#Norah Card

[jarakio]

In crazy news… I’ve actually been playing? my game

My sims accidentally had triplets when they already had 1 infant and 1 toddler and live in a 2 bedroom rental so they’re now dealing with 5 babies. Had to hire a maid and a nanny, and it’s still not enough help. ☠️

Here’s how that’s going:

Don’t ask

[bullet-prooflove]

Christmas 2024 Bingo Card - Christmas Alone - Beau Simpson x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @b-bradshaw @crimeshowjunkie @inkandarsenic @caffeinatedwoman

Companion piece to:

Nine Months - Beau comes home from his deployment to a surprise revelation.

Scar Tissue - Beau and you discuss your decision to resign your commision.

It’s Beau’s new posting that fractures the marriage. He finds out after being on dryland for a couple of weeks that he’s being allocated to Arizona so that he can oversee a new Top Gun program.

Two years, he tells you that night, his palm rubbing over the nape of his neck. It’ll likely be extended to five if it proves successful.

You shut down after that and he gets it. This is what you were trying to prevent when you gave up your commission and now he’s forcing you to make a choice.

Uproot your entire life and start over in a place you once declared a hellscape because of the heat or stay here without him.

You choose to stay and Beau doesn’t blame you.

San Diego’s your home. You’ve just started a new job, you have friends here, a life, one that he’s not going to be a part of for a little while.

“I’ll be home for Christmas.” He promises you before he leaves. “I’ll cook for you, we can snuggle up on the couch, watch It’s A Wonderful Life in front of the fire.”

“I’d like that.” You say as you kiss him goodbye. “And I’ll come visit you when I can take some vacation time.”

He’s busy over the next few weeks and so are you. Your relationship becomes a string of texts because you’re both pulling late nights and early mornings. When you do make the trip over to Arizona, he has to leave within a couple of hours of your arrival to attend to a situation in the hanger with a couple of his fly boys. When he returns twenty four hours later, it’s to a note on the kitchen table that says ‘maybe next time?’

That’s the first time he lets you down, it isn’t the last.

By the time Christmas comes around you’re barely speaking to one another which makes the message he has to leave your voicemail even harder.

“I’m sorry I won’t be able to make it.”

You don’t respond and honestly Beau doesn’t expect you to. He assumes you’ll travel up to North Carolina, spend it with your sister and nephews. When you don’t pick up the phone to him on Christmas Day he calls her in an attempt to get in touch only to discover that you never made that trip.

It hits him like a gut punch because he knows you’re back home in San Diego, wrapped up in that soft white blanket watching It’s A Wonderful Life all alone. He pictures the unlit fire, you still in your pyjamas, sipping red wine as the tree lies dormant in the corner. There’s be no point in putting on the lights, after all there’s no one there but you.

He thinks about all the other special days he’s missed in the past, all the ones he’s going to miss and he realises he can’t do this anymore. To you, to him, to your marriage.

You sacrificed your career for the two of you and he’s doing the emotional equivalent of spitting in your face.

He flies back to San Diego as soon as he can get leave. When the cab pulls up in front of the house your car is missing from the driveway. He lets himself in and the place, it just doesn’t feel like a home. The essence of you he’s used to, it’s gone, there’s just this odd vacancy.

The only thing he sees when he looks around this house is your misery and that’s when he realises he’s killed that spark, the one that make you light up inside, that fills this place with warmth.

When he turns the lights on in the living room, he finds the presents he sent still sitting there under the tree unopened.

I’m a terrible fucking husband, he thinks as he stands there staring at them.

When you get home that night it’s to warm dulcet lighting and the sounds of Norah Jones playing through the house. There’s a lasagna in the oven and the kitchen table is set for two with an open bottle of wine and a vase of fresh flowers. Your eyes start to sting as you linger in the doorway, watching as Beau moves around the kitchen.

“I give up.” You tell him, your eyes stinging and for a second he freezes because he thinks you’re talking about the marriage. “I’ll get a job in Arizona, sell the house...”

“No Ally, you won’t.” Beau says softly as he wraps his arms around you, drawing you close. His scent floods your senses, that woody scent of oakmoss mixed with patchouli and you breath it in, your fists gripping the fabric of his shirt as his palm smooths lightly over your hair.

“I resigned my commission this morning.” He tells you, his lips brushing lightly over your hairline. “It’s going to take a while but I’m coming back home to you darlin, back here to San Diego.”

Love Beau? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[grimfolks]

Hi!! Wcif the outfits from pepper’s intro card and the post with all the girls as adults? Sorry, ik this might be a lot :s but thank you in advance 🙏

Sure, no problem :)

Pepper's outfit #1: top / skirt Zoya's outfit: cardigan / jeans Pepper's outfit #2: top / jeans Norah's outfit: top / jeans

[5amonsundays]

Chapitre Deux - Staring at the Wall (Norah Jones)

Baekhyun stood there, unable to move. The person he’d been searching for was finally right in front of him. It was you. Your hair was shorter, and you were a bit thinner than he remembered, but it was undeniably you. And you had a baby with you. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts as he watched you walk away. Why are you running away again? His mind screamed, but his body refused to move. The barista’s voice broke through his daze. 

“Sir?”

“Huh? Yeah, ahmmm…sorry.”

“Would you like to order now?”

“Ah, yeah. One… you know what, ahmm….nevermind, I’m sorry, I have to go.”

He hurried to his car, counting the deep sighs from the café to his seat behind the wheel. He pulled out his phone and made a call.

“Hyung, yeah. Ahmmm, yeah. Sorry, I won’t be able to join practice today.” He paused. “Yeah, I know, it’s just… something came up.” He massaged his temple in frustration. The voice on the other end sounded frustrated too, clearly scolding him. “Yeah, I know, but she’s… she’s here.” He paused again. “Her. She’s here.”

“Yuna.”

“What do you mean who’s Yuna? Of course, Yuna! My Yuna.” He shouted.

The person on the other end fell silent. “I’m sorry, it’s just… please, can you give me today to settle things?”

“Thank you. I owe you one. Thank you.”

He stared at nothing from the confines of his car. All the feelings he’d kept bottled up for over a year tried to resurface. All the ways he imagined he would react when he saw you again flew out the window the moment he saw those eyes. Those eyes and the emotions they held. More than a year had passed, and you still rendered him speechless with just one look. After one more deep sigh, he started the engine. He drove off with a clear head and solid determination that he wouldn’t let you slip away again.

