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pikapeppa · 4 years

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Felassan/f!Lavellan: The Love That Grows From Violence, Chap 2

The second chapter of Felassan x Tamaris Lavellan is up on AO3! (It was since yesterday, too, but I guess I’ll crosspost everything here anyway.

The first chapter (the prologue) is here on Tumbles.

~5100 words; read on AO3 instead.

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Kirkwall, one year after the Exalted Council...

Varric handed Tamaris a set of keys. “All right, here it is. Home sweet home.”

Tamaris stared blankly at the mansion. It was… frankly, it was huge. And fancy. Two gold-plated Orlesian lion statuettes flanked the front door, which was carved with an elaborate pattern of fleur-de-lis. The windows were made of elaborate stained glass that would make a Chantry sister envious, and she was fairly certain that the front door handle was made of gold. The outdoor fixtures alone must have cost a fortune, and she hadn’t even seen the interior of the house yet.

She shot Varric an incredulous look. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”

He chuckled. “Nope. It’s yours. Your name is on the deed and everything.” He folded his arms. “I’ve kind of been waiting to see your face when you saw it.”

“Well, I hope my total sense of bemusement isn’t a disappointment,” she said. Honestly, she didn’t know how Varric expected her to live in this place. She was used to aravels and tents, for fuck’s sake. Moving to Skyhold had been a stretch for her, and Skyhold at least was a functional fortress as well as being a huge grand castle.

This mansion, on the other hand, looked totally frivolous. Tamaris could only hope that it was less gaudy on the inside than the outside.

She hefted her travelling pack onto her shoulder and unlocked the door. She took one step into the house and stopped dead in disbelief.

The floor was shiny rose marble with gold veins, and the wallpaper was cream silk with gold stripes. As Tamaris slowly made her way through the foyer into the main room, she wrinkled her nose; the fireplace, the staircase bannister, the chandelier hanging from the ceiling: all of it was gold.

She unceremoniously dropped her pack on the floor. “Varric, you’re not serious,” she complained.

He laughed again. “Trust me, Cuddles, this is restrained for an Orlesian mansion in Hightown. Orlesians who settle here think they need to remind us that they’re not from here. As if we could ever forget.” He patted the fireplace. “Don’t worry, you can get it all redone. Tear out the floors, maybe put in some sod so you can pretend you’re in a forest or something?”

Tamaris snorted. “Should I set up a ritual circle too, for the evil Dalish child sacrifices that I perform every other week?”

“You could,” Varric said wryly. “Just don’t tell our Captain of the Guard. She tends to get a little antsy about blood magic here. Well, we all do, really.”

Tamaris looked at him. He was smiling, but it only now just occurred to her how she must sound.

She sighed. “Varric, I’m sorry. I’m being an ungrateful bitch. This is… I mean, you gave me a fucking house. This is really nice of you. Even if it’s the gaudiest house in Thedas.”

He snorted a laugh, and Tamaris gave him a rare smile. “I mean it. This is really kind. Thank you.”

He waved her off. “Ah, don’t worry about it. And you don’t have to apologize. I’m used to moody elves, remember?”

“Right, right,” Tamaris said dryly. “Hawke’s husband and all that. Hey, you said her mansion was in Hightown too, right?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Her uncle lives in it now, though. Hawke is off hunting slavers with Fenris or whatever it is that he’s doing.”

Tamaris nodded in acknowledgement, then looked idly around at the vaulted ceilings. Shit, this house was big. And empty.

Oh, there was furniture, sure: a big ugly carved dining table with matching chairs and a writing desk in this room, and some plush velvet sofas in the study to the left. But the house still felt so… empty. It was going to be so quiet living here all by herself. After spending the better part of the year doing contract work with Bull and the Chargers, Tamaris couldn’t decide if she was grateful or not for the impending quiet.

“So,” Varric said. “Do you want to hear the updates on the wolf hunt now, or do you want to settle in first?”

Solas. Her gut twisted unpleasantly, like the feeling of stepping into a pothole that you didn’t realize was there.

“Sure, let’s hear it,” she said. She rifled around in her bag with her mechanical left hand and pulled out a half-empty bottle of Rivaini rum. “Fancy a drink?”

Varric raised his eyebrows. “Thanks, but I’m good. I’ll wait until it’s past noon.”

She shrugged and pulled the cork out of the bottle. “Suit yourself.” She took three big gulps, then shoved the cork back into the bottle and plopped down in one of the padded dining chairs. “All right, let’s hear it. I don’t suppose we’ve actually been lucky enough to find him.”

“Not yet,” Varric said. “A couple interesting leads, though. You actually got back just in time. Rhys and Evangeline are on their way here from the Hunterhorn Mountains. Should be arriving in the next day or two.”

Tamaris blinked. “Rhys and Evangeline? But I thought Cassandra needed them.”

“She does,” Varric said. “Their work at the Tranquil sanctuary has been going pretty smoothly so far. But they recently had someone staying with them who, uh, might be interesting for you to meet.”

That’s cryptic, Tamaris thought. “Okay,” she said slowly. “I’m listening.”

Varric leaned casually against the fireplace. “An elf with Dalish tattoos,” he said. “Only he says he isn’t Dalish. And he says he knows Solas.” He raised his eyebrows. “You know, from… before.”

Tamaris’s eyebrows shot up. Then she folded her arms. “Uh-huh. And we don’t think he’s full of shit because…?”

“Tranquil don’t lie,” Varric said. “He told Cassandra about Solas before they reversed his Tranquility.”

Tamaris narrowed her eyes appraisingly. Then she straightened. “Hang on. You said… Are Rhys and Evangeline are bringing him here?”

Varric nodded, and Tamaris stared at him. “Varric, that’s insane. Solas definitely has spies in Kirkwall. This is the last place in Thedas that someone who knew Solas from before should be coming.”

Varric grimaced. “Well… Cassandra wanted you to go to the sanctuary instead. But we, uh, had some trouble getting in touch with you…”

Tamaris rubbed her forehead guiltily. Going off to mindlessly do a bunch of contracts with Bull and his company had been a selfish move, and Tamaris knew it. But the whole Exalted Council incident had been just… so much fucking bullshit, with the qunari attack and the Shattered Library and the crossroads and Solas.

Fucking Solas. Fucking Fen’Harel.

A year later, the truth still chafed. Tamaris had always known there were things he wasn’t telling her, and it had always grated at her nerves. Even during the moments when he was at his sweetest, it had always felt like there was some undercurrent of subtext behind his affectionate words. But Tamaris had never imagined that his lies were so spectacular.

Only by omission, he’d said, but in Tamaris’s opinion, that only made it worse. That he’d been so careful to omit things — so careful to stick to the truth without telling the most important parts of it…

She could feel her ears getting hot with anger. Varric stepped a little closer to her. “Don’t worry,” he said soothingly. “Rhys and Evangeline are used to travelling incognito, and apparently the mystery elf is too. No reason to think they won’t make it here safe and sound.”

She took another gulp of rum, then placed the bottle back on the table. “Fine. A mysterious former friend of Solas’s is coming to pay me a visit. Anything else?”

Varric eyed her warily, then sat in a chair beside her. “How about a hand of wicked grace?”

Tamaris lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t have to coddle me, you know.”

“I’m not,” Varric said. “I’m trying to avoid Bran, really. You’re doing me a favour by showing up here so early in the day.” He pulled a pack of cards out of his coat pocket and began shuffling them.

She scoffed and propped her dirty bare feet up on the pristine table. “All right, since I’m doing you a favour.” They played wicked grace for a couple of hours, and by the time Varric finally got up to leave, Tamaris was nicely buzzed.

She lazily followed Varric to the door. “Can I swing by your office later? See how tightly the Viscount of Kirkwall runs his ship?”

“Sure,” Varric said. He opened the door and smirked up at her. “Or tomorrow, or whenever.”

She leaned against the doorjamb and folded her arms. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you were ashamed of my drunken ass.”

“Not ashamed,” Varric said. “Just a little concerned, that’s all.”

She shrugged. There was no point denying that she wasn’t really okay. “I’m probably not the most stabilizing influence for a newly de-Tranquilized mage at the moment,” she said baldly.

“Ah, you’ll be fine,” Varric said. “You’ll be good for him, probably. You’ve got a knack for this kind of thing.”

“What, dealing with hysterical people?” she said sarcastically.

“Yeah, actually,” Varric said.

Tamaris scoffed and looked away. “Lucky me.”

“Let me know if you want to talk,” Varric said casually. “That’s all I’m saying.”

She shrugged again. “I probably won’t,” she replied. “If you want to hit me with a stick Bull-style, though, I wouldn’t say no.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass,” he said dryly. “Hey, I should have asked — this arm’s doing okay by you, huh?” He tapped her mechanical arm.

“Yeah, it’s great,” she said. “The lyrium powers it perfectly.” She flexed her arm and fingers to demonstrate. “I wrote Dagna a couple months ago to thank her, but you should let Bianca know it works almost as well as my real hand.”

Varric smiled. “I will. See you later.” He started to walk away, then paused and turned back. “Hey, I should have said. It’s, uh. It’s good to have you back.”

Tamaris managed a smile. “Thanks. It’s… well, it’s good to see you.”

He nodded understandingly, then gave her a little salute before taking his leave. Tamaris tottered back inside of her gaudy house, then toppled onto one of the big fat couches and fell fast asleep.

When she woke up a few hours later, it was with a raging headache, a stomach cramping from hunger, and a very dry mouth. She gulped down some water, then strapped a couple of daggers to her belt and put on her cloak. She pulled up the hood — more to shelter her pounding eyes from the lingering rays of the early evening sun than to hide her identity. She didn’t much care if anyone knew she was in Kirkwall, especially since she’d been out of the loop all this time and had no interesting contacts here aside from Varric. If Solas’s spies wanted to give him the useless information that she was here, they could fucking feel free.

Even so, she wasn’t particularly keen to be spoken to. So instead of leaving through the front door, she made her way up the stairs and into the first bedroom on the left.

She raised her eyebrows appreciatively when she opened the door; the bedroom decor was a Free Marcher style instead of Orlesian, and way more simple and plain than the rest of the house. Varric must have set this bedroom up just for her.

She smiled faintly, then headed for the window and pushed it open. After a careful peek into the alley to discern that no one was looking, she slipped out of the window and quickly climbed up the brick wall to the roof.

Once she was on the roof, she breathed a sigh of relief. The air was fresher up here, and the openness of the sky was frankly a relief. From up here, she could clearly see the shifting shades of the sky as the sun started to set, and she could almost pretend that she was on the shores of Hercinia admiring the sky instead of on the roof of a noisy city.

She drew another deep lungful of air, then began making her way to the Lowtown market via the rooftops. She made it to the market unnoticed and bought herself enough food for three days, then returned to her house using back alleys so no one would talk to her, and the furtive journey was challenging enough with the added weight of her bags to distract her from her headache.

Once she’d returned to her house, she immediately went back up to the roof with her indulgent supper of fish and chips. She spent the next little while on the roof watching the sun sink down behind the squat buildings of Lowtown. When it started getting dark and her thoughts started darkening to match, she moved over to the edge of the roof so she could watch the people below instead of the sky above.

She dangled her feet carelessly over the edge of the roof; no one ever looked up, so no one would see her anyway. She reached into the pocket of her vest and pulled out a slender joint and a matchbook, then lit the joint and took a deep drag.

The sweet-and-bitter smoke filled her mouth, and she held it for a few leisurely seconds before releasing it to the cool evening air. And as usual in the evenings when she had nothing else to do, she started mulling over her mistakes and failings of the past.

First and foremost, as always, was Solas. Was there anything she could have done to stop him when they’d been together? Should she have realized sooner that he was from an earlier age? Solas wasn't the only concern, though; the news about the qunari’s activities on the Tevinter coastline were frankly alarming, and Tamaris couldn't help but wonder if she should have foreseen that as well. She and her companions might have stopped the Viddasala from killing the leadership of Thedas during the Exalted Council a year ago, but had they really achieved anything if the qunari were attacking Tevinter so aggressively now?

Another huge concern was where the fuck the Grey Wardens were. Tamaris had thought she was doing the right thing by sending them to Weisshaupt until Corypheus was gone, but there had been no word of them since then, and their silence made her wonder whether sending them away had been a good idea after all. Solas certainly approved of her action, but in truth, Tamaris had never been clear on exactly why he’d approved. Even now, after what he’d told her about the Evanuris and the Veil, she still didn’t understand why he got so irate about the Grey Wardens.

Solas, she thought moodily. Her thoughts cycled back to wondering if she should have foreseen his betrayal during the time that they’d been lovers. She smoked her joint slowly and mulled over her gloomy thoughts, and all the while she was watching the streets below for anything strange.

It wasn’t until late that night that something caught her eye: a pair of figures, one tall and slim and the other shorter and a bit more broad. They were cloaked and moving quietly along Hightown’s largely silent streets, but not sticking to the shadows.

Humans, she thought. Only humans walked around at night with that much confidence. But these humans were being quiet and subtle, so they didn’t want to be noticed.

She peered more carefully at them, and that’s when she noticed the signature style of the shorter figure’s gauntlets. A Templar, she thought, and she relaxed slightly. It must be Rhys and Evangeline. But where was their former Tranquil companion, then?

She narrowed her eyes and scanned the streets; no one else was around. Curious now, Tamaris waited until the two cloaked people were closer – not so close that they were under her, but close enough that they could hear her.

She let out a low whistle, and the cloaked figures looked up sharply; sure enough, it was Rhys and Evangeline.

Rhys smiled at her, and Evangeline visibly relaxed. “Lady Lavellan,” she called out quietly. “What are you doing up there?”

“Skulking, obviously,” Tamaris replied. “Nobody ever looks up.”

“You’re right,” a man’s voice said behind her. “They don’t.”

Tamaris was on her feet with a dagger in hand before he finished speaking. But even before she could turn around to face him, a spill of goosebumps was rippling down her neck. The voice was unfamiliar to her, but the accent…

It was like Solas’s accent. Not exactly the same, but close enough to Solas’s smooth lilt that it gave her a chill of recognition.

The former Tranquil, she thought tensely. She eyed the stranger in silence for a moment. He was a tall elf, barefoot and cloaked and apparently unarmed, and he was leaning languidly against one of the chimneys with a smirk lifting the corners of his lips.

“It’s all right,” Rhys called from the ground below. “He’s with us.”

“You don’t say,” Tamaris retorted.

The former Tranquil’s smirk widened slightly, and Tamaris raised an eyebrow before restoring her dagger to the sheath at her hip. “It’s your lucky day,” she told him. “I’ve decided not to gut you on the spot for sneaking up on me.”

“Very gracious of you,” he said with a little half-bow.

She eyed him suspiciously. His words were polite enough, but his tone was faintly mocking.

She pursed her lips, then started toward the side of the roof that led back to the bedroom window. “Come on, then,” she said to the strange elf. “If you’re bringing trouble to my doorstep, I might as well roll with it.” She swung down from the edge of the roof and back into the window, then made her way through the bedroom without waiting to see if he was following her.

He was, of course; if he was nimble enough to sneak up on her via the roof, he was nimble enough to follow her back through the window. He chuckled as he followed her out of the bedroom. “And what a doorstep it is,” he said. “A fan of gold, are you?”

She scoffed and traipsed down the stairs. “Hardly. This house was a gift from a dwarf with an overdeveloped sense of humour.”

“My kind of dwarf,” the elf said.

She shot him an odd look, then paused in surprise at the bottom of the stairs. She’d just realized something odd about his appearance. He had vallaslin branching across his cheekbones and his forehead, but it wasn’t the marks on his face that surprised her per se; it was the lack of a particular kind of mark.

He didn’t have a scar on his forehead from the Templars’ lyrium brand. But Varric had said he was a Tranquil…?

He raised his eyebrows. “Something I can do for you?”

“Um,” she said distractedly. “Let me just…” She nodded at the front door, then went to open it for Evangeline and Rhys.

She stood back to let them in, then gestured at the dining table with its padded chairs. “Have a seat. Are you hungry?”

“Starving, but we should get going,” Rhys said.

“Yes,” Evangeline agreed. “We don’t want to linger in Kirkwall for too long. And Lady Cassandra requires our services.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. “But — wait, you just got here. I don’t think Cassandra would begrudge you a night’s rest.”

“Of course,” Evangeline said. “But we are anxious to return to our duties as well. For now, Rhys remains the only mage at the sanctuary who can safely guide the spirits through the Veil. We can’t cure any more Tranquil until he has returned.”

Rhys let out a little laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m hardly the fulcrum of this whole operation,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be so modest, cher,” Evangeline said firmly. “In any case, we should be going.”

Tamaris held up a hand. “Hang on. You’re not going to explain anything to me before you go? For example: who the fuck is he, exactly?” She jerked her thumb at the raven-haired elf, who had availed himself of one of the dining table chairs.

He gave her a charming smile. “I was wondering when you’d remember I was here. Don’t worry, I’m not offended. There’s something quite powerful about being forgotten, under the right circumstances.”

Tamaris narrowed her eyes at this cryptic remark, and Rhys smacked his forehead. “Maker, I’m sorry, Tamaris. This is Felassan. He came from — well, the whole story will probably be more coherent if you hear it from him, which is why we accompanied him here, obviously.”

She eyed Rhys skeptically. “And his whole story is good enough that you’re willing to leave him with me, even though he’s only been cured for…” She trailed off, then turned to Felassan. “How long have you been, um, back to yourself?”

He looked at Rhys. “It’s been, what? Three months?”

“That’s right,” Rhys said. “About three months.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. “It only takes three months for former Tranquil to become stable?”

“Oh, I’m not stable,” Felassan said cheerfully. “I can be quite volatile, unfortunately.”

Tamaris stared at him. She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

Evangeline answered her unspoken question. “That’s true, unfortunately. Felassan is still getting… adjusted.”

“Adjusted?” Tamaris said warily. “Meaning what, exactly?”

“Meaning,” Felassan said, “that she had to neutralize me several times during our journey here. Not that I hold it against you,” he said pleasantly to Evangeline. “It’s been interesting, in fact. I never had a chance to see a Templar in action before.”

Evangeline nodded politely to him, but Tamaris wrinkled her nose in confusion. How was that possible? He’d been made Tranquil. He had to have seen a Templar in action before.

She didn’t have time to ask, however; Rhys and Evangeline were already making their way back to the door. She hurried after them. “So — so he’s… he’s supposed to just stay here with me, then.”

“That’s what Cassandra wanted, yes,” Rhys said.

Tamaris sighed. At least Rhys had the courtesy to sound apologetic. “And if he gets volatile? I suppose she was confident that I could just… handle it.”

“She was very confident,” Evangeline said.

