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high-dragon-bait · 2 years

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I need more banter with Cole.

DA:I didn't give me enough with Solas/Cole/Varric talking about becoming more human or spirit in any combination.

But also, Cole banter with all the DA2 companions.

He and Justice are so unique and Anders always has an opinion on everything.

Fenris would fear hate him, probably.

Merrill would be fascinated, I'm sure.

I just love Cole and I need more of his thoughts.

Ah, Cole. He is so hard but so much fun to write. I went with the DA:2 gang, and snuck in Isabela to make it all the LIs... However. I got a little carried away so this is long. Really long. My previous record for longest fake banter had 8 interactions, this has 28. The majority of you said not to put it under a readmore, just tag it, so I will!

These banters include 4-6 general interactions, one romance, and one post-adamant romance. Since Anders already had a post-adamant romance interaction with Cole in another banter, I posted an alternate version in the same vein as the one there, since I still really like the idea behind it, but the original execution bugged me.

Enjoy!

_____

Fenris

_____

Cole: You’re scared of me.

Fenris: As anyone wise should be.

Cole: Is it because of him?

Fenris: Danarius wasn’t the worst of them.

Cole: Standing, stiff, sore from the leash. Like that for hours, watching, waiting, wanting to leave. Danarius approaches the magister. A rival, he wants to impress him. End him. "I offer you a gift."

Fenris: What is this?

Cole: It's a boy. No. No, no, he's so young. Be punished if I move but I can't- I can't- too late. His blood is on my face. The demon growls, glowers and glows, and he's gone.

Fenris: Avert your gaze from me. Now.

Cole: But that's not why I'm here! I didn't want the blood.

_____

Fenris: Is it true you were a demon?

Cole: No. Not a demon. But I didn’t know what I was, and it made me wrong.

Fenris: But you killed? You murdered those mages?

Cole: Yes. I thought it was helping.

Fenris: I’ve traveled with an abomination, a blood mage, and Varric. Now, I trade them for a killer demon. Perhaps Hawke kept the better company after all.

_____

Cole: You were glad when the boy died.

Fenris: Be careful, demon. I know you can bleed.

Cole: Danarius said “gift” and you thought of something else. Something worse. When they cut his throat somewhere you were happy they couldn’t keep hurting him.

Cole (Cont.): It wasn’t a good glad.

_____

Cole: You don’t like mages, yet you’re angry. Angry for the ones I killed. Why?

Fenris: I don’t like weak mages running rampant and preying on the innocent. Those mages were where they belonged, where they were safe. You took that away.

Cole: But they weren’t safe!

Fenris: No, because you were prowling the halls. Slitting their throats while they slept.

Cole: I wouldn’t have been there if it hadn’t been for the templars. The templar who locked him in a dungeon and forgot. If he hadn’t died, scared, starving, shivering on the stone.

Cole (Cont.): I killed. I killed and kill me back if I do it again. But templars made me forget what I was. Templars killed me first.

_____

Cole: Do you look at every man and see a king?

Fenris: What?

Cole: When a servant walks down a hall do you see him wearing a crown. Holding a sword? Does he kill those who disobey him?

Fenris: No?

Cole: Then why is every mage a magister?

_____

Fenris: Every mage is not a magister.

Cole: Yes! That’s good. You’re starting to understand, thank you.

Fenris: Every mage is dangerous. I am not wrong to want them where they can do no harm.

Cole: No. No. You get so close but flinch away before the truth can touch you. Like a hand on a hot pot.

Fenris: I see the truth clearly, spirit. You are not of this world, you cannot understand.

____

Cole: Spirits are reflections of the world, made from what matters. That's what Solas says.

Fenris: And you're telling me this, why?

Cole: You said I don't understand. I'm not of this world. But this world made me. Made me from what matters. That's what I am. I'm supposed to see.

Fenris: Fine. What is this truth I won’t touch, demon?

Cole: You want to blame magic because its easy. Because it hurt you and its loud. Magic didn’t hurt you because its magic, it hurt you because Danarius wanted it to.

Fenris: Of course I know Danarius was behind it.

Cole: Yes! Yes you do! But anything hurts if someone wants it to. Magic, blades, hands, words, and you know that too. But if that’s true, if that's really true, Danarius hides. You can't see him anymore. Any man could be him now. That scares you.

Fenris: …perhaps it does.

Cole: It’s okay! I can help.

_____

(Romance)

Cole: I stare at the fire, flames flickering. Eyes shut, trying, dreaming, wishing it would all come back. I can hear them breathing. I can feel their touch, tingling, lingering on my skin. Soft as their sheets, dark and red, but not the bad red, the red I want, the red I remember. Remember. Why did I remember?

Cole (Cont.): You want to stay, but then they wake up, and you have to go.

Fenris: I was a fool.

Cole: No. You think you were afraid but that isn't it. There was another life, lost, lingering, left behind. You had to learn and let go. You needed to say goodbye. That isn't your fault.

Fenris: It was. Yet they still forgave me.

Cole: They love you.

_____

(Post-Adamant)

Fenris: Go on, say your peace, demon.

Cole: Stairs, steep, steeper than the steps through Kirkwall. A spider, why did it have to be a spider? I make it bleed. Make it burn. I try. I don't want to die, but I'm me. I have to try to be me too, I have to- I have to- “Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you” Maker, he won’t forgive me.

Fenris: I was wrong.

Cole: Yes. The thought hurt, but now its real. Real is worse.

Fenris: Hawke is gone. Nothing is real now.

Cole: Gone only means far, not false. What you felt is still real. Don't forget that. Please.

_____

Anders

_____

Cole: Why don’t you tell Varric why you’re angry?

Anders: He doesn’t listen. Or it turns into a joke.

Cole: My father’s barn burning in the snow. Eyes dead under a sunblaze brand. A glow raining over my city, the same color as the screams. Sometimes we care so much the care turns cold. Anger is the only warmth I know.

Anders: Sounds like you’ll put it better than I could.

Cole: No, it won’t help the same if its me.

_____

Anders: How are you here?

Cole: I walked. For a while I rode on a horse!

Anders: No, outside of the Fade? Justice said spirits couldn’t survive on their own, they need a host. A body.

Cole: I’m Cole?

Anders: But you’re a spirit! Here from the Fade. How can you be- you?

Cole: He sat in a cell. It was dark, he knew they forgot. His hurt was loud, louder than the shouting but the Templars wouldn't hear him. I wanted to help so I listened. He said he didn’t want it. He didn’t want to be magic. He didn’t want to hurt. He didn’t want to die.

Cole: I’m Cole.

Anders: Oh…

_____

Anders: Did Cole… did you have any family? Anyone you might want to see again?

Cole: No. His father beat his mother until she stopped, he hid with his sister in a cabinet but she cried. He kept his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet, he didn’t want her to stay quiet. He only killed his father for them.

Anders: Maker!

Cole: He didn’t use magic! He used a blade to kill his father, a harmless blade. That’s all. It wasn’t magic. “I don't care, he goes to the dungeons like every other mage."

Anders: Cole I’m- I’m so sorry.

Cole: So was he.

_____

Cole: Varric doesn't hate you.

Anders: Varric?

Cole: That's why you won't tell him why you're angry. You think it will make it worse. He's sad, scared, scattered, but still your friend.

Anders: I know what Kirkwall meant to him. I know I destroyed it. He can't forgive me that easy.

Cole: No. Not easy, and not forgiven, not yet. "I want you to have this. It's a pillow. Hand embroidered by my mother. The only thing they let me keep at the circle." "Why in the world would you give that to me?" "You've been a good friend." He wishes he were better.

Anders: Tell him... tell him I do to.

Cole: No. I told you. It's doesn't help if its me.

_____

Cole: You talked to Varric!

Anders: Sort of. Not a lot of actual talking. Mostly we sat, and sometimes we drank. Better than avoiding each other in the halls, I guess.

Cole: We sit. The air here is wrong. The smells, the music, it's too wide, too new. Herald's Rest, why rest? Do we ever rest? They used to hang people here, by their feet, till they starved to death. Blondie sits across from me, how long has it been? If I just see him I can almost pretend... My cup, too nice, too clean, but a toast is a toast. To a new world, Blondie.

Anders: To a new world...

Cole: He missed you.

_____

(Romanced)

Cole: No, don't go there. I'll break your heart. That might kill me as surely as the Templars. But you wanted to, from the moment you saw them. You made yourself sound so wrong, why?

Anders: I needed them to know. I needed them to be prepared for the work it would be to love me.

Cole: You thought they would leave. That one day they would know you, know you, and they wouldn't love you. They never would've done that. It hurts you thought they would.

Anders: In the circle, love never lasted. That was by design, two mages got too close and the templars would intervene. I... I thought it was a matter of time.

Cole: They know. They only wish you had trusted them when they said they would stay. That you would let them do the work.

Anders: Maker, I hope some days I'm worth it.

Cole: You are, always.

_____

(Post-adamant)

Cole: A hawk sits on a branch. They fly, follow, leaving feathers where he can find them.

Anders: Stop it.

Cole: A dream. They're a dream but I can't see them, not until I forget. If I forget, if I'm him, just him, all him, then he might be me. He might know where to go. Forget to find. Follow and fly.

Justice: No.

Cole: Forgetting won’t help, not like that.

_____

Merrill

_____

Cole: Eluvian. “Seeing-glass” but it’s fogged, faded, forgotten like us. Who stood here before me? Before the blight, before our blood blotted over the history. Where did they go?

Merrill: Do you… do you know? Can you tell me their name?

Cole: No. I would’ve forgotten. I’m sorry.

_____

Merrill: Are you alright, Cole?

Cole: “Alright?”

Merrill: Are you safe? Are the people here kind to you? Are you… happy?

Cole: I’m not being cut, not right now, and I’m not sad.

Merrill: That’s not really the same thing, lethallin.

Cole: But isn’t it for you?

_____

Cole: The keeper was wrong.

Merrill: You didn’t know her. You shouldn’t say things like that.

Cole: Eyes. Eyes. Too many eyes. Staring. Judging. The hunters whisper and the elders doubt. How could I have allowed it? I let evil into our clan. They need to know. I need to show them. Show her. She will not do this.

Cole (Cont.): "Merrill is dangerous," I tell them. "She will remain dangerous until I guide her down a better path. Be weary of her, and if you see her, come directly to me."

Merrill: No, lethallin. That wasn’t how it was.

Cole: She said that too.

_____

Merrill: Cole, what I meant when I asked if you were alright...

Cole: Yes? I'm sorry. I don't think my answer helped.

Merrill: I meant- I guess- you're always the one checking up on the others. You're always the one helping so I thought, maybe, I could be of some help, if you want it.

Cole: But... what would that be? Helping the helper, that's not how it's supposed to work. That's why you forget.

Merrill: Well, lethallin, why don't we figure it out together?

Cole: Yes... yes I think I would like that. Thank you.

_____

(Romanced)

Cole: You didn't believe them for a long time. Why?

Merrill: Didn't believe who?

Cole: Hawke, when they said they wanted you, you thought it wasn't real. Why?

Merrill: Oh- well... I'd never had anyone in my clan show me any interest before. I'd only kissed one person before them. It was this hunter, young and strong, just got his vallaslin. So exciting! But later I found out it was a dare, prove his manhood by kissing the crazy blood witch.

Cole: That story makes them angry.

Merrill: I know. They told me so. Offered to go fight those boys for me, I said no, of course.

Cole: You didn't want to.

Merrill: We all have to be the bigger person sometimes, lethallin. That's what Varric liked to say after cards back in Kirkwall.

_____

(Post-adamant)

Merrill: Lethallin, can you... can you hear them? Do you know what they thought when it- happened?

Cole: Chains beneath the boat. Five birds bunched together on the cliff. Three in the hold. How could I know? One day there will be book with other names, other faces drawn over the words and a daisy pressed between the pages.

Merrill: I know you can tell me more than that.

Cole: Hawke is dead, I'm so sorry. Dead. Such a cruel world. Din. Better. Din is kind. Falon'Din, Friend of the Dead. Is that were they are? Varric said they ran. They ran and they shut the door. They didn't see...

Cole (Cont.): Broken dark glass in a Kirkwall hovel. Red ringed around my fingernails. Sitting on the floor, sharp, splintering, shredding my skin, but I stay still. I have a door. I have a door.

Cole (Cont.): If I tell you, you'll just want to do it more.

Merrill: I'm going to do it, Cole, telling me what they thought won't hurt now.

Cole: Yes, it will.

_____

Isabela

_____

Isabela: Hey, sweetheart?

Cole: Yes, Captain?

Isabela: Do spirits know about sex?

Cole: Yes. Spirits know a lot about sex.

Isabela: How would you describe it? In that colorful way of yours?

Cole: Hot. Hands holding tight. Door closed. Bodies close. If this is all I’m worth then I’ll be worth the world. My body is mine, it feels like fire and I am free.

Isabela: Oh, that’s not what I thought you’d say.

Cole: What did you think I would say?

Isabela: Something more like what Varric would put in a book.

_____

Cole: The scars are all in the same place.

Isabela: Which scars, sweetheart?

Cole: Arishok's blade on their skin. The silver slips shallow through them but I still feel it too. My face. My arm. My back. My legs. My- it slashes into their stomach, blood splatters and I try to- I can't. Fenris holding onto me. They're bleeding and I'm bleeding. They're hurting and I'm hurting. Once. Twice. Three times more around the pillars and then- he falls. It's over. They won... I'm free.

Isabela: So that’s what we’re talking about.

Cole: They would’ve done it again. They would’ve done even more.

Isabela: I know.

Cole: So do they.

_____

Isabela: Why do you call me, Captain?

Cole: It’s what you are.

Isabela: I haven’t been a captain for awhile. Admiral’s got a nice, sexy sound to it. Makes you think I’ve got a dagger in my hand, sharp and ready for your breast.

Cole: Wife. Whore. Daughter. Desire. The man on my ship smiles at me like he's picking which one he wants. I smile back. "It's Captain," I tell him. "You will call me Captain."

Cole (Cont.): I could call you Admiral, if it helps.

Isabela: Captain’s fine, sweetheart.

_____

Cole: Captain?

Isabela: Yes, sweetheart?

Cole: Do you like me?

Isabela: Oh yes! You’re cute, good with a dagger. You're even nice! That’s more than most men you’ll find out here.

Cole: But you don’t like me like you like them.

Isabela: Which is good for you. Most of them weren't worth the price of the room.

Cole: But you never paid for the rooms?

Isabela: Exactly.

_____

Cole: “Sweetheart.” You call me “sweetheart.” Why?