___________

You gently placed your baby in his crib after he finally fell asleep. You didn’t leave right away, continuing to stroke his head absentmindedly. The events of this morning were still fresh in your mind. Baekhyun wasn’t supposed to see you. But he did. Despite that, you couldn’t help but feel the longing you had refused to acknowledge slowly resurfacing. How had he been? Did he miss you? Because not a single day had passed without you missing him. “If only things had been different…” That thought haunted you many nights. But in your attempt to be resilient, you accepted the reality that this is the card you've been dealt with. You looked at the sleeping figure of your son. Every lash, every expression, everything about him screamed of his father’s likeness. 

Author's note:

Here's chapter 2! I am still figuring out how to create a masterlist, so yeah, keep scrolling for now :)

[lone-fire-lookout]

Welcome.

My name is Norah. She/her, please.

I work as a fire lookout in Coronet National Park during fire season. In the off season, I work as a park Ranger. I made this blog with the intent of talking about my profession, as well as spreading awareness about fire safety and forest safety in general. Please feel free to ask me any questions you may have.

Here is my trainer card:

Both of my pokemon help me with my jobs. You may also ask about them, if you like. My Flechinder is named Cinder and my Buizel is named Mizumi.

OOC:

This blog will deal with horror and heavy themes, such as depression and thoughts about death. I will do my best to tag everything, but please be cautious. I will also make announcements when I plan on delving into stories dealing with such themes.

Anyone is free to interact! However, Norah may meet eebiedeebies, sapient pokemon, legendary's Chosens and the like with skepticism.

Pelipper Mail, Pelipper Malice, and Magic Anons are all OFF.

Musharna Mail and Malice are ON.

[gravesung-moving]

quick and dirty bios for the unseen's inner circle (the sanctum)!

bc i just remembered sage and fletch are the only unseen creatures i actually have bios for.

*note — by default, these descriptions apply to the unseen as they are in shelter island. some details are subject to change based on verse. *note 2 — each member of the sanctum has a self-chosen tarot card that's left behind as a "calling card" at a particular job they claim responsibility for. in place of a stolen bounty, on top of a body, etc.

acheron ??? (he/him) — the poisoner

the emperor

dilf

calm, collected, honest but in a kind way. pretty emotionally intelligent.

as a rule, never pries into other people's business. lane = stayed in.

has a son who's in college rn! on good terms with his ex-wife.

ex-safecracker/bank robber

he makes poisons! has a little lab and everything

occasionally fletch will pull him out of retirement and make him go crack a safe. he complains about his knees

norah suman (she/her) — the engineer

the sun

lesbiab

has had a secret crush on seph for a couple years. designed her arms from the ground up, and the first point of contact when something goes wrong or seph needs a redesign/upgrade

dry humor, very blunt and often sarcastic

eyebrow piercing

habit of chopping off her hair when she's sad

makes the gadgets. makes explosives, modifies weapons, invents new shit, always thinking about new ways to do stuff. engineering as an art and a science at the same time.

also an up-and-coming tattoo artist!

orion aisa (he/they) — the forger

the moon

seph's twin brother

not a great fighter, hates using guns

eyepatch over his right eye. fletch took it when he and seph tried to escape as teenagers, along with ripping seph's arms off, which is a very normal and cool and chill reaction to have

trans lad. top surgery, took testosterone for a few years but then stopped. pretty satisfied with where he's at right now

excellent painter

suffers from hand tremors, though they fade when he paints

hector dionísio (he/him) — the muscle

the wheel of fortune

unpredictable and violent. unhinged.

will be having a drink with you and then at a hair-trigger provocation, he'll just turn around and start kicking the shit out of someone

scarily good fighter, way too fast for his muscular build

no one knows why fletch trusts him to be in the inner circle and not rat on them

unexpectedly very reliable as a teammate. he does his job very well

fixated on seph in a "constantly riling her so that she'll fight him whenever he wants" way

fixated on edith in a "why can't i land a hit on you. come here" way

pit fighter. so far undefeated

cody shimura (he/him) — the accountant

justice

the most guy ever

he's so tired.

retired hedge fund manager, went into crime because he did some digging, realized the finance industry was already in fletch's pocket anyway, and his ability to stealthily uncover those secrets impressed fletch enough to hire him on.

tries to be a plant dad but he keeps killing them

surprisingly well-trained with a gun

occasionally pulls out the most scathing one-liners in the quietest and calmest voice imaginable

sage / VECTOR (she/her) — the driver

the world

technomancer (arcane hacker)

pokemon superfan

harvard dropout

a pretty normal person, generally, probably the least traumatized out of the crew

can summon cars / motorcycles made of, essentially, compressed/hardened demon souls sourced straight from hell

also has normal, non-summonable cars / motorcycles that she likes to augment and fix up with norah's help

has a giant fluffy dog named Baby

fucking Maniac behind the wheel. the dog's name is a reference to baby driver for a reason.

if she knew about @tewwor's vector alias, she would make them matching shirts

edith winter (she/they) — the thief

the hermit

sneaky. quiet. wow shocker

fey changeling who's lived on earth their whole life, but is in contact with the human child they replaced

raised by wolves a gang, sort of collectively alongside her parents. it takes a village yaknow. they all had a hand in training her to be the insanely skilled thief she is — edith was probably the most valuable piece on their board, even at a young age

said gang was absorbed by the unseen and scattered across the world for resisting said absorption. one of edith's parents was killed in the conflict, the other was sent across the world but she doesn't know where

no one knows if they're bitter about it or not. they don't talk about it

acheron taught her how to crack safes

caro vitale / deadfall (he/him) — the fence

the hanged man

owner of the black stag, a bar and antique shop just at the northern edge of the city where metropolis meets highway meets forest.

can sell anything to anyone

no one knows a single thing about this man except for the fact that he's fluent in italian. he WILL lie if you ask him anything else. caro vitale is also not his real name

he got that thang on him (a club)

tattoos everywhere

ishal king (they/them) — the doctor

death

fae nephilim (an angel fucked an archfey and produced a very strange kid), exiled from the autumn court for death crimes before going into the human medical field as a surgeon.

nearly got arrested for experimenting with nephilim blood (their own, but whatever guys), faked their death, joined the unseen. now works happily and privately for fletch in their silly little lab.

mushroom garden

medicinal plant expert alongside their knowledge of modern medicine

ominous positivity

anah tannar (she/her) — the spy

the lovers, reversed

you know her! you love her! she's probably broken your heart!