Rhys smiled faintly. “I believe her words were something along the lines of ‘Tamaris has a special talent for highly charged situations such as this.’”

“Of course,” she muttered. “Well… I suppose I should thank you for bringing him here.”

“I think it will be worth your while, once you hear what he has to say,” Rhys said earnestly. “There’s a good reason we didn’t just send you a report.”

Tamaris pursed her lips. “If you say so. Well, travel safe.”

Rhys gave her a little salute and Evangeline bowed her head politely, and they took their leave. Tamaris sighed, then locked the door and returned to the dining table.

Felassan was sitting cross-legged on his chair and idly twirling a short length of wood in his fingers. Tamaris folded her arms and eyed him. “It sounds like I’m in for a good story, hm? Or a long one, at least.”

He quirked a brow. “I suppose that depends. Do you enjoy hearing tales of Fen’Harel?”

Fen’Harel. Fucking Solas, she thought bitterly. “I enjoy it as much as I enjoy lancing a boil,” she said snidely. “It’s distasteful but necessary, especially given… you know, everything.” She waved her hand in a vague gesture meant to encompass the entire world.

His ever-present smirk widened into a broad smile, and he let out a burbling laugh. “I think you and I will get along just fine, then.”

His laughter was knowing and playful at the same time, and she couldn’t decide if she liked the sound of it or not. She pursed her lips, then turned toward the kitchen. “You must be hungry. I’ll get you something.”

“I’ll join you,” he said, and he rose from the chair and tucked the piece of wood back inside of his cloak.

Tamaris raised her eyebrows, then shrugged and turned away. “Suit yourself. I thought you’d be tired, though. It’s a long way here from the Hunterhorn Mountains.”

“It is,” he confirmed. “A long and perilous journey, fraught with bandits and poor weather and the odd Tevinter refugee. Is that really what you want to talk about?”

“What do you mean?” Tamaris said. She opened a cupboard and pulled out an apple, then tossed it to him.

He caught it deftly. “I mean that I was brought here to speak with you about our… mutual friend. I assumed you would have questions.”

I suspect you have questions. Felassan’s words were almost an echo of the ones that Solas had greeted her with a year ago, and the memory made her curl her lip.

He lifted one dark eyebrow, and Tamaris carefully smoothed out her expression. “I would rather talk about you,” she said. “Like why you don’t have that fucked-up sunburst scar on your face, for example. Does the Tranquility cure involve removing that scar?”

He smiled slowly. “They mentioned that you were blunt. They weren’t wrong.”

Tamaris huffed, then opened the enchanted icebox and pulled out some hard Fereldan cheese. “Uh-huh. What else did they tell you about me?”

Felassan leaned back against the counter. “They said you can be aloof, sarcastic, and hard to crack. That you get things done through force of will more than charm.” His smile widened slightly. “They said that you allowed Empress Celene to be assassinated at the Winter Palace, and that you helped Briala to become the true power behind the throne.”

Tamaris shrugged. “They weren’t wrong about any of that.”

Felassan nodded and idly rolled the apple between his palms. “They also say that you are far more compassionate than you seem, and that you and Fen’Harel were lovers.”

She paused in her cutting of the cheese and gave him a hard look, but his expression was pleasantly neutral. He shrugged and took a bite of the apple. “I don’t blame you,” he said through his full mouth. “He’s undeniably compelling.”

Tamaris stared at him for a moment longer, then continued cutting the cheese. “You didn’t answer my question. Why don’t you have a scar on your forehead?”

Felassan made an apologetic face. “If you were hoping to talk about something other than Fen’Harel, I’m afraid you’re taking the wrong tack.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He idly flicked the side of his half-eaten apple. “I mean that it wasn’t that delightful Templar order that made me Tranquil,” he said. “It was him.”

Tamaris went still. “It… what?”

He looked up from the apple and met her eyes, and her belly jolted. For the first time since they’d met, his expression was utterly serious. There wasn’t even a hint of laughter in his strange amethyst-coloured eyes.

“Fen’Harel made me Tranquil,” Felassan said.

She stared breathlessly at him. Solas had made him Tranquil? No. No, that... it couldn’t be true. Solas abhorred the idea of Tranquility. He’d initially thought all the people of her time were Tranquil, and his horror at this misguided impression had fuelled his original plans to bring the Veil down on all of them. There was no way Solas would have done something so terrible to someone.

But Felassan looked so serious, and he had no reason to lie to her. And Solas had told her that he would see his plans to fruition, by any means necessary…

Her heart was pounding, and she couldn't tell if it was because of agitation or disgust or fear. She swallowed hard. “Felassan, I am so sorry,” she said. “Do you want a drink?”

His expression went slack for a moment. Then some of his usual humour returned to his face. “That’s… not the response I expected.”

“Glad I’m still capable of surprising people sometimes,” she said. “Do you want a drink or not?”

He chuckled. “I do. Thank you.”

“No problem,” she said. She carefully placed his impromptu meal of cheese and bread on a plate, then picked up a bottle of cider and headed back to the main room with the dining table. “So, Felassan. That’s a strange name. Who decided to call you a slow arrow?”

“I did, as a matter of fact,” he said wryly.

She raised her eyebrows and set the food on the table before taking a seat. “Why would you call yourself that?”

He sat in the chair beside her and studied her quietly for a moment, and she lifted an eyebrow. “What?”

“This is truly what you want to talk about?” he asked.

She wilted in exasperation. “Cassandra might not have told you this, but I hate small talk. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t actually want to know. If you don’t want to answer the question, just say so.”

A smile lit his face again, and Tamaris idly noted that he was quite handsome. His hair was as black as her own unruly waves, and probably about half as long if he were to unbind it from its leather wrap. A few faint wrinkles creased his tawny skin, giving the impression that he was maybe ten to fifteen years older than her, but his dimpled smile held a boyish sense of mischief. And then there were his unusual and luminous violet eyes.

She dropped his gaze and started peeling the wax seal off of the bottle of cider. “So? Are you going to tell me about your name or not?”

“I wouldn't dare to turn down my gracious hostess’s request,” he said. “But I have to warn you, our dear friend Fen’Harel plays into the tale.”

Of course he does, Tamaris thought bitterly. It seemed like she could barely talk to anyone about anything these days without Solas coming up somehow.

She pulled the cork out of the bottle of cider, then took a gulp of the tart-and-sweet booze before offering it to him. “All right. Let’s hear it. Tell me about fucking Fen’Harel.”

#felassan #felassan fic #felassan romance #felassan/lavellan #felassan x lavellan #the love that grows from violence #pikapeppa writes

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mommydragon-of-all · 4 years

Note

2,4,8,18, 32,34,35, and 36 for Soren!

100 OC Asks

2. What is their voice like?

Right off the bat with a question i cant fully answer. How do you describe a voice?… Well, in DAI he rolls with the Male British Voice but it’s not really how i hc him…. Hmm… Well, it’s like, i guess on the deeper side but not that much - unless he drops a few octaves for… reasons. It got a certain purr to it, that also gets evident when drops deeper. On average, as he usually speaks in a loud and cheerful manner, sounding higher and clearer, you don’t really observe those deep tones his voice gains when he’s speaking relaxed or sleepy or seductive and such. That tingling purr is easily shifted to bone shaking growl territory though when he is angry and/or out for blood. yeah he’s an animalIf this gives you some idea….

4. What is their most embarrassing memory?

Oh boiii, he got MANY. Yet few that he isn’t fast to admit and let people have fun on his expense, often even laughing at himself with them. But there’s one thing that comes to mind that he tries hard to change in stories.

He used to have very long hair, the exact dark blood red of their mother’s and he had pride in it, thick and strong and brilliant like hers, tied high with her ribbon the smol twins found around where she died (long heroic and tragic story). When his long hair comes up in stories or other chatting he admits that he had “lost it” a few years ago, and if pried further he only says that it was to a sharp dragon spike and fire.

His sister tells a completely different story than what people usually assume from that though, if you are worthy and buy her a drink for it XD

What actually happened is that he rolled into the campfire in his sleep, and his sister fixed his remaining hair into a passable shape with her dragon spike knife, hands shaking from laughter.

You know how he sleeps XD. Brain out cold, body moving around like an octopus, drawn to warmth. Touch is the only sense that has live connection to his brain and can sound the wake up alarm. Having a fire going is a big hazard, he learned the hard way even before the hair incident. On the fateful dawn this happened, his sister kept second watch as always, keeping one eye out and one on Soren, pushing him back under the small tent with her boot when adjustment was necessary. (when alone he ties his belt to stuff and sets traps that pain-jolt him awake if triggered). Everything seemed quiet and peaceful, no big or off movements far and wide, some birds waking, a fox sneaking by, Soren half curled on the tent post, nice and tight… A perfectly average quiet morning. Cold and humid, irking her since her watch started, by dawn the languid, teasing dance of the campfire’s thin flames didn’t help her bladder either. So she just figured she could take two minutes to take a piss. WRONG. In that two minutes Soren got brushed by a small breeze carrying the warmth of the fire, he pooled off of the tent post and unconsciously slid and rolled towards its source….His sister jumped back to their small clearing to Soren’s… well… blaring alarm, pants still halfway down, with a blade out, magic flaring, ready for anything… except for the sight that greeted her. Soren screaming curses in 6 languages while wildly rolling around in the damp high grass, head and shirt on fire.Oh how upset he was, and pissed XD And as he was muttering under his breath and fuming all day his sister poked him constantly with comments that his head appears to be smoking, does he need some more water, and the like.By next evening he was laughing with her, but tried all sorts of bribes to keep her forever silent about this incident. Naturally, he couldn’t succeed.

He soon got so used to his short hair that the newer grew it out again, not having to keep it in mind during fights and climbs and stuff not to mention its weight and maintenance proved to be a nice bonus. Plus he found his new looks easy on the eye. Some cut forms changed sometimes but length not really.

Part of why he doesn’t tell the truth is that he does not want ppl to figure his big weakness of sleep rendering him dead to the world, and not just completely vulnerable, but also endangering himself with his crawling around. Some rogue he is XD But proven friends always get the story from his sister eventually.

8. What’s the weirdest thing they’ve ever eaten?

He ate all kinds of dishes that appear around Thedas as he grew up almost constantly on the road, so there were many that other parts consider weird. He finds this a curious thing. One normal dish to a coast of Antiva is a completely disgusting monstrosity to a mountain town in Nevarra, and so on.

But from an outside point of view the answer may be something like raw worms and the kind he a few times had to resort to for survival.

Or something completely different, considered weird, that he regularly does: eating predatory animals and even some monsters…. Often raw. Its actually his favorite. (can be blamed on all the blood magic work on his body, at least the craving of fresh blood, and the fact that he gains the most energy from meat, and he needs a lot of energy to run his boosted systems. He is kind of accidentally shaped towards a predatory animal by being enhanced. Nobody knows for sure how much this is the woken primal drives and how much just plain weirdness though XD)

18. What kind of music do they enjoy?

Soren LOVES music. He enjoys all kinds of skilled performances, likes to sing too (average singer but got that pleasant purr going for him), but his favorite thing about music is the merry atmosphere it can create and the dancing.So, the upbeat good vibe bits. He loves how people light up from some good music and dancing and he loves to dance, be it a fast paced loud group activity or a sensual slow glide. heck his fighting style is sort of a dance too Music should keep the spirits up, he thinks, and he is pleased to see that it often does. Its like a form of magic in his eyes, and we know how he loves magic… and people… and warming hearts.

32. Pet peeves?

Huh, another hard question. A LOT of things tick him off, and he is hot-blooded with a short fuse when it comes to things he has a displeasure for. (a similar trait of the twins but sister dislikes moooore stuff XD) Mostly things of the rich and ignorant and the festering scum. …But also like, sitting at a tavern’s counter and witnessing a pig say some disgusting slur or abusive shit etc to the servant has his fist instantly replying to it in their stead. No prelude. So I guess those things can also be considered here, tho I honestly newer quite grasped the full meaning of this English expression.

34. Least favorite food?

Green stuff. Let the animals eat weeds, he’ll eat the animals.Oh and if something doesn’t have meet in it, it is not real food. If it has at least a decent amount of sugar, then it’s at least a snack.

35. Least favorite color?

That is something he doesn’t really think much of, but would probably answer with “some muddy nonsense”. Basically anything that looks dirty, faded, washed out or muddy. It reminds him of the dirty alleys, rundown shacks, the old, stained and thrown out rags he more often than not had to wear growing up and he HATED it, like he hates poor quality and crude stuff, and poverty in general.

36. Least favorite smell?

Well, bad odors obviously, but that seems like a too obvious answer so.. least favorite…hmm

Too strong stenches, even if it was meant to be pleasant. Like flowers that ooze like no tomorrow, or someone wearing a bucket of perfume. His heightened senses can’t handle it, makes him kinda nauseous, besides it masks a lot of things he could read from a person’s scent at any given moment. He doesn’t like not knowing things he is used to be able to.

It may be an interesting thing to mention that he also absolutely loathes the scent of food going bad. He picks up on it much sooner than normal senses would, long before it’s considered not good to consume anymore. This puts an extra strain on his feeding problem, with him needing to consume at least the double of what an average man of his build needs for a day, always needing to get fresh stuff.

Thank you ever so much for the ask! >*^.^*

#soren lavellan #soren #oc ask #ask meme #ask

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boneandfur · 5 years

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Wild Ride [Salazar x MC][N*FW][1/8]

Notes: this was inspired by the N*FW ABC, and uses about 8 of the prompts from the original list. // Words: 2145 // Rating: 18 + // Summary: Theda goes to a party, and gets the ride of her life.

CHAPTER ONE

Salazar notices her as soon as she rolls up on that sexy red moped, the kind of import he could roll quick for a thick wad of cash. When she takes off her helmet, shaking out that damn platinum and rose gold hair, all he can think of is the girl he saw once as he drove past Rodeo Boulevard, long-legged and air brushed, the kind of woman a man like him only ever sees on the pages of a glossy magazine, the kind who's never hot-wired a car or ridden shotgun bare-breasted in an illegal street race.

One of his buddies elbows him, jostling him out of his train of thought. "You see that? That's a high class piece of tail trying to look like it belongs on the clearance rack."

"Shut up," Salazar growls, his eyes returning to that tight little ass again and again as she wiggles her hips all around the car show, the Kaneko boy and the street rat drooling after her like she's stepped out of some vintage Playboy centerfold they take turns jacking off to every night. Salazar would love to see that peach spread-eagled in the back of his Hellcat, all for him, but he knows there's not a chance in hell that a woman so beautiful would ever look at him twice, and so he's content to stare at her from afar.

As if she can read a man's dirty thoughts, she looks over her shoulder, giving him a come and fuck me stare so blatant that he chokes on his beer. When he's done coughing, she flicks her gaze back at him again, a teasing smile playing on those red velvet lips, and Salazar knows he won't be satisfied unless he takes her for a ride tonight.

•••

As she totters around the car show in the fuck-me boots she's borrowed from Apricott, Theda is beginning to think she's made a mistake in coming alone. She sticks out, it's that simple: like a domesticated dumbass unicorn in a herd of wild horses.

She's either underdressed or overdressed, but in her corset top and mini skirt, LA smog-pink, she isn't exactly dressed to kill (except maybe herself if she trips in these boots one more time and faceplants in someone's engine). People are staring already, and she wishes she'd asked Seth for advice, but she hadn't wanted him to try to talk her out of it.

The morning after a pity fuck is never pretty.

As she makes her second loop around the outskirts, her nerves start to jingle-jangle, and that's never a good thing. She lights a fat joint laced with the flowers from her garden in the canyon, white smoke trailing around her face as she tilts her head back, staring up at the sky.

She can feel eyes on her, steady and dark, waiting and watching, and her head snaps up, meeting the gaze of a tall, older man with dark hair that brushes the tops of his shoulders.

He's leaning against a gleaming green Aylesbury GT6, surrounded by people her own age, people she should feel comfortable approaching, but instead she only wants to run. He raises his drink to her, meeting her eye with a nod, and if Theda were really bad, she'd accept that invitation. She'd wiggle her ass up him, and bounce on that dick like she was at a trampoline park.

But Theda isn't bad, and she wants to go home to her garden of moonflowers and black pansies, and her bungalow in the Canyon, where coyotes lope through the neighborhood and the sky is always a dusky pink, the ambient twilight of the vast city sprawling out beyond her.

One more loop, and I'll go.

She looks at engines, but she doesn't know what she's looking at, she was never the kind of girl who got invited to go mudding or race in big trucks with boys down those hairpin curves on the back roads, where pavement meets dirt and there's nothing but sky as far as the eye can see.

She feels eyes on her again, and looks over her shoulder to meet the eyes of a tall, tattooed man, rippling with corded muscles, five o'clock shadow dark on his jaw. He winks, giving her an appreciative nod, and she feels a blush rise to her cheeks that has nothing to do with the role she's playing, but more with the kind of girl she used to be, the one she left behind long ago, before she ever dipped her toes in the ocean under the pier in Santa Monica, before she ever met a man who could make her cry.

He grins again, meeting her eyes, and Theda wonders if he can smell the glitter and greasepaint on her, if he knows that her street racer style is as real as a stage kiss. She puckers her lips, throwing a daring, sultry look over her shoulder than says, Come and get me if you want me, but before he can make his move, someone else slides up next to her, smelling of malt liquor and something unpleasantly musty and strange, as though he's been rotting away in a trailer at the edge of a poison garden for years.

Theda turns her head, even though every instinct in her body is screaming at her to run.

"You lost, pretty girl?" The man smiles at her, but his smile is more like a scream, jagged holes where some of his teeth used to be. His blue eyes are wolfish with hunger, the kind that cracks your bones and sucks the marrow dry.

Theda takes an instinctive step back, the back of her thighs hitting the fender of a nearby car. "Leave me alone." Her throat is dry, and her voice comes out stilted and small, like a baby bird's.

"I don't think so." The man cackles, lifting a strand of her hair. "I've been watching you all night. You came here alone, and no one knows you." He takes a long sniff of her hair, laughing softly to himself. "No one here will notice if I slip away with you." His spotted hand, surprisingly strong, clamps down on her wrist. In the shadows cast by the firelight, it looks as though his face is on fire. "Pretty far from Sunset Boulevard, aintcha?" That dark, hungry gaze sweeps her from head to toe. "Let me give you a ride back to your daddy, little girl. He must be worried." Goosebumps break out along her arms, and she feels as though she is alone in the crowd, drowning in the dark scent of moonflowers that seeps from his skin, the macabre gleam behind his eyes a hellish window to what awaits her. "Just like I always worry about my little girl."

