo chimed in.

“Mmmm,” agreed Emma.

Nuzzles and kisses were passed all around.

Then Hugo thought of something. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that I paint clothes. Don’t tell Grandpa I told. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

Adrien and Luka’s brows furrowed at that.

“What kind of surprise?” Adrien pressed. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Grandpa you told.”

Hugo bit his lip. “…When I paint clothes, Grandpa tells me which ones are really good, and we save those ones to make into clothes patterns in real life like Maman does. Grandpa trusts money for the clothes that become real, and he said that when I’m older I can trade the trust to go to university or for a boat like Nanna’s Liberty or a bicycle or a whole lot of ice cream or the newest Zelda game or whatever I want.”

Adrien got the feeling that Hugo had verified this list with Gabriel, item by item.

“That’s…really generous of him,” Luka replied, a little stunned. “Very…thoughtful.”

“But Grandpa said it should be a surprise because it was too much like working and you wouldn’t like me working.” Hugo looked back and forth between his parents. “But I like painting clothes. I don’t have to stop, do I?”

“No,” Adrien assured, reaching out to stroke his son’s face. “You can keep painting clothes as long as you want. I think I owe your grandpa a thank you, though. That really is nice of him to do that for you.”

Suddenly distracted, Hugo looked down at Emma. “Emmie’s feeling better.”

Plagg quirked an ear curiously. He hadn’t felt any change in Emma’s status, pressed up against her as he was, but he experimentally phased through Emma anyway. “She is cooling down,” he confirmed. “Still a little hot, but definitely better.”

“Thank God,” Adrien breathed as Luka sighed in relief.

Hugo turned back to the piano and began to play the Snowdin Town theme from Undertale.

Luka snickered, leaning in to nip Adrien’s ear. “He’s your son all right.”

Adrien nipped back, getting Luka’s cheek. “He’s inherited my good taste in video games. You should be grateful. I mean, he’s biologically Marinette’s son. You dodged a bullet.”

“Papá, play the bottom hand,” Hugo instructed. “My hands are too little to do the chords one-handed.”

“On it,” Luka assured as Adrien held in a laugh. He teased Luka with his eyes instead.

Luka made faces back at Adrien as Hugo played contentedly and much more consistently than with the Mozart.

“We’re doing Scarlet Forest from Delatrune next,” Hugo announced, and Luka was happy to comply.

Emma hummed dreamily along.

When they’d finished, Hugo looked up and back and forth between his parents. “Now you two. Play Field of Hopes and Dreams from Deltarune. Daddy, you be on top. Papá, you take bottom.”

Luka clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from bursting out laughing.

Adrien just grinned. “I mean…what else is new?”

Luka flicked Adrien’s cheek without malice. “You say that like we never switch.”

Adrien shrugged. “I just know your preferences.”

“Piano,” Emma whined, losing patience with her fathers.

Luka shook his head and counted them in, covering the bottom line with his left hand while Adrien took the top with his right. It was a little difficult with both children in the way, and sometimes their hands almost overlapped in the quick note turnover, but they managed and stayed more or less in sync.

As the last chord rang out and dissipated into the air, applause sounded from the entranceway.

Luka, Adrien, Hugo, and Nooroo turned as one to find Marinette watching them.

“Maman!” Hugo called out, hopping down from Luka’s lap to go to his mother.

Mélodie wisely moved her tail out of the way with a little whine of indignation.

“Mama!” Emma echoed, beginning to fidget.

“Just a sec and I’ll let you out, Love,” Adrien promised, standing and undoing the sling so that he could hand off the wiggling Emma to her mother.

Marinette tussled Hugo’s hair as he wrapped his arms around her legs. “What are you still doing up, Caterpillar?” she hummed, smiling down lovingly at her child.

“I was worried about Emmie, so I couldn’t sleep,” Hugo explained, squeezing Marinette’s knees to his chest. “Papá and Daddy and I were playing piano for her.”

“You’re such a good big brother,” Marinette chuckled before turning carefully to take Emma from Adrien. “And how’s my baby girl?” she cooed, nuzzling Emma and giving her a kiss.

“Better,” Luka supplied, coming up behind Adrien and wrapping his arms around him, pulling Adrien back against himself and giving Adrien’s neck a kiss. “She’s still feverish, but I think it’s going down. One of Gabriel’s doctors is on his way to get her checked out, though.”

“Probably for the best.” Marinette nodded, bouncing Emma gently and making soothing clicking sounds with her tongue.