local celebrity influencer

resident honeypot for any woman-attracted target

prefers to be flashy and stand out, but also insanely good at blending in and being invisible when need be

serial dater. never lets anyone too close, but loves to have a web of one-way connections to people who think they're her best friend or favorite ex, and/or owe her a favor (she has a book of debts)

a genuinely compassionate person underneath it all, she just leaned hard into her manipulative side after being used one too many times

persephone aisa (they/she) — the assassin

judgement

first lieutenant/right hand to amari fletch, and thus second-in-command to the unseen itself

sharpshooter, beat-upper, gunfighter, knife-swinger. if john wick can do it, so can they

cold, aggressive, hostile. deadly as fuck. if you follow this blog you probably came from hers so i won't go into too much detail SJDKHJKSD

amari fletch (they/he) — the leader

the tower (also the name they're publicly known by)

i swear they're not secretly thousands of years old i swearrrrr (yes they are) (they cheated death in a game of dice and bear the mark of cain for it)

think gus fring, netflix wilson fisk, silco — that type of person

spidery motherfucker, aka has connections eeeeverywhere. so many judges, cops, government officials in their pocket.

for the most part, fletch is satisfied with the world the way that it is. the unseen profits nicely, they have as much power as they need, and no one fucks with them (if they even know it exists)

if someone does fuck with him and his, however, he will not hesitate to make a violent and chaotic example of them for the rest of the world to see.

calm and levelheaded 99% of the time. 1% of the time, off-the-wall destructive

will take risks if they can see a benefit and the consequence of failure won't fuck up their plans.

extremely powerful in a fight (is not human) with enough raw strength to fully charge straight through a building wall by wall if they wanted to. but they don't. lmao

seph is their protegé (????) (i genuinely don't have a term for their relationship it's so fucked up and hard to describe), & they are very very possessive about it

[jeongyunhoed]

As seen on my FF.net

Following the events of fifth year, a new adventure awaits for Norah Lee. Boys, exams, school events, common room parties, and old foes outside of Hogwarts. Even battling pensieve guardians was easier than this.

Main Pair: OC/? Genre: Adventure/Angst/Fluff (it's a little of everything, tbh)

KEEP IN MIND: Characters are aged up (even if the story's got them in sixth year) to make it more appropriate. Time period is leaning towards the modern day so in case you might find anachronisms in the dialogue or references, this is why. This may also be quite a lengthy fic too.

BE WARNED: Social anxiety, mentions of blood and injury, grief, drinking, kissing but nothing more than that, death (this is Hogwarts Legacy, after all)

P.P.S: Another terrible attempt at poetry ahead, and introducing Henry Abbott (if we were to link this to the canon, he may be a great great uncle/great great grandfather to Hannah Abbott hee hee). I might do more of these in the coming chapters. It's fun brainstorming another relative to the canon characters.

Masterlist

Chapter 7

It had been a while since Norah had a girls-only hangout with Natty and Poppy. The three of them opted to study together near the kneazle pens, at the spot where Highwing used to drop in. Norah gladly let the hippogriff out to hang around them while she had her time to fly in the open before returning to the vivarium again.

The more there is, the less you see The answer to this riddle is another step to find me Your wit, your banter Most are truly lucky to encounter Indeed like the wife of the famous sleuth The answer to this may reveal some truth Whisper it to a close friend, and remember, The answer also means foreseeing danger.

You will know if you are right, Wait for my note on another night.

Your Nick

"Merlin, this Nick must think I'm as smart as a Ravenclaw," Norah sighed as she read the note over and over again, making the two girls look up from writing their assignments.

Natty and Poppy giggled. "You say that yet you managed to do everything you did in fifth year," The Gryffindor pointed out. "You will figure it out."

"Darkness," Norah blurted out, still staring at the note. "The answer to the riddle is darkness."

The two girls broke out into fits of laughter. "What did I say? I told you!" Natty pointed out, almost looking victorious. "No wonder this Nick admires you. I say he's truly mad for you, and this is his only way of expressing it."

"I've been reading this since last night, so it's taken me a while to figure it out."

"That's so romantic," Poppy swooned. "Can you imagine it? Norah might end up getting a boyfriend from Ronen's assignment."

The thought seemed to make Norah stare at the note even longer, nearly spilling her ink bottle. She didn't even know how she felt about this person. "Easy now, Poppy, it's too soon, don't you think? Ronen just started this assignment," She said with a slight chuckle. "With everything we're doing, I'd rather fight Ranrok again."

Natty somewhat sensed how uncomfortable she had gotten, and patted her on the shoulder. "Poppy's just too enamored with the one who took her name, leaving her love notes and gifts. She was like that during Care of Magical Creatures earlier," She said. "I think she already knows who it is."

Poppy's smile only grew wider as she nodded. "Andrew! It's Andrew Larson!" She said, holding up the yellow card that had her name on it.

"How did you know it was Andrew?" Norah was curious.

"He told me he was going to take my name from the board," Poppy replied.

They stared at her. "Merlin, he must fancy you loads," Norah said. "He was the one who left you bonbons in Herbology, wasn't he?"

Poppy nodded excitedly. They knew of her crush on the Ravenclaw boy since they started hanging out more often. She couldn't admit this to Amit, out of fear that he might tell Andrew, but surprisingly, it seemed like Andrew felt the same way. Norah guessed that if they had gotten around to brewing amortentia, Poppy could only smell things that would remind her of him.

"Who do you think took your name?" Norah rounded on the Gryffindor this time.

It was when a smile crept up on her face, shyness somehow coming over her. "I have a feeling it's that Ravenclaw boy, Henry Abbott," She said, showing her the red and gold card with her name on it.

"Whoa, it seems like two of my friends are fancying Ravenclaw boys," Norah chuckled. "It must be their wit and charm. If Amit didn't become my good friend, I think I would've fancied him too."

Natty shook her head profusely, but Norah could tell that a blush was spreading across her cheeks. "No, no! I don't fancy him! Not at all!" She tried to deny, but the Slytherin girl only gave her a look. "Well, he is rather handsome. He tried his hand at Crossed Wands the other day, and he made it to the second round."

Norah looked impressed. "He must have been fancying you since we took down Harlow in fifth-year," She said. "That's always a story you can brag about. And breaking into that Ashwinder camp."

The blush on Natty's cheeks only seemed to be more evident. "I wonder what my mother would think, me possibly getting a date to the Yule Ball, or possibly a boyfriend. Ronen's assignment ends the day before the house party too. I hope he comes."

"I hope so too. I don't think I've got any classes with Abbott this year," Norah tried to recall, shaking her head when she couldn't. She smiled, amused at how her two friends were gaining romantic attention. She was absolutely happy for them. Poppy with Andrew, Natty with Henry, Amit and Samantha maybe, but what about Sebastian and Ominis? She didn't really get to ask them about their efforts. But did she really want to know? There was a nagging thought at the back of her head that maybe she didn't, but she wanted them to be happy after what they went through in fifth year.

Highwing landed while Poppy and Norah gave her some of the cauldron cakes the Hufflepuff girl took from the kitchens. The white hippogriff happily devoured the cakes while Norah brushed her feathers, the winged beast enjoying the care and attention given to her.

