#;; & a warden and his hound. ( littlehoundthings. )

[crosaidi]

anyway my brain's been in schmoopy gay drawing mode today so loooooo schmoopy gay art

[crosaidi]

Say anything about him, say he's bloody stubborn; he shakes his head almost immediately to the suggestion. " I'm stayin', " he says, mulish. " I'll stay outta yer way, but —— I want t'know. I want t'see wot happens. "

Which may be a terrible idea, all told, but —— he'd drive himself absolutely crazy if he had to stay somewhere out of the way and wonder what was going on out here, and he doesn't have work tonight, so he's determined. And, well — he'd feel bad if anything did happen and he wasn't here for it, nevermind that he has no clue what he'd do if it did.

" Fuck, " he grumbles, " if somebody would've told me there was a usual kind o' ghost investigation six months ago—— " He would've been fascinated, really, if not quite buying in; he's always enjoyed stories, even if he's a little less thrilled one is happening to him. He sighs, and just —— " Wait, that a thing that happens? Gettin' thrown through walls? "

"Aye. The spirit might be related t' the bad luck, but your coworker could also just be a dick," Ashe commented with a slight grin and a wink, chuckling a bit. "Still... If you hadn't heard any rumors, we'll just have t' do this relatively blind."

Ashe closed his eyes as he thought, giving Paerin a few blissful moments to deal with his weakening boner, before nodding. "Alright."

"I'll start officially investigating tonight." He tapped the stone on the table with a nod. "You're free t' join of course. Orrrr I'd also recommend checkin' into a hotel for the night if you wanna avoid anythin. I'll mostly be walking around with a flash light, checking for ghosts, and hoping I don't get thrown through a wall. The usual kind of ghost investigation."

[crosaidi]

"Oh hey, an herb." (For the ten thousandth time) @littlehoundthings

And for the ten thousandth time ( possibly that hour; he'd believe it ) the paladin pulls up short with an exasperated huff that doesn't actually have much teeth to it.

" Y'do know, " he so drawls, watching Ashe veer off the path to go neatly pluck some herbs, " we get places faster if we go in straight lines. "

[crosaidi]

"Does this task require pants? Because, if it does, I will not be participating." @littlehoundthings / sentence starters

" —— nothin' requires pants. I mean. If y'really want t'dangle. That's a risk I en't sure I want t'take, but, oi, I en't you ——— "

He grins, cheeky, and gives Ashe's arse under the sheets a good playful slap as the Warden gets up, pulling on his own trousers. He's been — full of a certain kind of energy since the end of the world was thwarted, eager, his life handed back to him.

" I know yer leg's botherin' you. En't much walkin', I swear it. " A pause as he finds his boots, sitting back on the edge of the bed to lean over to pull them on and lace 'em up, " Still recommend pants, though. Bugs an' spiky plant shit in yer nethers don't seem fun. " Another pause, the other boot, " —— an' no, y'don't got to come. But I think it'd be good t'get out. "

[crosaidi]

"I'm offering you everything you want, all at once." @littlehoundthings

Maker, but that's an almost intimidating offer; his mouth goes dry. " All at once? " He swallows, and exhales a bit of a laugh. " Y'do know, " and he grins, leaning in to steal a little kiss, " that I want, " and another, " an awful lot o' things, aye? "

[crosaidi]

"No farewells tonight." @littlehoundthings / andor

It's been—— fascinating, in many ways, getting to know Ashe again through a different lens. They were both raw and hurting those years ago during the Blight, and coming out of that he would have sworn that Ashe couldn't stand him. But —— they've grown up a lot, even if they both still have their own burdens.

They all have a hell of a fight ahead, and he was sorely rattled at Adamant but has found his footing again over time. He's going with the handful of Wardens left during the fight, and it'll be bloody because of course it will.