“Do I get a welcome home kiss, or am I old news nowadays?” Adrien pouted, leaning back against Luka, placing his arms on top of his husband’s.

Tikki flew up and deposited a kiss on the tip of Adrien’s nose. “Welcome home, Adrien!”

Luka snickered into Adrien’s neck, the vibrations tickling.

Adrien laughed. “Thanks, Tikki. It’s good to be appreciated.”

Marinette smiled, but it was her ‘smug Ladybug’ smirk. “You’ve got one of the hottest guys in the country literally hanging off of you, and you want my attention too?”

“I’m greedy.” Adrien shrugged, turning his head to lick Luka’s cheek.

“You’re needy,” Marinette corrected, shifting Emma onto her hip so that she could have a hand free to pet Hugo’s hair, mindful of the kwami still perched there.

“You married me, Milady,” Adrien tossed back.

Marinette shook her head. “Not legally, Chaton. Legally, you’re Luka’s problem.”

“Be nice to my husband, Chanson,” Luka chuckled. “He’s perfect.”

“Isn’t he, though?” Marinette stepped in, careful of Hugo, to press her lips to Adrien’s. She pulled back so that their noses brushed. “Welcome home, Adrien.”

“Good to be home, Princess,” Adrien purred, perfectly content to be sandwiched between the two people he loved most with the children their love had made.

“…but I think you need to take your husband back up to bed,” Adrien added gently. “He’s got a concert tomorrow night, and you’re still sick, so you could both use the sleep. Only one of us needs to stay up with Emmie to wait for the doctor.”

“I don’t want to go to sleep,” Hugo pouted, sounding like a tiny Adrien replica. “I want to make sure Emmie’s okay.”

“She’s going to be fine, Buddy,” Luka assured, reluctantly letting go of Adrien to scoop up their son. “Why don’t I go tuck you in?”

Hugo gave Luka the ‘petulant Adrien frowny face’.

“Or not,” Luka conceded defeat. He’d never been much good up against the full-sized version of the ‘petulant Adrien frowny face’, and the miniature version wasn’t any easier an opponent.

“How about we all pile onto the couch and wait together?” Marinette suggested, leading the way with Emma.

Adrien, Luka carrying Hugo, the kwamis, and Mélodie all fell into step behind her. Marinette tucked her feet under herself as she sat on the near end of the couch with Emma reclining against her. Mélodie curled up on the floor in front of Marinette, and Tikki landed on Emma’s head. Plagg snuggled up next to Tikki, and Adrien curled up with Marinette. Luka threw an arm around Adrien as he sat on the far end of the sofa, hip to hip with Adrien and with Hugo on his lap, Nooroo on Hugo’s head. All together, they made a snug bunch.

“So,” Adrien hummed once they were all situated. “…Luka tells me that you ate my tofu, Buginette? Care to explain yourself?”

“Adrien,” Luka scolded. It wasn’t very effective, as he was smiling widely at the time.

Marinette blushed and returned her husbands’ grins. “I haven’t taken a test yet, but…it’s highly possible that our family might be getting bigger in the near future.”

Adrien could barely contain his squeal of glee as he leaned in to place a sloppy kiss on the side of Marinette’s head and then turned to do the same to Luka.

Hugo looked back and forth between his parents. “Are we finally getting a hamster?”

Marinette laughed like the starlight-like notes of the upper register of the piano. “No, Sweetie. Maybe someday…but I was talking about a baby.”

“Baby?” Hugo scrunched up his nose.

“Mmhm. How would you like a new little brother or sister?” Marinette proposed.

Hugo’s expression turned troubled. “But I like Emmie! I don’t want a different sister. Is this because she got sick?”

Adrien clapped a hand firmly over his mouth.

Marinette grimaced. “Oh…no, Sweetie.”

Luka gave Hugo a squeeze. “Buddy, Emmie’s not going anywhere. We meant that we’re going to have a new baby in addition to Emmie.”

“I get to keep Emmie?” Hugo verified, a hint of terror still in his voice.

“Yes,” Luka stressed. “And you’ll get a new little sibling too.”

Hugo pursed his lips and thought about this. “…Okay. That would be okay. …Could we get one with hair like Daddy and eyes like Auntie Juleka and skin like Uncle Nino? Can you order one like that?”

“Do we tell him about designer babies?” Adrien chuckled.

Marinette smacked his arm. “No, Sweetie. You don’t order babies. You grow them. They’re like flowers.”