The familiar sinking feeling was coming back again, something Norah felt in waves. There were a lot of things she needed to do, and what she told Professor Weasley still held true. The power she ended up taking in from the repository was filled with the pain and sadness, from everyone Isidora took from. She felt like she was teetering on the edge of being sad and being angry. The grief she felt seemed to only add onto this feeling that grew stronger. It was getting difficult to focus whenever it came.

But with everything that needed to be done for their classes, Norah knew she needed to hold it out a bit longer. She needed to be strong.

They heard a slight commotion coming from the Flying Class lawn. The all-too-familiar setup of Summoner's Court had appeared, making several students who were nearby excited. "Norah! Norah!" Samantha Dale was waving at her to come over.

"Back in the nabsack, Highwing, I'll let you back in the vivarium later," Norah quickly opened the bag, in which the hippogriff happily returned. She sighed, turning to Natty and Poppy. "I wonder who's up for playing this year."

"Ooh! Might we see Nick amongst the crowd?" Poppy grinned as they cleared out their things to approach the platform.

Norah and Natty side-eyed her, shaking their heads in amusement. But the closer they got, the more they, Natty in particular, realized who was up to try their hand at Summoner's Court this year. Henry stepped up, looking as determined as ever next to Leander, who challenged him. "Non-verbal Summoner's Court, the ever-changing game," the redhead declared, to cheers from some of the crowd.

Norah and Poppy started to giggle when they saw Natty get flustered, trying to hide behind them. It was easy to see why Natty, and possibly everyone else, might have fancied Henry.

He was as tall as Leander and had an intelligent looking face. Henry also happened to come from a family of purebloods, which mattered to those who were particular about it. His green eyes shone like emeralds and couldn't even be obscured by the wire-framed glasses he wore and his blonde hair that was tousled in a way that he meant to do so. In short, Henry was seen as one of the most handsome boys in Hogwarts.

"Oh, Henry Abbott finally trying his hand at non-verbal Summoner's Court," Samantha was grinning next to them. "If he gets past Leander, he's got me next, and then Grace, and then Charlotte, and then Professor Ronen," She tilted her head toward Norah. "And then you."

Norah sighed. "Me too? Really?"

"Yes, as the reigning Summoner's Court champion, you're the final opponent Henry faces if he gets past the rest of us and Ronen," Samantha looked proud.

"Then I look forward to being defeated," Norah looked impressed at Henry's turns, as well as Leander's efforts to knock the other balls out non-verbally. "What?" She laughed when Natty nudged her.

"You shouldn't go easy on Henry, just because I like him," The Gryffindor mumbled. "Let him win on his own."

Norah laughed. "Alright, alright, I won't go easy on your summoner," She teased.

Just after she said it, Henry had beaten Leander, whose face was ruddy from experiencing quite a loss in front of a crowd of people. The Ravenclaw managed to spot Natty in the crowd and smiled with a knowing look. "Well then, looks like Abbott's got me to face next," Samantha grinned. "Don't worry Natty, we promise not to go easy on Abbott," She said, making the Gryffindor girl even more flustered.

"Chin up, Leander!" Norah made sure to encourage the redhead, who seemed to be sulking even as Henry shook his hand, showing some sportsmanship. "Congratulations Henry!"

Both boys seemed to wave at her direction before walking off in separate directions. Samantha shot Natty another mischievous look before running off to catch up with her fellow Ravenclaw. "I believe he was inspired by Miss Onai over here to win," Poppy smiled.

"Bloody hell, best believe, I will be there when Nick makes himself known to you, Norah," Natty warned.

-

When free period hit, Norah thought to make another return to the map chamber, wanting to see if what she was thinking would work. Taking the enchanted wand she had made with the pensieve artifacts, she was about to head down to the bell tower when she saw Ominis also on his way, followed by Sebastian.

"Norah?" The blonde suddenly asked. "I heard Henry Abbott's having a go at becoming the new Summoner's Court champion."

Without thinking, she grabbed both of them by their sleeves, taking them by surprise as they followed her out of the common room. There was no better way to let them know what she planned to do than by pulling them along with her. "North tower dungeon, you-know-where," She muttered.

"Alright, alright, I think we got what you mean," Sebastian pulled his arm back, curiously following her, as did Ominis.

"Are we going back there again?" Ominis questioned.

"Yes, there's something I need to try before I can proceed," She said quietly, low enough for them to hear, but not audible enough for anyone else to catch them. "I need you two to be there just in case."

"Just in case of what?" Sebastian was getting concerned, as was Ominis, whose often calm expression changed into that of worry.

"In case I might not make it out? I don't know, but I thought you two, most of all, should know, right?" She said.

"If this is going to get you killed, surely there must be another way," Ominis surprisingly, reached out for her wrist as they went down the stairs leading to the dungeons where the so-called sleeping dragon was. "Norah, please tell me you're not going to get yourself killed."

"I don't think it'll be harmful, but it might take a lot out of me," Norah assured him, patting his hand as they went down the spiral staircase that finally led to the map chamber. She knew to pack a lot of wiggenweld potions in case it would once again be a repeat of fifth year.

It was as if it had only just happened. She was barely holding on when she mustered up the remaining strength she had and delivered the final blow to Ranrok, effectively killing him. With only a drop of wiggenweld potion left on her, she barely made it out of the caverns alive had it not for Professor Sharp and Professor Hecat, who found her and brought her to the hospital wing. Nurse Blainey tended to her wounds in the quiet hospital wing, under the watchful eyes of Sharp and Hecat. Professor Onai also checked on her while she recovered.

"We'll be standing by, ready," Sebastian was the one to assure her this time, when she opened the doors of the map chamber.

The three of them stood on the edge, away from the space that revealed the map of the country, including the four locations of the keeper trials. Norah took out the white wand from her bag and tried to concentrate.

The wand began to emit a light, and to Sebastian's and her amazement, the floor revealing the map further lowered to reveal another set of stairs and the door. "Bloody hell," the freckled brunette muttered, staring at what was in front of him.

"It worked," Norah said, still as amazed. "It's going to work after all," She felt relief. But it wasn't over just yet. "I have to send an owl to Professor Weasley about this."

"So this is what you went to Professor Weasley about, wasn't it?" Sebastian said.

"Yes," Norah admitted. She hated how she could find herself being vulnerable with them. "This power, the ancient magic from the repository down there. It's too much to bear for me. I feel everything, I feel the pain from all the people Isidora Morganach took from. It was wrong of me to use this, to try and build on it without really considering the consequences."

Ominis's expression turned from worry to sad. Sebastian's expression also fell. "I just hope it's not too late to rebuild it. One day, it will be reopened, to people willing to learn about it. I am the living keeper of this magic, and when the time comes that we can reopen it again, knowing what it can bring."

