#✧ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 ... VEILGUARD.

[apostated]

Cassian's hand settles against Malcolm's shoulder, and Malcolm, gratuitously dramatic, groans. ❝ What, do your giant knees hurt too badly to sit without assistance? Have you become that much of a fragile old man, cousin? ❞ Throwing stones in a glass house is Hawke, with arthritic, aging knees, and arthritic, aging shoulders, and ankles, and back, and the myriad of other maladies from the Fade. Grunting again, Hawke grabs Cassian's shoulder and squeezes, a quiet moment between two men who should be dead but defied the odds. And, Maker, are they both tired. ❝ I'm glad to see that you're still alive, though, truthfully. And I'm sure you were shocked to hear that I was still kicking, too. ❞ Glancing at Cassian, Malcolm smiles, chuckles a bit. ❝ Ah, we're two tenacious bastards, aren't we? ❞

ㅤ✧ㅤㅤ[ LEVER. ]ㅤㅤ@kinlochs.

[apostated]

The armor that Hawke had donned for a damned century and a half whilst in the Fade is somehow ill - fitting, now, and awkward on Hawke's frame. Sitting in the Lighthouse with all of the mental and physical maladies the Fade had left him with didn't require armor, so the mantle's sat abandoned for ⸺ however long, his sense of time askew. But Hawke will sit idle in the Lighthouse for no longer, not with the final battle imminent, not with Solas within reach. Hawke's hands tremble with it, with an unbridled hatred and rage. But the susurrating sound of fur smoothed through by Emmrich's hand is soothing to the storm. ❝ Thank you, Emmrich. ❞ Thank you not for tidying my armor, but for being here, Hawke fails to say. ❝ I would like to look my best in battle. ❞ Whilst I hold back from running my blade through Solas's fucking heart.

ㅤ✧ㅤㅤ[ TIDY. ]ㅤㅤ@breathandshadow.

[apostated]

It isn't simple with Samson, nor is it easy. The Chantry with the lyrium and the lies it fed, Corypheus with the red, disillusioned templars, the almost eternity of the Fade. It isn't easy. It isn't ever easy. But Samson whispering filth into Malcolm's ear at a reception for the Veilguard ⸺ for Malcolm and Samson, too, and Evka and Antoine, and the Mourn Watchers, and the Lords of Fortune, and everyone in Northern Thedas and even some from Southern Thedas ⸺ is the single most difficult Samson - related challenge Hawke's ever had to endure. Samson's courteous enough, though, to whisper filth into Hawke's ear while alone in a corner of the banquet hall, and Hawke's disciplined enough to be unbothered by it. Not entirely unbothered, though: ❝ You're ridiculous. ❞ Hence the hissing whisper, hand furling into and pulling Samson's collar. ❝ Do you plan on following through with what you've been 'promising' all night, at least? Or do you plan on proving that you're all bark and no bite? ❞

「 WHISPER: 」 @cert4inty.

[apostated]

It's a lively Thursday in the Treviso Markets, teeming and crowded with potential customers. Teeming and overcrowded with potential customers, truthfully, but Hawke's found fun in observing the patrons. In fact, Hawke's pointing out to Livia a particular patron by one of the merchant tables with milks and cheeses. ❝ They're about to back into that merchant table there. Should I say something? I mean, it'd be a little bit funny if ⸺ ❞ But before Hawke's possibly able to voice concern, or possibly not, the patron backs with their full weight into the merchant table, and the victim is a wedge of cheese that falls to the floor. ❝ Oh. That's not funny at all, actually. That's tragic. That was a fine - looking wedge of cheese. ❞ A fine - looking wedge of cheese that the patron, after having stared for a moment, retrieves from the floor and returns the table as if it hadn't been on the floor for far longer than five seconds.

@fadefires said, ... I'd just eat the cheese.

❝ Well, I think the merchant would think this poor person is desperate enough to ask for floor cheese and give it to you for free. ❞ Hawke's elbow prods, soft enough, at Livia's side. ❝ Get that floor cheese, then, go on. ❞