"She's with me. Clear off, Tull." A man's hand slides around her waist, and Theda shudders with relief, looking up to see the tattooed man who'd winked at her earlier. Up close, he looks scary. There's a dark streak to him, a hardness that makes her shiver, glad he's on her side tonight. "You want my fist in your face, loser? Get out of here."

"You should hold onto what's yours, Salazar," the blue eyed man rasps. "Else ya might lose it someday." He fades back into the crowd, his shadow a wisp of smoke on the wall, and Theda tightens her hold on Salazar's arm for a single moment before stepping politely away.

Salazar spits on the ground in the man's direction, then turns back to Theda. Up close, he's just as impressive, easily topping six feet, with broad shoulders and skull tattoos down one arm. "You ain't in Beverly Hills no more, dollface. You okay?"

Theda surprises both of them by flinging her arms around his neck. "My hero!" She splays her fingers on his chest, looking up at him and batting her lashes. He smells like gasoline and a charge of criminal mischief.

"Your hero, huh?" Salazar rubs the back of his neck, looking dazzled. "Ain't never been called no one's hero before."

Theda strains on tip-toe, her lips slamming onto Salazar's mid-chuckle. His body responds instantly, instinctively. One hand slides around her waist, his warm fingers brushing the bare skin of her lower back between her corset and mini-skirt. He takes a hit off the joint, exhaling into her mouth, and his tongue in her mouth makes her knees go weak. As she clutches at his arms for support, he reaches down and cups the tight ass she's spent months squatting for.

"Fuck, I ain't gonna lie, as soon as I saw this thing I knew you'd be trouble." Salazar squeezes her ass again, and she slaps his hand teasingly, letting out a surprised squeal as he kisses her again, his mouth tasting of tobacco and Olde English 40.

Someone whistles. "Get it, Salazar!"

Theda pulls back to find the two of them surrounded by street racers. A tattooed woman with shoulder-length dark hair takes a step forward. "This guy botherin' you, hun?"

"I'm sorry, but do I know you?" Theda flips her hair, looking up at Salazar from the corner of her eye. She's with me. Clear off. "Wanna introduce me?"

Salazar winks at Theda. "I got a better idea." He plucks the joint from her fingers, and takes several deep puffs before dropping the roach, coughing hard. The music makes the colors of the cars pulse against the firelight. Salazar leads her to a black muscle car, painted with flames so detailed they seem to burn. "Whaddya think?"

Theda studies him. His chest is puffed out, his thumbs nocked in his belt loops, fingers pointing to the bulge in his jeans. Her eyes zero in on it, and she feels the back of her neck heat.

"Hey, Beverly Hills. Eyes up here." Salazar chuckles, patting the hood of the car lovingly. "This is a Dodge Challenger Hellcat Redeye. She's got a V-8 engine and 797 horsepower at full throttle. Want me to take you for a ride?" He winks, his fingertips brushing his crotch, and she's glad the dark can hide her furious blushing.

Theda opens her mouth to respond, but before she can get a word in, someone comes up behind her, causing Salazar to stiffen in irritation.

"I don't know, Salazar, she looks like she'd rather have a ride in my Demon." He holds out a hand. "Logan." Logan is young and handsome, with brown hair slicked back in an old-school pompadour, white wife-beater accentuating his muscles. Chazz would call it star power. Theda just calls it swagger. Logan wipes his brow, giving a wolf whistle at the sight of her outfit. "Holy fuck, you are one hot mama!"

"Back off, street rat," Salazar growls. "The lady didn't come here to be harassed by you." He rests his hand on Theda's lower back, and his touch sends flickers of heat dancing across her bare skin. "How about that ride, dollface?" The feeling of his warm breath along the shell of her ear gives her a dangerous thrill.

She turns her head, so their lips are only inches apart. "Will it start slow, or will it be fast from start to finish?"

"That hunk of junk can only go slow!" Logan crows. "Everyone on the street knows that I'm the fastest there is!"

Salazar shoots Theda a very amused sideways grin that makes her toes curl. "My ride can go as fast or as slow as you want it to, Beverly Hills. When it's all over, you'll be purring like a pussycat."

"Mmm." Theda puts an extra shimmy in her hips as she glides around the Hellcat, her fingertips caressing the cool metal. She looks back over her shoulder at Salazar, ignoring Logan, and bites her lower lip, ruby red and curling into a sly grin. Salazar's bulge is even more pronounced, and Logan is practically drooling, his jaw hanging open. "I love it when a man pays extra attention to the... ride."

Salazar leans over, tapping Logan's jaw shut. "Didn't you hear the lady? She loves it when a man makes the kitty purr."

Theda hops through the open window, into the passenger seat. "Well, aren't you gonna show me how you're the fastest man on the streets, Salazar?"

Logan is still spluttering as Salazar jumps into the driver's seat next to Theda, the engine of the Hellcat roaring to life with a purr that makes every head at the party swivel in their direction. Salazar taps on the steering wheel, raising his brows at Theda.

"I want the ride of my life," she whispers, nipping his ear.

"Then buckle up, Beverley Hills." With a howl at the moon, Salazar peels out of the lot and hits the NOS, the Hellcat melting into the night.

#ride or die #choices rod #salazar x mc #choices salazar #lemon #long post #she's too much woman for logan

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varricmancer · 5 years

Text

Written in the stars | 1

Pairing: Varric Tethras x Bethany Hawke

Word Count: 2,019 (A little short, but I’ve been super busy with work and I wanted to get this started. Hopefully it’s still good!)

Summary: When his best friend Garrett Hawke decides to follow his dream and open his own movie studio, Varric is more than happy to offer help in the form of a huge donation and ignore Garrett’s pleas for him to write them a script. Until he learns Garrett’s sister Bethany is meant to be their main actress. Varric may never feel worthy enough to act on his infatuation with the sweet girl, but he’ll do anything in his power to make her a star.

Notes: A modern au! Obviously. Still set in Thedas, but it’s been fiddled with to adjust to my vision. Mages are still treated like crap. Val Royeaux is basically Hollywood and Garrett’s dream is to make his own studio right there in Kirkwall to rival theirs. This is only my second DA fic and my first time trying to capture the entire Kirkwall crew, so I’m a little terrified over how this will go. I’ll do my best!

If there was one thing that he was certain all of Thedas knew about him, it would be never wake up Varric Tethras before noon. This is how he knew that whoever was knocking at his door at seven in the morning - only three hours after he’d finally gone to bed, mind you - was either an idiot or suicidal.

He reluctantly left the warmth of his bed and threw on his favorite red silk robe before shuffling to the front door, where the soon to be dead person was now banging on it hard enough that he was surprised it hadn’t been smashed in yet.

With a weary sigh, he flung open the door and the witty reproach he’d been preparing on the way there vanished from his head when he spotted the unrepentant grin of his best friend.

“Hawke. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this morning?” he drawled, letting the much larger man stroll past him so he could shut the door.

Garrett shrugged and started walking towards Varric’s office, having been here so often he knew exactly where everything was.

“Can’t a guy come say hello to his bestie?”

Garrett went straight to the spare coffee maker that Varric had set up in there for late night writing sessions. He hummed loudly while he scooped out coffee grounds and filled the machine with cold water.

“Uh huh. And why didn’t you use your key?”

Varric settled into his highback brown leather chair that was starting to crinkle with age. His friend was up to something. He’d normally have it all figured out by now, but he was still only half awake.

“That would have been rude.”

“I see,” Varric snorts. Garrett throws a look behind him that said he knew perfectly well what he’d done wrong and wasn’t sorry in the least.

“You realize, of course, that by waking me up mere hours after we last saw each other I am now honor-bound to kill you and everything you love.”

“Then I hope you’re ready to die today, my friend.”

“Damn that was smooth,” Varric grumbled aloud.

Garrett chuckled as he started up the machine and pulled out a couple of mugs from the bottom cupboard. He was still humming obnoxiously loud, but Varric was too tired to protest. Instead, he slumped into his chair and closed his eyes, listening to the gurgling of the ancient machine as it began to fill the carafe.

Just when he was beginning to nod off, a steaming cup of black coffee was shoved under his nose. He supposed it was too much to hope Hawke would have mercy on him. He sighs sleepily and accepts the mug, slurping down the hot brew with practiced ease. Garrett pulls a chair closer to the desk and settles in with his own drink, studying Varric over the rim like he’s waiting for the caffeine to take effect before he strikes.

“So,” Varric finally rumbles after the coffee had settled in his stomach a little. “What do you need? Money? Contacts? An alibi and an extra shovel?”

“No to all of those, but I’ll keep that last offer in mind for the future,” Garrett grins. “I’ve done it, Varric.”

Varric’s foggy mind couldn’t quite grasp what he’d supposedly done. Knowing his friend, it could be anything. He quirked an eyebrow in question, leading Garrett to lean forward with maniacally bright eyes.

“My dream. I finally found the perfect place to open my own movie studio. I’d done a favor for the owner of the building and they lowered the price for me so I was able to afford it. It needs a little work, but it’s a start.”

Garrett’s face is practically glowing with joy, and Varric couldn’t be happier for his friend. Ever since they’d met back in their college days he’d had to sit through so many rants during movies nights. “That’s the problem with those big studios in Val Royeaux, Varric. Everyone is too afraid to take risks anymore. It’s all about the money. When I get behind the camera, I plan to change the world.”

“Shit, that’s great! I’m happy for you, Hawke. Anything you need, just ask. I can help fix up the place and buy equipment to get you started. It’s going to be a lot of work to get it up and running.”

“Actually,” Garrett started slyly, “I had hoped to ask you to help with something specific.”

“Which brings us to why you’re really here,” Varric grunted with a smirk.

“Indeed. How would you like to be the first official employee of Hawke Filmworks?

Varric chuckles. “I’m happy to slip you some cash or recommend some talented workers, Hawke, but I’m rather fond of being self-employed.”

“Don’t worry! You can still work from home in your underwear most of the time! I need a scriptwriter, Varric. Who better to help me turn the entertainment industry on its ear than my best friend?”

Varric scrunched his nose and huffed. “I don’t know about that, Hawke. I write adventure tales and stuff that’s basically shitty erotica. I don’t know the first thing about writing a script.”

“Please! I will kneel and grovel. There’s no one else I would entrust my dream to. Varric, my dearest friend. My love for you has - “

“Andraste’s tits, shut up. And get up, you idiot,” Varric rumbled at Garrett, who had fallen dramatically at Varric’s feet, grasping his ankle like the drama queen he was.

Varric sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I’ll think about it. I’d have to do some research. Are you sure you don’t just want some money? What would I even write about?”

“I have some ideas! Don’t worry about that. We can work on it together. Beth is going to be a mage that overthrows the monarchy and becomes the country’s first elected leader. Imagine that! A mage in power! It will be a little more complicated than that, of course, and lots of political subtext. And there will be a love story with the former Prince...and DRAGONS!”

Garrett had lost him after the name he’d mentioned, Varric’s chest aching as it usually did when her name was mentioned.

Bethany Hawke, Garrett’s little sister. A beautiful and kind woman that was so far out of Varric’s league - though it didn’t prevent him from daydreaming occasionally.

“Bethany is going to be in on it?”

“Of course. The whole gang is. Bethany is going to be our lead actress, Marion is going to do her stunts. Carver is our sound engineer and whatever else we need. Issy says she’ll help with costumes. Aveline has agreed to come in and help too. I was thinking of calling her our Executive Producer. Meaning she gets to do all the boring sitting at a desk and making phone calls to hire people and secure locations, make sure we’re all doing our jobs. The lot mom.” Garrett chuckles.

Varric’s fingers began to twitch with the need to grab his pen. His mind was suddenly filled with images of Bethany as a warrior mage, her silken black hair flowing in the wind as she gazed deep into the viewer's soul with her striking amber eyes. She’d strike down her foes with her powerful magic, and give the people hope with her gentle smile.

And...Hawke said a romance. Would she giggle over stolen moments? Stare up at her lover passionately as they towered over her? Would she sigh or moan when the Prince- who looked remarkably like Varric in his mind - pressed kisses to the little mole on her collarbone?

Varric gulped and forced himself to focus, feeling guilty for thinking such things about his friend's sister right in front of him.

“Bethany does realize that a role like that, especially with the way mages are still treated even here in Kirkwall, would bring a lot of attention to her? And not all of it good. She could be in danger.”

Garrett nods. “We thought of that. I was going to hire an actress, but she said she wants to do it. She thinks if we can tell the right story, it might help change the way people treat mages. Aveline is going to hire someone for security.”

Varric sighs. “If she’s going to put herself in the public eye like that and basically draw a target on her forehead, I’ll do it. I’ll feel better if I know I have some control over how she’s portrayed.”

Garrett reaches over actually pulls him into a hug, slapping his back harshly in excitement.

“You’re the best, my friend. I feel much more confident knowing we have you in our corner. And I know Beth will be happier knowing you’re helping too. She would have been sad if I’d had to tell her you’d said no. And you know that Bethany Hawke sad is a bad thing. Flowers wilt, crops perish, stars fall from the sky.”

Varric scoffs. “Like you didn’t know you’d get me to agree eventually.”

Garrett smirks and stands up. “I’ll leave you to your rest then. Come by later to check out the building. I’d appreciate your opinion on where to start.”

“Oh, now that he’s caffeinated me he’ll let me sleep,” Varric grumbles as he follows his friend to the door. Garrett laughs and pats his head.

“You know you love me.”

Varric shrugs and grins as he opens his front door and kicks Garrett’s ass outside, literally.

“Yeah, yeah. Send me the address. I’ll take a quick nap and come by with some food. Sound good?”

“Perfect! Later, Tethras!”

Varric waits until his friend has safely driven away before he closes his door with a sigh. What he’d actually agreed to was finally soaking in. He’d avoided interacting with the extended Hawke family as much as possible the past few years. They’d questioned it a few times, especially considering he’d once practically lived in the Hawke home he’d been there so much.

However, being tempted so often by someone he could never have had gotten too hard to deal with. There were so many reasons he could think of for Bethany to never even consider him an option. He was older than her, with an often bitter and jaded outlook on life and relationships. She was literal sunshine and was so kind and gentle that it was like she’d walked right out of a fairy tale. She was stunningly beautiful, tall and shapely. He was...well, a dwarf. Though he admittedly took more care with his appearance than many of his kind. They were complete opposites in so many ways that there was literally no reason for them to ever be together beyond one - That Varric adored her and would do anything to make her happy.

Unfortunately for him, what would make the entire Hawke clan happy was for him to apparently attempt writing a script for the ages.

Varric yawns and scratches his belly as he trudges back to his bedroom and the comfort of his blankets, visions of warrior mages with gentle amber eyes floating through his head.

#dragon age #dragon age fanfic #dragon age fanfiction #da2 #varric tethras #bethany hawke #varric x bethany #au #movie studio!au

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fanonorcanon · 5 years

Text

Cullen & F!Mage Trevelyan (Peaceful Thedas AU)

“Oh for fuckssakes,” She groaned, getting up slowly. The eluvian had thrown her out at the top of a hill. A hill strewn with bushes, rocks and weeds.

“Are you alright, that was quite a fall,” someone said.

“Oh yes, completely fine,” she spat, dusting off her clothes and the pack that had fallen from her back. “Nothing like rolling down a fucking hill that’s at least ten feet tall with--” she began before she looked up. Oh, Maker. He’s hot. “Sorry,” She finished lamely.

He chuckled and she felt her face grow hot.

“Can we start over? Hello, I’m Tilda, and you are?”

“Cullen, a pleasure to meet you,”

“Why yes, it certainly is,” she smirked, tilting her head. He seemed stunned rather than pleased so she pressed on. “So where am I, Cullen?”

“You don’t know where you are?” He asked.

“Not really, eluvians don’t usually come with instructions.”

“You came through an eluvian? I’ve only heard of those in legends!” He grinned.

“Uh yeah, anyway, where is this?”

“Ferelden.”

“Yes, I figured as much, but where?”

“Oh! Apologies. We’re in Honnleath,” Cullen replied matter-of-factly.

“No, really. Where are we?” She laughed.

“I’m not sure I understand why you think I would lie about that, but we are indeed in Honnleath. Redcliffe is several miles that way.”

“Huh,” She heaved a sigh and began pacing.

“Are you alright, my lady?”

“So let me get this straight. Here, in this Thedas, Honnleath never got invaded by darkspawn?”

“Dark what?”

Her jaw dropped. She'd heard of eluvians taking people to faraway places, but never to a different world. A different timeline maybe? Very strange indeed. “You’re kidding. You’ve got to be. You don’t even have darkspawn? Well shit. I really lucked out. No demons either then?”

“A myth told by the Chantry,” Cullen replied hesitantly.

“Okay.” She nodded.

“Are those common where you’re from?”

“Very. You guys been to war much?”

“What?” Cullen was adorable and completely sheltered by a land that had never known war.

“I’m staying here,” She murmured, mostly to herself. She made the decision without hesitation because fuck that conflict-ridden world. The maker had given her a chance to start over in a land with no big bad hanging over one’s head. “You guys probably don’t even have slavery here, do you?”

“No, not in Ferelden. There are some who aren’t opposed to the idea, but I am. Is that a problem for you, Tilda?” He asked sharply.

“Not at all, you misunderstand, I deplore slavers.”

Cullen smiled brightly, clearly relieved.

“Definitely staying here,” She said, louder this time.

“You’ll probably want to stay with one of my sisters for the time being,” Cullen said firmly. “I’m sure I can send a messenger on to let them know. I don’t think they’d mind.”

“Nah, I’m fine right here. Hopefully you can give me some insight on where and what this place is. Because right now it's a damn paradise compared to the Thedas I knew.”

“If you insist. Just for tonight until I can arrange something more fitting for you,” Cullen agreed reluctantly, leading me towards his house.

“Hey, Cullen I am not fussy at all. I was actually trying to get away from some demons. Nasty things, trust me.”

“If you weren’t opposed to it, I’d love to hear some tales of the way things are there.”

“To someone who’s only known peace, I’m sure they’ll sound very grand but that’s not really what they are,” She replied.

Cullen gestured for her to sit while he fetched cups and a pitcher of water.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

He sat everything down, including slices of hearty bread with butter and jam before sitting down.

“Should have made tea,” he murmured to himself.

She put a hand on his arm. “You don’t have to be so nervous, Cullen.”

“I’m not, at least I don’t think I am. I don’t get much company that I welcome other than my family so I suppose I am feeling a bit out of sorts.”

“So you get a lot of unwelcome company then?” She arched a brow at the blush that stole over his face. “Let me guess, a handsome man like you probably gets lots of proposals?”

“No!” He sputtered.

“So more than a lot?” She pressed.

“Maker’s breath. I don’t think they’re proposals. But they do ask me to meet them at some place in Redcliffe it's either a fountain or statue or something, I'm afraid I don't concern myself with the specifics. I always tell them that I’d rather not make the trip and leave things unattended for so long. There are many older people living in the area, I worry about them you see.”