Sebastian tried to wrap his head around what she was saying. But it was also then that he realized how much pressure she was under. Even Ominis was beginning to understand why she felt what she was feeling. The way she had been trying to stay strong until she couldn't, not wanting to be seen as weak because Merlin forbid she disappoint anyone.

Her wand-bearing hand fell to her side as she looked down. "I can't keep this power. I can guard it, but I will not take it upon myself to use it for my own gain," She said quietly. "This is what Professor Fig, Miriam, George, Lodgok, and many others died for."

"Norah," Sebastian said as carefully as possible. "We can never know what it's like to be in your place. Ominis said it when we went to Keenbridge, and I think it bears repeating. Please don't throw yourself into something dangerous without knowing that there are people around you that will help you. You need only ask. You know I'll be there for you."

"We can't carry the burden you may have on your shoulders for you," Ominis chimed in. "But we can help you walk."

That was all she could say about how she was feeling. If she told them that she would never forgive herself if any one of them got seriously hurt. Just as how she couldn't seem to forgive herself for Professor Fig's death. Even Lodgok's death felt like it was her fault. All the more she knew she needed to make things right, even if it seemed to be too late.

When the floor moved back up, covering the door that led to the caverns, Sebastian stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her in a big hug. Ominis put a hand on her back, rubbing circles to sooth her. Sebastian tried to hold back the urge to kiss the side of her head, and instead hugged her a little tighter. He wanted her to know that he would always be there for her, and that he never wanted to see her unhappy or feel like everything was her responsibility.

The three of them quietly left the map chamber, the mood having become a little somber following Norah's explanation. This mood didn't last for very long, and Sebastian's expression changed into that from supportive into slightly annoyed when as they returned to the common room, Violet McDowell handed Norah another letter from Nick.

To Norah Lee,

Tear one off and scratch my head, What once was red is black instead. Answer this riddle to get to me, You've answered my riddles easily. I've always admired this about you, So be assured that my feelings are true. Whisper this to a close friend's ear, You'll never know, that your summoner's near.

You will know if you are right, Wait again tomorrow night.

Your Nick

"A match," Norah replied, pocketing the letter.

"A match? Did he give you another riddle?" Ominis asked.

"Yes he did," Norah said. Turning to Sebastian, she explained what she had been receiving. "But it seems like he's trying to give himself away now that we're getting closer to the end of Ronen's assignment."

"Well, I'm set to meet mine at the party. She said she wouldn't be making herself known on the end of the assignment yet," Sebastian frowned.

"What about you, Ominis?" Norah turned to the blonde.

Ominis shook his head, as if on reflex. "I'm not telling either of you. You'll have to know when I figure out who she may be," He said. "I believe I best be going back to my bed and finish my Transfiguration essay."

He quickly went in the direction of the boys' dormitory, leaving Sebastian and Norah in the common room. "He must be writing to Anne again, isn't he?" Norah smiled

"Perhaps. But I genuinely think he's still got to finish it. We were working on it in the library," Sebastian shrugged. "How are you feeling now?" He asked.

"Better than earlier, thank you," She nodded. Norah went over to the chairs nearest to the windows looking underwater, where Ominis would tease the first-years about mermaids. To their amusement, there were still some first-years on the lookout for mermaids. They soon tried to disperse them gathering, telling them that they wouldn't see some, at least in the part of the lake where their common room was.

"Nerida Roberts can tell you all about the mermaids if you're curious," Norah told them, and they walked away, talking amongst themselves about what she told them. "She'll be the future liason for the mermaids in the ministry soon."

The way Norah managed to get them to disperse and keep their interest was amazing to Sebastian. He had always liked that about her, how she was able to get through to anyone. With what she revealed earlier, Sebastian hoped he could return the favor, and he was determined to be there for her no matter what.

[fantasticcloudcreation]

October 11

I just wanna tell y'all I have $12,000 in my bank account right now , that's a new record for me 😱

It's not gonna stay that way bc I got shit to pay for but it's nice to see that number !!! It's like I'm finally playing the number game with bank money and not just scale/weight numbers, like an actual productive way to spend my time and mental energy haha. Like one number is going up and one number is going down, I am Winning this game right now honestly.

I think when I leave here I'll find a random scale bc I just wanna check in on the number before the next 2 gigs, but I'm feeling skinny looking in the mirror today despite drinking beer + eating out with D all week; back to 3 meals a day now that we're back at work for this weekend but I haven't felt hungry so I'm trying not to overeat (even though there's so many delicious options and it's all free...) Gotta pay my credit card + gas to get to FL etc but also 2 more paychecks coming from this gig so I should be back at 12 by the time those hit.

I forgot to get cigs on the way to work today so I only have 1 left, trying to save it for the end of the day...

Our stage schedule is pretty much the same as last weekend so that's nice but kinda boring. Should I lay here and take a nap while Norah Jones plays upstairs, or should I trek across the direct sunlight field to catch like 30 minutes of Eggy on another stage? I've seen them before and they were great however the crowd here has weird vibes and idk if it'll be worth the journey. I think it might be nap time. Remind me to bring a book tomorrow!!!

[krispyweiss]

Song Review: Norah Jones - “I’ll be Home for Christmas” (Today)

With an uncharacteristic rasp in her voice and a bouncy arrangement in her fingertips, Norah Jones played a solo-piano arrangement of “I’ll be Home for Christmas” on the “Today” program that left the sadness in the snow and parked joy in front of the fireplace.

It’s a refreshing change to a seasonal song that’s generally a downer as Jones’ ragtimey piano playing gives the impression of scurrying back to a place of belonging while her cracking voice is the sound of someone actually celebrating the holidays.

“I’ll be Home for Christmas” is a song Sound Bites generally avoids. Jones’ take - this one specifically - is one he’ll be returning to in Christmases future.

Grade card: Norah Jones - “I’ll be Home for Christmas” (Today) - A

12/22/23

[tunnelsnacks]

I’d LOVE to hear more about how Marcy Long is head of agriculture!! It’s SO rare to find people who actually like. Treat her with dignity.