Still: the night is young, still, and as with every night with a fight approaching, he can't sleep well. " All th'same, " he says, looking out over the gathered — nearly an army, most certainly a force. He's got a stick he's nervously breaking into tiny bits, tossing each bit into the campfire to get swallowed. " I wanted y'to know it's been —— good, havin' someone familiar here. An' I'm glad for it. " He huffs, though, a short breath through his teeth. " Though maybe th'next reunion should be gettin' a drink, not end o' the world nonsense. "

[crosaidi]

*Slides over some chocolate, some elfroot, some dried fruits, a carefully carved wooden mabari, and a couple dirty books to read* @littlehoundthings

Ashe knows him pretty well by now, and knows what all hits the mark — it's of course all on-point, tending his sweet tooth and notes for relaxation all too well. But the books —— that's new, and he's not a reader usually but, well. That's before he knew that there were naughty books out there.

" Yer goin' t'read these with me, right? I might have some questions. " He grins, and he leans in and gives Ashe a warm kiss in response, fond and lingering. " Thank you, love. 's all perfect. "

[crosaidi]

My  muse  pulls  your  muse  into  a  tight  hug,  as  if  afraid  to  let  go. @littlehoundthings / romantic starters

This fight was chaos. He was reminded, vaguely, of how everything was back during the Fifth Blight — during that last big fight at Denerim, stinking and screaming and blood and fire and the Archdemon’s shrieking commands in his head —— blood coating the streets, his sword, his hands, his —— was that his blood? It’s so black ——

But this fight? Oh, it was different. They’re older. The ache in their bones, the old scars, the way weariness clutches at him and drags him down. And beyond that, the Archdemon’s song has gone from shrieks and ear-splitting dissonance to something almost painfully beautiful, painfully alluring. It burrows between his ears and into some part of him that he didn’t even know existed, makes him long for it, makes him understand it, understand this, understand why they flood and clamor at the gates. 

But of course he still fights: fights because the one at his side fights, fights because he knows that if he doesn’t this world will be nothing but this, nothing but chaos, nothing but horror, nothing but —— 

The Blight. Nothing but the Blight. 

Gods, but he feels the Archdemon’s pain as the Dreadwolf sinks his fangs: he feels every single nail and tooth raked into it, feels every drop of blood searing like it was on fire. Once, he trips, falls to his feet, gets buried under clawing hands and gnashing teeth and when he’s pulled up it’s with a roar and a blaze of fire from the sword that cuts down four of them in one sweep. 

He’s sure he’s got tears on his face, but he can’t feel it anymore. Every part of him is black with dirt, grime, blood, and he has to grip on to Ashe’s arm hard as they stagger through another crush of Blight-covered vines and boils and —— fuck, how is anyone coming out from this? He spits, and it’s black and red and he doesn’t know if it’s blood or blight or bile. 

Another wave. Another. Another. Another. Another. Ano——

Silence. The archdemon crashes, rolls, the entire world quaking so much it pitches him off his feet, black blood like a lake. He’s numb, numb, watching —— for a moment his entire world feels like it freezes in place, stops moving. The voice quiets, the silence of it so abrupt that he feels like he’s underwater. It feels like all the voices seem so far away, so distant, screams and shouts and threats and the crash of swords ——

Everything rolls back over him in a crash, and he’s fighting again, killing, killing, barely knowing what but if it stinks of Blight he’s sticking his sword in it, only keeping desperate track of his lover by his side. 

When Elgar’nan dies, he’s barely on his feet, and then he’s on his knees, and then he’s —— embracing Ashe, desperately, desperately, fingers wrapping into clothing so tight it hurts, hands raking across him to make sure he’s whole. He’s hurt, they’re both hurt, but they’re alive, they’re alive —— he doesn’t even say anything, just —— embraces him, holds him tight and close and fuck the world, fuck everything else, fuck the gods, the blight, the archdemon, the darkspawn, the Calling ———

They’re alive, and he’s going to desperately hang on to that for just a minute more, and when he does finally say something it's raw and ripped from a throat torn from smoke and blood and what feels like an eternity of war:

" —— thank fuck. "

[crosaidi]

❝ You can see what I am.  Lie to yourself if you must. ❞ @littlehoundthings / dragon age ii

Maker, but he actually fucking bristles. " Wot you are? " Sure, there've been signs. Signs he's probably avoided thinking too much about because it's —— what, it's easier? He's not sure, but it probably lays somewhere in the trenches of so much other shit going up in flames that sometimes the unknown is easy to shove in a ditch and leave there for a little while.