Isabela: It’s like how you call me, Captain. It’s the best word for what you are.

Cole: But my heart wouldn’t be sweet, Captain.

Isabela: Just who told you that?

Cole: The blood. It said it has to taste like salt and iron or it isn’t real.

Isabela: I… think it's okay to let words stay words sometimes, sweetheart.

Cole: But that’s never what they are.

_____

(Romanced)

Cole: "Well, if you ever want to do it again- wait, you aren't thinking of bringing feelings into this are you?" But you already were?

Isabela: Shhhh! Don't go revealing my deep dark secrets to the world.

Cole: You already brought the feelings, but it's different when it's just yours. Only you know where they are, like marking treasure on a map you keep in your pocket. But once they wanted it too... What if they dug up the treasure? What if they hated what was inside?

Isabela: Yes, yes, alright but why is it treasure? Is it because I'm a pirate?

Cole: Yes. You like treasure.

Isabela: I do like treasure.

Cole: But you like Hawke more.

Isabela: Hey! What did I say about my deep dark secrets?

_____

(Post-adamant)

Cole: I lie on my belly. Red stream flowing out from under me. How can the ground be so cold? Nightmare. Nightmare. No- no I won't die in a nightmare. I've been here before, done this before. I can die where it's mine-

Isabela: Not now, sweetheart.

Cole: There's a ship. There's a sea. There's birds in the rafters and there's me. Waves wash and whisper. I'm free. Captain, the helm is ready-

Isabela: Cole, stop it.

Cole: Safe harbors, Isabela.

#long post #dragon age #da2 #cole #dragon age cole

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

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Six Sentence Sunday

Thank you for the tag @oxygenforthewicked!

I was hoping to have a chunk of lemon to share on this fine, but procrastination is a cruel mistress and I just started working on that section of this scene.

Mainly because my brain went, ‘ANGST!’, and thus the boys are having a bit of a battle. Solas being Solas and Fane being Fane. That’s all you need to know before reading~ >:3

---

“My sky..”, Fane murmured as he pulled Solas closer by the waist, nudging against a cheek with his nose and smiled sadly as the mage practically fell into him, finally abandoning a portion of their battle. Heavily damp arms came around to embrace him, and he responded by wrapping his own around a lightly spasming body. “...I know pain followed upon awakening. I know you had to do things that you couldn’t stand to do. And I know my actions cause you to worry. I’m sorry for that. A thousand times over, but it’s a part of me; devotion. Do you really believe it to be blind? That I follow like a dog on a leash, merely happy to receive a pat on the head and unquestioning? Or is it the fact that I can tell when you’re frightened that has you on the defensive?”

Solas burrowed into him more, hiding his face in his shoulder. “It is the fact that I lost my temper from something so minor that has me so distraught. Rather, it worries me. I am slipping more and more as impatience hounds me, as the hands of those I locked away grip me by the throat. My outburst brought forth bitter memories. Memories of a time where I was no better than stone, unfeeling and cold.”, he mumbled from dark cotton, hands clawing into that same fabric from behind. “...Furthermore, it is that you are so prone to absolving me of such behavior based solely on the fact of, ‘I love you.’ without the full context of the past. Where my own actions worry me, your’s frighten me, ma’isenatha.”

Fane sighed heavily, wrapping his arms around the slender form against him more tightly. “Now who’s blind?”, he mumbled under his breath before leaning down to lay a tender kiss on Solas' head. He smiled a bit as he felt legs shift against his own as the elf sought more of him, but it fell away as he shifted gears backwards. “That’s not why I’m always so prone to wading in the flames, Solas. I’m not absolving you because I’m love-addled and unaware, or saying, ‘You were definitely in the right/wrong’ because there is no right and wrong to me. I’m only doing what I should have done a long time ago; act and support. You deserve to have someone by your side, not wander the path alone, and I’m not leaving you alone.”

Solas chuckled ruefully. “Action is not preferable to inaction, vhenan. Have I not stated that to you many times? Devotion is harmless at its core, but when warped, twisted, it becomes dangerous.” The mage shook his head against his shoulder. “Do you understand that? Do you understand how sharp the guillotine is above your neck?”

Fane frowned a bit, tightening his embrace a fraction more. “I sense its presence every passing hour, Solas. But you’re not the one holding the rip-cord, waiting to pull, and neither is the devotion I hold.”, he said, eyes narrowing towards the fire behind, wishing to extinguish flames as they laughed at him in crimson and orange. “...The world is a cruel master to a dragon, worse than the Evanuris had been at times, and it holds the rope.”

“Then why tempt it?”, Solas questioned with an air of desperation, sounding even more so since it was muffle. “Why incite its ire, its gaze, for anything beyond your kin? Your nature?”

His glare sharpened further as flames seemed to grow before his eyes. “Because I’m not a slave.”, he growled, tendrils of fire cowing at its cadence somehow, but he found it empowering, justified. “It’s my decision on whether or not I heed its call or ignore it. It’s my decision whether I find inaction preferable to action.", he continued, giving Solas a small squeeze when he felt the grip on his tunic tighten. He nuzzled under a pointed ear, letting out a tiny sigh when the mage’s hands twisted his tunic into tiny balls of fabric. “...And I don’t find it preferable. I’ll act. I’ll stay devoted. I’ll endure. On behalf of myself, my kin, and you. No matter the punishment the world decides to execute, and there’s nothing you could say or do that will ever scare me away or make me doubt who you are or where my heart lies.”

"There should be." A whisper, a plea for him to understand, to let go and abandon, but Fane would never. Not again.

"There won’t be.", Fane growled out low, digging his fingers into one of Solas' shoulders with a small frown. Why was he both cursed and blessed with the most stubborn elf known to man? “You advocate for the power of choice and individual thought, but what does it say when you try to decide my feelings for me? When you decide what I should think without taking a second to see my side? I can think for myself, Solas. So, stop doing it for me.”

---

*sips my soda* ...Stubborn fools, they are. Solas just wants Fane to stop being reckless. Fane just wants Solas to stop assuming how he should act. How it began: a bucket of water. *slurps through a straw loudly*

Tagging (no pressure, of course! <3)

@the-dreadful-canine @varric-tethras-editor @little-lightning-lavellan @noire-pandora @aymayzing @dreadfutures @rosella-writes and anyone else who’d like to share! :D

#my writing #six sentence sunday #more than six sentences by FAR #but that's because my structuring XD #i'm really liking how this scene is turning out #things are still being tweaked and are subject to change #but so far? *chef's kiss*#devotion and tenacity define fane #wisdom and pride define solas #actually this scene shows an...unorthodox way of handling a conversation when it regards to solas #fane is FIRM with solas when he's like this instead of drawing lines and not stepping over the wolf's own #i've been playing with it a lot so it doesn't come off as fane being unnecessarily harsh or borderline indifferent #anyways! read and enjoy! i may release this has a multi chapter short story tbf #dragon age #solavellan #solas #oc: fane lavellan #male lavellan

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rosella-writes · 3 years

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writing tag game

Thank you so much for the tag @noire-pandora, @kittynomsdeplume, @melisusthewee and @emerald-amidst-gold <3

Whoooo boy, here we go.

How many works do you have on AO3?

17, but quite a few are just one-shots. I only have a couple long-fics, mostly because my poor ADHD brain is cruel to me.

What’s your total AO3 word count?

190,052, but if I hadn't orphaned my old (and embarrassing) Skyrim and Sherlock fanfics it'd probably be closer to 300,000.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

honey just put your sweet lips on my lips - 579

i couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted - 56

a fuller feeling (a brighter burst) - 54

Eunoia - 40

i'd wanna be felled by you, held by you (fuel the pyre of your enemies) - 39

(And to be perfectly honest, my most popular fic is by far my worst. I spend so much more time carefully crafting for Eunoia than I do anything else, but the little following it's picked up has made it worth more to me than all the kudos and comments on "honey.")

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I do! I used to be terrible about it, mostly because the vast majority of comments I once got was hate (I wrote for a weirdly unpopular wlw pairing). Now I make it a point to respond to every single one when I can, even the short ones, to thank them for taking the time. It means so much.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

It was a drabble for the r/dragonage writing thread, actually! The premise was a font in the Black Emporium that would show your OC the outcome of a decision made differently. I wrote Eliana Lavellan from Eunoia discovering what would have happened if she'd fought with Solas in Crestwood until he told her the truth... and its outcome was worse than the timeline where he left her and kept his secret. You can read it here (it's about 1200 words, nice and short).

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

My various Solavellan pairings don't get happy endings. Evelyn Lavellan was more of a narrative tool to explore Solas with, so her ending was cut short. Eliana doesn't have her ending yet, but it will be bitter and painful. My happiest ending was for my Bella/Rosalie pairing for Twilight - Bella became a vampire and lived happily ever after with her wife.

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I don't, unfortunately! Since my days on tumblr and FFNet, S*perWh*L*ck left a terrible taste in my mouth when it came to crossovers. I'd be open to it one day if I can find fandoms chill enough.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

As I previously mentioned, yes. In my Bella/Rosalie fic, I made it a point for Rosalie to love all the parts of Bella that weren't conventionally beautiful. My Bella is also a dark-skinned black woman, and the intersection of racism, colorism, and misogyny where it concerns attractiveness was something I thought worth including because I didn't see enough of it in fic. I wanted to highlight all the things that don't get enough attention or are actively reviled, like hyperpigmentation, stretch marks, natural hair, soft bellies, areolas and vulvas that aren't perfectly symmetrical or small, pubic hair and armpit hair and little hairs around nipples - things that I love about AFAB people! I got a lot of comments on my smut chapters calling Bella disgusting, or me nasty for choosing to include those traits. I deleted every single one.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

So much. I love exploring pairings or power dynamics that people wouldn't necessarily consider, like a strong female warrior Lavellan domming Solas, or Solas topping Blackwall. I wanted to show a black woman in an interracial relationship with a white woman where she got to be soft and loved gently, where she got to be quiet, bookish, and looked after instead of expected to be the loud, strong stereotype that we pin black women into. I wanted to show the power of masculinity in an elven mage who loves a warrior woman (Solas/Cass), or the nurturing side of domming in a relationship between a pan giant and a bisexual elf (Iron Bull/Solas).

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of, tbh. I turn up to fandoms a decade late, so usually by the time I get any traction the fic-stealers have done their dirty work and leave me alone.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I haven't! I hope to one day write a fic in Greek for my best friend, though. They deserve to read about Solas in their mother-tongue.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope, but have done some plotting with aforesaid Greek friend.

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Solavellan, absolutely. Any variation, honestly - I've loved m!Solavellan, f!Solavellan, as well as any variation including nonbinary, trans, or other interpretation of the relationship. Solas sees and loves the spirit, and I love the idea that its vessel doesn't matter so much to him. I headcanon him as a he/him agender bisexual, for what it's worth.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I've technically marked i couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted as complete, but it cuts off right before Adamant and was intended to be a full Solavellan story. However, I just didn't care for my rogue f!Lavellan OC very much, and didn't think she matched Solas well. I developed an OC that I enjoyed writing much better and rolled with it. So, I'm sorry Evelyn Lavellan, but your story is frozen with the two of you happy in bed. Solas will never break up with her so long as I don't write that part, right?

What are your writing strengths?

I love dialogue and crafting character voices! Getting a comment that I've managed to portray a favorite character so well that they can hear their voice in their head as they read? Priceless.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Exposition vs description. I want to show instead of tell, but developing the right environment for a scene can be tough for me. It's so much easier to write that the characters are cold and the ground is wet than to wax poetic about dripping leaves and frosty air. But I'm working on it.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I'm obsessed with it. I love little bits sprinkled through that make sense with context, and culturally speaking it would feel wrong not to sometimes! I'm also the type of person that's always been obsessed with languages, and instead of becoming fluent in one I've learned a smattering of a whole lot. So any opportunity to sneak in some French, Welsh, German when it makes sense? I'm taking it. And don't even get me started on Elvhen or Qunlat because I will sprinkle that shit like biodegradable glitter.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Okay I'm gonna flout this question and just write my fandoms in order:

Sherlock (circa 2010 - 2014)

Skyrim (2016)

Twilight (obsessed from 2005 - 2010 but didn't write for it until 2019 or 2020 when Midnight Sun released)

Dragon Age (March 2021 and easily the most fanfic I've ever written ever)

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

My favorite one to write was probably i'd wanna be felled by you, but my favorite to reread is Eunoia. It's most likely the most honest, least presumptuous thing I've ever written, and it's easily the longest thing I've ever attempted. I'm very proud of it.

As far as tagging goes, I've been very rude lately with it by tagging people late in the day, or tagging folks that I haven't tagged before, and am still refiguring out tumblr etiquette (since I haven't been here since the days of the skeleton war and the Mishapocalypse lmao), so presume if you see this you're tagged to participate. With no expectations nor pressure, though, I'll tag @dreadfutures, @varric-tethras-editor and @blarfkey if they'd like. <3

#whew this one took ages #but it was nice to take a trip down memory lane #it's been a while since I thought about my early days as a fanfic writer #before I got my english degree and thought I knew everything about writing #and now I actually have my degree and feel like I know even less than I did before #anyway #solavellan #solas #fanfic #my fanfic stuff #writing #tag game

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pikapeppa · 4 years

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Cullen/Lavellan fluff: Tent

Did I say fluff? I meant UST, too. 😉😂 For @schoute!

This revolves around the mission where Cullen tags along while you go to try and nab Samson at the Shrine of Dumat. Featuring a special guest POV to kick things off!

It’s a long one (~7400 words), so only the first part is here. Read it all on AO3 instead.

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

- DORIAN -

Dorian was unimpressed with the Inquisitor.

His displeasure wasn’t because of the mission they were on; he was pleased about their current mission, in fact. If they managed to trap Samson at this hideaway at Dumat’s Shrine, they would be able to learn a great deal about the former Templar’s apparent mastery of red lyrium, and it would also grant them a chance to learn more about Corypheus. Knowledge was power, after all, and Dorian had a sneaking suspicion that learning more about Corypheus’s genealogical lineage might allow the Inquisition to wrangle a Tevinter family or two into helping the Inquisition, whether by force or free will.

In any case, the mission they were on was an interesting one, and certainly not the reason for Dorian’s displeasure. The reason he was unimpressed with Piper was far more mundane and far more annoying: she wasn’t making any moves on Cullen.

He frowned at the back of her silver-haired head as she traipsed along the forested path at Cullen’s side. Their group had been travelling toward the shrine for two whole days now, and Dorian hadn’t yet observed Piper and Cullen acting as anything more than friendly colleagues.