“Wow,” she giggled. “So you’re turning down loads of people so that you can help the elderly. You’re a real charmer, huh Cullen?” She tried to bite back further laughter as he blushed even harder.

“It just seems like the right thing to do!” Cullen huffed.

“I’m sorry. That’s just so precious.”

They talked well into the evening about his family, her own family and things they like to do when they have the time. Conversation lulled only when their stomachs growled loudly. Cullen chuckled and got up to make dinner.

“Would you like some help?”

“No, you're a guest, please rest. I'm sure you need it after today. Demons, huh?”

“Yeah, demons. Horrible things.”

“What were you doing before you encountered them?”

“There was a war with mages and templars that hadn’t been going well for either side so there was an agreement to meet peacefully to talk. I was marching to the temple of sacred ashes with friends from my former Circle in hopes of making an accord or at least some sort of pact, but I think there was an explosion, some woman urging me on… I can't seem to remember that part. It's not important though; seems more like a nightmare than anything.” She tried to push away the thought of what it would mean to the Thedas she knew that the only way anyone thought there'd be peace had perhaps disappeared in a giant flash of green flame. Mages would certainly be painted the villain. She sighed heavily.

“It sounds important.” Cullen looked worried, his brows furrowed thoughtfully.

“I doubt a simple alchemist like myself would make any difference in the oncoming storm there,” She chuckled humorlessly.

“Maybe it's the romantic in me but I've read many stories where one person makes all the difference. I truly believe that's possible. And you've fought demons before so it seems that you'd do a lot better than someone like me.”

“That's kind that you think so much of me, but more to the point; are you trying to get rid of me already, Cullen?” She feigned deep offense, laying a hand against her chest.

“Of course not! I just don't think I should put my own desire for agreeable company above the fate of the world. Even if it isn't my world.”

“So you find me agreeable? Only agreeable?” She teased.

“Stop that,” he huffed.

“I’m sorry, but you make it very easy to tease you,” she grinned sweetly at him.

He set down a pot of tea then two plates laden with cheese, cured meats, apples and more of the hearty bread from earlier.

“Let's just eat.” He sat across from her, a blush reaching his ears.

Seeing him get flustered over the smallest things was just too much.

“Are there mages and templars here?” She asked around a mouthful of bread.

“Slow down. The food’s not going anywhere, my lady.” Cullen chuckled at her frown.

“They're not very common. I've only met two mages in my life and not a single templar,” he said.

“Do templars rule over mages?”

His brow creased. “No. Why would templars need to rule over mages?”

She began to tell him about demons, harrowings, tranquil and the rite of annulment some mages had been threatened with.

“Templars, where I come from anyway, operate under this guise that they need to protect mages from themselves. In my own experience many templars fancy themselves as jailors to mages, think themselves beyond reproach. Some do really bad things. Tormenting someone who cannot fight back, either because they fear retribution or in the case of tranquil where they’re incapable of standing up for themselves because the spell doesn’t let them is abhorrent. Those templars are rarely reprimanded.”

“But couldn't mages just supervise each other? It hardly seems fair. And no one deserves to be made tranquil,” Cullen huffed.

They sat in companionable silence for some time before she spoke again.

“Can I tell you a secret?” She whispered.

“I'd be honored to keep your secret, my lady.”

“I actually considered becoming tranquil.”

“Why? Why would you give up your free will?” Cullen asked, completely aghast.

“I didn't want to leave myself open to corruption. It was something that had been drilled into me so heavily to the point of paranoia. But one of my instructors convinced me to go forward with my training. That it was okay to be unsure, but to hone your mind like a blade and always be on watch. To be cautious but bold.”

“They sound like a really great person.” Cullen smiled at her.

“Yeah, thanks Cullen.” She sighed happily. “I haven't told anyone that since my instructor all those years ago.”

“If you’re truly intent on staying, we could use an alchemist in the area. As I said there are many elderly people living nearby and the nearest alchemist is in Redcliffe. Having one closer could make all the difference,” Cullen said quietly.

“Is there some place I could stay for longer than a single night? I don’t want to besmirch your honor, ser Cullen,” she said playfully.

“I’d have to ask around.”

“Don’t worry too much. I could find a cave somewhere out there and become a real ‘witch of the wilds’,” she giggled.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, there are bears and wolves aplenty out there.”

“Cullen, I’ve fought demons and darkspawn. I’m sure I can fend off some wildlife.”

“I’d rather you not have to though,” Cullen said softly, his brow creasing once more. He seemed deep in thought before he slapped a hand on his knee. “There’s an old fishing shack near the lake, I could fix it up a bit for you. It’s not far from here.”

“As long as it’s not too much trouble.”

“It should only take a few days. You can stay here in the meantime. I’ll sleep there.” He stood abruptly and began to walk towards the door.

“Surely it can wait until tomorrow. I could help,” she reasoned.

“No time like the present,” he grinned. “I’ll return in a few days, though I might stop in for food every now and then if I can’t find any game.”

“But what about supplies? Nails and things.”

“I can get those tomorrow. I’m mostly going to check the damage and gather lumber.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re really something.”

“Thank you, I think.”

“Please don’t push yourself too hard. I’d rather you not hurt yourself just for…” She couldn’t help trailing off.

“No, I’d really appreciate having an alchemist in the area. This is simply a service to the community!” He chuckled.

“I’d still like to help, Cullen. It’ll be dark soon and it’d be a lot easier to see in the dark with help.” She held out a hand and summoned veilfire to her palm. “Are you sure I can’t convince you?”

“That’s amazing. I-I suppose that would be very helpful.”

She checked her bag for the basics, bedroll, soap and a change of clothes. He packed his own bag with the same, including food and basic cooking supplies.

“And to think you were just going to walk out the door without all this,” she chuckled.

“I was a bit eager, I suppose.”

She nodded and followed him outside and towards the shack, he picked up an axe by the door on their way out. When they arrived she saw no damage, and thought it needed no repairs.

“No, no, it needs some kind of insulation, tar or something between the boards. You can see inside from here. And besides, it’d be much too cold, my lady.”

“There’s a fireplace and a bed. I don’t need much more than that, Cullen.”

“No, this is unacceptable.” He shook his head and frowned.

“You’re very stubborn,” she commented.

“Maybe so, but I will make certain this place is comfortable several days from now.”

They set down their packs and searched for suitable lumber.

“You’re not cutting down a tree right now, are you?” She asked alarmed.

“No, I was just going to mark them with chalk then come back tomorrow with tools and possibly some additional hands for heavy lifting. My sisters are both betrothed to strong men, and will likely need little convincing to help bring an alchemist to the area.” He ran a hand through his hair. It was curling around the edges from the heat.

She built a fire when dusk approached.

“You can head home now. I’ll be fine here for tonight.”

“What, don’t be ridiculous. I’m sleeping here. I’ll walk you back. You deserve comfort after the day you’ve had.”

She shrugged. “I’m quite accustomed to roughing it, Cullen.”

“I’m afraid I must insist, my lady.”

“You’re not going to budge on this, are you?” She frowned at him.

She tried to settle in his bed after watching him go but instead ended up browsing his bookshelves. Hidden behind several books on sword and armor care was a book called ‘Hard in Hightown’ the cover was much different than the copy she'd seen in her own world. She grinned. Who would have thought Cullen would have smut like this? She settled onto the couch and began to read. Before she’d realized she’d gotten to the last chapter.

“My lady? I knocked on the door, but you didn’t answer, are you alright?” Cullen asked as the front door cracked a bit.

“Yes, I’m fine. Come on in.”

“What are you reading?” His smile seemed to rival the sunlight streaming through the door behind him before he shut it.

“Oh, just a little something called ‘Hard in Hightown’.”

He visibly paled.

“It’s quite good, actually. I wasn’t expecting much from a title like that, but it distracted me enough that I didn’t sleep. I must have lost track of time.”

“Maker’s breath,” he sighed. “I apologize, I’ll take that back now. It should be nothing more than kindling.”

“But I’m almost finished! Have a seat.”

Cullen looked nervous, but sat beside her on the couch.

She feigned intense focus and watched him squirm from the corner of her eye.

“Maybe I should make some tea,” he muttered, going to stand. She set her hand across his restless legs to still them.

After she’d finished the story, including the autographed page at the back, she closed the book and set it down.

“So why does he call you Curly? Is it because of your hair?”

Cullen nodded.

“He’s a writer in my world as well. Mostly of crime novels. Is this what he’s best known for? Erotic romance?” She smirked as Cullen went pink and nodded again. “Okay, I’ve tortured you enough. Let’s eat then get to work. I plan to earn my keep in any way I can. Well, save for how some of the folks in the book earned it,” she giggled. Cullen hid his face in his hands and groaned.

“I’m truly sorry that you saw that, my lady.”

“I’m not. It was a good way to spend an evening.”

“You sure you’re not too tired?”

“Cullen,” she began, exasperated. “I'll be fine.”

“As you will, my lady.”

☙ ☙ ☙

After having a quick breakfast of eggs and smoked meat they headed to the lake.

“I wasn't sure if you wanted me to tell anyone of how you got here,” Cullen said quietly.

“Hm, I suppose it would pose a lot of questions,” she replied.

“I only told them that you're an alchemist and you thought this would be a nice place to settle in. I hope I didn't speak out of turn.”

“Not at all. Thank you, Cullen.”

Once they'd gotten close to the clearing by the lake a blond man was waving enthusiastically and wore a bright smile.

“This is Alistair and this is Thom,” Cullen said.

“Good morning, my lady,” Thom said, looking up from papers he had spread over a stump.

“So Cullen tells us you're the alchemist who fell from the sky,” Alistair chuckled. “He didn't tell us what a beauty you are, though.”

“Yes. He did.” Thom said flatly.

“Should I tell Mia that her betrothed is flirting with other women?” Cullen was flushed all the way to his ears but wore an intense frown.

“I don't mean any of it! She knows I'm only joking, see she's smiling. You're no fun at all, Cullen. He's a real mood killer isn't he Thom?” Alistair said.

Thom hummed thoughtfully.

“How long have you been an alchemist, Tilda?” Alistair asked.

“I started helping my mum when I was small, but I polished my skills in a mage academy.”

“Are you from Tevinter then? I hear that place is crawling with mages these days.”

“I'm not, but the mage academy was in Tevinter, yes.” She was lying through her teeth. She'd never even been to Tevinter! “But I haven't been there for some time. I've mostly been wandering Ferelden.”

“Where are you from, then?”

“Ostwick,” She answered truthfully.

“Shall we get to work then?” Cullen asked. “Thom can you show her your plans?”

Thom nodded.

They'd planned to give the shack siding and shutters for the few windows. True to Cullen’s word, they’d all finished before the week was out. Thom had come back a few days later with a cabinet well suited for alchemy. There were over a dozen small drawers, shelves for empty vials and cabinets beneath it for larger tools like a brew pot and kettle. It was a lovely gesture and she thanked him profusely for his kindness.

Shortly after settling in and stocking up on herbs for common potions and cures she was often visited by Cullen.

“Are you sure you don't need any help, my lady?”

“You could call me Tilda for a change,” she teased him.

“I'm being polite,” Cullen argued.

“As you will then. Do you need something? A love potion perhaps? Now that you don't have to dote on the elderly you should be free to accept invitations from admirers.” She couldn't help smirking at him.

“Maker's breath,” he whispered. “Call me a prude if you will but I don't know if I'm ready for all that. I'm building an archway for my sisters weddings.”

“It's okay to not be interested in romance, Cullen.”

He sank down into a chair at the small table she'd squeezed in for dining on.

“It's not that I'm not interested,” he began hesitantly.

“But?”

“It's just as I've said. I don't think I'm ready. I have so many ideas of what romance should be and I don't want to make a mistake.”

“You can't expect to be perfect at the start. And if you find the right person they'll understand and help you through any inexperience you might have. Communication is the most important thing in a relationship.”

“That seems very wise. Did you leave anyone behind in… that other world?” There was a look in his eye that she'd never seen.

“Most certainly. Left a trail of broken hearts all the way here.”

“You're seeing someone now? I had no idea.”

“I'm joking, Cullen. There's not much room for romance in a circle. Was just a few unpleasant experiences that aren't worth mentioning.”

“Oh.”

“I hear Annabel is pretty sweet on you. Alistair said that she's brought you so many pies that you've begun sharing. I have yet to get one of them.” She feigned offense.

“It seemed wrong. I don't know why. If you like I can bring one.”

She let a silence fall between them.

“I'm sorry, my lady. I wasn't trying to hide it or anything.”

She stood and turned away from him to hide her grin.

“They're not even very good.”

She burst into laughter.

“You're worse than Alistair,” he huffed indignantly.

“Pah, I'm far more charming.”

“I suppose,” Cullen mumbled, a blush coloring his cheeks.

“Mister Rutherford, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were flirting just now!” A woman with curly blond hair stood in the open doorway.

“Mia!” Cullen yelped.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #female trevelyan #cullen rutherford #dai #fanon writes fic

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skybound2 · 5 years

Note

Fanfiction ask: 3, 4, 13, 17, and 21!

Sorry for the delay in answering this one, RL is very annoying at present! (So this was a nice distraction tonight :-D)

3. favorite fic tropes to write?

Answered here :-)

4. favorite fic tropes to read?

Not sure if it’s a proper trope exactly, but my favorite thing is reading outsider POV of my ships. I ADORE just catching snippets of my ships going about their lives and seeing how others perceive them.

Beyond that, I really dig on some of the tropey-est of tropes like “Fake Dating/Marriage Until Oops! It’s Real!” and “There’s Only One Bed/Bed Sharing” and “Enemies to Friends to Lovers” and for no good reason that I can tell, I also enjoy a good Harry Potter Universe Crossover/Transplant. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

13. favorite snack/drink while writing fic?

Hot tea (anything from Earl Grey, to Moroccan Mint, or more herbal flavors, like Hibiscus Lemongrass - I just really like tea, okay?). Snackwise, it’s either dark chocolate pieces, or carrots.

17. a fic you have always wanted to write?

YEARS ago (probably right after DAO was released, I’d wager?) I started to plot out a Mass Effect/Dragon Age crossover fic that was going to involve an Alliance vessel crash-landing on Thedas, and a pre-Reapers Shepard was going to have to go undercover ala the Star Trek: TNG episode “Who Watches the Watchers” and things were going to spiral out of control fast from there, with her becoming the Hero of Ferelden. My thought had been that mission was going to be how Shepard gained her renown in the Alliance, as opposed to being a War Hero, or the Butcher of Torfan, or the Sole Survivor, and is why she was put forth as a candidate for the First Human Spectre.

I know that I wanted to explore the effects of the Blight on Shepard off-planet, and her struggles with merging the year she’d spent on Thedas with the rest of her life, and how she’d approach the Reapers as a result, and the impact that her presence might have had on Thedas as a whole. It was...broad and weighty and had the potential to be VERY long and convoluted, and it never got off the ground beyond a hefty outline and a dozen or so pages of an exploratory opening.

I no longer have any intention of writing it, but I do think about it on occasion. Especially in light of everything that we’ve learned a bout the history of Thedas in DA2 and DAI. (You can probably imagine how excited I was to see both the planet of Thedas referenced in ME3, and the Krogan referenced in DAI :-D) And while I don’t have any plans to write it at present, I am still interested in the concept.

21. if you could only keep one of your fics in the public domain forever, which would you choose?

Huh. That’s a hard question! If we are going based on popularity alone, it should CLEARLY be “Beating Like a Hammer” as that is far and away the most popular fic that I’ve ever published. And I AM pretty proud of it, as I think it is a pretty soundly written fic. But, I think I might actually go with a much less-read fic of mine called “Into the Shining Sun.”

The premise of which is simple, in that I wanted to explore the origins of The Illusive Man from Mass Effect, specifically, how he ended up with cybernetic eyes. It’s a short piece, and nothing overly special, but it resulted in one of the most touching reviews I’ve ever received on a fic; one that even years later I go back to read because it meant so much to me. (In summary, the review was from the friend of someone whose eyesight had been damaged in a manner similar to what I described happening to TIM in the fic, and the reviewer had read the fic out loud to their friend, and that person had been moved to tears by the story as it had hit home for them in a relatable (but good) way.)

And that just...it wasn’t the first time I’d ever been told that a story I’d written mattered to someone. It wasn’t the first time I’d ever heard from someone who’d been thankful that I’d put words to paper and shared them because they struck a chord for them or were cathartic in some way. But I think it may have been the first time I really FELT like something I wrote mattered, if that makes any sense? And it impacted me in ways I hadn’t been prepared for, and for that I will always be grateful. And for that reason, I think if I had to pick only one fic, I’d want that fic to stay public forever and always.

#memes #mass effect #dragon age #all about me #ask box games #replies #darth-salem-emperor-of-earth #thank you so much for the ask!!!#*HUGS*#writing is hard #fanfiction

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herald-divine-hell · 6 years

Text

Three Simple Words

Prompt/Request: Dunno if you’re still willing to take prompts, but could you do one where the Inquisitor and Leliana are together, but they’re scared saying ‘I love you’ will push the spymaster away (because we all know how aloof she can be). So when those three little words slip out? PANIC. Quick reassurances that “it was nothing” or that “you don’t have to say anything.” Poor Inquisitor just desperately wants her to stay, not because they’re holding her back, but because she wants to.

Author’s Note: I hope that you enjoy! I really loved writing this one, and I hoped that you enjoy it!

I made this slightly in an omnipotent viewpoint since I wanted to convey both the Inquisitor and Leliana felt, it is mainly in the Inquisitor’s point of view. This is a really lengthy one, so bear with me!

I love you.

How three, simple words conveyed so much in such few shorts of breaths was incessable and fascinating to the Inquisitor. She had heard the words before, from her mother and father, but never from a lover. It was far too sacred to be used on such a whim, even if the heart would have said otherwise.

The Inquisitor never heard it from Leliana. There was no need since they were capable of showing their affection in other ways. Three simple words should not have held such power, but the thought of Leliana saying it, whispering it, had made her insides become mushy, and her heart to flutter in ways that fighting and magic never was capable of.

Leliana ran her fingers through the Inquisitor’s hair, humming gently an Orlesian tone that the Inquisitor was familiar with. They were reclining on the Inquisitor’s couch, far from the duty-filled chamber of the War Room. “You are exhausted,” Leliana said, more as a statement than a question; but it was true. Administrating an entire organization bent on saving the world from an ancient magister who had an over the top, god complex typically led to people feeling more than fatigue once the day is over.

The Inquisitor smiled grimly. “Am I that easy to read?”