He won't lie: there's unease that seizes his heart. As a Warden, he's worked with and looked past a lot — some blood magic so long as it doesn't harm others, deals made for the greater good — but Abominations? He walked through Kinloch Hold. He was at Adamant ———

And yet —— " You could've told me, " he hisses, and there's anger there, yes, but it's a strange anger. It's not repulsed, necessarily, it's not drawing away. It's more —— " Sooner. You didn't have t'carry this by yerself. So aye, " he huffs, " I see wot you are. A bloody stubborn arse. "

He drags hands over his face, and lets it percolate for a moment — sits, lets it stew. After a minute, he adds: " I'm not goin' nowhere, " as a reassurance, because even if he is mad about it—— " I still love yer stubborn arse, " and he pinches the bridge between his nose and lets his hand fall. " Just —— talk t'me. Please. Let me fuckin' help you. "

[crosaidi]

"Am I dead? Please say yes." @littlehoundthings

" Y'know, " drawls he, knelt next to the healer and trying to still the half-panicked lurching thud of his heart in his chest, " no. An' also —— " He rocks back on his heels, overbalances, ends up rolling back on his arse and folding legs up under him in that awkwardly stiff way of those not terribly flexible, " Ow. An also, yer an entire arsehole for—— " Scaring the shit out of him? Yes. " Doin' exactly all th'things you yell at me for. "

And —— he's bandaged him up, a little. And for all that someone miight have expected it to be awful, it's not: it's clean, tight, basic but well done, the injury well-tended. Still: blue eyes are narrowed, blazing, and desperately trying to conceal the relief. " You en't dead yet. Sorry if yer disappointed. Yer goin' t'have t'suffer my face fer longer. An' my help for longer'n that unless y'get up, because I will carry yer arse back. "

[crosaidi]

" I mean, aye, but not like we got a way t’get there that easy, " he laughs, letting himself be tugged 'round and not quite getting the point right at first. " An’ ’s only durin’ certain times o’ th’year bes—— " But then the offer clicks in more fully, and his features smooth and he looks fleetingly nervous. Not for the idea of the magic, but more —— what if he messes it up?

But fingers wind into his and there’s a breath at his ear and it makes the fine hair at the back of his neck raise, and he exhales and doesn’t even bother to suppress the shiver. Truth be told, he’s pliant in Ashe’s arms, loose and relaxed and at-ease, comfortable enough in this moment to trust him entire. 

" I don’t know if I still —— " But he’s got a good memory, and an imagination that runs fast and vivid besides. The way he once traveled those mountains chasing darkspawn so far up that the cold was so stark that it felt like a being in and of itself. The snow on top loose and soft and new but packed under by the hard, icy snowfall of years past that never melted, the air mostly still but when the breeze stirred it felt like knives. 

But beyond that, there were the nights where the sky caught fire. Not with flame, of course, but with brilliant green and faint tinges of purples, gently curving in great big shifting bands across the sky. And —— when he looks up, it’s echoed in the wisps of light overhead, the illusory magic reflecting the image with an accuracy that feels like it was pulled from his mind directly. 

" Fuck, " he utters, the word thick, and he’s —— dumbfounded, really, for a moment, but he recovers. " When we first saw it, I thought th’world was endin’ or the Veil was rippin’ apart or —— or somethin’ else horrible. But the elder Warden, he just said it was somethin’ that happened. He had a word for it, but I don’t remember no more. "

Ashe's expression remained a warm, content smile at Paerin as the other man reacted to his spell craft. He drank in the sheer wonder on Paerin's face, and the joy the other man got from Ashe showing off. Something about the response was almost healing, soothing a bit of the religious trauma the Chantry and the Circle instilled in him.