It was rather infuriating, actually. Everyone in Skyhold had either witnessed them kissing on the battlements, or had heard from someone who heard from someone else about them kissing on the battlements. Their fondness for each other was no secret to the rest of the Inquisition, even if they didn’t go parading it around in public — aside from the aforementioned very-public kisses, of course. So Dorian simply didn’t understand why they were being so coy about it.

He didn’t understand why the Inquisition’s fearless, bolshy, bold-as-brass leader wasn’t making a move.

“You’re staring again,” Varric said dryly.

“Hm?” Dorian said distractedly. “Oh. It’s just…” He tsked. “They’re terribly difficult to look away from.”

On Dorian’s other side, Bull chuckled. “Should I be jealous of the pretty-boy commander?”

It was clear from Bull’s fond smirk that he was joking. Dorian gave his ex-qunari lover a chiding look. “Don’t be foolish. If I wanted to stare unabashedly at a specimen of male beauty, I would simply find myself a mirror.”

“Ouch,” Bull drawled.

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Or I could look at you, I suppose. In any case, our brave commander is not the reason I’m unable to look away.”

“Why are you staring, then?” Varric asked. “It’s starting to get a little weird.”

Dorian sighed. “It’s like going into one of your southern Chantries and seeing the art from the early Steel Age. You can’t decide if what you’re seeing is exquisite or exceedingly horrible, or perhaps a combination of both.”

Varric raised his eyebrows. “What are you on about, Sparkler?”

“The two of them!” he said. He waved impatiently at Cullen and Piper, who were walking a good thirty yards ahead. “Everyone knows how they feel about each other. You’re practically writing a serial about them — I see you scribbling away in your notebook when we stop to camp at night. And yet they aren’t doing anything.”

Bull huffed in amusement. “You don’t know for sure that they aren’t doing anything. Maybe they’re getting busy when the rest of us are asleep.”

“That’s not possible,” Dorian said flatly. “If that were true, Cullen would be a perpetual shade of tomato red.”

Varric chuckled. “He’s not wrong, Tiny. Cullen’s always been something of an easy blush.”

Bull gave Dorian an appraising look. “You know, you weren’t exactly thrilled when everyone learned about this.” He gestured between Dorian and himself. “I’m surprised you aren’t more approving of Cullen and the boss having a little privacy.”

Dorian scoffed. “As you said, we never had any privacy. Why should anyone else be so privileged?”

Bull and Varric gave him identical skeptical looks, and he sighed internally. If he was perfectly honest, Bull had a point. Dorian enjoyed hearing juicy gossip as much as the next person, but only if it was harmless. He wasn’t one to pry into others’ sensitive matters against their will, so Bull wasn’t wrong in pointing out his apparent hypocrisy.

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Here’s the truth: people who are happy sometimes enjoy seeing others being happy too.”

“Okay,” Varric said slowly.

Dorian pursed his lips. “It just so happens that I’m rather content with this large brute…” He waved dismissively at Bull. “... and perhaps it would be nice to see Piper and Cullen being similarly content.” He could feel his cheeks warming as he spoke, and he was careful not to look at Bull, but his sentiment was genuine: if he, the scion of House Pavus, could openly admit to being in a relationship with another man — and a former qunari spy, no less — then Piper Lavellan should damned well be able to admit to her feelings for Cullen.

“Aww,” Bull crooned. “Was that a confession of love? For me? C’mere, you.” He hugged Dorian against his side.

Dorian tsked. “Get off of me,” he complained, and he and pushed fruitlessly at Bull’s muscular waist. “You’re wrinkling my robes.”

Bull chuckled while Varric rolled his eyes and smirked. Once Dorian had freed himself from Bull’s embrace, he gave his companions an authoritative look. “Now that we’ve established that you both agree with me, we need to do something to move things along.”

Varric looked up at Bull. “Did we establish that we agree with him?”

Bull shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

Dorian ignored them. “What we need is to force them to share a tent,” he said. They’d brought three small tents with them for this mission, and Dorian and Bull had been sharing a tent during the entirety of the trip while Piper bunked with Varric and Cullen settled in the third tent on his own. And in Dorian’s opinion, this was a huge part of the problem. If they managed to finagle Cullen and Piper into the same tent, a little pillow talk might be just the thing to get things brewing between the Inquisitor and the Commander.

Unfortunately, Varric was shaking his head. “It’ll never happen. Curly is way too proper. Granted, he’s a little more relaxed than he was in Kirkwall, but sharing a tent with his superior? Not a chance.”

Bull scratched his chin. “I dunno, Varric. If he had the right incentive, he might do it.”

“What kind of incentive?” Varric said.

Bull jerked his horned head at Piper, then patted his own half-naked chest and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Varric scoffed. “I’m sorry I even asked.”

Dorian scoffed as well and lightly smacked Bull’s arm. “There’s no need to be so crass. Besides, I wasn’t asking the two of you for ideas. All I need you to do is go along with my brilliant plan.”

“What plan is that?” Varric said.

Dorian knowingly tapped his nose. “It’s best if it’s spontaneous.”

Varric gave him a chiding smirk. “Not exactly a convincing argument there, Sparkler.”

Bull, however, shrugged affably. “Ah, what the hell. I’ll go along with it, big guy.”

“Thank you, Bull,” Dorian said. He gave Varric a pointed look.

Varric shook his head. “Whatever your plan is, it’s not going to work.”

“Would you care to make a wager on that?” Dorian said slyly.

Varric eyed him for a moment, then held out a hand. “Five royals that Cullen won’t share a tent with Piper.”

“You’re on,” Dorian said, and he shook Varric’s outstretched hand.

Bull chuckled. “This is going to be good.”

Dorian squeezed his arm in an affectionate gesture — and partly to make up for what would happen when they eventually made camp. Bull might be amused now, but he’d likely be less than thrilled later tonight when Dorian enacted his plan.

Read the rest from Piper’s POV on AO3!

#cullen rutherford #cullen/lavellan #cullen x lavellan #cullavellan #piperford #piper lavellan #dorian pavus #DORIAN IS A GOOD FRIEND #AND A SCHEMING BRAT #pikapeppa writes

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mrs-theirin · 4 years

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end of year fic writer roundup

hello! @hawkeish tagged me (thank you for the tag lovely! <3) and i am excited to do this. also check out ish’s stuff because she’s great thanks

word count: um. give me a second.

okay. 29,521 - but only if you count what i have published on ao3 at this current moment. i’ve written far more in google docs. i’ve written a bit more on tumblr. no i am not going to hunt those down aksldgh

new things i tried this year: fanfic in general actually! i mean, i’ve written fanfic before, but i’ve never been serious about it, and i’ve never written any for dragon age. for years i was terrified to write alistair because i didn’t want to get his voice wrong. but also: imagery! i’ve tried to get better at imagery and flowery stuff.

fic i spent the most time on: the road, the hidden truth, & you, obviously. but a few others that i haven’t even finished yet LMAO hopefully i’ll get to finish those and post them soon

fic i spent the least time on: Varric’s Fall. this took me literally less than an hour but i still love it

favorite thing i wrote: uh oh, here she goes again, about to mention when i’m far too gone, can you show me love? because she NEVER shuts up about it. but LISTEN. i’m still so proud of it and it has warm fuzzy vibes and there are some imperfections but i still love it a lot

favorite thing i read: oh BOY LET ME TELL YOU. i’ve got a few.

1) THIS IS MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITE. NOTHING BEATS THIS. the words i’m leaving out by solshine on ao3 / @thehumantrampoline. it’s AMAZING. the summary:

Pretending to be Varric's lover for a bunch of suspicious dwarves at his ex's house for a week is getting to be less fun by the minute. But hey, at least there are mushroom canapes and prizefights.

it’s a hawke/varric fake dating 5 chapter fic that was absolutely amazing and i enjoyed every second of it. EVERY SECOND. if you like hawke/varric, i DEFINITELY recommend this one.

2) Accomplished Liar by Pen99 (idk if they have a tumblr). summary:

Varric debates bringing a tranquil Hawke to Skyhold.

now normally, i don’t like tranquil stories, i think they’re very hard to write properly, but Pen99 does a WONDERFUL job. i have cried so many times reading this fic. it’s not finished yet, but there are currently 14 chapters of pure angst gold waiting for you RIGHT NOW!

3) dandelion wine by @twinlaurels AMAZING fic. summary:

A road trip, a friendship and some feelings.

that doesn’t give you much AKGSLDHA but!! it’s a leliana/female warden road trip fic that is just brilliant. lucien uses imagery and prose SO! WELL! so good it inspired me to try to get better at writing so. go read it

honorable mentions include: Don’t Make This Weird by tinyfierce which is hawke/varric smut but it’s hilarious and great hawke/varric smut / For Know My Crime Was Cruel, And All My Pain Deserved by @merrybandofmurderers which i read super recently but i loved it. a retelling of in hushed whispers but like. better lmao / an entirely different sort of Game by @queenofbaws which is a hawke/varric viscount shenanigans fic that made me laugh

writing goals: just get better! i’m improving every day and i hope to be more confident in my writing soon!

tagging @merrybandofmurderers @elusetta and uh. fuck. anyone who wants to i’m horrible at remembering people LMAO

#tag game #tag meme #fic writer roundup #end of year fic writer roundup

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bigfan-fanfic · 5 years

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Vir’abelasan

~A story detailing the repercussions of Tash drinking from the Well of Sorrows~

Tagging @darlingrutherford

“I can feel it... it’s... hungry.” Tash shuddered. He winced, the echoes from the Fade swirling around him. He had always felt the comforting presence of his guardian spirits swirling around him, but now... they were outnumbered. There was a throng of spirits out there, angry and vicious. But a presence beyond that nestled in the depths of the Well.

Morrigan scoffed. “How could you possibly know that?”

Tash raised an eyebrow, although he kept his eyes fixed on the Well, as if it might reach out and grab him with a watery hand. “Abelas said that the priests put their will into the Well, right? What if it’s some sort of magical compulsion? A geas or something?”

Solas gave a soft noise of affirmation. “It is said that Mythal’s priests were exceptionally powerful, granted magic by their mistress…”

The witch seemed disconcerted that the child before her had thought of that and she hadn’t. “It is... possible. But that is all the more reason that I should take the power of the Well. I assume the risks.”

“The risks... and the rewards.” Vivienne scoffed. “I would sooner trust the Well to the false Warden than to the witch, my dear.”

“And you would have a child risk binding himself to the lingering will of elf priests?” Morrigan sneered. “And I thought that Madame de Fer could sink no lower.”

“Careful, darling, your famous husband isn’t here to mind your tongue for you.” Vivienne said tartly.

Blackwall huffed. “Can you two quit bickering? This isn’t a tea party.”

Tash nodded. “Play nice.”

Gale knelt next to him, putting an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “What will it be, Tash? I hate to rush you, but Corypheus is coming, and we’ll need to get out of here.”

Tash glanced at Cole. “Can you sense the others? Are they safe?”

Cole closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes. Aura and Lottie are helping them take Samson. But… I can hear him.”

“We should go, then.” Tash sighed. “I wish Henry was here. He’d know what I should do.”

Morrigan clicked her tongue. “My husband is from the same world. He has told me that often the events here are changed from his foreknowledge. The choice is yours alone, young Inquisitor.”

Tash gave a soft whimper, his gold eyes looking from Morrigan to Solas to where Abelas had vanished, and finally to the Well. “It’s mine. I’ll drink.”

And despite Morrigan’s protests, despite Solas expressing his misgivings, Tash waded into the Well, the water rising up to his chest. He did not look back as he moved to the center of the Well of Sorrows, but his voice carried clearly to the others. “Mythal… if you’re real… mythal’enaste. Er… I don’t know the elvhen for it, but please… just don’t hurt me.”

And as soon as he reached the center, he shuddered, and then went limp, slipping into the pool as though he was a marionette and his strings snapped.

The Well exploded, water turning to dense blue fog, swirling around and around where Tash had fallen. Solas and Vivienne held up a barrier as Gale and Blackwall attempted to approach, unnerved by Cole’s mutterings of “He’s talking to her… she shouldn’t be there.”

Blackwall went charging forward as soon as the barriers were dispelled, Tash lying still at the bottom of the empty, dry Well. “Lad! Lad, are you alright?”

He scooped the boy into his arms, trying to determine what to do. And Tash’s eyes flew open.

They were blue. An unnatural, glowing blue that seemed to be bleeding from his irises across the rest of his eyes. Glowing blue lines etched themselves across his skin and up around his horns in a mimicry of the pattern on Abelas’ face.

”Vallaslin.” Gale murmured in awe. “Fenhedhis.”

Tash took a shuddering breath, but a strange chorus followed his voice, the whispering bass and tenor tones of men and an alto tone of a woman. His eyes, now completely a glowing blue, flashed as he stood and looked at Solas, head tilting.

The elf gasped and reeled back.

“Solas.” Tash said softly, in a strange way, as if he had not seen the elf for a long time. The chorus repeated his speech, just slightly out of sync, a few soft trailing whispers after his mouth had closed. “Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris. Emma enasal, lethallin.”

But any response was lost in the arrival of Corypheus. Tash smiled cryptically and waved his hand toward the eluvian, and it shimmered at his command, opening the gateway. He turned his back on the rapidly approaching Elder One and moved at a stately pace towards the mirror, blue light streaming behind him to become water that formed the shape of an elf woman, rising up to combat the darkspawn magister.

Morrigan chanced one glance at the boy as they tumbled from the eluvian, safe in Skyhold. His eyes were still bleeding blue, his face lit up with the unnatural light.

Something was wrong.

- - -

“It’s been three days! There is something terribly wrong with Tash!” Blackwall roared. And he was right. The young Inquisitor had not left his room in the intervening hours, not eaten a scrap of food nor a sip of drink. He had launched a terrible and powerful display of magic upon exiting the eluvian, breathing an unnatural fire in all the colors of the rainbow, blue light manifesting around him as a second pair of horns.

Awful sounds came from behind his door (he would not let anyone in, not even Gale), sometimes inane singing, and sometimes a babble of rapid-fire Elvhen, and most disturbingly, screams utterly devoid of the strange echo Tash’s voice had taken on, consisting only of the child’s cries. Cole had only approached the stairs to the Inquisitor’s tower when he collapsed, clutching his head in agony, repeating over and over, “Get her out get her out get her out get her out get her out.”

Varric had sent forward inquiries to Tash’s status, ones that Morgan could not answer. Morrigan had stated that there would be shouts from the Well, but this was something more. Even Henry couldn’t answer the question of what was happening.