Leliana hummed. “For me, yes. To others, it is slightly more difficult no doubt. Your mask is slowly getting harder to decipher, I will grant you that.”

“You always did know how to read me.”

Leliana grinned a grin that made the Inquisitor’s heart race and her pulse quicken. “I know more than simply reading you.” A finger traced up the Inquisitor’s arm, and she swallowed, cheeks warming considerably.

“You’re terrible, Leli.”

“You would not have tried to seduce me if I was not.”

The Inquisitor laughed: a true, genuine one. It was far too long since she was capable of performing such a feat. The destruction at Haven and the fall at Adamant weighed heavily in her mind. “That’s accurate.” She grinned. “I always love a good challenge.”

There it was. A simple sentence had revealed more of the Inquisitor’s cards. If Leliana had noticed her small metaphor, she did not comment on it. Knowing her, however, the Inquisitor knew that she did.

“Who does not?” Leliana joked. The day was slowly coming to a close, the skies of Thedas grew into a soft, melted velvet, shimmering with pearly-white flames.

It was during the night when the Inquisitor had a chance of tranquility. Her room placed her further away from the action of rulership, and she did not know if that was a good or bad thing. It was fine with her, she had Leliana there to keep her company, and the spymaster was more than enough, definitely.

“Will you be heading to Emprise du Lion tomorrow?” Leliana questioned, relishing the softness of the Inquisitor’s hair, enjoying how the golden-red light of the fireplace lit her face into an ethereal glow. These moments grew so few and far between these days, the growing prominence of the Inquisition after their narrow escape had gained the attention of the nobles of Thedas, requiring the Inquisitor’s full energy to be able to keep up. Leliana had reminded her that Josephine was fully capable of her duties, but the Inquisitor had simply scoffed and said that she would be remiss if she allowed her Cheif Diplomat to suffer at the dry stories of the Orlesian and Fereldens. Leliana believed that the Inquisitor secretly enjoy the power that she wielded over the nobles; their fear, awe, and not-so-subtle desire were intoxicating, Leliana knew that.

The Inquisitor sighed. “Yes. I would have preferred if I was allowed a few moments of rest, but alas, the world is never patient with their heroes.” She glanced up at Leliana, smiling softly. “I wish not to leave you, my nightingale. I just have only returned from the Emerald Groves, but I-”

Leliana placed a slender digit over the Inquisitor’s mouth. “Do not apologize, Inquisitor. You have your duties; and though I dislike it, I must share you with the world.”

“I don’t get a say?”

Leliana smiled, teasingly, and the spymaster looked so much more beautiful when she smiled. “Of course not.”

A giggle passed through the Inquisitor’s lips, and she felt the Inquisitor’s lips pulled into a small grin against Leliana’s finger. They were so soft...

“Just,” Leliana said, a growing fear that always appeared these days whenever the Inquisitor left for her adventures, “please be safe. I understand it is hard for you, but-”

I’m afraid to lose you. Leliana wanted to say. I’m afraid to lose that smile, those shimmering eyes, your light. I’m afraid to be left alone in the world again.

Instead, she said, “the Inquisition needs you, as do I.

The Inquisitor hummed, raised a slender hand to Leliana’s own and brought the spymaster’s knuckles to her lips, grazing her soft lips against it. “I promise I will return to you.”

It was the same promise that the Inquisitor swore after Redcliffe, to the broken Leliana, and then to her Leliana in the present time. It was a promise that she swore annually, and she had kept it so far, even after the Fade.

It had happened before the Inquisitor could have stopped herself, and she wondered if she even wanted that. “I love you.”

The room fell silent, dead almost, besides the flickering and churning of the flames. Leliana’s face was covered in shadow, and the Inquisitor could not read her eyes. She often could not, anyways, but the silence unnerved her, reminded her of the corpse that was Leliana during Redcliffe. No, she thought. That one was dead, empty, and walking corpse; filled with such bitterness and hatred. My Leliana is life itself, burning with hidden passion. Alluring and eternal. She is fire, while that one was ice. Cold, distant. Almost like Leliana when I first meet her. She pushed that thought away and raised herself from the lap of her spymaster. Leliana had come so far since their first encounter. There was slight bitterness, the lingering of self-hatred and contempt, perhaps that will never go away, but she was far more lively, around the Inquisitor that is. She trusted the Inquisitor, they even shared the same bed, felt each other’s curves mold into one, their heartbeats synchronizing into a gentle melody. The Inquisitor did not want to lose that: the spymaster’s trust. It was too precious, and that is why she kept herself from uttering those words, to swearing her undying affection. To confess and reveal all that she was to Leliana. To form a nonspoken oath. Maker, why did she say it?

Did I go too far? She tugged her bottom lip. Her stomach turned and twisted this way and that. Did...did I ruin it?

“Leliana,” she whispered, her fingers twitching to hold her. “Leliana, please, say something.” Anything. The fear gripped and drove a sharpen knife through the heart, ever so slowly. She felt her cheeks tremble, a hollow feeling of dread engulfed her very being. Don’t leave me. She felt hot tears prick her eyes, and she sniffed, holding them back. I am the Inquisitor. I have to be strong. She swallowed, glanced away from the woman that sat beside her, and towards the velvet purple sky. She felt like jumping off the balcony when she said, “It-” she swallowed, but it felt as if her heart had clogged her throat. “It was nothing.” It was everything. “You don’t have to say anything.” Please, just say something. “I can escort you back to your chambers if you like.” Please stay with me.

“You shouldn’t have said that.” Huh?

The Inquisitor whipped her head, staring bug-eyed at her spymaster, the light of her life. “Pardon?”

Leliana did not look at her, instead of resting her eyes on her hands. Her short, flaming red hair was lit by the flames, and the Inquisitor believed that she looked far more beautiful than any other thing in the world. “You...you should not have said that. It was...inappropriate.”

The fear mixed with silent anger. “Inappropriate?” She questioned, and she felt hollow, weak, dead. “How is that inappropriate, Leliana?”

“Unnecessary, than. We are collegue-”

“You're making up excuses,” the Inquisitor said, the quiet anger mixing with the fear and the dread.

Leliana looked up at her, and what the Inquisitor saw erased all the anger and dread in her heart and replaced with guilt. Tears plagued Leliana’s eyes, and her lips trembled as if it was even worse for her to bare. “Inquisitor,” her voice was thick with sadness. “We-I can’t be what you want me to be.” Her eyes, Maker, the Inquisitor could not pull away from her eyes. The flames lit it the blue orbs in a strange mixture, but they were filled with conflicted emotions: Sadness, happiness, anger, regret....guilt? “I want you to take back that statement, and used it for someone who is more deserving of it.”

The Inquisitor laughed, bitterly, almost broken even. “I can’t take it back-” she said, grinning, though her heart was seemingly ready to shatter.

“You must,” Leliana insisted.

“Because person who I am looking at right now is deserving of that confession; of the oath. Of that promise.” The Inquisitor took Leliana’s hands into hers, and she felt her pulse quicken once more. They were so delicate but rough at the same time. She gently squeezed them. “Leliana, you are deserving of this world, deserving of all its affection, of its mercy, of its kindness. It wasn’t Andraste who stopped Cassandra from tearing my head off during our first meeting. It wasn’t Cassandra who insisted that we help the mages when no one else would. It wasn’t-” She inhaled deeply, the memory of the demons that terror that woman apart in Redcliffe resurfaced with great haste. “It wasn’t the Maker who saved me from Redcliffe, who gave me the urge to keeping fighting on It was you. The woman who I go for guidance, who - despite her best efforts - is soft, kind, and gentle beneath all that armor. If you want us to forget about this, forget about this relationship, if you desire a more professional correspondence between us I will happily grant you it, but I will never retract those words, nor will I ever apologize for saying them.” She inhaled again, regaining her breath after that speech.

Leliana stared at her, eyes distant as if processing what the Inquisitor had stated. After a few moments of silence, the spymaster of the Inquisitor spoke, soft and gentle, “I don’t know what to even say, Inquisitor.”

The Inquisitor glanced away, not bearing the intensity of her spymaster’s stare. “You don’t have to say anything, Leliana,” she said. “Y-you can go.” Please stay. You're my strength.

“Good,” was her reply, before she felt hands grip her face and lips coating against her own. The Inquisitor gasped, warmth spreading across her body like the anchor whenever if flared, but this was nice, tranquil even. Everything that was the Inquisitor and that was Leliana was pulled into that kiss: love, worry, happiness, fear. Fear of death, of losing the strength that they both gave themselves. Of losing that pleasant humming in their minds, the warmth in their hearts, the flipping of their stomachs. If they could, neither would have let go, staying together in each other’s arms, far from the cries of war, it was blissful, but they were mortal, and life was never truly fair.

The Inquisitor was the one who pulled away first, though it took great effort to even do that. During that kiss, Leliana had somehow gotten onto of the Inquisitor’s lap, and the leader of the Inquisition realized with a small blush coating her cheeks, both in embarrassment and in some other sort of feeling that one would dare say, love, that Leliana was a tad bit smaller than her. “Le-”

Leliana’s eyes were fierce, the worry and sadness of before had been disrupted like lightning. “Promise me,” she said, low and soft, her lips were so close to the Inquisitor’s, “promise me like all your other promises that you will never have to say those words again. Promise me that you will never have to utter those words again if you keep coming back to me. If you promise that, those words would not compare to the sight of you coming back home, smiling, alive. That will be our ‘I love you’. Promise me that.”

The Inquisitor smiled slyly. It did not need to be a promise, because she would also return to Leliana, alive preferably, because she had a feeling that if she did die, her beloved spymaster would have crossed into the fight just to kill her again.

“A promise worth keep, my nightingale,” she said, “but promise me that you will stay. Tonight, and all other nights till our time in this world forces us to depart.”

Leliana brought her head closer, her lips a mere breath away. “I promise.”

I love you.

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hunnybadgerv · 7 years

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Making Their Re-acquaintance | Dragon Age

Summary: Siobhán’s long-awaited, yet unexpected, arrival in Starkhaven offers she and Sebastian a quiet, intimate moment together.

a/n: A special holiday gift for Lady Norbert. I had wanted this to wind up a treat for the 2017 Black Emporium Rare Exchange, but it took a little longer to get around to it. She asked for some reunion fluff between Sebastian Vael/F!Hawke. I do have to caution, this is kind of canon divergent. I recently started work on a series where Sebastian’s parents rather than investing him in the Chantry, granted him to the templars. The poor fool also happened to fall in love with a mage.

Inspired by a flashback scene I saw in Outlander while I was writing this pair for something else. It was the intimacy of their relationship that I really wanted to try and capture here.

Links: AO3 | FFnet

Making Their Re-acquaintance

The buttery morning sun crept into the room through the open window. The spring breeze carried the aroma of early blossoms with a slight chill down from the mountains and nipped at Sebastian’s bare chest. The red silk of Siobhán Hawke’s robe, warmed by her bare skin beneath, brushed across his shoulder as she drew the razor blade down his cheek with concentrated care and precision.

“I haven’t been pampered like this … well, since—” he mused. He didn’t want to finish the thought. They both knew of the moment he meant; when she disappeared mere weeks ahead of the Seeker who turned up in Starkhaven looking for her with Varric in tow.

“As it should be.” she said with a quiet laugh. Humor always had been her shield of choice.

His relaxed chuckle of agreement joined hers as she rinsed the blade. When she returned to his side, her thin fingers grazing his skin, his neck tingled—every touch threatening goose bumps as the sensation seemed to roil across his exposed skin. She brushed her hair over one shoulder and loomed over him. She bent so close he could kiss her, but her attention focused upon the lather on his face rather than his eyes or his lips, as his focus was.

“I’m the only one allowed to pamper you,” she told him with a smirk. Her eyes met his as the blade skimmed his cheek, then moved along the curve of his jaw. “And don’t you forget it,” she warned with a mischievous grin.

“You’ll get no argument from me,” he replied calmly, then he flashed her a boyish grin. “Especially when you are holding a blade to my throat.” She laughed with him, and his hand smoothed along the curve of her leg, reacquainting itself with the familiar terrain it had not encountered in far too many months.

Sebastian watched the way the silk wrinkled beneath his hands. With each flash of her skin beneath, the corners of his mouth tugged upward.

“Behave, Bash. I don’t want to nick you,” she said, inching away when the backs of his fingertips swept along the inside of her knee.

“Then perhaps you should be a bit more careful,” he said, with a quick glance at the tool in her hand. “That razor holds quite the edge.”

“Do tell.” She stood, back to him again at the rinsing bowl.

“It’s a family heirloom. One of the few which survived the coup. Overlooked by the sticky-fingered among the mercenaries.” His tone softened, but his smile returned gently when her fine fingers grazed his temple and inched into his hair. Glancing upward, his found her inspecting his countenance. Sebastian detoured her fingers, wrapping them up in his own and bringing them to his lips.

Siobhán gave him a playful glare, narrowing her gray-green eyes. “It certainly is quite keen.”

“It’s not the blade that makes the difference, it’s the lovely and skilled hand that wields it,” he said, placing another kiss on the inside of her wrist. Pressing his lips to that thin skin, he could feel her pulse beneath. “Come here,” he added, pulling her hand toward him and lower to get her to close the distance between them. Stretching his neck, his lips met hers in a tender kiss. His free hand sneaked toward the slit of her robe.

Siobhán broke the kiss, pulling away. “Do you want me to finish shaving you? Or should I leave you half hairy?”

A rather voracious grin curled across his lips, as he let darker memories fade once more. “Well, as I recall you always did prefer a clean-shaven face betwixt—”

Twirling behind him with great dexterity, she tipped his chin back. The blade came to rest at the top of his throat, which silenced him. “You do not need to finish that sentence.”

His vibrant aqua eyes flashed toward hers as he weighed the risk and reward. When her brow quirked in warning, he relented with a smile, holding his tongue. Siobhán leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, her velvety lips lingering against his skin. Despite their strained beginnings, his trust in her proved unshakable. He knew his safety to be more securely assured there with her, razor in hand, than anywhere else in all of Thedas, even Starkhaven.

The blade caressed his skin with a muted scratching sound; staring up at her, he let her continue the shave, content to let his fingertips roam wherever they might when she stepped into arm’s reach. He ached to touch her, to hold her close. She had arrived late the night before—a hot bath and a warm meal did her in after the long, hard ride from hither and yon. As she slept, Sebastian basked in the feeling of having her in his arms again, refusing to leave the bed until she woke.

Her task completed, she stepped back to the table near the window, rinsing the blade and snapping it closed. Unwilling to exercise anymore patience, Sebastian leaned forward and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her into his lap. He held her close, resting his chin on her shoulder. “I’ve missed you, my clever mouse.”

Siobhán chuckled, and he knew it was because of the nickname, which stemmed from when they first met in Darktown. For years, she had remained his most elusive prey. Her hands smoothed through his hair. “And I you,” she agreed, pressing her fingertips through his hair as she held his gaze.

“I’m glad you came,” he said like he was admitting a secret.

Her fingertips grazed the shell of his ear, then along his jaw. “As if that was ever in doubt.” He remained quiet for a time. Siobhán’s strong brow creased, drawing tight over her pale eyes. Her hands rested upon his shoulders “Sebastian?”

Her gaze searched his for an explanation, and eventually his blue eyes darted toward the window as the guilt rose like a bubble in his chest.

“You doubted me?” she asked getting to her feet and backing away from him with a glaring look of surprise etched into her face. “And just how long have you questioned my devotion to you?”

Sebastian followed her, standing and taking her face in both his hands. “That is not what I doubted. I never doubted you, or your heart. And never doubt my love for you,” he begged. “But I recall the way you chaffed beneath your title here and before, in Kirkwall. I worried that the lure of your, our, old life—that as adventurer, Champion might have been … too much temptation away from this, as princess.”

Siobhán groaned, her forehead falling upon Sebastian’s bare chest. “You just had to mention that, didn’t you?”

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I assure you it is not completely horrible. Things here are far more settled. Stable even, in spite of the tensions.”

“I know. And it was never all that bad,” she said, looking up at him with a shrug and a smirk. “Plus, I’ll have you by my side.”

“Aye, you will. For as long as you’ll put up with me.”

Siobhán chuckled, her arms slipping back around his neck. “Well, you’ve only been a wee bit of trouble—”

“Trouble, huh?”

“Don’t play innocent with me,” she said, the tip of her nose brushing against his. “I know better.”

In a quick tip of the head, Sebastian captured her mouth. His fingers traced the length of her neck, catching the edge of her robe. His hand slipped beneath the silk, skimming her skin—soft in places, marred in others by a patchwork of scars, but warm everywhere. His lips teased down her neck sliding the delicate crimson down her shoulder.

Thunderous knocking rang through the room, causing Sebastian to groan against her skin. “Yes!” he called, tipping his face toward the ceiling. Exasperation dripped from his tone as Siobhán chuckled against his chest.

The door opened with a rambunctious clang. “My Lord,” a young male voice called. “Oh, and my Lady. Apologies, I didn’t realize.”

“You can realize later, Corrum. What do you require?”

“Ah, yes. Right, my lord. Seneschal Marcuse sent me to remind you that the Lord Chancellor of Tantervale should arrive shortly and will expect to be greeted in proper fashion.”

“Dismissed,” Sebastian said. he looked down at her, his thumb brushing across her cheek.

“Remind me how not horrible this is again,” she asked him with narrowed eyes and a look of consternation.

Sebastian chuckled, a low rumbling sound that filled the room. “Perhaps, we should take dinner here tonight. Alone,” he suggested.

“With visiting dignitaries here?”

It was his turn to narrow his eyes. “You’re being far too practical, my bonny love.”

“One of us has to be, don’t you think?” she asked, pressing a kiss to his lips as she pulled her robe back on.

“I’m sure Marcuse would agree with you.”

“Well, you’re freshly shaven, so you’re better than halfway there.”

His laughter rose again, but he didn’t let her go. In fact, he embraced her tighter. “Now that you’re here again, I don’t want to let you go, even for a moment,” he said, burying his face in the curve of her neck in an evanescent bid to extend their serene occasion.

Siobhán did not help him toward his duty. Her arm remained draped over shoulders, as she petted his hair and stared up at him wearing a gentle smile. No, there was no place else he wanted to be. His hand slipped behind her neck and pulled her lips to his. Maker give him strength. “Perhaps a special dessert then. By moonlight.”

“As long as you remember to bar the door.”

“I swear it by the Maker himself.”

Siobhán pinched his chin and stretched up to place a gentle peck on his lips. “I’ll be here with bells on.”

“Oh,” he cooed. “Now, that does sound novel.”