"You deserve t' be spoiled. What's the point of havin' magic if I can't use it t' spoil my love?"

Ashe reached out and took the bottle, taking a slow sip as he continued to look at Paerin with an entertained glimmer in his eyes.

"Would ya like t' show me?" He questioned with a lazy grin as he put the bottle to the side. The moment made him crave for more. He reached to gently maneuver Paerin around, turning him around so Ashe tug him close, hugging Paerin around the waist and lacing his fingers through Paerin's.

"Just imagine it as well as you can... Remember how it felt," Ashe murmured into Paerin's ear as he lift one of their hands together. Already the motes began to shudder and shift as the cool, buzzing sensation of mana passed through their hands.

The only difference between a normal person and a mage was mana. Even warriors and Templars could affect the Fade with lyrium or a spirit's aid. So here, and now, where the light house responded to the wishes of the occupants and magic flowed freely, he could become the conduit for Paerin's memories. He let the man subconsciously shape the spell while Ashe provided the mana and formula.

[crosaidi]

The story — if one can even call it that, really, as rambling and directionless as it may be — winds to an end, anticlimactic he supposes but that’s not really the point of it all, is it? He acknowledges the thanks with a low sound, deep in his throat and —— indecisive, somehow. Not dismissive, but he certainly doesn’t think he’s doing much of anything that he needs to be thanked for. 

A cool breeze wafts down, and he likes the cold, he does. Wears it well, unlike the hotter days they get inland, and right now he appreciates it. It braces him, pulls his thoughts to a quieter place. 

He shifts a look sideways, studying Ashe’s profile for a moment or two, those blue eyes keen and studious. He doesn’t know what happened out there — he wasn’t there, and isn’t close enough to the inner circle to hear much of anything aside from gossip that slips across the grounds — and he’s not going to ask. Some things need time to not be a bleeding wound, and he likes to think he’s come to recognize when. 

" Anytime y’need me t’tell pointless yarns, " he adds, softly, " y’come find me. I mean it. I’ll talk yer bloody ear off until yer brain’s filled so much with my noise that y’can’t think o’ nothin’ else. " And, for all it sounds like — there’s a quiet understanding, too. A quiet concern that bleeds an empathy that most would snort at the very idea of him having. " Or anythin’ else. Y’hear me? Anythin’. An’ I mean it. "

He just closed his eyes as he listened to Paerin, focusing on the way each word sounded-- the way his accent chewed out in every word somehow being soft and rough all at the same time. The air of Skyhold was always a little cold, even through his furs and with the sun shining down on them. He could focus on a million things, yet kept coming back to Paerin's voice. Grounding himself to the story of... a particularly angry horse?

He allowed himself a soft huff of a chuckle as he listened. It felt forced-- like he was trying to mimic the reaction a normal person would've made in that instance.

Maybe it was the cool air? Maybe it was just Paerin's voice? Maybe it was the adrenaline finally starting to pass through his system as he grounded in the moment thanks to Paerin's rambling. He took a couple slow breaths. More of his weight pressed against Paerin's as he relaxed a bit.

Just get through today. Just get through today. Just get through today. He thought to himself as he squeezed the tips of his left fingers.

"....Thank you," he murmured, not wanting to interrupt Paerin's story- but still voice his appreciation.

[crosaidi]

The Warden snorts his agreement, though he leans in, all clandestine: " I'll tell ye a secret, though, " he says, with a wag of his brows, " I had th'fuckin' worst hard-on for you an' it pissed me off so bad 'cause we just fought all the time. "

"It couldn't have been worse than my relationship after that-" Ashe chuckled with a grin as he leans his head against Paerin's, gently tapping the sides of their heads.