“Solas…” Henry whispered to the elf, in the dead of night on the third day. “Mythal… is alive. Well, more like a shadow. Is it possible that she’s… possessing Tash?”

The elf cursed. “Why didn’t you say this before?”

“I didn’t want to change anything!”

Solas grabbed Henry’s wrist and dragged him up to the Inquisitor’s quarters, hurling open the door with magic, forcing their way past Gale, who had sat at the door with red eyes from worry and sleep deprivation.

Tash was perched on the railing of the balcony, staring at them with eyes that were now normal, except for the fact that they were ice blue. The vallaslin had vanished. And Tash cackled, the sound having no business coming from such a youthful throat.

“Mythal. Let him go.”

Tash leaned over the railing and let go.

“No!” Henry screamed, charging forward. But Tash had simply vanished. The Outworlder turned to Solas. “Kieran. Morrigan’s son. He’s in danger!”

- - -

Kieran sighed as he walked away from his mother. He hadn’t been able to sleep since the Inquisitor returned. Mother usually let him stay up if he had nightmares, and he would sometimes play among the magic lights glowing in the night while she studied in the garden.

Morrigan felt a cold wind tingle the back of her neck and shuddered, suddenly realizing that she had lost sight of her son. “Kieran?” she called, standing up.

- - -

The Inquisitor was… different. He loomed out of the shadows, a finger pressed over his lips. “Hello, Kieran.”

“Your eyes are blue.”

They were. Tash didn’t have blue eyes. He was bright, and happy, and had gold eyes. This was… something else. This wasn’t Tash.

“I want to show you something, Kieran. Something amazing.”

“I… I don’t think so.”

Not-Tash’s face twisted in anguish for a moment and he looked terrified. “Run, Kieran!” he screamed. But almost instantly he resumed his oddly Tranquil-like state. “No, stay. I can help you, Kieran. I can stop the dreams. Just take my hand.”

“Kieran? Kieran!” Morrigan’s voice drifted on the wind, sounding oddly far away.

Not-Tash smiled. “I can help you, but you need to come with me. Now.”

- - -

Morgan breathed a sigh of relief, even as he ran with his wife through the Fade, accompanied by Henry, the boy from his world, and Blackwall and Gale. Morrigan had been frantic, unable to find Kieran, until Henry had shouted that he had been led into the Fade, through the eluvian. Which technically shouldn’t have been possible. But his fatherly instinct made him relax just a bit when he saw his child.

Although, seeing Kee accompanied by Tash and … oh no.

“Ah. Morgan. Long time no see. Still consorting with my daughter, then?” Flemeth chuckled. Tash spoke with her, their expressions identical.

Morrigan gasped. “Then… you…are Mythal?”

Gale immediately knelt in shock, and Blackwall yanked him to his feet. Mythal and Tash looked on in approval.

“See, girl?” they said. “Those are manners.”

“You will not have my son!” she yelled, advancing.

Tash and Mythal held out their arms, and extending from Tash came a pulse that rocked the Fade, barring Morrigan’s way with spikes of crackling green energy.

“This boy-Inquisitor is a Dreamer, you know. And he gave himself to my service because you couldn’t convince him otherwise.” Mythal-Tash taunted. The spikes faded. “But you need not worry. I mean neither him nor my grandson any harm. Merely to… exchange.”

She knelt to Kieran, and they witnessed her remove the Old God’s soul from him, promising no more dreams and letting him run to Morrigan and Morgan. Then she turned to Tash, who stilled.

“You came to me, honoring the old ways. With a clear mind and pure heart, you petitioned me for aid and drank from my Well. Though you are not of the People or my blood, you are mine, and I shall strike down your enemies for all your days. You have the knowledge from the Well, but now I shall grant you the wisdom to contain it. The voices shall not overwhelm you.”

She waved her hand over the Inquisitor’s face, and he sighed. Blue light flashed from his eyes before they faded back to gold, the only sign of his ordeal a thin blue ring just around each pupil.

“The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing, boy. And it must be treated with caution.”

Tash’s eyes widened. “You… you hear them too?”

“They are the voices from Beyond, Tash. Pay them heed, for they protect you even as they evaded the grasp of the People’s gods.”

- - -

And they exited the Fade, where Solas was waiting. “Holding open the gateway,” he had said. The elf looked to Tash. “Tash… are you well?”

“I think so…” Tash said, pensive. “I hope so. I’m worried, though. Flemeth…Mythal… she has power over me now. I’m worried about what she can do with it. But… either way, I know what we have to do next. I can hear the voices of the Well, but I’m in control. I can shut them off.”

Solas looked pale and deeply concerned, but nodded, his eyes scanning Tash’s face as if he could still see the vallaslin etched on his face in glowing blue lines. “I shall help you, Tash. I promise… I shall free you...”

#my writing #my ocs #tash adaar #morgan walker #morrigan #kieran #gale lavellan #solas #blackwall #henry lucas #flemeth #mythal #the well of sorrows #super long post

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whimsyswastry · 4 years

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So late! But here it is!

Video Game Questionnaire

All my love to @flamehairedsiren for tagging me

Rules: Fill in your answers below and tag some buddies!

Tagging: @radio-chatter ... if she’s back? ... otherwise, IT’S A FREE FOR ALL!

Questionairre Below Cut

-Games-

First game you ever played: I played a lot of educational PC games on MS DOS when I was quite small. Reader Rabbit, Math Blaster...idk what the other ones were. Mickey Mouse teaches you the alphabet...that kind of thing. I’ve been gaming since I was like...4. After the educational games came either...Spyro or Sims 1, not sure which was first.

Favorite game: Dragon Age 2. I think. It changes all the time. But it’s usually a bioware game of some kind.

Game you hated at first but now love: Honestly, every game I’ve ever played (except The Witcher: Wild Hunt and Greedfall, both of which I loved immediately).

Game you used to love but now hate: Dragon Age: Origins. PLEASE LISTEN--it’s still a fantastic game. But it apparently cannot be played over and over the way the other two in the series can. It just feels like a chore. Not to mention my game crashes every ten minutes.

Game with the best group/companion(s): Dragon Age 2.

A game with your favorite ending: Until Dawn -- it doesn’t even matter what paths you chose (even though it does affect the ending) they’re all fantastic.

A game with the WORST ending: The Witcher (1). I was so confused by the final cinematic because wtf, was the assassin supposed to look like Geralt? Or was it just the shoddy graphics?

Best character customization?: Dragon Age Inquisition...with mods.

-Hero and Companions-

Your favorite playable character: Hawke, femShep, Geralt ... What can I say, I love my rpgs.

The funniest playable character: Geralt and his snarky ass always make me laugh. Not sure it’s intentional though lol

Your favorite companion(s): Dorian, Fenris, Anders, and Varric (Dragon Age), Kaidan(Mass Effect), Kurt(Greedfall), Sam(Until Dawn)

Companions you could live without: Honestly...Isabela.

-Relationships-

Favorite game friendship(s): Dorian

Favorite companion banter: The banter between Fenris and Merrill and also between Fenris and Anders, ESPECIALLY when Fenris is romanced.

A relationship you loved but went bad: Triss -- I started my entire foray into The Witcher fandom with Wild Hunt. After I went back and read the books and played the other games.....I want to love Triss as much as I used to, but she really did Geralt dirty.

A relationship you weren’t sure of but loved: Cullen! I know!!! But my first playthrough I got ninjamanced by Blackwall and ended up LOVING him even though he wasn’t my intended choice. So when I went back and played a second time, I couldn’t help but feel like Cullen couldn’t be as good as Blackwall. BOY WAS I WRONG.

A character you wish you COULD romance: Literally the only one that comes to mind is Dandelion, but I wasn’t that big of a fan of him in The Wild Hunt--but kind of the opposite happened as what happened with Triss. The more Witcher stuff I played/read, the more I liked him. Aaaaand then the show. <3

A minor character you wish could be a companion: Knight Captain Rylen

-Fun-

Shoutout to a random NPC: Dandelion ;)

A game you love watching playthroughs for and want to play: I don’t watch playthroughs for games I haven’t already played. I’m a huge stickler about spoilers. But I could watch someone play The Last of Us or Uncharted, or Until Dawn for hours.

Love watching playthroughs but won’t ever play: Again, I don’t watch playthroughs until after I’ve played it.

Online gaming or solo?: Solo. Almost always solo. Except I will on occasion play Anthem.

Why do you play video games?: For the story, for an escape from chronic pain, for the interaction with the fandom, and for catharsis

#about whimsy #whimsy games

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enby-hawke · 5 years

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Summary:

For Lucky Hawke, becoming Champion did not mean consequences from hiding his apostacy from the Chantry. 3 years later, he’s gained his freedom, with stringent conditions.

Hawke is pissed off and decides to test his luck and gets drunk and parties at in his usual Hangout, The Hanged Man. Templars are alerted and Cullen and he get into an argument about him leaving. Cullen is being nice. Hawke is being an asshole.

Ship: Hawke/Merrill, mentions of past Fenhawke and Hawkbela.

Words: 7,696

Tags:

drinking tw, anti-templar sentiments, anti-chanty sentiments, anti-cullen sentiments from Hawke, huge spoiler warning for plot, Modern Thedas, lucky getting in trouble with the chantry again

“Sluuuuuuuurrrrrrrp, slrpp, slrrrrrp, slrrrp,” Hawke and Cullen maintained a death stare, neither one blinking. A crowd was gathering at Hawke’s usual drinking table at the Hanged Man, some recording on their phone as Knight-Captain’s Cullen’s face got redder and redder. An obnoxious, “slrrrp” erupted from Hawke’s Coffee Star extra-large extra-foam double whip mocha caramel smores iced coffee anytime the templar tried to speak and it fell silent as soon as the man stopped speaking. And began when he attempted to speak once more.

“Curfew is-”

“Slrrrrrrrrrrp!” And then Hawke would sigh when he was done looking like he was finished. He had his arm around Merrill who was red as a beet and would grow redder and redder each time he slurped, her elven ears as low as they could go. Her meadow green eyes were giant saucers under all the stares and the cameras that always seemed to follow Hawke.

“Vhenan,” Merrill whispered angrily, shaking him.

“Sorry, it’s just a really good coffee,” He smiled at her as if he was not antagonizing the second-highest ranking templar in all of Kirkwall. He was a little drunk and very pissed off, especially since it was Cullen who decided to answer this call. Fenris and Varric, also drunk, were snickering while Sebastian stared into his water not saying anything.

Cullen grunted. “Really-”

“Slrrrrrrrrrrp,” Hawke made a face of pure bliss. “Mmmm they must have improved upon the formula while I’ve been gone. I can’t stop.”

“Lucky, this isn’t funny,” she shook him a second time. “They could take you back to the Circle! Stop acting like such a child.” He looked over and saw her eyes pricking in worried tears. For a second Hawke thought maybe he did take it too far. Shoulders slumped he looked like a whipped puppy and looked away. “I guess I can take the party back to my place. It’s cleaner. I’ve got better drinks and the floors aren’t sticky.”

Varric whistled. “Mark the day Broody. On the 3rd of Bloomingtide, Daisy made Hawke regret being a total dick.”

Hawke grinned moving to punch Varric but the dwarf pushed aside his fist.

“Actually if you have liquor in your home that’s a violation of your-”

But then Hawke was back to slurping, angrily glaring, trying to drown out Cullen’s irritating voice.

Cullen was shouting now, and pushing his way forward so his nose was almost touching Hawke’s, his tight blond curls falling in his knitted eyebrows, “and if you’re in violation of your probation and I’m going to need to escort you to your mansion to confiscate any illegal contraband and-”

Hawke leaned forward, making Cullen take a step back, still slurping. The flash of cameras and the sound of Cullen’s voice growing louder and louder until-

“ENOUGH!”

Aveline, who told Hawke she was at an important meeting that night, pushed herself between Hawke and the Knight-Captain and she shook Hawke and slapped him.

He turned back to the table where everyone was avoiding his gaze except for Sebastian. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

“Fuck you, Choir Boy!” Hawke almost pounced but Aveline stopped him and pushed him away.

“Don’t get angry cause you don’t have sense,” Aveline growled. “What is wrong with you?”

Hawke rubbed his cheek and considered slurping in response, but he knew that was a sure-fire way to get him knocked on his ass. It’s happened before. “I just want to have a drink with my friends like old times.” That was it.

“Wake up, idiot! You’re on probation. You’re lucky, Lucky, that Orsino released you at all. You know Meredith’s looking for a reason to throw you back in but do you listen to reason? Can you see past that arrogant ass you call your head? You have people that care about you and you seem intent on sabotaging anything good in your life. What do you have to lose for you to see that?”

He didn’t know what to say so he looked at the floor as an awkward silence filled the tavern. “I’m sorry, Aveline.”

“Thank you, Guard Captain, for talking some sense into the Champion,” Cullen said running his gauntlet through his hair. Hawke wished he could slurp his coffee.

“That’s not all I’m doing. Turn around,” Aveline ordered.

“What?” Hawke didn’t understand at first but saw she was bringing out her cuffs.

Hawke was furious. “You’re arresting me?”

“Yes, I am Champion. You are 4 hours past curfew. Turn around!” Her voice spoke of finality.

Hawke’s cheeks were burning and at first, he just glared at her. He considered taking Merrill’s hand and locking himself and her in his mansion, never to come out again. But he knew no way would end well.

“Do not make me force you into these handcuffs. I am done coddling you.”

“But you’ll protect him right, Aveline?” Merrill sniffed. Hawke looked back and immediately regretted it. Varric and Sebastian were on either side of Merrill comforting her as fat tears rolled down her cheeks, her soiled handkerchief clutched in her hands.

“Always,” Aveline said softly, her anger fading. “This is to protect him.”

Hawke defeated, set down his coffee and offered his wrists to her. Now he wished he could take the whole thing back but it was he knew it was too late for that.

She accepted this, forcefully and efficiently cuffing him. “If you cared about Merrill, you’d stop doing this to her.”

The cameras and reporters followed the Guard-Captain’s patrol car from the Hanged Man to the Kirkwall Barracks. Aveline opened the door for Hawke from the back of her cruiser, and as soon as he stepped out, the two of them were swarmed.

“Champion, is the Guard Captain taking you back to the Circle?”

“Guard Captain Aveline are you arresting the Champion because you agree with the Knight Commander?”

“Hawke do you plan do lead protests on the Knight-Commander’s new curfew policy.”