Okay I spent the last hour of work thinking about how to answer this in a way that actually made sense but Marcy! Means! So much to me!! She always has! Anytime I write something involving Sanctuary I try to have her be mentioned at the very least

One of the things about grief is that everybody deals with it in a different way and I love that Marcy’s allowed to be angry and she doesn’t apologize for it and she doesn't stop being angry. She lost her son! She lost her home! The past week+ up to the sosu finding Preston and the survivors of Quincy has been nothing but the people supposed to be protecting her and her husband failing. ‘but bee!�� I hear someone in the distance cry, ‘the sosu also lost their kid and their home and their-’ that’s not the point!!! People in real life who go through tragedy all deal with it differently (says Bee who’s gone through A Not Great Thing with other people and seen this first hand) regardless of how similar the wounds are and its so … human that Marcy is allowed to be bitter with her dealt cards

I dunno know, there was something about the way she looks to her husband and, very softly, says ‘we gotta go’ when the sosu takes them to Sanctuary that always gets to me

So I have Marcy become one of the most important people in the town and slowly – over a long time, her and Jun take walks down by the lake when the sun’s setting, she teaches synths that don’t want to get their memories changed how to farm and she’s good at it. She’s good at keeping people fed and keeping them out of trouble and maybe Jun copes with his own sadness too and runs the clinic with Curie (the Longs owned the pharmacy in Quincy) once they begin to heal

Their son, Kyle, who I think would be 10 just like Shawn, is gone. It’s not fair and its not right. But it happened and he’s gone

I have a fic (that I don’t think I ever put up) where Norah talks with Marcy about what it’s like to lose your son like that and how you cope after the unimaginable. And once the Minutemen are back at the Castle, they retake Quincy and Norah and Preston find every single body the Gunners threw into a pile to rot or burn and give them the funeral they deserve and maybe that helps the Longs heal a little bit

Maybe when Norah gets Shawn back he’s the only one beside Jun she never snaps at and she gets protective of him the same way Codsworth does

This was really long and not important to anything in the ask but thank you!!

[jarakio]

Just what they needed when they’re trying to save 300k for a big enough house for the 7 of them 🥲

She’d made it to level 6 of the education career as an Intrepid Instructor, which was shitty pay anyway… so maybe it’s a blessing in disguise?

[bullet-prooflove]

Absence: Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson x Reader

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @oureternalbond  @chickensrule @iwannabeinthesequalmrghostface @justameresimp @lxaah11 @librarian1002 @littlebadariell @imaginecrushes @luckyladycreator2 @emersxn99 @noxytopy @flrboyd @nani-kenobi @areamir @b-bradshaw @adaydreamaway08 @beausimpson @crimeshowjunkie @shepgurl @inkandarsenic @ashcosmo

Deployment!Series:

Propriety (NSFW) - All thoughts of propriety goes out of the window when Beau finds you in his office.

Rumours - Beau doesn't realise there's a rumour about him.

Disengage - Beau discovers your secret.

Stalemate - The stalemate between you and Beau breaks when he recieves some news.

The house is empty when Beau returns home from the mission with the Top Gun graduates, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He puts it down in the space by the front door before he unlaces his boots and sets them where your court shoes used to reside. Something inside him breaks and he’s overcome for a moment because it hits him that you’re gone.

He had known in his heart that he wasn’t going to make it. He'd been in the middle of the Pacific when the day ticked by, he’d counted down the clock with agitation and when your allocated time had passed, he’d felt that ache blossom in his chest. He’d carried it with him for the rest of the journey.

I’m sorry, he’d texted you late that night, but the message is still unread. He knows you can never get signal in the first few days of deployment.

The only blessing is that you’re heading to Naples, a place you love almost as much as the home you’ve made together. You’ve been stationed there a number of times over the years and Beau takes solace in the fact that he knows you’ll thrive over there.

“Alexa, play Ally’s Playlist.” He says as he steps into the living room, his socked feet slipping slightly on the laminate floor. The dulcet tones of Norah Jones fill the space as he sits down on the edge of the couch and ignites the candle on the coffee table with the firelighter. The scent of sea salt and sage fills his senses as he sags back onto the couch and closes his eyes.

He sleeps there that night, amongst the remains of your essence.  

He wakes as the sun comes up, the light filtering through the blinds that he forgot to close. The playlist has run its course and the candle has burnt itself out. He’s stiff when he finds his way into the kitchen, his mouth dry.

There’s a box in the centre of the table, it’s wrapped in royal blue paper with a small cream card propped up against it. His name is written in your neat cursive scrawl, he runs his thumb over the indentation before opening the envelope.

The edges of his lips twitch up when he sees the card because he thinks you knew what would happen, that he’d be feeling hopeless and adrift at the lack of contact.

Distance means so little when someone means so much.

The words touch something deep down inside of him, your sincerity stretching across the distance.

He pulls box towards him, it’s heavier than he expected. He unwraps it with care, his fingertips skirting along the joins in the paper as he removes the tape. He recognises the packaging, it’s from an antique shop in the city. The two of you have acquired a few pieces from there over the years including the art deco hip flask you’d given him for his birthday. He opens the gift to find a maritime hourglass inside.

It’s a beautiful piece, made out of brass and hand crafted.

There’s an engraving etched into the top, his finger traces over the words as he reads them out loud.

Six months.

A smile graces his lips before he turns it upside down, the sand beginning to trickle into the vessel below.

Six months, he thinks. He can handle six months.

Love Beau? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[thatbanditqueen]

Once feelings become stronger how does Becky feel about Linda and Elvis paying for her house?

I feel like Becky is going to try and play things cool for sure at first, like, I'm just having fun, that's their deal, but also I think she is going to be very intimidated by Linda, her ongoing relationship with E and the promises he made (and broke) with Linda. The difference is that Linda is a beauty queen, and Becky is confident in some ways, but also very insecure in others, and I think her ongoing struggle will be finding her foot and putting it down... and in the meantime Linda is going to get so frustrated with E she is going to peace out. The difference, of course, is that Becky would never feel entitled to go use Elvis' credit card for $30K spending sprees, she doesn't want a house or car or anything, she doesn't expect it and she doesn't want to be under anyone's thumb. She is going to go with the flow and get swept up in some sweet delusional new relationship energy for a while. But the way Elvis is paying for Linda, Mindi, Sheila and still for Priscilla too, well, that will start, I think to hang over her head and sour things..... stay tuned my love......

xoxo

norah

[playedbetter]

What Tarot Card Are You? - Norah

The World

Power is a heady thing. Do you have what it takes to control it? You thought you did, for a long time as you gained more and more. Power only begets more power, after all. Mind your breaking point, mind your load, mind how high you’ve climbed up the ladder; it’s against regulation to stand on the top rung. You could get hurt up there. You could fall. I’m not sure that I could catch you, so high above the rest of us. Don’t look down. Mind the ceiling fan.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

[half agony, half hope] ch3: the memories linger

ch1 | ch2 | ch3 | ch4 Read on AO3

Pairings: Warden!Carver/Merrill; some side M!Hawke/Anders Rating: M Chapter Summary: The news of Warden Carver's impending arrival spreads throughout Kirkwall, reaching new ears and leaving Hawke busier than ever. Speculation, new bedding, the long-standing feud between Aveline and Hawke, some tenderness, and... wait, has anyone heard from Merrill lately?