“So can’t we just buy seeds for a baby with yellow hair and orange eyes and tan skin?” Hugo reasoned, looking up at Luka.

Luka and Marinette grimaced in unison.

Adrien took a stab at answering the question. “Unfortunately, we only have seeds on hand for babies with blue or green eyes and black hair. Maybe brownish hair if the genes mix right. Your new little sibling is going to look a lot like you and Emmie. If not, your mother will have some explaining to do.”

Marinette pinched Adrien’s nose hard.

“Ow!” Adrien whined. “It was a joke. I was joking, Milady. Luka, save me!”

“You’re on your own, P5,” Luka snickered.

“Mama, no hurt Daddy,” Emma whimpered, reaching for Marinette’s arm.

Marinette let go of Adrien and beamed down at her daughter. “Oh, Baby, I wasn’t really hurting him.”

Adrien leaned in to nuzzle Marinette’s ear affectionately. “We were just playing. We love each other, right, Princess?”

“Mmhm,” Marinette agreed, turning to catch Adrien’s lips. As they pulled away, Marinette gave Adrien another ‘smug Ladybug’ smirk. “But I like Luka better.”

Adrien stuck out his tongue. “What a crazy coincidence. I do too.” He turned to wrap his arms around Luka, tucking his head under Luka’s chin. “Mine.”

Hugo reached out, putting his hand on Adrien’s face. “You’re silly, Daddy.”

“I’m theatrical,” Adrien corrected patiently. “That’s why I’m so good at my job.”

“I’m good at playing pretend too,” Hugo boasted, grinning broadly. “…How old do you have to be before they give you money to watch you play pretend?”

“I had my first acting role when I was a couple months old,” Adrien recounted, reaching out to stroke Hugo’s hair. “My mom, your Grandma Émilie, was an actor like I am. I used to be in plays and musicals with her when I was little. There are roles for children of all ages, but…I think maybe you should wait until you’re a little older.” Adrien snuck glances at Marinette and Luka who both nodded.

“How old?” Hugo pressed.

Adrien bit his lip. “Hmmm…a few years older? The Parental Council will discuss and let you know. If you’re still interested when you’re a little older, maybe we can sign you up for a class or a summer camp or something. I don’t know. I don’t know if I want you jumping into the bigtimes right away like I did. Being famous is no good for a kid. I know you’re already kind of there just with your family, but…I don’t want that for you, Hugo. Okay?”

Hugo frowned and opened his mouth to ask a question, but he was blindsided by an enormous yawn. “Okay,” he replied sleepily, starting to rub at his eyes.

“Why don’t you sleep for a bit?” Luka suggested. “We’ll wake you up when the doctor gets here.”

Hugo blinked slowly at his father. “No, you won’t,” he moped but set his head down on Luka’s left shoulder anyway, closing his eyes. “Daddy, wake me up, please.”

“Will—” Adrien was cut off by a yawn of his own. “—Sorry. Will do.”

Marinette and Luka snickered at Adrien’s expense.

“Tired, Chaton?”

“You can close your eyes for a bit too, Angel,” Luka tempted with a smirk.

Adrien nuzzled Luka’s neck. “I’m not falling for your clever scheme. I’m staying awake with Emmie. You should head up to bed.”

Luka turned his smirk on Marinette. “He’ll be asleep in less than five minutes.”

Adrien bit his husband.

Luka chuckled sibilantly. “I love you.”

“…of ya…too,” Adrien replied disjointed, his breath starting to even out. His eyelids fluttered open several times as he fought off inevitable slumber, but he eventually succumbed to sleep.

Marinette smiled at Luka. “You know, if you wanted to close your eyes for a few minutes…”

Luka rolled his eyes. “Love you too, Chanson.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” she assured, reaching out past Adrien to fiddle with a strand of Luka’s hair.

He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her wrist. “I know.”

#Adrien Agreste/Luka Couffaine #Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #Lukadrien #Lukadrienette #Adrien Agreste/Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrien Agreste #Luka Couffaine #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Future #Children #Domesticity #Fluff #Mikau's Writings #A Little Night Music (Eine Kleine Nachtmusik)

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thinkdragonage · 7 years

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Elissa’s Journal - 1st Entry

[This is a bit rough, but I haven’t written and posted in so long, I feel compelled to share it. These entries might wind up comprising the next chapter, but for now I’ll post them one at a time here, just because... I haven’t written in so long and I’m desperate for attention :P But seriously, I’m just happy to be finally getting out of this writing block,even if it’s just a little bit.]