Both Aveline and Hawke knew better than to say anything more than “no comment” until they were completely out of the mess. Hawke was getting used to being blinded by flashing lights every time he stepped out in public now, though that did nothing to alleviate his anxiety. Every time a camera flash Hawke would flinch, wondering if an attack was coming. He was sweating through his shirt, grateful that Aveline was there to guide him through the crowd.

A row of Aveline’s guards formed a wall around the Barracks forming a barricade for the reporters. They parted for Aveline and Hawke and closed ranks as soon as they were through. “What a mess you made,” Aveline growled, squeezing Hawke’s arm.

He was escorted to the barracks in silence but he could tell she was fuming. She uncuffed him in a small cold cell with a metal frame for a bed. She didn’t leave though. He could tell that she wanted to say something. A proper apology?

So he started. “So…I fucked up.”

“You think?” Aveline crossed her arms. “But do you actually feel bad or do you feel bad it didn’t go your way?”

“I am trying to say I’m sorry.”

“And I need you to stop apologizing and think things through for once.”

“You’re just full of wonderful insights tonight,” Hawke rolled his eyes.

“And you never know when to quit,” but there wasn’t any anger in her voice. She did sound worried which made him more pissed off for some reason. “I think you need help, Hawke. Professional help. If Leandra saw what I did tonight, I think she’d be crying alongside Merrill.”

Fury hit him and he almost swung. “Enough! You made your point!” The mention of his Mother erupted a pain he wasn’t ready to face and he knew if he kept having this conversation it would turn into more than an argument.

“Then are you ready to act like an adult, now?” she narrowed her eyes.

Hawke threw himself on the bed facing away from her so he wouldn’t have to look at her anymore.

He could hear her sigh, and after a few moments of silence, she said, “I shouldn’t have to remind you what’s at stake.” She closed his cell door and the electronic lock beeped before sliding into place.

He spent the night in a cold cell with a sheet and 4 bare concrete walls a steel door and a toilet. Aveline had either completely isolated his cell or there wasn’t anyone else committing petty crimes in Kirkwall tonight. Completely isolated, he tried his best to get as comfy as he could and fell asleep.

In the Fade, he traveled to Merrill’s apartment, thinking that’s where she would stay tonight and he was right. She was nestled in an uneasy dream. He was back in the Circle, she was crying herself into a Hawke’s pillow, Boof’s head whining alongside her in her lap. He’d done it again. He’d made her cry.

He stepped into the dream and woke her up. The reality of the dream melted away until they were just in her room again, the eluvian reflecting in the corner of Merrill’s night lights. The tears continued to run her down the vallaslin on her cheeks. “I knew you’d come.”

“Always,” he said and reached for her.

She didn’t reach back and instead put her face in her hands and sobbed. “Why did you do that?”

That was a question he didn’t have an answer for. Not a good one anyway. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you alone, again. I’m an idiot.”

“No,” she said angrily and raised her head, glaring. “You’re the smartest man I know and that’s why you should know better. They’re trying to get you now. Don’t you see that? They’re making it personal now!”

She collapsed back into her knees curled into herself as she short ragged sobs escaped from her throat. Hawke sat beside her, not knowing if she wanted to be touched but she leaned into his chest. That gave Hawke the permission he needed to wrap himself around her.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Hawke admitted. She was trembling, tears hit his chest and for a moment he just held her trying to make sense of what was now his life. Before he knew it, he felt a tear fall off his chin and when he wiped his eyes they came back wet. Crap. Was he was crying now, too?

He cleared his throat, hoping Merrill had not noticed, and squeezed out the rest of his tears before they could swallow him, but the same dark thoughts kept plaguing his mind. He always was a loose cannon. His mouth always seemed to run away from him no matter how he tried to wrestle it. He was always impulsive, always blowing up, always paying for consequences he could have avoided if he just. Shut. Up. He didn’t know how long he spent in silence, replaying the night in his head when suddenly Merrill had pushed her way into his face, staring intensely.

“Talk to me,” Merrill pleaded. She cupped his cheeks and pulled his face close her eyes like a lush, cool meadow, The straight bridge of her nose pressed against his as she bore into him. “We can this figure this out if you talk to me.”

Hawke froze, averting her gaze. He couldn’t. The more she knew, the more she was in danger. She was already Dalish. He didn’t know if he could protect her from the Chantry and he wasn’t sure becoming Dalish again would exactly solve either of their problems if they wanted to stay together. That’s all he wanted. Aveline’s always made her feelings clear. Isabela and he hadn’t talked since she told him she was leaving Kirkwall. Things between him and Fenris were awkward and doomed. Anders and Bethany saw him as a monster. He’d already crossed lines between them ages ago. Even Varric seemed uneasy being connected with Hawke at times even though he’d never say that. Just Merrill. She understood without question why he made the choices he made. Their friendship was awkward but so precious to him. He always saw his friends as family, but Merrill was the only one who never questioned it. He liked the way she leaned on him and he didn’t realize all the ways she let him lean too. And he loved her, adored her, worshiped her. People wrote her off as ditzy but Hawke knew better. She was easily the smartest woman he’d ever met. His research to restore Bethany whole would not have gone so far if not for her help. And she had the kindest soul in the world. He wanted to protect her kind heart.

Why did it take him so long to realize she was the one?

When he finally was able to return her gaze, he knew exactly what he wanted and he grabbed her hands, folding them into his. “Marry me, Merrill,” he said breathlessly.

She pulled away from him, confused, and stopped crying. But when she registered what he had just said her face twisted in anger.

“No!” she cried out. “Wait that’s not my answer. Vhenan, what is wrong with you? This is not the most romantic moment.”

“I’m sorry I’m not good at those. When should I ask?”

“Don’t ask me? It’s supposed to be a surprise!” she pushed him but it was more playful than angry. He was happy he could still make her smile.

“I just need a time frame. Tomorrow? Next week? I just feel it’s kind of urgent cause I don’t know if I’m going back-”

“I’m not listening. I’m not listening and I don’t want to talk about that,” Merrill shut her eyes and Hawke shut his mouth quickly. Finally, when there was silence Merrill shook her head. “People call me dumb but that was the dumbest thing I ever saw. Why? Why did you do that?”

A momentary lapse in judgment? Could he claim madness? It seemed like only Anders knew the loss of control he felt when he was around templars especially when they tried to cow him into line. “I just wanted to stay.”

“You know the rules.”

Hawke gulped down. He had heard that maybe fifty times that night, but he could never bring himself to raise any lip to Merrill. She had a way of making him swallow his pride like he was a kid eating his broccoli. “You’re right.”

She blinked, surprised.

“If there’s anything clear to me tonight it’s that I’m an idiot so if you have any suggestions on how to make things right, I’ll listen.”

“To me…” she said uncertainly, pointing to herself.

“I’ll always listen to you,” he leaned over and kissed her forehead making her blush in the way that always made his heart flutter.

“Well…”she started to think, placing her finger on her chin and then turned to him, looking uncertain. “I think you should make a formal apology to Cullen.”

Oof. But Hawke nodded. “I’ll do it.”

“Really?” she said, leaning back surprised. “Then will you clear all the alcohol from your mansion? I’m scared they’ll use it against your case.”

Double oof. But Hawke nodded.

“Then we should listen to the curfew- at least until your probation is over.”

“Well after tonight they’ll probably extend it but, yeah. Yeah, that’s not a problem. Anything you say.”

Merrill smiled mischievously, putting her forehead on his. “Am I the only one that can keep Lucky Hawke in check-Oh, I don’t know if I can handle the responsibility.”

“I’ll try not to be too big a burden,” he teased and leaned into her lips, pressing against her. He wrapped his arms around her to cradle her, but waited, not sure how she would respond.

“Oh, come here,” she said in an annoyed tone and threw her arms around him, pulling him down on top of her.

Lovemaking in the Fade was always an ordeal. There was the threat of demons and curious spirits and they were constantly interrupted, but Hawke had to admit sometimes that made things hotter. After they attracted and defeated a desire demon they decided it was better to just talk. Merrill spent hours just updating him on what happened at work at the Coffee Star, how Orana and Bethany and Bodahn and Sandal were taking care of the mansion, how she was exploring ways to unlock the eluvian and just little stories about their friends that he was missing. She even mentioned Isabela, said she got a text, though the conversation they had was superficial.

The memories of Merrill’s soul merging with his and the memory of her pleasured moans soothed away all the anger he had felt the night before and when he opened his eyes, everything seemed brighter and more colorful. The frame of the metal bed was hard and he was sure he tweaked his back, but he was in a remarkably chipper mood. Merrill didn’t say yes to his proposal, but he knew she wanted to. Now was to just think of something romantic. Surely that wasn’t impossible. He was wondering what the Dalish customs were for courting when Aveline opened his cell. She could tell something was different.

“Good morning Guard Captain. You’re looking rather dashing in that outfit.” He jumped up, brushing himself off, his usual cock-sure grin spread across his face.

“It’s my uniform,” Aveline said warily, waiting for the butt of the joke.

“Well, it always looks fetching on you. So what news? Am I a wretched Circle prisoner again?”

“I don’t know,” she said crossing her arms. “You’re to go home and get dressed and prepare for court. Meredith has called an emergency hearing on your case.”

“She would,” Hawke nodded. This wasn’t good but he could handle that. It would just mean he’d have to think of something more immediate.

“Are you…ok?” she raised a concerned eyebrow.

“So how did Donnic propose again?” He strained to remember. There was something about a picnic and wine on the beach, and how the ring box fell out of his pocket and opened, ruining the surprise, but all the other details were escaping him.

“Is this really the time?” From Aveline’s expression, Hawke could tell she thought he was messing with her.

“Well if I learned anything from my time in the Circle is that it’s precious and shouldn’t be wasted. Every moment is precious, Aveline.” He breathed in the stale air, chemicals and stale blood and some bleach. He closed his eyes happily just grateful to be alive.

“You’re acting weird, Hawke. Should I be worried?”

“No,” he put his hand on her shoulder, grinning. “Just thank you for slapping some sense into me. You’re a true friend.”

Aveline looked utterly confused and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Do I need to drug test you before we go?”

Hawke was feeling high, though to be fair, he had gone straight into denial, blissfully pushing the troubles of last night far from his mind. He was still free at this moment and he would stay free no matter what it took. He’d kiss Orsino’s ass, Meredith’s ass, even the Divine’s ass if it meant he could just spend the rest of his life with Merrill and if that didn’t work they’d flee. The only thing that mattered to him was keeping Merrill safe and it had felt like his world had just shifted. It was like the sun touching a clearing after a long rain, he could finally see his way forward.

He put his other hand on her shoulder, face completely serious and stared straight into her confused dark green eyes. “You are a beautiful, intelligent, remarkably fierce, and principled warrior and I’m grateful every day to have met you.” Then he pulled her close, hugging her. “Whatever happens, Aveline, I’m here for you.”

Aveline sniffed in sharply, more confused than ever, but awkwardly returned the hug. When Hawke pulled away he was beaming and she knitted her eyebrows together, worried. Finally, she sighed and led him out of his cell. “Let’s go see what damage you’ve done.”

Orana had already another pressed suit prepared when Hawke walked through the manor. Like always, she anticipated his needs before he even had to tell her. He promptly stuffed himself into and when he asked her to start gathering up all the alcohol in the house she wasn’t even phased. “Messere Hawke?” she confirmed with a nod, her blond hair fastened in the usual neat bun. After all these years she still refused to address him as just Hawke. Hell, he’d even take Lucky. She was practically family now, though perhaps he wasn’t doing enough to make her feel the same. “Should I prepare your Mother’s lumpia for the party?”

He considered it, one more wild night before he was dry for good- or until the Chantry was done crawling up his ass. “Actually, I was planning on giving it all to Varric, well for a fair price, but if you could just have Bodahn and Sandal go ahead and get that packed up before court is over, I’d appreciate it.” Hawke knew if it was still here when he got back he’d get thirsty. It was better he kept a clear head, anyways.

It was Orana’s turn to be confused and she widened her light green eyes but nodded. “I’ll inform Messere Feddic.”

He straightened his tie in the mirror, foregoing his usual cartoon prints for a more serious diagonal black and white stripes. He even had time for a haircut so he shaved up off most of it, but left a curly pile on top of his head, though he kept the streaks of pink.

He had gotten out of the habit of dismissing her, and she just stood there waiting while Hawke continued to pick over his appearance, nervously. Finally, when she realized he wasn’t going to she turned to leave. Suddenly he turned around and said, “Orana?”

“Yes?” she asked turning back and smiled sweetly.

“Are you…happy? I mean…is there anything you need to be happier?”

She smiled even sweeter. “I owe you everything, Messere. I wouldn’t dare ask for more.” He didn’t know what he expected.

Hawke hated the way she flinched around him, and he was careful with his temper. When he was upset, she was terrified. She never disagreed, never showing any sign of pain or discomfort and it made him feel like crawling out of his skin. Anytime he asked her opinion on anything she wouldn’t give it until he gave his, always agreeing with him. She was still afraid of him, still waiting for him to turn on her. He tried hard not to leave messes, to leave things out, but he was so very forgetful that by the time he remembered about them she was almost always already done tidying. The only room that she left untouched was the basement and his office which was the only place he left disasters.

He’d hired tutors to help her learn to read after learning from Fenris that slaves weren’t allowed to, and she often spent her hefty paycheck on books and movies. Her favorite were romantic comedies and sometimes Hawke would join her and Bodahn and Sandal. Since she never left the mansion, he got her into VR and videogames and she spent most of her free time exploring romantic surrealism worlds, or just mundane character simulations or shooting zombies, which she was not bad at. He often came home to find her on his flat-screen or plugged into the internet, sometimes cussing in Tevene. When she caught sight of him, though, she would always promptly turn it off, no matter how much he insisted she could keep playing. Eventually, she got comfortable enough to be Hawke’s second player but she was always apologizing whenever she perceived she made some mistake no matter how small. She agreed to just about anything he asked of her even when he insisted she could say no, and eventually he stopped asking her to do things. These days let her run the house as she saw fit and stayed out of her way.

Hawke sighed. “Well, if you need anything just let me know.”

“You are too kind, Messere,” Orana said.

He wasn’t, but he had stopped trying to convince her otherwise. That conversation only upset her. He turned back to the mirror, wondering if he had cleaned up enough, and when he saw his reflection staring back, he just wasn’t sure.

“I am sorry,” Orana said suddenly.

He turned around again to see her adjusting her sleeve, a nervous habit of hers. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” Hawke replied.

“What they are saying on the news…I had hoped…” she started and stopped and looked him in the eye. “You don’t deserve this.”