She pushed at his shoulder, her eyes rolling as she laughed—a bright sound that made his heart feel like it might burst. Her unbridled laughter, oh, how he had missed that sound, he realized in that moment. Indulging in one last kiss, or so he told himself, he finally let her slip from his arms to dress for the day. He’d don the same armor his father had commissioned all those years ago, though it no longer bore the sign of the Order; the flaming sword of the templars had been covered with the crest of Starkhaven.

#Dragon Age #Dragon Age Fanfiction #Badger Scribbles #Sebastian Vael #Siobhán Hawke #Templar!Sebastian #Making Their Re-acquaintance #Lady Norbert #Happy Holidays #2017 Holiday Gift Fics

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kitswritingdesk · 7 years

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Back to writing this. I hope everyone enjoys. Excerpt: When Orsino had first asked him to be the one to remake Elgaravise, Solas had demurred. That was a job for someone else, someone whose creations were not tainted with failure and loss. And besides, he felt that using those skills openly left him vulnerable. Perhaps one day he would reveal his true identity, but until Corypheus was defeated, it was better for him to maintain a low profile. But Fiona had no intention of allowing him to refuse. “You claim to want redemption, Solas. What better start could there be than to make the blade for the Heir of Andraste? There is little doubt that Enalla will have to face Corypheus in the end. Your help could be the very thing that allows her to prevail,” she said with a too-sweet smile. The Loremaster was cunning, striking his guilt right where it lived while at the same time flattering his ego. Even knowing he was being manipulated, Solas felt unable to refuse. But he wasn't going to leap into the forging of a magical blade without knowing more about the wielder. He knew a bit about Enalla as a person, which had served to allay his fears about a human carrying the One Ring. The Heir of Andraste was not reckless or hungry for glory. She had a good heart and a curious mind. He could have hardly done better in finding a bearer himself, and he certainly could have done worse. But he knew next to nothing about her as a warrior. So now they were in the practice ring, and Enalla was preparing to spar with Cassandra, the warrior of Minas Tirith. A few of the other Dunedain watched from the sidelines; Solas believed they were still recovering from injuries sustained during the ambush Enalla herself had barely escaped. They shouted out taunts and encouragement as the two women readied themselves. “You sure you're up for this? After three days in bed and a week with your rump in a chair, you might be a little rusty,” called a brawny man with ginger hair. “Come over here and say that, Fergus,” Enalla replied, grinning. “I have no problem knocking you on your arse.” Solas allowed himself a small smile. She was a spirited woman; she would have to be to have led the rangers of the north as ably as she had for the past fifty years, but she was not merely a military commander. Enalla was also learned, thoughtful, and perceptive, wise despite her relative youth. He would have thought her unique among humans, but he was willing to admit that he perhaps had not considered any human worth his attention until now. It was a puzzle whose pieces he was not yet ready to put together. The two women stood across from each other, shaking hands. “Should we set the rules beforehand, my Lady?” Cassandra asked. Solas supposed she might be feeling a bit nervous fighting the actual Heir of Andraste. “This is just for exhibition,” Enalla answered with a smile, “So I assume we’ll be trying our best not to injure each other even though we’re using real steel. To first blood, or surrender, does that sound reasonable? And please don't call me lady. Enalla will do.” “Of course, my- Enalla,” Cassandra said, her cheeks coloring. “Solas, will you referee?” Enalla asked, turning her dancing gray eyes upon him. Andraste had such eyes, he remembered, but they had been colder, more stern. He nodded. “Ready yourselves.” The two women sank into defensive stances, Cassandra bringing up her shield. Enalla fought with a longsword in one hand and a dagger in the other, a style Solas had not seen except among the Sindar until now. “Three… two… one… begin.” They circled each other for a few tense moments before Enalla exploded into action, a whirling tempest of blades. Cassandra reacted purely defensively at first, perhaps caught off guard by her foe’s speed and unusual style, and, Solas thought, a bit wary of striking what must seem to her an almost sacred being. But Enalla hit her across the ribs with the larger blade, making her grunt with pain, and that seemed to shake her out of her reluctance. Solas watched them battle in earnest with his chin resting in one hand. Though their styles were completely different, both women were equally skilled, but he found he preferred to watch Enalla. She fought like the elvhen in the days of old, with grace and subtlety, and already his mind was awhirl with runes and enchantments to enhance her natural abilities. “Nothing like watching two powerful women go at it, huh Chuckles?” said a voice intruding on his thoughts. Solas blinked in surprise. “Excuse me?” he said, looking over at the beardless dwarf, Varric, from the corner of his eye. For some reason, he insisted on wearing a vest with no shirt underneath, exposing his absurd amount of chest hair for the whole world to see. “You're watching the fight with rapt attention. I assumed you were interested for… aesthetic reasons,” Varric answered with a sardonic grin. “No,” Solas said, perhaps a little too quickly. “Not that I don't find her…” He cleared his throat, feeling his ears getting hot. “I mean, I am only watching the match to learn Enalla’s fighting style, not for any… indecent purpose.” “There's nothing indecent about appreciating a beautiful woman, Chuckles.” Varric said, but his eyes were practically glowing with satisfaction. “Why do you insist on calling me that?” Solas asked, hoping to change the subject. “Chuckles? Well, whenever you find something amusing, which is surprisingly often considering your dour expression, you laugh quietly to yourself. I like to give people nicknames, helps to define their characters in my mind.” “And you think chuckling defines my character?” Solas said, his eyebrow arched in disbelief. Varric was obviously not a good judge of others’ motivations, which was a comforting thought. Just then, Cassandra twisted her sword in a parry that sent Enalla’s dagger flying through the air. Solas reached up and caught it before it hit him in the face. “Damn. I guess they weren't kidding when they said elves had quick reflexes,” Varric remarked, but Solas wasn't really paying attention. For many people, the loss of the secondary weapon would signal a significant disadvantage, but this was not the cast for Enalla. She switched to wielding her sword with two hands, her style now direct and powerful, and Cassandra was not prepared for such a drastic change. She backpedaled, barely fending off the shattering blows with her shield, and then she tripped and fell on her backside. “I yield, I yield!” she exclaimed, somewhere between impressed and exasperated. Enalla grinned and held out her hand, pulling the other woman back to her feet. “That was well fought,” she said. “I think you might have been taking it a little easy on me.” Cassandra snorted. “Perhaps at first. But you took me off guard after you lost your dagger. The win was fairly earned. I’d be glad to spar with you again.” “Any time,” Enalla agreed. “Where did my dagger go, anyway?” she asked, looking around the circle with pursed lips. “I have it here,” Solas said, holding it out. Now that he wasn't entranced by the fighting, he could admire the craftsmanship. It was ancient blade, forged at Fornost in the glory days of the North Kingdom. Though it could not truly compare to an Elvhen smith, it was the closest a human might ever hope to come. “I was nearly collateral damage.” She flashed him a wide grin, still flush with the thrill of victory, and he felt his heart, unexpectedly, beat faster in response “Sorry about that,” she said, taking the dagger back and slipping it into the sheath at her hip. “Did you see enough?” He swallowed. It felt like a loaded question, even though he was sure that was not what she had intended. “I believe so. I will need a day or so to think about it, but I believe I will be ready to begin the forging the day after tomorrow. Even with the aid of magic, it will take several days.” “Thank you for doing this, Solas,” she said, meeting his eyes with a sincerity he found mesmerizing. “I can't tell you how much it means to me, personally, not to mention what it will mean to everyone that opposes Corypheus, to see the blade wielded again.” “I am happy to use my skills to aid you in whatever way I can, lethallan,” he said, and to his surprise, he meant it.

#my fanfiction #dragon age #lord of the rings #fellowship of thedas

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pikapeppa · 5 years

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FenHawke & Cullavellan pirate AU: Together

Chapter 21 of Where The Winds Of Fortune Take Me is up on AO3! It’s a long chapter; read here on AO3!

In which Fenris and Rynne have an unexpected encounter in Afsaana on the Rialto Bay.

A housekeeping note: our wonderful creator and artist @schoute is busy now with Real Life Things, so our art components of the story will be less frequent! YOU’RE STUCK WITH WORDS ONLY.

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

- RYNNE -

Rynne hopped off the rowboat and onto the dock, then looked around in fascination. Afsaana was the most unusual town she had ever seen. Not to say she had much experience with new places – Rialto was still the only other town she’d seen aside from Kirkwall – but still, a town whose charming stilted homes climbed up the surrounding tree-covered hills and into the verdant mountains seemed unusual to her naive eye.

“Another town, another adventure!” she said cheerfully. She clasped her hands and looked excitedly at Fenris, Anders, Varric and Dorian. “So what is there to do here? What do you recommend?”

Sera ran over to join them. “Oi! Got a word from a barmaid who got it from a beachcomber who got it from some kid with a fish. Darts competition at The Bed and The Bucket, the pot’s twenty royals! Last one there’s already lost!” She ran away without waiting for an answer.

Anders shrugged. “Not a bad pot. I think I’d have a pretty good chance at that.”

“Darts in a tavern? That’s hardly original,” Dorian said disdainfully. He carefully smoothed a crease from his silk pants as he stepped onto the dock. “There’s a marvelous tailor in the upper town square. I’m going straight there. Fenris, you should join me.”

Fenris grunted. “I don’t need tailored clothing. It is a wasteful expense.”

Dorian tutted. “My friend, you’re a pirate. Every coin you spend should be a wasteful expense.”

Varric patted Dorian’s elbow. “Ah, let the elf off the hook, huh? He has barely any coin at all. Not since the gambling incident in Rialto.” He grinned at Rynne.

Rynne winced apologetically at Fenris, who was crouched on the dock tying the rowboat in place. “I’m still sorry about that, by the way. Funny how quickly an entire pouch of coin disappears when you’re playing wicked grace for the first time while, er, drunk.”

Fenris finished tying off the boat, then stood up. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. It was worth–” He broke off with a frown. “It’s fine.”

Varric smirked, and Dorian folded his arms. “Let me get this straight,” he said archly. “A perfectly tailored garment is a wasteful expense, but allowing the Lady Luck’s assistant surgeon to fritter away all of your coin during a debauched night of gambling is justifiable?”

Fenris’s scowl deepened. Rynne laughed and fanned herself. “Dorian, don’t you know that no one can resist my charms? It’s not Fenris’s fault that I batted my eyelashes and divested him of his coin.” She sidled up to Dorian and slipped her hand through his elbow. “In fact, since you’re clearly swimming in silver, Piper mentioned that there’s a lovely bookshop in this town that’s screaming for a visit…”

Dorian snorted in amusement and unhooked her arm from his. “A solid try, my dear Hawke, but you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

She widened her eyes. “How can you be the wrong tree when you’re such a delight to look at? The divine hair, the perfect wardrobe, the exquisite complexion…”

Anders coughed out a laugh at her ostentatious compliments, and Dorian rolled his eyes. “You and your flattery,” he scolded. “It’s positively shameful.” He dug a silver out of his fine leather coin pouch and flicked it at her.

She grinned as she caught the coin. “And yet you keep rewarding me,” she said. Then she turned to Fenris and ceremoniously held out the coin.

“A start on repaying my debt to you,” she said mock-seriously.

“Excuse me,” Dorian protested. “If I knew you’d waste that by giving it to him, I wouldn’t have handed it over.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow, then unfolded his arms and took the coin from her hand. “As long as this aggravates Dorian, I am happy to accept.”

Dorian tutted, then tapped Varric’s shoulder. “You’ll come to the tailor with me, won’t you?”

“No can do, Sparkler,” Varric said affably. “I’ve got business to attend to. At that bookshop, in fact,” he said to Rynne. “You’re welcome to tag along.”

“I wanted to look for a particular volume too, actually,” Anders said. “I’ll come with you.” He looked at Rynne hopefully. “Coming, Hawke?”

Fenris folded his arms and shifted closer to her. “There is a group of Rivaini dancers who perform regularly at this time in the lower town square,” he said quietly.

She looked at him excitedly. “Dancing? Really?” She tilted her head. “You enjoy watching the dancers? Are they sexy dancers?” She wiggled her eyebrows salaciously.

He shrugged. “I simply thought you might be interested.”

It was on the tip of Rynne’s tongue to say yes, but for a split second, she hesitated. She’d recently started wondering if she was spending too much time with Fenris. During her first couple of weeks on the Lady Luck, it had become her habit to spend most of her spare time with him. But given their conflicting desires – or rather, the fact that Rynne’s desires weren’t reciprocated – gravitating toward Fenris was becoming more painful than pleasant, almost like drinking too much of that spicy hot chocolate that Merrill made sometimes. In truth, Rynne would probably be better off going to the bookshop with Varric and Anders instead of spending more agonizing time alone with the object of her unrequited affections.

It was too late, though. Her tongue had hesitated for long enough, and her heart butted in and took the reins before her brain could step in. “Of course I’m interested,” she said to Fenris. “Dancers it is.” She grimaced apologetically at Anders and Varric. “Maybe we’ll find you at the bookshop later.”

Anders shrugged. “I’ll likely be at The Bed and The Bucket by then. Winning the pot out from under Sera’s nose.”

Varric chuckled. “You, beat the expert archer at a darts competition? Those are some big dreams, Blondie.”

“Ouch,” Anders deadpanned. “That hurts my feelings. Sort of.”

Dorian sighed dramatically. “And the handsome Tevinter goes to the tailor on his own. I see how it is.” He began to saunter away. “If I don’t return to the Lady Luck, please tell our dear Captain that it’s because you all abandoned me.”

“Will it make it better if I promise to compliment your ass in your new trousers?” Rynne called after him.

“Not now that I know your compliments won’t be genuine,” Dorian yelled back.

Rynne snickered, then smiled up at Fenris. “All right, let’s go see these sexy dancers.”

“I never said they were sexy,” Fenris said calmly. “That was your assumption.”

“But you didn’t deny it,” she said slyly.

Anders clicked his tongue. “Come on, Varric, let’s go,” he said. The two of them made their way along the dock toward the upper section of the town.

Fenris gazed disdainfully at Anders’s departing back, then gestured toward the boardwalk that wound away toward the west. “The lower town square is this way.”

She beamed at him. “Lead the way, O Handsome Escort.”

They walked along the boardwalk side-by-side, and Rynne shoved her hands into her pockets to stop herself from accidentally holding his hand like she wanted so badly to do. As was the case in Rialto, the boardwalk was busy with all sorts of people of every age and race: pirates from everywhere in Thedas trading news and insults, elven and dwarven artisans peddling their wares and unloading goods from their boats, barefoot elven children racing around everyone’s knees, and even a number of qunari.

Rynne studied the tall horned people as subtly as she could without staring. “I’ve never seen so many qunari before,” she confided to Fenris. “Actually, Kaaras is the first qunari I ever met.”

“I assumed as much,” Fenris replied. “Although technically, Kaaras is not qunari. Most of the horned people you see here are not qunari.”

Rynne’s eyes widened. “Wha–? What do you mean, they’re not qunari?”

“‘Qunari’ is the word for people of any race who follow the Qun. Their religion, so to speak, or their rule of law,” Fenris explained. “Kaaras left the Qun, so he is what they would call ‘tal-vashoth’.”

Rynne frowned thoughtfully. “So if I converted to the Qun, I would be a qunari?”

“You would, yes,” Fenris said. Then he smirked.

She tilted her head quizzically. “What’s funny?”

“The idea of you converting to the Qun,” he said. “It would be a poor fit.”

“Why?” she asked curiously.

He rubbed his mouth, then smirked at her again. “Because the qunari do as they are told.”

Rynne barked out a laugh. “Excuse me!” she exclaimed in mock offense. “I do what I’m told if it makes sense! I’m learning to fight quite well, aren’t I? Look, I even have my dagger on my thigh for easy access and my coin purse near the front.” She pointed at the embossed pouch that Carver had sent her, then tucked her thumbs confidently into her belt and raised her chin. “No one’s pickpocketing this girl.”

Fenris’s handsome smirk widened slightly. “True enough,” he conceded. “Still, you would make a poor qunari.”

Rynne elbowed him playfully. “Fenris, are you trying to compliment me in a very odd way?”

To her surprise, he didn’t make the expected witty brush-off. Instead, he slowly rubbed his chin.

“I… perhaps I am, yes,” he said.

Rynne stared at him, her humour swiftly fading as she studied the oddly serious look on his face. She genuinely hadn’t expected him to agree with her.

Wait. What did it even mean that he wanted to compliment her?

Her mouth was dry. She swallowed hard and gazed at him, waiting and hoping and wishing for him to say something more. But he wasn’t looking at her, and the tips of his ears were turning pink.

For some reason, his unusual sign of nerves rendered her nervous.

Quick, change the subject, she thought. “How do you know so much about qunari?” she asked brightly.

His shoulders instantly loosened, and he finally looked at her again. “They have been in conflict with Tevinter for many years,” he said. He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t know of this?”

She pointed at herself and grimaced. “Naive noble girl, remember?”

He shot her a chiding glance before replying. “People often spoke of the conflict in the streets of Minrathous. I had little else to do but listen and fight when my master commanded.” He shrugged, but his expression was slowly becoming bitter. “Besides, to be a slave is to be invisible. You can learn a great deal from simply standing around while your master and his cronies loosen their lips in your presence.”

Rynne nodded sympathetically. “That reminds me of going to parties at my mother’s friends’ houses. Especially when I was small. Bethany and I were always told to sit up straight, smile and nod, but not to speak unless we were spoken to.” She adopted a mocking high-pitched voice. “‘Children should be seen and not heard’. Have you heard that before?”

He looked at her in surprise. “I… not in the common tongue, no.”

“Ah. Well.” She shot him a dark look. “It doesn’t make for a very fun childhood, I can tell you that. But you’re right: people do share some rather scandalous secrets around you when they think you’re just a mindless ornamental doll.”

Fenris was silent. When Rynne looked at him quizzically, he was frowning.

All of a sudden, she realized what she was accidentally implying. Horrified, she clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh Maker,” she blurted. “That’s not to say I’m – I don’t mean I was anything like a slave, I don’t mean that, what you went through was far worse than– oh, fuck me sideways.” She buried her burning face in her hands. “I’m an idiot,” she lamented. “I’m so sorry, Fenris.”

“No,” he said quietly. “Don’t apologize. You present an interesting perspective. And a valuable one.”

She chanced a peek at him through her fingers, then slowly lowered her hands. He didn’t look angry; in fact, he was studying her with a soft and thoughtful little frown that made her treacherous heart thump.

“I believe I owe you an apology, in fact,” he said.

“What?” she said dumbly. “What for?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “When we first met, I… I made assumptions about you based on your family’s wealth.”

She relaxed. “Oh. Well, that’s all right, most people–”

He held up a hand to stop her. “I thought you would be a burden on the ship,” he said bluntly. “That you would turn tail and run back to Kirkwall when the thrill of adventure was outweighed by the hardship of a sailor’s life.” He plucked idly at the red ribbon around his wrist. “You are not what I expected.”