Note: I had a lot of fun writing this chapter so I hope y'all have fun reading it!

-x-

A week passed since Hawke’s announcement.

Just barely afternoon, a lull ran through the Hanged Man. Only a handful of patrons occupied the tables and bar, with one man passed out in the corner in a pool of ale. Or maybe piss. Hard to tell.

Corff practiced his poetic prose on Norah, whose critique nearly shattered any hope the man had of abandoning bartending to pursue a career in writing. Usually he tried it with Isabela, but she ran off to visit some hat shop she found in Hightown. As if she needed another hat.

Amongst the dull, Varric sat by the hearth alone with a full glass of wine in his hand. Not that he had any intention of actually drinking the stuff, but the weight kept his hand occupied as he lost himself in thought.

He didn’t usually care to keep track of the days, not unless he needed to or when something was wrong, and indeed: something’s wrong with Daisy.

Maybe it was as she said, and the piss-poor ale of this place got to her the last time she joined in for cards, but Varric had his doubts. The first ale she barely touched, and the second she didn’t finish. Now, Daisy could be a lightweight but not that much.

They all played a couple rounds of Wicked Grace with no problem. Nothing outta the ordinary with her usual bright, cheery self.

But then Hawke told them about Junior, and barely a word outta her. That alone could raise an eyebrow, but now she doesn’t show up for cards and drinks for a whole week?

She’s done this before, and Varric would bet you a whole shiny sovereign that Daisy’s locked herself away with that creepy ass mirror again. Shit.

But now? Of all times? That can’t be coincidence.

“Hawke!” A muted echo of slurred patrons announced the arrival of the man himself, raising their glasses to him and drawing Varric’s eye to the doorway. Hawke and Fenris entered the tavern in the midst of conversation.

Heh, no cane. Must’ve snuck out before Blondie could shove the thing in his hand. Hawke walked well enough, though the limp remained noticeable.

Varric raised his glass to greet the duo as they approached.  

“Look, when you and Donnic play cards next, will you just have him tell her?”

“You’re plenty capable of going to the barracks. Tell her yourself.”

Hawke’s shoulders slumped. “I would, but that’d require talking to her. And hobbling up all those steps. Everyone there will want to stop and talk. They’ll all ask me about my leg, and heap praise upon me for the whole Champion thing, I’ll tell them about Carver, and I’ll be there forever! By the time I make it to Aveline’s office, I’ll be far too tired to deal with her. There’s too much to do, I simply can’t be bothered.”

The elf studied Hawke for a moment, then deadpanned, “Your stubbornness is only rival to hers.”

“Thank you.”

“That’s not a compliment.”

Hawke waved that off, turning his attention to the dwarf.

“Haven’t seen Isabela around, have you?”

 Varric shrugged. “Hat shop.”

“Hat shop? What does she need another hat for?” asked Hawke. “She barely wears the ones she owns. Or is ‘hat shop’ code for something?”

The dwarf ignored that question; Isabela’s unnecessary hat collection didn’t interest him, but Hawke and Aveline’s recent spat—yeah, right, “recent” as if it hasn’t been over a year—did. He offered the untouched wine to Fenris, who knew Varric’s taste didn’t include any of the Hanged Man’s swallow and accepted, and asked Hawke, “So, you still haven’t told Aveline?”

The man crossed his arms over his chest, almost defiantly. “Anders forgot to remind me.”

Fenris gulped down the wine with a grunt. “I fail to see how the fault is his and not yours.”

“Defending him, are you?” Hawke placed a hand over his heart. “He’ll never believe me when I tell him.”

“Don’t distract from the point, Ed.” The elf tilted his head back with a sigh, looking like he was searching for some bit of patience left hiding up on the tavern ceiling. “The very least you could do would be to send a note.”

“A note,” Hawke grimaced as if the word itself was bitter, rubbing at his brow. “And why should I? She’s never sent me a note. I’d like a note for once.”

Right, like Hawke didn’t get a plethora of letters every day from every self-important prick in Kirkwall looking to leech off his influence.

“Because it’s not about you.”

“You say that as if Carver’s thrilled with her.”

The elf shot Varric an irritated look, one that said, “Do you want to tell Hawke he’s a pigheaded ass, or should I?”

That’s the tricky thing. Aveline and Hawke were two wild rams butting heads on the same cliff, snarling and kicking up dust. Neither were willing to back down and talk it out, perhaps too intimidated by the amount of shit to sort through. Eventually they’ll tumble off that cliff, and Varric had no idea if they’d be able to climb back up.  

Then to throw Junior in the mix… oh boy.

“Look, I don’t have time to go argue with her today,” Hawke sighed. “I’ve still got to visit Gamlen and let him know; that’s more than enough fun for me. Then I need to go pick out new bedding for Carver’s room. Isabela said she’d help but alas, she’s nowhere to be found. The whole room needs to be cleaned, and the other guest room—Oh, right, hey—” Hawke pointed at Fenris. “Remind me to stop by the Chantry to talk to Sebastian when we get back to Hightown.”

“…I take it your mage also forgot to remind you to tell him, as well?”

“Perhaps.”

The elf gave a firm nod, then turned on his heel and strode toward the door. “I’m going home.”

“What? Hey, no, no, nooo—We still have to go see Arianni in the alienage—"

“You may disturb me when you’ve finally dislodged your head from your ass.”

“Ha!” Hawke trailed behind the elf, loudly proclaiming, “My head is comfortable where it is, thank you!”

“Ugh.”

Varric cracked a smile despite himself. He considered joining them; Hawke would need another tag-along if the elf was serious about returning home, but the dying fire in the hearth begged him to stay. He had other shit to mull over.

“Kirkwall’s a mess,” he muttered. “Hawke and Aveline can’t get their shit together, Blondie’s overworking himself, Junior’s coming home… and then there’s Daisy.”

Varric waved for Norah to bring him an ale, one he might actually drink this time as his mind grew plagued with worry over his other elven friend.

Of all the people at the table when Hawke told them about Junior, he expected Daisy to bounce with just as much glee as Hawke. If anything, she should be running around with him to prepare, yet nothing.

Carver and Merrill were real buddy-buddy before they lost him to the Grey Wardens. An odd match, one Varric never would’ve guessed, but didn’t disapprove of. Sometimes he worried that Daisy got too lonely in that alienage, and Junior was… well, the kid was an ass, frankly.

But she mellowed him out, and according to her, he made for a good friend.