"But Maker's Shinin' Balls, it would've been a disaster. I don't think either of us would have a good time-- or anythin' near a long term. I... definitely needed t'cool down before anythin' else."

[crosaidi]

His brows wrinkle. " Brownies? I mean, " and he looks a little skepical, and also a little cheeky despite the situation of their conversation, " I had some brownies once 'r twice that coulda made me convinced they was haunted, but didn't know that was an actual thing. " Oh dear.

He looks briefly over his shoulder as though having some kind of inward debate, and —— ultimately, whatever he’s considering, he makes the decision to stay and elaborate. " Can I —— sit? " And without really waiting for an answer, he plops down into the seat opposite — not out of assumption so much as his brain spinning too fast and distracted to wait. 

" So, uh —— " He leans hard on the table, rubbing the back of his neck; his voice pitches low to avoid it carrying. " At first it was just —— lights turnin’ off, doors shuttin’, stuff I thought was just shit wirin’ or drafts or —— " He waves a hand vaguely, as though to say and on and on. His brows furrow a little, as though considering if he should say more —— but then in for a penny, in for a pound, he supposes. 

He sighs, takes a deep swallow of his drink, and pulls out his phone and flips through pictures —— hesitates before handing it over, but ultimately does. He’ll just hope the guy doesn’t get overly adventurous in swiping through them. In the first photo, every single drawer in the kitchen has been emptied on the floor; the second’s just a short little video of blackness, but there’s a distinct —— dragging noise, like something hard being dragged across a wood floor. 

" Oh, an’ then last night th’ ceilin’ fan fell off on my bed in th’middle’ve the night an’ only missed hittin’ me b’cause it got hung up on th’wire —— " Which could be written off as bad luck, considering the state of the place and the fact it was creaking anyway, but —— he looks uncomfortable, really, and also unnerved. " Just. Weird shit, aye. "

"Somethin' a bit more specific than 'shit's been weird'," Ashe teased with a smirk before taking a sip of his whiskey and snapping his book shut with his free hand. "Somethin' must've happened t' make you think it's been weird..."

"I'm talkin' things like objects moving. Voices in the middle of the night. Mysterious injuries you can't explain. The constant feelin' of something watchin' you. That kinda thing," Ashe offered with a patient smile. He understood. For the normal person, this sort of issue isn't something regularly talked about. Ashe had grown up in the supernatural world-- he was already accustomed to these sort of situations.

Ashe waved down the bartender, who skipped over. Ashe ordered himself a other glass of whiskey, and whatever Paerin wanted since it seemed like the conversation would be going for a while.

"Don't worry about seeming weird. I've dealt with everything from ghosts to brownies. Trust me, shit is definitely weird." He grinned.

[crosaidi]

And the Warden rolls his eyes at the tease, but it’s a fond thing. He’ll deny it to his grave, because he just doesn’t see himself that way — but Ashe isn’t wrong. Maybe in another life, where he hadn’t fought so hard to prove himself by the sword and through war. In another time where he had grown up just a little softer, if the world had been a little kinder. 

But the world is what it is, and that’s not who he became. 

" Aye, " he agrees, letting him pull away so he can go get the mentioned stabilizer. " We’re a fuckin’ pair, " he muses as he watches, a weary old humor under it all because what else does he have? The grief alone would eat him alive if he allowed it to take root. Between the Calling singing to him and Ashe’s condition deteriorating, this world is chewing them up raw. 

" I —— " There’s a pause, a heavy one. It’s a difficult question, because —— because who likes to think of it? But he’s a Grey Warden, and loss has been etched into his bones since he was barely more than a boy, and so maybe the words come easier — and even so, they hang in the back of his throat. He's lucky, in some ways: all those he'd care about knowing are right here. " —— when d’you want me t’go get yer daughter? At what —— " At what hour, during your dying? Fuck. The thought swims, agonizing, but he swallows it down, " —— point? "

"Spoken like someone who would've made an amazin' healer--" Ashe teased softly with a tired smile. He leaned on Paerin, letting the smaller man support some of his weight as they embraced. He was so, SO tired, and Paerin was right. He needed to at least rest when he could.