“Oh,” she said stupidly. Then she swallowed hard. His gorgeous green eyes were steady on her face, and something about the intensity of his expression was making her feel extremely nervous.

She dropped her gaze and awkwardly rubbed her nose. “Well, I, um… I rather like the idea of being underestimated.”

He drew back slightly in surprise. “Why?”

She shrugged and tucked her hands in her pockets. “If people expect nothing of you, then you can really surprise the shit out of them,” she said. “It makes their shock all the more enjoyable.” Then she remembered one of her favourite quotes from Swords and Shields – one that was actually relevant to the situation.

She straightened and smiled at Fenris. “‘No fire burns brighter than the one you never expected’,” she said proudly. “That’s something that Varric wrote, and he’s one of the smartest people I know.”

Fenris stared at her incredulously for a moment. “That is… a very optimistic point of view,” he finally said.

Rynne let out a little self-deprecating laugh. “I know. I’m insufferable. You don’t have to say it.” She unconsciously lifted her left hand to tuck her hair behind her ear.

Fenris grabbed her wrist before she could touch her scar.

Her eyes darted up to meet his. And suddenly she realized how close they were. There was a mere handspan of space between them, and his handsome face was just a few inches from hers.

A sudden, breathless rush of hope shoved her heart straight into her throat. As the milling people on the boardwalk moved blithely around them, Rynne stood frozen with her wayward eyes on Fenris’s lips and her breath stalled in her lungs and his warm strong fingers wrapped around her wrist.

An hour later – or maybe it was just two seconds – he released her wrist and stepped away from her. He dropped his gaze and ran a hand through his hair. “We should, er. We should move on,” he said. “We will miss the dancers.”

Her heart dropped from her throat straight through her chest to settle heavily in her stomach. “Right, right,” she said quickly. “Um, let’s go.”

They made their way along the boardwalk in an increasingly uncomfortable silence, and Rynne tried hard to quell her disappointment. It was her own fault for assuming… something about how close they’d been standing and how complimentary Fenris was being. Besides, it wasn’t like friends couldn’t compliment each other. Rynne was constantly complimenting everyone on the Lady Luck, and it wasn’t like she was interested in any of them.

But friends don’t stare at each other’s mouths like that, a sneaky part of her mind whispered.

She ignored the little voice. It was pointless. Fenris had said he wanted to be just friends, and that was the end of it.

A couple of minutes later, they were standing in the midst of a cheering and clapping crowd as they watched a troupe of six beautiful Rivaini women spinning and twirling to the driving rhythm of a drum and a stringed instrument Rynne had never seen before. The atmosphere was bright and cheerful, and Rynne gratefully allowed her mood to be buoyed up by the music and the wonderful dancers.

She clapped along to the drumbeat and leaned toward Fenris, who was watching the performance with a small frown. “I think I should learn to dance like that,” she yelled over the noise. “It would come in handy for my combat training.”

He glanced at her. “How, pray tell?”

“The rolling,” she replied. “And the flexibility. I could bend over backwards to dodge a sword, then roll behind them and, er…”

Fenris raised a skeptical eyebrow, and Rynne laughed. “All right, fine, you caught me. I just want to learn a sexy dance.”

“That strikes me as the last thing you should be learning,” he drawled.

She elbowed him playfully. “Says the man who choreographs dance routines while running from deck to deck on the Lady Luck.”

He shot her a chiding smirk. “You will never let that go, will you?”

“Never,” she said with relish. She jerked her head at the dancers. “You know, I could imagine you learning these dances. The half-naked bodies and the fluttering scarves…” She grinned salaciously.

He huffed and folded his arms. “And I could imagine Dorian exchanging his fine silk garments for a burlap bag. That doesn’t mean it will happen.”

She snorted with laughter at the absurd idea, then watched the dancers for a moment longer before glancing at Fenris again. Then she stopped clapping and stared at him in alarm. His expression was blank with shock.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He didn’t reply. His shoulders were stiff and his fingers were clenched, and his gaze was fixed on someone on the other side of the dancing circle.

Rynne tried to see who he was looking at, but there were so many people that there was no way to tell. She looked at Fenris once more with growing anxiety. “Fenris, what’s the–”

“Vishante kaffas,” he hissed. He grabbed her hand and started pulling her along behind him.

Her heart leapt into her throat again, but with panic this time. He was moving swiftly and confidently through the crowd without jostling anyone, clearly in an effort to not draw undue attention. When they reached the edge of the crowd, Fenris stopped short and released her hand.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand to silence her, and she dutifully closed her mouth and watched his eyes. He was glaring fiercely at someone across the square, and through the thinned crowd, Rynne thought she might now be able to tell who he was watching: a figure about her height wearing a nondescript brown hooded cloak and carrying an equally nondescript haversack.

The hooded person disappeared through the door of an inn called The Gull and Lantern, and Fenris dragged a hand through his hair. “Venhedis. Fasta vass,” he cursed.

Rynne watched with growing apprehension as he started to pace. “Fenris,” she said quietly, “who was that?”

He clenched his fingers in his hair for a moment, then glared at her. “That was my sister.”

Rynne froze for a second. A sister? A sister? “You have a sister?” she demanded.

“Yes,” he bit off. “She… kaffas. I have not seen her in years. Not since she…” He trailed off and continued to pace. “What is she doing here?” he muttered.

Rynne took a step closer to him. “Slow down for me,” she pleaded. “You… she… you didn’t expect to see her here?” She knew her question was stupid and vague, but for Maker’s fucking sake, Fenris had a sister? How had he never mentioned this before?

“No,” he snapped. “The last time I saw her, she was leaving Minrathous with her blasted merchant lover. She should be in Qarinus with him. Why…” He trailed off and rubbed a hand through his hair again, and with a pang, Rynne realized that he was starting to look distinctly worried.

She ran a soothing hand along his arm. “Fenris–”

He flinched away from her. Actually physically recoiled from her touch.

A childish pang of hurt rose through her chest. She ruthlessly shoved it away and folded her hands behind her back. “Do you want to go in and talk to her?” she asked.

“I… don’t know,” he said. “I didn’t… I never expected to see her again. Certainly not outside of Tevinter.” He rubbed his mouth, and with a heart-wrenching pang, Rynne realized his hand was shaking.

She squared her shoulders. “All right. Let’s go talk to her,” she said confidently.

He looked sharply at her. “What?”

She met his eyes steadily. “We’re going into that inn to talk to her.”

He swallowed hard, then dropped her gaze. “You don’t have to… I don’t need your help,” he muttered.

Rynne studied his tensely hunched shoulders. He looked so defensive and angry and… and scared. Fenris was the bravest man she’d ever met, and he was scared to confront his sister.

She took a step closer to him. “You stood by me while I had that shitty conversation with Carver,” she said. “I’m coming with you to talk to your sister.” She smiled at him. “Hopefully it’ll go better than my talk with Carv, though. Who knows, maybe you’ll just end up having a nice chat over tea and cakes–”

“This is not a joke,” he hissed.

Rynne didn’t flinch. “I know that,” she said steadily. “That’s why I’m coming with you. You don’t need to do this alone, Fenris.”

He glared at her for a moment longer, then dropped his gaze once more and ran his hands through his hair. Finally he dropped his hands to his sides and exhaled sharply. “All right,” he said. “All right. I… let’s… we will speak to her.”

Rynne nodded and fell into step with him as he strode toward The Gull and Lantern. He pushed open the door to reveal a small but clean pub with simple wooden tables and benches and surprisingly ornate stained glass windows.

Rynne stepped inside with Fenris and looked around. “Now where–”

“Leto?”

Fenris looked up, and Rynne followed his gaze. The brown-cloaked figure had thrown back her hood, revealing an elven woman around Rynne’s age with dark red hair and familiar green eyes.

“Varania?” Fenris croaked.

A smile burst across the woman’s face, and she ran toward Fenris and threw herself at him in a hug. Fenris stumbled back in shock but hugged her in return, and Rynne watched with a bittersweet ache as the siblings embraced.

Varania pulled away and roughly wiped her eyes. “I can’t believe it’s you,” she said. “Venhedis, it’s been so many years. It’s good to see you.”

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “I didn’t… why aren’t you in Qarinus with that – with Ahriman?”

“He is here with me,” she said. “He’s in the upper part of the town on business, so we don’t have long.” She took Fenris’s arm and pulled him to a nearby table.

Rynne followed them in silence, and she couldn’t help but feel a bit relieved when Fenris gestured for her to sit on the bench before he took a seat himself. “Hawke, this is my sister Varania,” he said.

Rynne smiled at Varania. “It’s lovely to meet you,” she said.

Varania smiled and nodded to her, then turned back to Fenris and lowered her voice. “I was hoping to escape Ahriman while on this trip,” she told him. “I stole some of his fine jewelry and I tried to sell it in town, but the merchant would only give me a fraction of its value. It’s not enough for me to buy passage on a ship to Llomeryn.”

Fenris stared at her. “You… you want to escape? I thought you loved Ahriman.”

Varania’s face twisted. “Perhaps I did, once. But no more. He’s a cruel man, Leto.”

Leto? Rynne thought in confusion. Why was Varania calling Fenris by a different name? But it didn’t feel appropriate to ask, given the urgency of the situation.

Varania was still talking in a quiet, urgent tone. “I cannot stay with him any longer, but I haven’t the coin to escape him like I had planned. I don’t know what I am going to do.” A tear ran down her face, and she quickly wiped it away.

“Take my coin,” Fenris said immediately. He reached for his coin pouch, then paused. “Kaffas,” he muttered. He exhaled heavily and bowed his head. “I am almost out of coin. Still, you can have–”

“Take mine,” Rynne interrupted. She reached down to her belt and unstrapped the leather purse that Carver had given her.

“Hawke, no,” Fenris said sharply. “We don’t need–”

“It’s not charity,” she said firmly. “It’s payback. Really, I should have given this to you as soon as I got it.” She gazed seriously into his eyes. “Besides, some things are more important than coin.”

He hesitated and glanced at Varania’s desperate face, then exhaled and nodded. “Thank you,” he said softly. “I… thank you.”

She shook her head dismissively. “No thanks needed. If Varania gets free from this merchant fellow, that’s more than worth everything in this pouch.” She shot Fenris an apologetic look. “Do you mind giving Varania your pouch, though? I’m rather attached to mine…”

“Ah. Of course,” Fenris said distractedly. He held out his pouch, and Rynne pretended not to notice how his hands were shaking as she transferred the coin from her pouch to his.

He held out the pouch to Varania, and she swiftly pocketed it before clasping Fenris’s hand in hers. “Thank you, brother,” she said fervently. “But you should go before Ahriman returns. If he sees me speaking to another man, even my brother, I–”

“Wait,” Fenris interrupted. “You should join the Lady Luck.”

Varania’s eyes went wide. “The… what?”

Rynne perked up. “Ooh yes, that’s a wonderful idea,” she enthused. “That’s the escape right there! It’s perfect!”

Varania was looking distinctly worried now. “What is the Lady Luck?” she asked.

“I belong to a pirate crew now,” Fenris told her. “The Lady Luck is the ship. The Captain is Dalish and very fair. If you join the crew, you will never have to worry about your safety again.” He leaned across the table. “I will keep you safe.”

To Rynne’s surprise, Varania’s expression became slightly hard. “Leto…”

“I will keep you safe,” he insisted. “As long as we remain together, I can keep you safe.”

Rynne shot him a sharp look. That attitude was familiar.

“Come with us now,” Fenris insisted. “We’ll go back to the ship without delay. Ahriman will never know we were here.”

Varania was starting to look scared. “I – but – he’ll return any minute,” she stammered. “What if he sees us as we’re leaving?” She clutched Fenris’s hand. “He scares me, Leto. If he catches me, he’ll kill me. He will kill you, too.”

“I should like to see him try,” Fenris snarled. “He may be a powerful merchant in Qarinus. But here, he is but a man who sweats like any other when death comes for him.”

Varania’s eyes darted from Fenris to the door and back. “I – let’s – let’s wait until he has come back and seen me here,” she suggested breathlessly. “He will go out on business again, and once he is gone, I will meet you.”

Fenris scowled. “I don’t like it,” he said. “He could harm you in the meantime.”

Varania’s expression grew even more desperate, and Rynne gently squeezed his arm. “Let’s try what Varania suggested,” she said. “If she thinks she’ll be all right for an hour or two, then we should trust her.”

Fenris’s scowl deepened. Then he sighed and leaned back. “All right. Meet us at the docks in two hours,” he said sternly to Varania. “If you are not there in two hours, I will return here for you.”

“All right. Two hours,” she said. She hurried around the table and hugged Fenris once more. “Now go, quickly. Before he sees you.” She nodded to Hawke, then turned and ran up the stairs to the upper level of the inn.

Rynne frowned slightly as she and Fenris rose from the table, but she held her tongue as they stepped back into the sunshine and noise of the lower town square. Fenris was silent as they picked their way through the crowded square and back to the boardwalk, and Rynne didn’t bother to ask where they were going. She knew Fenris was headed back to the docks, and that he would wait there for the full two hours until Varania appeared.

If she appeared. Which Rynne was starting to have some doubts about. But how was she supposed to say that to Fenris when he was so determined to protect his sister?

His handsome face was tight with worry and anger as they made their silent way toward the docks, and once again, Rynne was forced to keep her hands in her pockets to stop herself from taking his hand. Once they were at the boundary of the docks closest to the town square, Fenris led her over to a corner near some old barrels and ropes, then leaned against the brick wall of the adjacent building and folded his arms to wait.

Rynne, meanwhile, seated herself on the barrel closest to him. She idly picked at her nails for a moment, then awkwardly tugged her ear. “So. Um… Afsaana seems, er, nice so far.”

He didn’t reply or look at her. Rynne nervously nibbled the inside of her cheek as she tried to find something to say. Something other than I think your sister is up to something, that was.

Finally she shuffled off of the barrel. “Are you hungry? I’ll find us a–”

“Don’t leave,” he said.

She looked at him, and a pang of tenderness squeezed her heart. Fenris was finally looking at her, and his expression was so vulnerable–

And in a blink of an eye, it was gone. He rubbed his mouth, and when he looked at her again, his usual frown was back in place. “Stay here,” he said sternly. “It is safer if we remain together.”

That’s what he had said to his sister. And with a sudden flash of realization, Rynne’s heart broke.

This, was why Fenris didn’t want to be with her. He saw her as a sister. Maker’s balls, how fucking horrible was that?

She slowly seated herself on the barrel again, then looked away from him and pretended to be watching some seagulls while she blinked back her tears. Once the ache in her throat had abated and she was reasonably certain she wouldn’t start crying on him for no apparent reason, she turned to face him.

“Tell me about Varania,” she said bluntly.

Fenris shot her a look of surprise, and she shrugged. “Come on, we have two hours to kill. So tell me about her.”

He eyed her for a moment longer, then shifted his weight slightly and looked out at the bay. “She is three years younger than me. Almost your age,” he said to Rynne. “When Danarius took us from our mother, she was killed in the commotion.”

“Danarius is… was your former master’s name?” she said softly.

He nodded. “From the day we were taken, we made a pact to never be separated. I swore to her that I would protect her at all cost. And I did, for years. I…” He took a deep breath. “Danarius threatened her regularly. He said he would harm her if I didn’t do as I was told. So I did what he told me.” He folded his arms more tightly. “I mastered every weapon he handed me, and I kneeled at his feet and served his wine during his cursed parties. As I got older and stronger, he…” He took a deep breath, then closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. “He took me to his lyrium mines and forced me to police the other slaves who worked there.”

“What do you mean?” Rynne whispered.

He swallowed hard and didn’t open his eyes. “If the other slaves weren’t working hard enough for his liking, he forced me to beat them. To push them harder. Some of them died because of my actions. He told me to hurt them, so I did.” He exhaled heavily. “Proditor, they called me. It means ‘traitor’,” he said quietly. “And they were right. But I… I had no choice. Or… I thought I didn’t.”

Rynne exhaled. It felt as though someone had punched her in the stomach. If she felt this terrible hearing his story, how must he be feeling?

He looked so sad and exhausted. Rynne nibbled her lip for a moment.

Fuck it, she thought. Then she reached out and took his hand.

He opened his eyes and looked at her, but he didn’t pull away. So Rynne placed his hand in her lap and squeezed it with both of hers.

He swallowed again and looked away from her, and for a moment they were silent as Rynne simply held his hand.

Eventually she broke the silence. “You said Varania ran away with that merchant. This Ahriman fellow. What… what happened?”

He blew out a breath. “Ahriman was in business with Danarius. He purchases lyrium and sells it in the cities. I can’t say I know exactly how it happened or when, but Varania fell in love with Ahriman and convinced him to buy her from Danarius.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “This was three years ago. She barely took the time to say goodbye. In the space of a single day, she was gone, and I was…” He trailed off.

You were alone, Rynne thought. She firmly squeezed his hand.

He rubbed his face. “I don’t understand it,” he muttered. “To this day, I don’t understand why she left.” He pulled his hand from Rynne’s and started to pace. “I kept her safe. She was safe with me. We were – she was all I had. I thought…” He trailed off and shook his head. “Clearly I was wrong.”

Rynne watched his pacing with an aching heart. This whole situation – the sister leaving on an apparent whim, and the brother being angry at her departure… it was all starting to feel too familiar.

She licked her lips nervously before speaking. “Maybe there was something else going on that you didn’t know about,” she said.

He shot her a sharp look and continued to pace. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean…” She took a deep, bracing breath. “Me and Carver. He had no idea what my mother did to me. He still doesn’t.”

Fenris spun on her. “I am not your brother,” he snapped. “I paid attention. I kept her safe!”

Rynne studied his angry face with an aching heart. “You can’t protect someone from everything, Fenris,” she said softly. “I… it’s just not possible. And that’s not your fault.”

He ran both his hands through his hair. “I tried. I…”

“I know you did,” she said. She reached out and took his hand once more. “And it’s not your fault if it didn’t work.”

“She left,” he yelled suddenly. “She…” Then he broke off and met her eye, and some of the rage in his face started to melt.

So did I, Rynne thought with a wrench of guilt. She swallowed hard, then looked down at their hands.

His skin was darker than hers, but the tattoos were so much paler. Rynne carefully twined her fingers with his, and he allowed it.

They fell silent for some time. Rynne didn’t look at Fenris, and he didn’t look at her, but their clasped hands remained resting peacefully on her lap.

Once again, it was Rynne who broke the silence. “Fenris,” she said quietly. “I’m… a little worried about this plan.”

He frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

She winced. “I don’t think… I’m not sure Varania is coming.”

He drew away slightly. “Why would you say that?”

“I just…” She shrugged apologetically. “Well, I noticed that she didn’t ask how you escaped from Tevinter.”

To her great regret, he pulled his hand out of hers. “And?” he said sharply.

“That’s the first thing you asked her,” Rynne pointed out gently. “You wanted to know how she got here and if she was safe. But the first thing she said to you was that she needed money.” She shrugged. “If I ran into Carver for the first time in years out of the blue, I’d want to know everything about what he’d been up to. I wouldn’t tell him I needed money. That would be the last thing on my mind.”

Fenris glared at her, then shook his head and started pacing again, and Rynne wilted. She shouldn’t have said anything.

She tried to reach for him again. “Fenris, look. Let’s just–”

He roughly shrugged her off. “Why are you here, then?” he snarled. “If you think she is not coming, what are you doing here?” He waved angrily at her. “Why are you… why–”

“You mean aside from the fact that you told me to stay?” she said archly. “You really think I’d fucking leave you here by yourself?”

He closed his mouth and stared at her, and she shot him an exasperated look. “Fenris, please. You can’t really think I’d walk away and leave you to wait all alone.” She folded her legs up on the barrel. “Do you know how long we’ve been waiting already, though? I honestly might get hungry before she shows up.”

He continued to stare at her for another moment, and Rynne watched painfully as his expression shifted from anger to a heartbreaking sort of bewilderment before he turned away from her.

She took a few deep breaths to control her own emotions. Eventually Fenris came to lean against the wall beside her again, and when Rynne looked at him, he actually appeared quite calm.

He glanced at her. “I would like to wait for her,” he said quietly.

“Of course,” Rynne said immediately. She unfolded her legs and swung them idly for a moment, then looked at Fenris again. “Seriously though. I don’t suppose you’re carrying any snacks?”

He huffed and folded his arms. “Shut up, Hawke.”

Rynne glanced cautiously at him, then smiled in relief. He was smirking at her, and she was more than pleased to see his sense of humour reappearing, despite the tense situation.

But his smirk was short-lived. It slowly faded away until Fenris was no longer smiling, but just gazing at her. Just… just studying her, staring into her eyes with those piercing and beautiful emerald eyes of his–

“There she is. The wench with the coin to spare.”

Rynne and Fenris looked up. Two large human men and a qunari – no, a tal-vashoth – were approaching them with a distinctly hostile air.

Fenris stepped away from the wall, and the dark-haired man sneered at him. “Stay out of it, knife-ear. No one needs to get hurt. Not unless they ask for it.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes, and Rynne swallowed hard as her heart started to race. She crossed her legs demurely and gave the men a winning smile. “Gentlemen, please, there’s no need for threats. What can we do for you today?”

The dark-haired man and the tal-vashoth raised their eyebrows at her manners. The second man frowned and took an aggressive step toward her. “We saw you at The Gull,” he said in an Orlesian accent. “You gave that rabbit a pouch of coin.”

Fenris froze at the mention of Varania. The Orlesian man kept talking to Rynne. “If you have that much silver to spare for a rabbit, then you must have more.”

Rynne widened her eyes dramatically and pressed her hand to her chest. “You didn’t harm our friend at the inn, did you?” she said plaintively.

The Orlesian man lifted his chin belligerently and didn’t reply, but his dark-haired friend did. “The bitch was gone when we went to grab ‘er.”

The Orlesian man glared at the dark-haired one. “Shut up, Julian,” he snarled. “Don’t just tell them what they want to know.”

Fenris shifted very slightly, and Rynne sighed in relief – loudly, to call the thugs’ attention to herself and away from Fenris. “Well, I’m so glad that our friend is all right,” she simpered. “Please, we don’t want any trouble. I do happen to have an emergency stock of coin, but… oh, I’m so terribly embarrassed. It’s in my bust.”

All three of the men snapped to attention. “What?” the tal-vashoth said flatly.

She blinked innocently at them. “It’s in my bust,” she repeated more loudly. She slid off of the barrel and took a casual step closer to the big Orlesian man. “If you don’t mind, I just need to…” She reached for the neckline of her shirt and started slowly undoing the laces.

The Orlesian man took a small step closer to her. Then Fenris stabbed the dark-haired man in the neck.

The dark-haired man let out a strangled cry. Fenris stabbed him twice more, and the man stumbled to his knees.

The Orlesian whipped around to look, and Rynne kicked him hard in the balls.

He doubled over with a groan, and the tal-vashoth recoiled in surprise. “Vashedan,” he snarled, and he pulled a sword from his belt.

Rynne whipped her dagger from its sheath and skipped out of their reach. A split second later, Fenris was standing in front of her with his own dagger drawn.

“Did I do the right thing?” she asked him breathlessly. “I can’t decide–”

“You did fine,” he growled. “Stay back. I will handle them.” He lunged at the tal-vashoth, and soon their blades were slamming together with the ear-splitting screech of metal on metal as Fenris parried the tal-vashoth’s blows with his dagger.

“Salope,” the Orlesian man spat.

Rynne whipped around to face him. He was still hunched over a bit, but his face was red and ugly with anger.

Before Rynne could speak or move, Fenris darted at the Orlesian and slashed him across the wrist.

The man hissed in pain and grabbed for Fenris, but Fenris was already out of reach and engaging the tal-vashoth once more. The Orlesian clutched his bloodied wrist, then pulled a scimitar from his sash with his wounded hand and advanced on Rynne.

“Eager little whore,” he snarled. “You can untie those laces for me when I pin you down with this sword.”

A ripple of disgust and fear ran down her spine. She forced herself to smile as she subtly adjusted her grip on her dagger. “Wrong,” she said. She jerked her chin at his weapon. “That’s a scimitar, not a sword. I know these things now.”

The Orlesian paused in confusion. Then he hastily raised his scimitar in defense as Fenris lashed at him once more. “Fucking knife-ear,” he snarled at Fenris. Then, to Rynne’s horror, Fenris was actively fighting both men at once with nothing but his dagger.

“Fuck this,” she muttered. No way was she going to stand here idly. She ran over to the dead dark-haired man and fumbled at his belt, then pulled off his sword with shaking fingers.

She darted around to Fenris’s field of view and waited tensely until he caught her eye. The minute he looked at her, she tossed the sword to him.

He caught the sword, booted the Orlesian in the stomach, then skipped back two steps to adjust his grip on his weapons before engaging the two men once more, and Rynne exhaled in relief. Fenris wielding two weapons was the equivalent of two warriors fighting, and already the fight was more balanced–

“Julian!” an angry voice said from behind her. “The fuck is this? Did you kill ‘im?”

A hand roughly grabbed Rynne’s arm, and her anxiety surged. Without stopping to think, she flung her head backwards.

Thunk. A dull throb of pain reverberated across her skull, and her assailant yelped in pain and released her arm. She whipped around and quickly assessed her new opponent – human, blond, armed with a dagger, bleeding from the nose – then lunged at him and slashed madly at his arms with her blade.

“Fuck!” he yelled. He tried to back away from her, but she advanced on him ruthlessly despite her rising panic and slashed at his belly.

The fabric of his shirt parted beneath her dagger, and a bloom of red appeared across the fabric. A roil of nausea joined the panic in her belly, but she ignored it and slashed at her assailant again.

He grabbed her wrist and twisted, sending a jolt of pain up her forearm, then slapped her hard across the face.

A fiery blaze of agony lit her right cheek. The blond man’s fingers were painfully tight on her wrist and dragging her toward him, and as she struggled to gather her wits, she realized something awful.

She’d dropped her dagger. She was unarmed. Fuck, she was unarmed, and the blond man was forcing her back against the wall and – ow, fuck, that was her head hitting the wall with too much force to be comfortable. And now his other hand was scrabbling at the waistband of her trousers–

She flinched in horror. Stop. Stop it, she thought in panic. Then she lunged toward him and bit his nose hard.

He howled in pain and stumbled away from her, and Rynne gasped for breath and dropped to a crouch by the wall. Her fingers scrabbled through the debris on the ground until she found a brick to strike him with, but by the time she pushed herself to her feet, the blond man was on his knees with blood dribbling from his mouth and Fenris’s sword shoved clean through his belly from behind.

She looked up. Fenris was standing over the blond man with the most furious snarl she’d ever seen on his face. The Orlesian man was facedown in a puddle of blood, but the tal-vashoth–

“Look out!” Rynne squealed.

Fenris whipped around, then hastily dodged back as the tal-vashoth swiped at him with his sword, and then they were fighting again but Fenris didn’t have his sword anymore...

Rynne bolted at the tal-vashoth and plowed into his side. He was huge and a full two feet taller than her, so her attempted body slam made no impact.

But the brick she bashed into his jaw certainly did.

He roared in pain, then broke off with a choking gasp as Fenris’s dagger sank into his chest. Fenris stabbed him three more times in the chest, and when the tal-vashoth dropped limply to the ground, Fenris spun toward Rynne and grasped her arm.

“Are you hurt?” he snapped. He cupped her cheek in one hand. “Your face… he struck you?”

“Y-yes,” she said. Why were her teeth chattering? She wasn’t even cold. “But it’s fine. I’m fine. No blood, no bruises. I–” She broke off abruptly.

Fenris was bleeding. His shirt was cut below the left ribs, and his side was painted with blood.

Panic filled her throat and she reached for his side, but he blocked her hands before she could touch him. “It is superficial,” he grunted. “A wound to the ribs, nothing more. Come. We need to move.” He took her hand and pulled her through the growing crowd and back in the direction of the town square.

Rynne tried to breathe normally as she jogged alongside him. Her right cheek felt like she had a bad sunburn and the back of her head was throbbing, but that hardly mattered; she wasn’t the one who was bleeding.

She gazed pleadingly at Fenris’s angry profile. “Fenris, let me look at that wound–”

“Not now,” he snapped. “We have to find Varania.”

Rynne pressed her lips together and didn’t reply. If those thugs hadn’t been lying, and Varania was gone…

Fenris’s grip on her hand was almost painfully tight, but Rynne didn’t try to pull away. He shoved the door of the inn open, ignoring the alarmed cries of the patrons in the bar, then pulled Rynne up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, he finally released her hand, then whipped his dagger from its sheath and burst into the first room on the left.

Rynne flinched as the door banged against the wall. A moment later, Fenris backed out. “Empty,” he snarled. He strode down the hall and shoved open the next door with a bang, and Rynne helplessly trailed behind him.

Two doors later, he froze, then strode into the room. “Varania,” he barked.

Rynne darted into the room behind him, then stopped short in shock.

Varania was the midst of climbing out of the window. When she caught sight of Fenris, her big green eyes grew even wider, and she ducked her head through the window as though to escape.

But she couldn’t leave. The strap of her haversack was caught on the window ledge. “Venhedis,” she hissed. She pulled fruitlessly on the haversack, but Fenris grabbed it and dragged it off of her shoulder.

“Give that back!” she yelled.

“Why are you trying to escape?” he demanded. “Did Ahriman threaten you?”

“He’s not– no,” Varania said defensively. “I just… I want to go to Llomeryn.”

Rynne narrowed her eyes at Varania’s near-slip, but Fenris took a step toward her. “We can take you to Llomeryn if that is what you really want,” he said. “I will keep you safe until–”

“You can’t protect me,” Varania shouted suddenly. “I don’t need your help.”

Fenris recoiled, then tried again. “I can. I… it is not like before, Varania. On the Lady Luck–”

“Oh, stop,” she said scathingly. “You couldn’t protect me before, and you can’t protect me now. I can look after myself without your help. Now give me that bag.” She held her hand out imperiously.

Fenris stared at her in silence, but Rynne took a small step toward her. “If you don’t need Fenris’s help, then I suppose you don’t need the money, either.” She reached for the haversack in Fenris’s hand.

“No!” Varania blurted. Then she pressed her lips together.

Rynne paused and looked at her. “So you need coin, but you don’t want a quick getaway.” She tilted her head. “Is Ahriman even here?”

Varania glared viciously at her. Then Fenris spoke in a strained voice. “Varania, is he here?”

“No, he’s not,” she snarled. She swung her leg back through the window and stepped back into the room. “He’s not here. He cast me aside, all right? He threw me out. Is that what you want to hear?”

Fenris recoiled. “No, of course not,” he said. “Why–”

“You never wanted me to escape,” she yelled at Fenris. She looked completely enraged now. “You wanted me to stay locked up in Danarius’s mansion with Hadriana and all those other women.”

Fenris gaped at her. “I didn’t want you locked up,” he said incredulously. “I wanted you safe. All I ever… everything I ever did, I was trying to stop Danarius from harming you!”

“Him?” Varania sneered. She let out an ugly laugh. “Danarius was nothing. He barely knew I existed. Hadriana, though… she and her handmaidens tormented me. They hounded my sleep, denied my meals, pulled my ears, took my clothes and made me clean the floors naked like a common beast.” She angrily wiped her eyes on her wrist, and Rynne forced herself to breathe through the ache of sympathy in her chest.

Fenris took a step toward his sister. “I didn’t… you never told me that,” he said quietly. “Why didn’t you–”

“You were miserable enough already,” she said. “Doing whatever Danarius wanted just to keep me safe.” She snarled the word ‘safe’, and even Rynne flinched slightly from the anger in her tone.

“And so you left,” Fenris said. His tone was a heart-wrenching mix of sarcasm and rage. “You seduced that merchant, and you left.”

“I had to,” Varania snapped. “I couldn’t stand it any longer!”

“We made a pact!” Fenris shouted. “We were supposed to stay together after Mother died. I told you I’d protect–”

“You failed!” Varania yelled. “You didn’t protect me. My life was terrible!”

“So was mine,” Fenris yelled back. “But we were in it together! Or that is what I thought.”

“Being together wasn’t enough,” Varania retorted.

Fenris took an involuntary step back, and Rynne bit the inside of her cheek. She truly understood Varania’s arguments – Maker only knew she understood. But the undisguised hurt in Fenris’s face made her want to pull Varania’s hair out.

Varania walked over to Fenris and snatched the haversack from his hand. She returned to the window and swung one leg through, then turned back to look at Fenris once more. “You should thank me for leaving,” she said acidly. “If I hadn’t left, we would both still be rotting in Danarius’s mansion.”

He stared at Varania without speaking, and her angry expression softened slightly. “Goodbye, Leto,” she said quietly. A moment later, she slipped through the window and disappeared.

The ensuing silence was stifling. Rynne exhaled slowly and looked at Fenris. His face was turned away from her, and he was utterly still.

She took a tentative step toward him. “So, um… no tea and cakes, then,” she said softly.

Fenris glared at her. But before he could start yelling, she reached up and gently wiped the tears from his cheek.

He ducked his head and roughly wiped his other eye. “Let’s go,” he said brusquely. “There is nothing here for me to reclaim.” He turned away and walked toward the door.

Rynne silently followed him down the stairs. She grimaced apologetically at the affronted-looking innkeeper as they left, and then they were making their way through the town square once more.

She looked up at him. His face was shuttered and angry, and she braced herself for his rage before speaking. “Now can I look at that wound–”

“No,” he said.

She pressed her lips together, then tried again. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m still hungry. So we should probably go find a snack before I lose my temper and start trying to eat you instead.” She tried for a cheeky smile.

He sighed loudly and dragged a hand through his hair. “Hawke…”

She relented. “All right, I’ll give you a break from my constant charm,” she said gently. “What do you want to do now?”

He rubbed his mouth for a moment. “I… I want to go back to the ship,” he admitted. “But I will take you to meet the others–”

“All right,” she interrupted. “Back to the Lady Luck we go.”

He frowned. “You don’t have to–”

“I want to,” she said firmly. “You don’t need to be alone.” She shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to be alone if I was in your place. I mean, I wasn’t alone. When I argued with Carver, I mean.” She looked up at him. “You were with me the whole time.”

He pursed his lips. “I don’t want your pity.”

She wilted in exasperation. “I don’t pity you, you handsome fool. I…”

I love you, she thought, but she snapped her mouth shut before the words could leave her tongue.

She tried again. “I care about you,” she said carefully. “You’re my friend. So stop trying to pawn me off, and let’s go back to the Lady Luck together.”

The muscles in his jaw tensed for a moment. Then, finally, he nodded.

They made their way along the boardwalk back to the docks as unobtrusively as possible. Fenris pressed his left arm against his wounded ribs to hide the bloody tear in his shirt, and Rynne held herself in a meek manner and kept her eyes low to deflect attention. When they got back to the docks, she grimaced at the Lady Luck’s twenty-person rowboats. “If it’s just the two of us, how will we…”

She trailed off. Fenris was holding a single silver. “From Dorian,” he said. “I kept it in my pocket. We can pay someone to row us back.”

Rynne smiled and took the coin from his palm. “Don’t tell Dorian about this. If he knew we spent his coin on something so practical, he would shit his fancy silk pants.”

Fenris offered her a feeble half-smile, and Rynne smiled back at him. By the time they’d found an available boatman to row them back to the Lady Luck, however, Fenris’s face was creased in a brooding frown once more.

The dwarven boatman was chatty, and Rynne easily returned his banter as the dinghy glided through the bay back toward the Lady Luck. But she couldn’t stop herself from worrying about Fenris’s moody silence.

He was silent until they returned to the ship, and Rynne watched worriedly as he guarded his wounded left side while climbing the rope ladder up to the deck. Once they had set foot on the ship once more, she planted her fists on her hips. “I need to look at that wound now, all right?” she said. “I don’t want it to get infected.”

“I said no,” he said sharply.

She recoiled slightly. He was scowling at her. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

“It’s not you,” he snapped. “It’s… I am…” He rubbed his hair roughly, then dropped his hand to his side. “I need… some time,” he said slowly. “I need to be alone.”

A now-familiar pang of rejection twisted in her gut. Why? she thought. Why did he always need to be alone? Why wouldn’t he just let her…

She mentally cut herself off. She knew why he didn’t want her around. He didn’t want to be with her. He probably felt like she was smothering him. But she really did need to treat his wound.

She pushed her hurt aside and lifted her chin. “You can have thirty minutes,” she said. “Then I’m coming to treat that wound.”

He glared at her again. “Why are you being so obstinate?”

Why are you? she thought mulishly. She raised her eyebrows. “Well, excuse me for caring about that gorgeous manly body of yours.”

He rubbed his forehead. “Festis bei umo canavarum. Fine,” he groused. “Thirty minutes.” He turned on his heel and stormed away to the officer’s quarters.

With a painfully heavy heart, Rynne watched him walk away. When the door to the officer’s quarters swung shut behind him, she sat down on the nearest bench and sighed.

Well, Afsaana had been an adventure, all right.

Too bad it hadn’t been a good one.

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