[In large writing, covering the top of the first page of a leather-bound journal.]

Diary of Elissa M. Cousland, Warden of the Grey, Rightful Teyrna of Highever, daughter of Teyrn Bryce Cousland (8:80 Blessed - 9:30 Dragon) and Teyrna Eleanor Cousland (8:85 Blessed - 9:30 Dragon).

I am the last remaining survivor to the great Fereldan House of Cousland. My parents perished, along with the Lady Oriana Cousland (9:03-9:30 Dragon) and her son and heir, Oren Cousland (9:25-9:30 Dragon), when Bann Howe (8:79 Blessed, and will die in 9:30 should the Maker guide my hand to retribution) diabolically murdered and betrayed his old friend, attacking Cousland Castle in the night, after our soldiers had departed. Fergus Cousland (9:03 - 9:30 Dragon) died in battle in the Korcari Wilds around the time of the Battle of Ostagar, presumably.

[The entry ends here. There are several pages torn from the journal, and then the writing begins again in the same script, with different ink.]

I had thought to record our travels and travails in an objective and complete fashion, omitting opinion where it was not warranted, and divulging only the important events and decisions. I have recorded our mission and goals, our objectives to meet at each of the locations we visited, and what was accomplished and was not.

However, it is of my fellow warden’s ([Alistair Theirin is crossed out, replaced by Warden Alistair, which is then again crossed out and replaced by simply ‘Alistair (9:10 Dragon).’]) opinion that my writing does not engage the reader’s interest. Whereas I held my objective and factual prose to be a benefit, Alistair informed me it was anything but, and that my factual rendition would do little good if “no one can stand to finish it.”

I have given the matter some thought, as I feel a great reluctance to taint my recollection with subjective analysis and individual perspective. However, the point nevertheless remains. If my personal style is too dry and academic, it would behoove me to adapt one more accommodating of my reader’s limited attention span.

As such, I shall swallow my trepidation, and attempt to record here not just the details of events, but my personal opinions and situational analyses, in the hopes that including this somewhat irrelevant information will increase the likelihood of my work retaining its worth.

I have little wish to recollect the particulars of my early days as a warden. Suffice it to say that I came to the organization through great tragedy, but not, as I first suspected, through any sentiment of charity. Duncan recruited me from my dying father, knowing that I had no martial skills or experience. I was much too overcome with grief and fear to challenge this negotiation, and by the time I regained my senses, I had accepted the additional weight of another duty. Thus I began my career with twin missions: avenge my family, fight the Blight.

I had little sense of what it all meant at the time, of course. Overcome with grief as I was, it was a simple thing for Duncan to guide my mute form to Ostagar.

Others have no doubt told the tale of that fateful battle, and I’ll not weigh down this narrative with tactical details that have surely been thoroughly examined and discussed by everyone with the free will to form an opinion by now. I’ll say just this: Alistair and I survived.

We were, improbably though it seems, rescued by a figure out of legend--at least according to the subject in question. Flemeth, she claimed to be, and while this writer can not ascertain what truth may lie in this assertion, I nevertheless must conclude that the power dwelling inside this individual is no small thing. Indeed, we are not quite sure how the seemingly old woman collected us and transported us to her hut in the Korcari Wilds, but as I have no other explanation for how we wound up waking therein, I can offer no alternative explanation.

It proved fortuitous in any case, as the witch woman knew of the Grey Warden treaties we held, and in fact considered our quest so grave and important as to offer up her only daughter as our companion, to help guide us out of the wilds and lend us aid in battle. And so, Morrigan joined our party.

It was also in the Korcari Wilds that I forged the beginning of an alliance with my fellow Warden. We vowed to each other to not rest until we’d fulfilled the treaties and seen to our personal vendettas (him, to the traitor Loghain, whose betrayal cost us the victory at Ostagar and our young king’s life, and for me, of course, the despicable Howe).

From there, we set out to call upon the aid of Arl Eamon, who had served as Alistair’s guardian in his youth. We discovered a village in turmoil when we arrived. The Arl, we would come to discover, had been poisoned by agents of Loghain, while the townsfolk were plagued by a horde of undead monstrosities. With our help, as well as the cooperation of the Templars and mages of Kinloch Hold, we managed to quell the undead uprising, kill the demon and save the Arl’s young son.