"...None are more worthy of my time than you, vhenan," Ashe pointed out with a soft smile. "Well... There's the kid- but she's not here," he added with a tired snicker, before pressing a tender kiss to Paerin's forehead.

"I...Think I got everythin' in order that I'm goin' t'get done today... So-" he chuckled softly. "Be as greedy as you want. Just give me a moment t'take another stabilizer." He won't say it out loud-- but there's a very real fear there that if he rested, Ashe wouldn't wake up.

[crosaidi]

He’s known defectors. Or, well, known of defectors. " If it en’t an active Blight —— " he starts to argue, but —— they’re in one now, aren't they? How much hope does he have that it’ll be done soon? He likes to think they have a chance, but —— " Outside’ve a Blight, there’ve been people who’ve got out, minded their own business—— "

For how long, though? The Darkspawn, even when beaten back, never go away. They never rest. They fall back into the Deep Roads, sure, tuck away into the night and fall back into occasional raids. But just as Grey Wardens can sense them, so too can the Darkspawn sense a Warden, and even in times of relative peace once always stands the risk of being found. 

And then there’s the Calling ——

He’s dead soon. A year, at most. He’s felt guilt at putting that on Ashe to begin with, so what cruel fate has it that he’s been handed the same dilemma on a shorter time? The Blight is not fair. It’s never been fair. It takes, and it takes, and it rips life apart and leaves ash and grief in its wake and it has never been any different. So many lives cut short, families torn apart, lovers sent spiraling into grief ——

" I’d never think less’ve you, " he says at last, weak and voice ragged and scarcely louder than a whisper, but he means it. Respects it. Would do the same, but he’s being selfish, greedy. He’s being selfish because it hurts and because the unfairness of it all is sending his righteous soul spiraling; he wants to fight it for the injustice, but there’s nothing to fight. Nothing he can fight. 

" I’d do the same, " he admits, miserably. " I mean — I never chose th’Wardens. I had it chosen for me. I don’t regret it, ’s been — a life I felt like meant somethin’. But ’s just not bloody right. You don’t deserve none’ve this. " 

And he kisses him, deep and desperate and hard, and when he pulls back emotion’s hanging in his chest like a knife, feeling like it’s poised to end him. " I’ll be there. No matter what. Just let me do that. ’til the end. Y’got me? ’til the end. "

"And what happens t'folks who don't stick with the wardens, Paerin?" Ashe countered with a huff. The wardens were almost as bad as the Circle sometimes-- hunting down deserters to protect their secrets and ideology.

"Besides, we can't even begin t'guarantee that it'll work. In case y'forget, the Joinin' isn't known for its high survival rate," Every argument came with a swift response.

He straightens himself, trying to keep strong, but it's so hard when his system is being ravaged and healed over and over again every second. Even Obsession's magic-- which could bring him back from even the brink of death-- wasn't enough to stop the inevitable end the blight was hurtling him toward.

"Hells, what's the point of bein' saved at this point-" he gave a wry chuckle. "What's the point of me survivin' this if what- we got a month? Two months before the Callin' takes you? Versus potentially the rest of my life as a warden? Or losin' my life t'the Joinin' all together?"

"No. It's not worth it. Not the risk before, and not for the damned existence that comes after," he needed Paerin to understand here and now. This wasn't a debate-- it was Ashe's choice.

And maybe it was the Blight finally taking his toll on him. Maybe it was the constant pain, the nightmares, and the way everything tasted like ash in his mouth that was slowly breaking him down one day at a time.

But his voice cracked with barely contained pain as he gave a sardonic smile.

"Don't make me chose between a collared life without you, or death."

"I fear my answer might make y'think less of me."