He didn’t know what to say, but she had too many of her own problems to be fussing over him. He gave a cocky grin and said, “Don’t listen to what that headline says. They’re just trying to sell a good story.”

“But-” she realized she was starting to argue and she quickly clamped her mouth shut. Progress.

“Hey up for a game of Wicked Grace, later? I’m thinking of inviting Merrill and the gang over to celebrate.”

“You haven’t even found out what the Judge is going to say,” she said quietly.

“I told you,” he said, still grinning, and he took one more look at himself in the mirror. His demeanor at least looked, confidant. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Hawke looked at the crates and crates of his super ultra super expensive alcohol collection piled up in the back of the truck and felt like he was going to throw up. But he wasn’t drunk. Maker, he wished he was. And he was especially craving the Ferelden Dragon Piss. Varric told him he just liked it because of its name, but Hawke swore the burn spoke to him, like a dragon fire in his throat. He usually took to burping out flames after taking a shot and he was going to miss that.

Varric whistled, “You have great taste, Hawke.”

“I’m glad it’s going to a good cause,” Hawke laughed, but inside he felt like dying. Why was this harder than he thought?

Hawke climbed up the truck and slid down the door, the metal shuddering as it shut. “This is it…”Hawke pretended to tear up and dramatically wiped his eyes, though if he wasn’t careful real tears would spring. “Just 365 days left until we meet again.”

“I will write a proper eulogy for this moment,” Varric said taking out a handkerchief making a show of blowing his nose. They then laughed, shoving each other.

“You’re so full of shit, Varric,” Hawke laughed. They gave the ok for the Bodahn to pull out of drive away, Sandal was halfway out the passenger seat window as he waved goodbye. As it turned the corner 3 cruisers with flashing lights and a templar insignia pulled up into Hawke’s driveway and formed a barricade around Hawke’s red Volvoroto. In the front cruiser stepped out Cullen with a templar Hawke recognized as Miranda something or other, a new recruit from Ferelden. She had tried to talk to him about being from Ferelden but Hawke shut her down, hard. Now she hated him, like most templars in the Circle. He looked across the other templars, none who he had bothered to learn the names of but instead he kept track of by features: “Bug-Eyes,” “No lips,” “Creepy vibes,” “Baldy #2 and 4,“ and ’‘Braids” but she wasn’t wearing braids today. Nobody looked happy to see him. He just had that charm.

“What are you all doing here?” Hawke crossed his arms at the approaching templars. Varric shifted, his hands in his pockets staying quiet. Some of the templars murmured a hello to the dwarf, and Varric returned the greeting as usual, but the air was still thick with tension.

Cullen wordlessly showed Hawke a court-appointed search warrant stating he was there to confiscate any contraband that Hawke had in his mansion, including alcohol, but not excluding other things Hawke might own that the templars deemed illicit. Hawke looked back up furious. “Look I already followed the order. Ask Varric, I just sold him my alcohol collection.”

“The cheap stuff I’ll keep in the Hanged Man, “donated,” but, uh, if you fine, good sers follow me to my estate I can show proof of sale,” Varric made a motion to his car parked on the street, but Cullen held up his hand in refusal.

“So you’ll still have access,” he said crossly.

“No, I swear. I’m done with the stuff until I’m free and clear. Everything’s peachy.”

Baldy #2 stepped forward with a Breathalyzer and said in a stern voice. “Messere.”

Hawke sniffed angrily and turned to see Merrill coming out of the house. “Vhenan, Varric, why are you taking so long? The food’s getting…” she saw all the templars and froze. “Cold,” she finished awkwardly.

Baldy #2 cleared his throat pushing the machine up to Hawke’s mouth. With a ragged sigh, he leaned forward and breathed into it.

After a few moments, the meter remained 0.00. “He’s sober,” Baldy #2 reported.

“For now,” Cullen snorted pushing past him and Merrill and into Hawke’s mansion. Hawke followed, feeling panicked. Everything had been hidden and they were prepared for a search, but how long were they going to be there? How thoroughly would they search?

“Look, I have nothing to hide.” Merrill crept to his side taking his hand.

“I don’t believe you. And I also believe you’re hiding more than you say you are, so Meredith’s ordered an inspection,” Cullen said. The templars followed closely behind Hawke almost like an escort. They had their hands near their guns as if Hawke would attack any moment. And if Hawke wasn’t careful he would.

Boof must have sense Hawke’s thoughts because he raced down out of Hawke’s bedroom and jumped off the balcony, barking madly.

“Boof, no!” Hawke cried out. The dog rolled as he hit the ground and bounded forward, his teeth baring at the intruders but Hawke blocked Boof with his body. At first, he managed to grab his chest, but he slipped as the dog kept lunging. The templars, including Cullen, drew their guns and pointed it at the dog which Hawke kept blocking with his body. He grabbed Boof by the collar, but the dog was still pulling forward. He snapped at the air, drool flying with unbridled rage in his eyes.

“Restrain him!” Cullen ordered, his handgun still pointed at Hawke and the dog.

“What do you think I’m doing? Put down your fucking guns!” Hawke shouted, which agitated his dog even more and he growled, choking, as his claws raked the ground as he tried to push forward.

“Hey, hey, everyone just calm down,” Varric said looking at both Hawke and the templars.

Merrill’s eyes were wide with panic, but she stepped forward and calmly put her body in between Hawke, Boof and the guns, her hands held up. Her back was to the templars. Hawke panicked thinking she might be caught in the crossfire. “Boof, sweetie,” her shaky voice still sweet. She reached for the snapping dog, slowly with trembling hands. “It’s Merrill. You’re safe right now.”

Fenris, Aveline, Bethany, and Orana had come from the kitchen, their eyes wide in fear as they saw the contingent of templars pointing their guns at Merrill, Boof, and Hawke. He prayed Anders had already gone down through the secret tunnel in the basement, safe, but he didn’t have time to check.

“Merrill, don’t,” Hawke pleaded. “Get out of the way.” It took almost all his strength to restrain his dog, but Boof recognized Merrill, and the dog stopped chomping. Hawke wouldn’t let Boof be slaughtered but he couldn’t let Merrill be shot either.

Boof still growled menacingly, the sound filled the room. She didn’t move closer until Boof stopped lunging. His eyes were trying to communicate something. Hawke was able to adjust his grip, but he dared not let go in case Boof got another idea.

Aveline stepped out marching up to Cullen and pushed down his gun. She was out of uniform now but she was still intimidating even in tank top and jeans. “What is the meaning of this?”

“We have a search warrant,” Cullen explained. “Please do not interfere. We know where your loyalties lie.”

Aveline looked at the warrant conflicted. Hawke knew she was duty-bound to honor it, but she wouldn’t step out of the way. She glared at the templars, fury in her eyes. “You can do your search after you put down your guns.”

Merrill was ignoring this, her focus on the panicked mabari. “Boof,” she said sweetly, and reached over slowly, attempting to pet Boof. A booming bark stopped her. It wasn’t a threat, but he seemed to want Merrill to get out of the way. “I know you’re scared, but it’s ok. No one’s going to harm you or Hawke.”

The dog growled in response, disagreeing.

“Do you have a kennel to put him in?” Cullen asked.

“There’s one in Hawke’s room. We can put him there,” Aveline told Cullen.

Hawke ignored him, focusing on Boof. “Hey, buddy, I know templars fucking suck, but we’re not fighting this battle, ok? I need you to listen. Calm down.”

The dog whined in response, and then returned to growling. This wasn’t working and Boof was going to get himself killed.

“Put him to sleep,” Merrill said, looking straight at Hawke.

It took a moment to register, and Boof growled and barked, and lunged again, trying to break free of Hawke’s grip. Hawke called to his mind great fatigue and channeled it through his hands. The dog barked, and boofed, and then collapsed falling forward on his face and then promptly started snoring. Hawke finally breathed out.

He picked up his 100-pound dog and hoisted him up into his arms, leaning back so he could put most of the weight on his chest. The templars were only now just putting away their guns “What the fuck is wrong with you guys?” he growled.

“Vhenan,” Merrill said, touching his arm and gazing up at him. “Lock Boof up and let’s go eat.”

Her lack of fear puzzled the templars and they exchanged wary glances. She grabbed Hawke’s arm, recognizing that he was starting to meltdown. She said, “Hey, I’m here. Just breathe.”

So Hawke did. He squeezed his dog, the sleeping lug completely limp and just focused on the feel of his heartbeat and felt the coarseness of his long, sandy blond fur. Hawke kept his voice even. “How long will you be here?”

“If you cooperate, only a few hours,” Miranda said. She seemed pleased to see him squirm.

Hawke breathed evenly and slowly, squeezing Boof again. “I am cooperating.”

“Thank you,” Cullen smiled and turned to Merrill. “I’m sorry for this disturbance, Miss. If you’d like, you may continue your meal. We’ll try our best not to disturb you.” It was a little late for that.

Outside of Hawke, Cullen was a perfect gentleman that Hawke couldn’t hate him for. He did kind of start it. But Cullen was an idiot. He didn’t know what was worse, a bad man trying to do good, or a good man not realizing he was doing bad.

Merrill reached up and stroked Hawke’s cheek, bringing him out of his racing thoughts. “Let’s go eat,” she repeated. “Are you coming, Varric?” She was so good at pretending nothing was wrong. How was she doing it?

Varric appeared at Hawke’s side almost guiding him. “C’mon, I’m starving.” Did he look that fragile right now?

Hawke never kept the kennel locked before. It was just a place for Boof to sleep, though he still preferred the foot of Hawke’s bed. He had some difficulty stuffing the dog in, and when he rolled him, Boof started to wake up, his eyes panicked and searching. Hawke kissed his forehead and scratched his ear. “Everything’s ok, bud,” he whispered, and then put him back to sleep.

When Hawke got back to the table his thoughts returned to Anders, but it appeared that he had already slipped away. He breathed a sigh of relief, hoping Anders remembered to hide the passageway behind him, but he was Anders, so of course he did. Hawke tried his best to not look so guilty, but his mother always called him an open book. Did he remember to hide everything in his office? It was a disaster in there anyways, so best of luck finding anything. He kept everything illegal in his portal, and also all his journals, but Templars weren’t stupid as much as he wished they were. What Hawke was most nervous about was the hidden wall in his basement that led to his secret lab and Bethany’s charging station. If they found that they were fucked.

The celebration group dinner had turned into an awkward silence, the clinking of glasses and forks and knives on plates accompanied the sound of Hawke’s closets being turned over and desks being searched through and books being thrown of bookcases. Eventually, the noises woke Boof and his panicked barks and the sound of rattling metal filled the mansion. Orana’s lumpia was delicious and the pancet she made had tasted just like Leandra’s but Hawke could not take comfort in his meal.

Orana’s eyes were wide in fear. She sat next to Fenris, her thin eyebrows knitted together. “Messere, what’s happening?”

“They are just looking around, Orana,” Hawke smiled, but he still looked uneasy.

“Your cooking is wonderful like usual,” Merrill smiled, but she also looked nervous.

“Thank you,” she murmured, looking down shyly. “I’d like to just go to my room if that’s ok,” she was almost whispering.

Hawke nodded, still smiling. “That’s ok, Orana.”

She excused herself from the table to leave when Cullen came into the dining room and halted Orana. “Please, miss, I need you to stay in the dining room until our investigation is complete.” Bug-eyes was behind him carrying some books.

Orana’s light green eyes were wide and she nodded, and she set down on an empty seat next to Fenris, not touching anything. She folded her hands and just looked at her lap, shutting down.

Hawke stood up. “Hey, a friend gave me those.” That friend being Isabela.

“These are illegal literature banned by the Chantry,” Cullen said.

“Which is stupid. It’s just erotica.”

Cullen blushed, his face twisted in disgust. “It’s illegal, some of the material blasphemous,” he stated firmly. “We will also be confiscating your supply of lyrium potions.”

“What the hell for?” Hawke cried. “That’s not illegal.”

“Because of your association with the apostate Anders. We haven’t tracked down how but we know you supply him with resources and help shield him from the law. These may be part of your shipment for the Mage Underground.”

Hawke narrowed his eyes, furious. “Come back with proof.”

Cullen stepped forward, his face stern. “That’s what I’m here to find.”

“Vhenan,” Merrill grabbed his hand, her face worried. “Please sit down and eat.”

They searched the house for several more hours, the group trying to pass time with stories and conversation. Baldy #2 kept guard at the table making the conversation superficial, and other templars would periodically check on them to confirm that everything was “peaceful.” They were instructed to stay in their seats. Time passed slowly, and Hawke kept checking his phone watching the minutes crawl. Somehow, with Merrill and everyone else’s help, he managed to stay afloat.

They informed Hawke before they were leaving that they were taking one more thing, a bottle of Tevinter Spiced Wine that Fenris gifted him for his 26th birthday which was also the year they got together and broke up. It was Fenris’ first gift to him, so he kept the bottle. Fenris thought it was stupid, but Hawke lorded it over him. “Somewhere deep down you like me,” he would tease.

“It’s empty,” Hawke argued. “This is stupid.” He should have put it in his portal.

“Hawke,” Fenris said curtly, his stony gaze hard. “It’s just a bottle. It’s not worth the argument.”

Hawke was hurt. So all this time this was what he meant to him. Hawke dropped his shoulders, releasing the bottle from Cullen’s grip.

“Thank you,” Cullen nodded shortly, “for your cooperation. Have a good day, Champion.” And then he smiled wryly. “And good luck with your anger management.”

Hawke almost punched him, and Merrill grabbed his arm, bringing him out of his thoughts. “Don’t,” she whispered.

The templars marched out of Hawke’s estate, loot in hand, but found nothing else. He once again had gotten lucky. Hawke threw his hand, summoning a ball of blue flame muttering to himself angrily. Most of it was unintelligible but it was something along the lines of “fuck Cullen,” “fuck templars,” and “fuck the Chantry.”

Orana had slipped away to her room, understandably needing some time alone. She couldn’t handle seeing Hawke like this.

“This is fucking dogshit. Fucking come in my house and almost shoot my fucking dog and fucking everyone like fucking idiots.” Hawke was pacing and using fuck every other word now. This wasn’t good. “This is fucking bullshit.”

“That got a little messy, but Boof’s ok, Hawke,” Aveline stayed back, wary of the fire in Hawke’s hands. ”It’s time to calm down.”

Hawke’s laughs were always loud and boisterous, but in response to Aveline’s request, he chuckled. It was neither warm and inviting in his usual manner, but chilled the room. “Oh I’m calm,” he said, tossing the blue flame from one hand to another while his friends watched nervously.