Our success required a brief sojourn to the Circle Tower, where Alistair and I discovered yet another calamity was taking place. A group of blood mages had staged an insurrection, and the resulting fighting had torn open the veil, infesting the tower with all manner of demons and undead. Unwilling to walk away from the Tower without meeting our objectives, I insisted that Alistair and I attempt what the Templars were afraid to: we entered the Tower, and discovered a few survivors that helped us re-establish order by finding and defeating the demons, blood mages, and possessed Templars. When we discovered the First Enchanter alive and rescued him, we were finally able to deliver our treaty and gain their alliance for our upcoming war.

By the time we arrived in Denerim a few weeks later, we had acquired a few more travelers to our party, including an Antivan Crow named Zevran Arainai (birth, unknown, and was offended when I asked), a sister of the Chantry, Leliana (8:98 Blessed), a Qun warrior (birth, unknown) and two mages from the Circle Tower, Solona Amell (9:10 Dragon) and Wynne (8:?? Blessed). Having failed at reproducing an antidote, it occurred to me that our best strategy to procure one would be to steal the original back from Loghain.

It took several weeks to put the pieces in place, and during this time the Wardens (including now, Solona) set off to discover an ancient keep in the hopes of reclaiming it for our use. We discovered more than just history within its crumbling walls--there was another living Warden residing there still. The old mage had extended his lifespan through who knows what magical methodology. He provided us few solid answers… though the recipe for the Joining proved to be a useful one soon enough.

Whilst in Denerim, we aided a young elf by the name of Darrian Tabris (9:10-, presumed 9:30 Dragon) by uncovering and dismantling through force the illegal Tevinter slave operation taking place in the city’s alienage. Our work captured the attention of the city guard, who kept a few members of the party gainfully employed during our stay in the city.

Our planning culminated into a covert operation at the Howe estate. Though it pained me greatly, I held back my vengeance during the mission. Securing the antidote for Arl Eamon was my utmost priority--I did not have the luxury of being selfish. But, perhaps irrationally, I am optimistic that my vengeance will not remain unfulfilled for long. My reckoning with my vile enemy is inevitable… so long as I am patient, I’m confident I shall be rewarded.

Through great planning and no small sacrifice, we managed to procure a cure for the poison that afflicted the Arl, and sent a vial of the antidote back to Redcliffe, born by the witch woman Morrigan, who possesses the ability to shapeshift into various animals, including a raven.

We escaped Denerim, barely, and unfortunately… the Tabris elf did not make it. I’ll not spend ink relitigating my decisions here. As I said, no small sacrifice…

In any case, once Morrigan departed toward Redcliffe, the rest of the party (save the dwarves and my devoted mabari, Prince, who I sent on ahead) ventured into the Brecilian forest, seeking the Dalish. We bore a treaty to enlist their aid during a Blight, and it was our intention to see this treaty fulfilled. Unfortunately, in something of a pattern, the Dalish were besieged by their own troubles when we finally met them. A band of hostile werewolves had attacked the clan, cursing several of their tribe with an ancient magical affliction. Though the clan’s elder… the Keeper, as the Dalish refer to him… appeared reluctant to request our help, we committed to the cause of curing them, and thus embarked on a wild and unpredictable adventure in the forest.

We entered the woods seeking the heart of a monstrous wolf named Witherfang, as the clan’s Keeper (Name? birth?) intimated that it’s acquisition was key to reversing the curse. As it turned out, the situation was a bit more complicated than presented to us, and by the time we saw it’s resolution, both my partner and I succumbed to the lycanthropic curse.

I don’t think I can properly describe the surreal and painful experience of transforming into a werewolf… Alistair has a flair for the dramatic and would likely provide a more salacious account of that ordeal. Nevertheless, I will say this: it wasn’t just a transformation of bodies that took place in the forest. Our relationship transformed as well.

I find myself struggling to form the words to describe this series of events, for reasons that are quite personal in nature. However, I suspect this is just the information Alistair meant for me to include (no doubt so he can gain the pleasure of reading my complimentary comments about him once I’ve finished). But I think this entry has taken long enough, so Alistair, my dear, when you read this, I’ll be happy to demonstrate explicitly my feelings about our relationship, in lieu of a written explanation here. I hope that will suffice…

#fic #alistair theirin #elissa cousland #dragon age: origins #my writing #elissa's journal #poison and wine #possibly a side project #possible a chapter #m/f #i'll post more entries later possibly

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