Varric warily tried to tear his friend’s eyes away from the ball of blue flame. “Right, you are cool as a the Frostbacks. So maybe put down the fireball before you burn your mansion down, again.”

“I know what I’m doing Varric,” Hawke said, testily making the flame bigger.

“Vhenan!” Merrill said crossly. She marched in front of the path he was pacing and firmly crossing her arms and planting her feet squarely in front of him. There was mana rising from her body as she raised her magic in a wa

rning. “Put it out, now.”

Everyone held their breath, especially Fenris. Hawke felt like he had been punched in the gut and his eyes went wide. Merrill was never this direct at him, but here she was scolding him like she was his Mother.

Hawke gulped down, deeply embarrassed, and resisted throwing the flame into the fireplace. He took a deep breath and held it and clenched his fist. The flame choked and sputtered at first refusing to die. Hawke struggled, his anger all feeding the dying flame. “I’m safe,” he reminded himself, trying to slow his beating heart and racing thoughts. He breathed as evenly as he could manage and it wavered and slowly it disintegrated into smoke.

Bethany’s mouth fell open. “What just happened?”

“Impressive,” Fenris raised his eyebrows amused. Great, now his ex had jokes.

“It worked!” Merrill squeaked, overjoyed. She was bouncing up and down her hands clapping and flailing. Hawke had to admit her cuteness was deflating him.

Aveline put a fond hand on Merrill’s shoulder. “Please do that more often.”

“Yeah,” Hawke cringed, “gotta get used to that.”

As the others were congratulating Merrill for a job well done Hawke felt himself swirling into a meltdown and he held his head trying to calm this rage that burned inside him. He signed up for this. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but he didn’t know how to corral this beast. He knew he needed to change but he didn’t need counseling. He could do it himself.

“Ugh,” Hawke sat down on the ground and put his head on his knees, not sure what to do now. “You guys don’t think I need anger management, right?”

“Actually, I think it’s an excellent idea?” Aveline said.

“What?” Hawke felt the second gut punch. He looked at the woman he was destined to marry for help. “Merrill,” he whined.

“Vhenan,” she sat down next to him and stroked his newly buzzed hair fondly, “This doesn’t have to be a bad thing. You’ve been through a lot. The Judge was being merciful when he suggested counseling. He might be trying to help.”

“But you heard him. She’s a Chantry sister. This is just some ploy so they can get information out of me. For their fucking investigation. It’s too risky.”

“Then don’t talk about that stuff with her. Talk about that with me,” Merrill said bluntly.

Hawke blinked.

“Merrill, you’re full of good ideas today,” Bethany said putting a hand on her shoulder. It kind of seemed obvious now, but it didn’t mean he liked the idea.

“Not you, too,” Hawke groaned.

“Lucky,” Bethany settled herself next to Merrill and grabbed his hand like they were kids again. It was so nice to be able to hear her voice again and feel her touch again. “You know I love you but…there’s a lot of stuff you don’t talk about and I wish you would. It’s healthy. You need to start learning to let go.”

“I have,” Hawke argued.

“I’ve been in your head. I see it probably better than you do,” Bethany said quietly, rubbing his hand like she used to.

Hawke felt so humiliated he felt like he’d start crying, but then he’d never live that down. He buried his head in his knees and groaned obnoxiously. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.”

“I’d suggest a drink but your court-ordered sober. I have some dry martinis, some cards, and some royal root all waiting in my car for us to party.” That’s right, they couldn’t take the root away from him.

How did that dwarf always know what he needed? “Varric, I love you,” Hawke said not raising his head.

#dragon age fic #anti-cullen #anti-templar #lucky hawke #hawke x merrill #cleaning up old chapters #and posting them #enby hawke fic

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typhonserpent · 5 years

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Fandom: Dragon Age 2 Rating: Explicit, MAJOR trigger warnings for depictions of suicide, self harm, and death. Genre: Drama Pairing: Fenris/Anders Summary: Fenris catches on early to Anders’ suicidal plan. He’s seen so many slaves commit suicide before. He recognizes all the signs. Finally when Varric mentions Anders trying to give him his pillow, Fenris knows that there is little time left. He and Anders might not get on like the greatest of friends, but ten years does change people, and Fenris is set on rescuing Anders from himself.

It’s finally finished! Here’s my entry for Fill-a-Thon 2019. You can find the original prompt here.

✦ My Writing Tag ✦

✦ AO3 Link - Please leave me a comment! ✦

Fenris was 16 the first time he'd heard the word 'suicide' delicately danced around.

On hotter days, Danarius liked to dress him in a chain harness which looped around his chest several times and came together in a large emerald positioned over his heart. Danarius was, in fact, quite proud of the outfit, because the gem was enchanted to provide a barrier that made his usual chest plate unnecessary. Of course, the chest plate carried the added bonus of ensuring nobody thought Fenris was an easy target, and therefore was more practical to wear day-to-day. Nevertheless, private events sometimes called for different attire, preferably one that showed off the tattoos burned into Fenris' body. His best work of art, as he put it.

Fenris had been wearing that harness. The sweat dripping down his neck made his leather collar stick to his skin. Danarius was on the balcony, overlooking the Minrathos skyline. Sunlight bounced off of polished statues and brass roofs. Fenris poured more wine into his glass.

Pairian stepped out, and cleared his throat. He was an old elf, his hair all salt, no pepper. His collar was notably threadbare compared to Fenris', the leather's finish flaked and chipping along the edges. "Master?" Pairian said, stopping behind Danarius' chair, "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm afraid I must inform you that we have lost Jamael."

Danarius heaved a sigh, rolled his eyes, and slammed his wine glass onto the table so hard that the base of it broke. Expensive liquid sloshed out as the body of the glass toppled and shattered on the balcony floor.

"How?" He growled without looking in Pairian's direction.

"We found him in the pantry when we realized he hadn't cleaned the banisters. He ..." Pairian paused with all the care of a man walking on eggshells. He knew the next words he spoke could be met with a whip, "He appears to have suffocated."

"Has the pantry been dug deeper? How in blazes did he suffocate?"

"The ... rope around his neck may have been the culprit. Master."

Danarius rolled his eyes again and stood, kicking aside some of the broken glass on the ground. "Fenris, fetch me another glass."

"Yes, Master." And without further ado, the obedient little wolf set down the wine bottle and bolted for the kitchen.

It had been only a few months since the lyrium ritual gave him his markings and stole his memories. He didn't know if he'd known Jamael before then. Perhaps they'd been friends. After all, Jamael had been friendly enough towards him. Sunlight bled through the windows and illuminated every other stride he took as he ran, barefoot, down the halls of Danarius' huge manor.

He reached the kitchen to be greeted by a small crowd at the entrance. A stretcher had been fashioned out of two poles and an old sheet, and two of the larger elven slaves carried away a man barely recognizable from the last Fenris had seen of him.

Fenris strained to remember the last time he'd seen Jamael.

They'd passed in the hall way. Jamael had smiled and said, "Hey, how are you feeling? Still itchy?"

Fenris shook his head. Jamael had seen the physical results of the lyrium ritual. The pain, the blood, the ache that lasted for weeks, and then the itch that persisted as the wounds healed.

"If you need more, don't be shy. If you can get away from the Master for five minutes, anyway. I can sweet talk Seri into more elfroot anytime you need it." Then, he'd grinned. He was always smiling. Always helping. A personality as bright as his red hair.

That smile was gone now. His tongue swollen and sticking out, cheeks and eyes puffy. His entire head was discolored dark shades of purple and blue, sharply cutting off where the rope was wrapped tightly around his neck. The end of the rope dangled off the stretcher.

"Never thought he was the type." Someone in the crowd muttered.

"He seemed so happy yesterday." Another whispered, "I almost thought he was turning around."

"That's how it starts." A nearby voice replied, "You remember Sheera? Same thing. Months of silence, three days of calm, and then her corpse gets dragged out of the wash room. Wrists all cut up."

"Such a shame."

Fenris moved his hands to his ears, fingers tangling with his hair. Why didn't anyone try to stop him? If they knew the signs they could have at least tried!

He had to push his way through the crowd to reach the kitchen, muttering apologies all along the way. He waited a few extra minutes with the glass in his hand and his back to the door, just to ensure that he wouldn’t see the corpse again when he left.

Danarius liked Fenris to sleep at the foot of his bed. After all, a body guard should be there to guard the master at all times. Fenris told himself he didn't mind it so much. It was comfier than the slaves cots, and warmer too. Danarius always afforded him a blanket and pillow. Sometimes they'd even share the same one.

Later that night, Fenris was curled up at the foot of Danarius' bed, blanket wrapped tight around him. Water trickled and splashed in the next room while Danarius washed himself, and eventually he returned to the bedroom, hair damp, body wrapped in a silk robe.

"I'm sorry in such a state as earlier, my pet. I despise slaves like Jamael. I thought I had rid myself of most of them."

The question danced on the tip of his tongue. After all, a slave who asked a question out of turn could very easily be answered with a whip. As Danarius sat on the bed and toed off his slippers, Fenris mulled over the question in his mind, and finally decided he could ask if only to find out what not to do in the future.

"Master," He whispered, his voice as small as a mouse, "What did Jamael do?"

"He committed suicide, Fenris. He killed himself."

Suicide.

Fenris turned the word over in his head. He'd never heard it before. Just hearing it made him want to squirm. It sounded sad. It sounded wrong.

"To kill oneself is a sin in the eyes of the Maker." Danarius continued, "You know that, don't you my pet?"

Fenris nodded, because despite his shattered memories, the words did sound familiar. The idea of killing himself had never even crossed his mind.

Danarius smiled, sending a wave of relief washing over him. He wasn't in trouble for asking the question. He wasn't going to be punished.

"Good boy," Danarius purred, "Now shed your armor and come here. I think I'd like to hold you tonight."

x - X - x

Danarius kept two whips in his office. One was a cat o'nine, a fairly standard punishment tool. A worn wood rod wrapped in leather that knotted at the end and then was sliced into several smaller strips. It stung the same no matter how worn it was, though it was occasionally replaced with one that bore stiff, fresh leather.

The other was a bullwhip, and it would be easy to assume that the whip with only one tail was kinder, but that would be a foolish assumption. At the end of the tail was a gold claw. Well, the slaves assumed it was gold. Nobody was ever facing it when it was out. It was as though he had cut off an eagle's toe at the first knuckle. It tore through flesh like a blade through paper, leaving deep gashes in it's wake.

It also made an unearthly hissing sound when it struck flesh, leaving Fenris to assume that Danarius dipped it in something before he used it.

Fenris, of course, had never even seen it. Danarius sent him to wait in the hallway when he had to use it, and he was left with the screams and cries of whatever poor soul was in there with him.

A year had passed since Jamael's death. Sometimes the image of the swollen, discolored face still made Fenris wake up in a cold sweat. If possible, he grew further away from the other slaves since then. Danarius no longer allowed him to dine in the servant's wing. He was to stay by Danarius' side at all times, even if it meant eating on the floor while guests were over. The few occasions where Fenris was sent away included especially confidential meetings (usually with other Magisters), evenings when he and his wife tried to consummate, and moments like these.

Whoosh-CRACK-hiss, and in the center of it all an ear-splitting cry that echoed through the hallways while the hiss gradually fizzled out.

"I said COUNT!" Came Danarius' voice, echoing in the same voice.

The slave girl sniffled, and in a weak, shaky voice, choked, "O-one."

Whoosh-CRACK-hiss. Fenris flinched. She didn't cry out this time.

"Two."

Whoosh-CRACK-hiss. Her cry was broken. Barely a sound audible above the whip's contact.

"... three."

Fenris closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to steady himself. He pressed his back against the wall. He counted the seconds in his head.

one ... two ... three ... four ...

If enough time passed that meant it was over.

five ... six ... seven

Whoosh-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK

Fenris put his hand over his mouth, listening to the stretched-out hiss so intently that he nearly missed Danarius' footsteps approaching. Danarius burst through the door and Fenris immediately straightened his stance, eyes open and forward. Icy eyes glanced at Fenris, then at the whip in his hands. He ran his fingers along the thinnest portion of the letter, sighing when he came back with a streak of blood on his hand.

"Get her out of my office." He commanded, "I'll find you when I need you again."

He was gone without another word, leaving the door open behind him. Fenris dared a glance inside, where the elven slave was crumpled in a limp heap on the floor. Six wicked, bleeding marks shone boldly on her upturned back.

Her face was pale. Wide eyes stared into space. She didn't move when Fenris knelt beside her. She was shaking, her breathing shallow and rapid.

"Can you walk?" Fenris asked.

She didn't respond. Fenris shook her shoulder.

"Come on, let's get you out of here." He continued.

She shook her head and turned her face towards the floor.

"If you don't leave he'll whip you again when he returns."

"Let him. Let me die." She choked, squeezing her eyes shut and letting her tears drip onto the marble tiles.

"You don't mean that."

"I do!" She was sobbing now, a hiccup on every breath. With a sigh, Fenris lifted her up by her shoulders.

He managed to hoist her over one shoulder so that her back was in the air, her arm wrapped across his other shoulder. In the kitchens, Seri was rifling through cupboards and emerged as soon as he entered, her face dropping.

"Maker, she must be bad if he sent you." Seri sighed, "Set her on the cot. I'll put the water on."

Unlike the other slaves, Seri had a tiny corner of the pantry to herself. All the better to wake up early to start breakfast, or to tend to the master's whims should he find himself hungry at night. It served double duty as the closest things the slaves had to a sick room.

As gently as possible, Fenris lowered her onto the cot, careful to lay her on her side. She winced as her weight left his shoulder.

"I apologize." He pulled up a crate and sat next to her.

Her eye were bloodshot. She replied with a sniffle, "Should've left me to die."

"To kill oneself is a sin in the eyes of the maker."

"I don't care!" She shouted, shakily propping herself up on one elbow, "I want out of this mess! I wanna be free! I don't care how I do it!"

Fenris felt the color drain from his cheeks. If ever there was a word that earned a slave six lashings, that was it. If anything that was generous. Some slaves had fingers and toes cut off for less.

He swallowed a lump in his throat, and chose his next words very carefully, "If you say things like that ... you'll be punished again."

"Oh what do you care? You don't even know me." She sniffled and flopped onto her stomach, chin buried in the pillow.

"What is your name then?"

Hugging the pillow close to her, she looked at him over the fabric. He held out his hand.

She wiped off her eyes, and shook his hand.

"M'name's Deveri." She said, her voice muffled, "I've heard Master call you Fenris."

"Yes."

"I wasn't always a slave, y'know. M'parents sold me to get out of debt. I don't care 'bout them, but I hate our Master."

Seri's voice popped in along with a pot of water in her arms, "As slaves go, we're actually quite lucky. We could be serving one of those magisters who cuts up every slave for experiments. At least under Master Danarius we get three hots and a cot. Decent food, too. Not rotten leftovers or table scraps."

She pressed a damp rag into Deveri's back, earning a hiss in response.

Fenris opened his mouth, then shut it again. There was something left unsaid between them, and he couldn’t put his finger on what. Seri poked his arm.

“You’d best get back to the master before he misses you.” She said.

Fenris never hesitated on an order. He immediately stood and left, barely catching Seri snapping, “Hush” while Deveri quietly sobbed.

Two weeks later he was fetching a bottle of wine from the cellar when he ran into Seri again. Burn-striped hands threw a glob of bread dough on the counter and started kneading deep caverns into it.

“Seri,” He began, pausing at the door to the cellar.

“Hm? What you need? You hurt?”

“No, I was ...” He shuffled his feet, eyes on the ground, “I was just wondering how Deveri was doing.”

“Heard the news, eh? I’m afraid she didn’t make it.”

His heart jumped to his throat. He looked up to see her kneading the bread as though she’d said nothing.

“What?” He breathed, “The whipping was harsh but … did her back get infected?”

Seri wiped her hands on her apron, “Her back was healing fine, she cut her wrists. That’s what did her in. Sorry I thought you heard.”

His jaw hung slack. He could feel the jolt from his heart spreading through his whole chest. He didn’t move until Seri set her hand on his arm and squeezed.

“Sorry, dear.” She said, “She did ask me to give you this.”

She pressed a purple ribbon into his hand.

“She says it’s from before she was a slave.” She continued, “Now you’d best get the master his wine. You know which one he likes.”

She went back to kneading the dough, and Fenris was still staring at the ribbon in his hand.

“To kill oneself is a sin in the eyes of the maker.” he muttered.

“I don’t think that helped her much, dear. It’s good if it works for you, but it ain’t for everyone.”

x – X – x

The sun rose through the fog in Par Vollen and cast a gradient smear of blue, pink, orange, and purple every morning. It probably rose like this every morning, but few were so special as this one.

Fenris was bundled up in a knitted sweater and a scarf, both borrowed from the Fog Warriors. “Borrowed” was a loose term here, as they had thrust the items into his hands the first night they saw him shivering. Danarius never cared if he was cold. He was used to toughing it out.

A lot had been happening that he wasn’t used to.

When Danarius had been forced to evacuate Par Vollen, there wasn’t enough room for his beloved bodyguard. Fenris was left behind, alone for the first time he could ever remember, and was immediately taken by the very same soldiers who’d attacked and forced the evacuation in the first place.

He thought he’d be killed. Then he thought he’d be taken prisoner. More and more, though, it seemed like he was just staying here, and he liked it well enough he supposed. One morning he awoke in a panic, seeing that the sun was already set low in the sky and the others were already working. Oversleeping was not a luxury he was allowed in Danarius’ house.

Waking up early was nice, too. Never before had he perched on a hillside to watch the sunrise, simply because he wanted to. The Fog Warriors’ tents were to his back, and a few were already rising to greet the morning.

Gundat was a tal vashoth who had stripes of scars on both arms and short, curled horns. His jaw was crooked and so was his smile as he walked past Fenris while hiking up the hill.

“What are you doing up so early?” He asked.

Fenris shrank back, and Gundat knelt, signaling him to stop, “Hey, hey, don’t be like that, you’re not in trouble. I was just curious is all.”

Fenris didn’t look up, and muttered, “Watching the sunrise.”

Gundat gave him a tired smile and patted his shoulder, “That’s good, Fenris. That’s good. You should enjoy that stuff if you can.”

Gundat’s eyes were sunken in, dark circles lining them and an underlying exhaustion that he’d seen so many times before, in slaves worked to the bone for days without rest. Words got stuck in his throat while Gundat rose. He wanted to say something, but he wasn’t permitted.

Except Danarius wasn’t here, and nobody here ever stopped him from speaking. He watched Gundat walk away, and realized that he didn’t have to stay on the hill. There were a lot of sunrises, but there was only one Gundat.

He stood up, and asked, “Are you alright?”

Gundat stopped, “I’m fine. Just tired. I don’t really sleep at night, that’s why I take the night patrol.”

“You look so ...” Tired? Lifeless? Too calm to be normal?

"Fenris," Gundat set a hand on his shoulder, making him flinch, "You're on your own since your master left you here, right? You seem happy. You get to be happy. Treasure that. Not everyone has it."

Gundar turned again. Fenris watched him until he reached the top of the hill. His horns had just started to disappear over the curve when Fenris sprinted.

"Gundar!"

The tal-vashoth in question met Fenris as right as he caught up to him.

"I get to choose what I do every day, right?"

"Of course."

"Then I want to spend today with you."

Gundar huffed a laugh, "Why? You have better things to do. Watch the sunrise more. Be happy."

"I'll be happier watch...if you...I'll be happy..." Fenris stammered.

Suddenly, he couldn't breathe through his nose. He felt a teardrop run down his cheek, and sniffled.

Gundar brushed the tear away with his thumb.

Fenris knew what was happening. The Fog Warriors were masters of patience. Gundar was waiting for Fenris to continue, and would wait until the sun rose tomorrow if need be.

Finally, he whispered, "To kill oneself is a sin in the eyes of the Maker."

Gundar shrugged, "Sorry, I don't believe in the Maker. It's fine if that works for you, though."

"I...I don't want you to hurt yourself..." He choked, wiping his eyes with the sweaters' sleeve, "Please...if it helps...can I spend the day with you? Please...that would make me happy."

Gundar smiled, and although it was an exhausted, heavy smile, there was still a genuine sparkle behind his eyes.

"Alright, Fenris. If it makes you happy."

Fortunately, Gundar wasn't with Fenris when Danarius gave him the order to kill.

Unfortunately, Fenris would never be able to face Gundar again.

x - X - x

It was ten years before Fenris again heard the word 'suicide' delicately danced around.

He was in the hanged man like he had been so many other nights, though this time perhaps he'd had a bit too much to drink. He was finding a lot of amusement in teasing the others about how easy it was to read their tells. He'd attended enough high-class Tevinter parties as Danarius' bodyguard, after all. When you're not allowed to talk, you spend a lot of time listening.

"Looks like I have all of Hawkes coins~" He hummed, dropping a handful into a stack and delighting in the clink clink clink they made as they fell.

"Oh, I'm not out of this game yet. Ante up." Hawke pulled a coin purse out of her pocket and dropped it on the table. She gained a spark to her eye, one which Fenris had seen so many times. It meant she'd been taunted enough to push forward no matter how stupid it made her.

Not that it was hard to get her to that point.

"What's it mean when all the cards are different, again?" Merril asked.

Isabella answered, "It means Anders should have given me his hand back by now."

The mage in question had his head resting on his fist, cards lazily propped up with a limp hand. Isabella reached over and snatched them from him. Anders startled awake with a yelp that drew every eye at the table in his direction.

"You alright, Blondie?" Varric asked.

Anders rubbed his eyes and yawned, "Must have been one of Isabella's anecdotes. I think you should stick to the storytelling, Varric."

Isabella leafed the cards together, rolled her eyes, and passed the deck to Merril to cut. "Ha ha, very funny. Are you in this hand or are you going to doze off again?"

"Well as much as I love losing my life savings to Fenris, I can't be much fun when I'm like this." Anders pushed away from the table, leaving right as Isabella started dealing cards.

"What's gotten into him?" Hawke asked, jerking her head at the door.

Merril arranged the cards in her hand as she answered, "Maybe there's another outbreak in Dark Town. You know how he doesn't let himself sleep when the clinic is full."

Varric shook his head, "Nah, Hawke's right. He's been weird lately. Well, weirder than usual. You know the other day he tried to give me this pillow that his mom made. He said something about wanting me to have it. Don't get me wrong, we're close. He's a good friend. It just seems like the kind of thing you'd save for your brother or something, you know?"

Fenris felt a familiar jolt in his chest, the kind that made him want to stand up and follow Anders. He looked at his cards and couldn't focus on them. They were all red, which meant something, but words escaped him. He didn't want to be here. Hawke said something, and he didn't hear a word of it.

"I fold." He said, setting his cards down.

"Come on, don't be like that. You haven't even discarded anything yet." Isabella whined.

Fenris was already shoveling coins into his coinpurse, "Apologies. I remembered there was something I have to do." There wasn't a lot of time. Anders could already be out of sight by now. He'd only dug a trench into the pile of coins.

"Keep the rest for drinks." He added, straitening up. With a quick wave, he was out of the Hanged Man and into the seaside air.

Most of Kirkwall was protected from the wind by its own walls and buildings, so the chill was there but the moisture from the water's surface didn't settle in until early morning. Fenris could see his breath in the air. It was cold but not unbearably chilly, though it would be in a few hours. He looked left and right and was met only with empty streets.

His feet flew down the stairs that led to dark town. The clinic was the only place he could think to look. To his surprise the door was unlocked. He burst into an empty room. Looking wildly around revealed only empty beds and medicine shelves, with Anders' desk shoved off to one side.

"Shit." Fenris mumbled.

At the desk, there were piles and piles of papers all bearing Anders' handwriting. Perhaps he could have looked for a sign, a plan, a hint, anything if not for the fact that his reading lessons with Hawke had barely finished covering the alphabet. He was cursing - both mentally and literally - the fact that slaves weren't permitted to read, when the door by the desk creaked and Anders stepped out of his bedroom.

"Fenris?" Anders said. His hair hung loose and framed his face. His eyes were wide open, red, and shaded with dark circles underneath. "What are you doing here? Are you hurt?"

That was an excellent question, and it made Fenris freeze. Because really, what was he doing here?

For a brief second, he considered breaking his own arm. Then he’d have a reason to be here.

No, that would be silly.

Fenris cleared his throat, "You seemed troubled. I thought you could use some company."

"It's late. I'm surprised you care. I thought you hated me."

Fenris sighed. Maker, why was he making this so hard?

"No I don't hate you," He groaned, "I just think you're a misguided fool."

"And? If you're here to argue in favor of the Templar order imprisoning mages for the crime of being-"

"Maker, can we not talk about mages and Templars for one night?" Fenris snapped, "We can talk about something else! Literally anything else!"

Anders blinked, taken aback. There was silence for a second while the gears turned in Anders' head.

"Alright," Anders concluded, "What do you want to talk about?"

Which was another excellent question.

"Walk with me." Fenris decided. Because if they were walking, at the very least, he had something to do while he was thinking of what to say. And thankfully without question or comment, Anders took his staff and followed Fenris.

They left dark town, largely because dark town was a bad place to be when it was dark. Low town wasn't much better, and as they passed the Hanged Man they could hear Hawke loudly demanding another round of drinks. Their friends were great company, but crowds weren't needed right now.

"The sky's clear tonight." Anders said, "If it weren't for the buildings you could see the stars."

Which gave Fenris an excellent idea.

"Do you want to?"

"Want to what?"

"See the stars?"

"... I guess?"

They cut through high town to get to the abandoned manor Fenris claimed as his own. On the top floor in one of the guest bedrooms, a portion of the roof had collapsed and the accompanying chimney had crumbled into a slope of broken cobblestone. Moonlight was shining in beams through the hole when they entered. Fenris climbed up first, and offered his hand to help Anders up.

It was a sight to behold.

Kirwall stretched for miles from one end to the other, but as high up as they were, they could see the ocean in the distance as well as the gallows and every side of the wall that surrounded the city. Above them was a velvet blanket coated with dots of light that drew the eyes heaven bound. The ground and the sky fought for attention here. One a feat of man, the other a feat of the divine.

"It's beautiful." Anders breathed, "How long have you known about this spot?"

"I found it not long after I moved into the mansion." Fenris sat down next to a handful of empty wine bottles and dirty plates, "Sometimes I come up here to think."

"That's a laughable thought. Most nights I'd prefer to stay out of my own head." Anders sat down next to Fenris, "So, what was it you wanted to talk about."

"I don't know. Something. Anything. The stars?"

So they talked about the stars.

The constellations were different between the Marches and Tevinter, though they found a small handful had the same names. They both had a hobby of stargazing, it seemed. And when they grew bored of the stars, they watched the town below, and found they both enjoyed people watching as well. It seemed they had a lot in common, so long as they weren't talking about mages or Templars. They watched drunks stumble home and graveyard workers shuffle around on the streets. They swatted bugs and talked about how annoying mosquitoes and flies were. They talked about bugs that they didn't find annoying. They talked until the sky grew pale with morning twilight.

Anders had his arms crossed to hold in his warmth, his legs drawn up to his chest. They'd been silent the past few minutes, occupied with watching a gray-haired human man. He was on a long walk that started at the docks and went to low town, through through the market place, and stopped for a rest on the chantry steps, completely unaware that he was being watched. "Thank you, Fenris." He said, "I suppose I did need some company."

Fenris nodded, and a long silence stretched between them.

"You know ..." Anders continued, "I was considering doing something incredibly stupid tonight, and I'm glad I didn't do it now."

"I know."

Anders wouldn't meet Fenris' face. Instead his cheeks flushed, and he looked to the ground.

"'To kill oneself is a sin in the eyes of the Maker'." Fenris continued, "But you already knew that, and the Maker isn't going to stop you. I am. Because nobody ever says the word 'suicide' until it's already a regret. And if I had to choose I'd rather abolish that sin than the sin of being a mage."

Anders drew his knees closer to his chest and buried his chin in them. A breeze sent a chill all the way to his bones. He flinched when Fenris' hands brushed his skin. Gentle, patient hands pulled his bangs back into their usual ponytail.

When Fenris moved away and returned to his seat, Anders dared to look up again, and glimpsed a flash of purple fabric behind him. A ribbon.

"Slaves don't have any possessions, strictly speaking." Fenris said, "I've had that in my pocket for more than 15 years. I expect it back. Not from Varric, not from Hawke, but from you. So if you find no other reason to live, you can know I'll be expecting to get that ribbon back. It means a lot to me."

Anders wiped the tears from his eyes and smiled. Fenris returned to watching the skyline. Scooting a little closer, Anders leaned on him, and they watched the sunrise together.

#typhon writes #long post #dragon age #dragon age 2 #fenders #fanfic #fanfiction #tw #suicide #self harm #death #dead things #angst #fenris #anders

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