He’s less of an ass now, to be fair. Being with the Grey Wardens did some good, even if the way he joined was less than ideal. Varric could hold a conversation with him during their time in the Vimmark Wastelands without wanting to kick him in the shin, and he could actually take a joke now! Could’ja believe it?

He and Hawke got along in a way that Varric never did with Bartrand, the bastard. He’s confident neither of the Hawke brothers ever needed to worry about the other leaving them to face a slow, agonizing death over greed.

A pouty brat he could be, but Varric once watched Junior threaten Fenris, who they all knew could use those markings of his to brutally tear the hearts out of men. All for questioning Hawke’s intentions as a mage.

“If you have a problem with my brother, you have a problem with me.”

Ah well… maybe they were a little rough on him before. Easy to forget Carver was so young.

But after they all came back from the Deep Roads without him, Daisy spent most of her time in front of that mirror of hers, doing… whatever weird shit mages do to make their magic work on things. Was a real pain in the ass getting her to go outside, get some fresh air, and especially to visit the Hanged Man for drinks and cards.

And she’s doing it again.

Varric drummed his fingers on the table.

Daisy didn’t want to go with them to the Vimmark Wastelands to confront the Carta for attacking Hawke, either. Even after she heard Junior would meet them there. Something about being busy with that mirror. Again.

Now that he thought about it… when she heard they ran into him and other Grey Wardens during the qunari attack, she acted… well, weird about it, too. Varric figured she was just sad she didn’t get to see him.

Actually… Junior sure had no interest in talking about her the last time Varric saw him, either…

“Well… shit.”     

-x-

A new stack of applications was piled neatly at the center of Guard-Captain Aveline’s desk, among the other mounds of paperwork she opted to ignore after an entire morning and afternoon of it.  

Most of the applications were easily declined due to histories of criminal activity, or obvious lies to cover up such pasts, or being generally unsuited for recruitment. A handful of men from wealthy, noble families put in applications, and only two survived the wastebin.

Some may call her picky or unfair, but Aveline preferred to think of herself as overly cautious. After the qunari invasion, and all events leading up to it, mistakes were unacceptable. She needed men and women in her guard who could be trusted, who wanted to protect their city wholeheartedly no matter the danger.

But one application stood out amongst the rest, one sent in with a familiar name. Aveline pondered over it thoroughly, taking in every bit of detail to memory.

Yes, she remembered Lia. Aveline once encountered the young elven girl while out with Hawke. Magistrate Vanard lied to them about his son, Kelder, in order to keep him from facing justice for his crimes. Lia was Kelder’s last victim before Hawke killed him.

Now she wanted to join the guard, and made a damn good case for it, too.

Only two things held Aveline back from approving her application, and to the surprise of no one, one of those things involved Hawke.

“Always bloody Edgar Hawke…”

The two of them hadn’t spoken in months, not since her last visit to the Hawke Estate. Still on bedrest for recovery, he refused to speak to her. It’s an odd thing to get the silent treatment from someone who never knew when to shut up. It’s understandable that they needed a break from each other after Leandra passed, and while Hawke recovered from his injuries, but now it’s just become childish.

If hard pressed, she might admit that part of her missed Edgar and his bullshit. She might even be willing to sit down and work things out between them. Maker knows she had plenty to say after bottling it all up for so long.

The other part remained obstinate and insisted good riddance.

So, to see Lia’s note about how Hawke inspired her to take up a sword, and to defend the other elves so they might never experience what she had with Kelder, was simultaneously admirable and worrisome.

And that led to Aveline’s other reason for hesitating; an elven woman in the guard would definitely put a target on Lia’s back. All of her guardsmen knew the risks of duty, and if Lia’s application told her anything, it told her that the elven woman understood just as well.

In fact, not only understood, but accepted fearlessly and with great determination.

But…

With a disgruntled sigh, Aveline rolled her stiff shoulders and rested back in the chair, application still held firm in her grip. She eyed the wastebin full of other discarded applications, but her gut told her that wasn’t right.

No, Lia’s application rattled her with the realization that, if accepted, she would be the first elven guard recruited since Aveline’s joining five years ago. Knowing this city’s history, she may even be the first elven guardsmen.

She wondered if there was a reason elves never joined before, aside from typical prejudices. Maybe if they had more elven guards patrolling, then…

“Is it true?”

“There… have been rumors—"

“What!?”

But was this particular girl the solution? If this were an elf like Fenris whom she knew the skill of, she might not hesitate—

The door swung open without a knock, hitting back against the wall and breaking Guard-Captain of her concentration. She didn’t bother standing or offering more than a glare as a greeting; none of her guardsmen were defiant enough to enter her office in such a manner.

“Oh, Captain~” Isabela cooed as she sauntered in. Aveline might’ve laughed at the obnoxiously gaudy hat she wore; damn, those feathers were hideous. “I’d like to report a missing person! A woman about this tall; mannish, a goodie good ball-crushing prig. Ginger hair, terribly awkward. Haven’t seen her in weeks, we’re all starting to worry!”

Ah, there’s the headache.

Unfazed by scowl she received, Isabela hopped up to sit on the desk, comfortably crossing one leg over the other. If she weren’t the bigger person, she might’ve kicked the pirate off with the pointy end of her boot, but that’d only egg her on.

“Oh wait, I think I’ve found her buried under all that paperwork.” Isabela stuck out her bottom lip in a sad pout. “I’m afraid I was too late. I always knew she’d have such a lackluster demise.”

Then came the shit-eating grin.

On second thought, forget being the bigger person.

“Shut up, whore.”

Isabela threw her head back in a laugh, the ugly hat nearly toppling off. “There’s my girl! You had me worried.”

Aveline set Lia’s application down and stood from her desk, arms folded over her chest. “Alright, why are you here?”

“What, I can’t just stop in for a friendly hello?”

“No.”

“Maybe I’m here to show you this—” Fingertips ran over the silky, red brim. “—lovely piece of art I found.”

Aveline eyed the black and brown feathers and golden accents. “I’m surprised you fit through the door with that… thing. But if that’s all you came here to do… It’s horrendous.”

“Horrendously beautiful?”

“Terribly criminal.”

Isabela cracked a frisky smile. “Then arrest me, big girl.”

Ugh. Maybe if she threw a pocketful of coins outside, the pirate would dive for them, and she could effectively lock her out. That might cause a scene, though. And Isabela would make up some unsavory explanation. Or pick the lock.

That’s all she needed.

With a hard look, she said, “Goodbye, Isabela,” and started going through her paperwork again.

“Oh, come now.” Isabela plucked the papers from her hands and set them aside, only for Aveline to pick up the next stack. “Fine, I admit it. I didn’t just come here so you could admire my hat.” To the Guard-Captain’s alarm, Isabela’s voice lost all teasing. “Has Hawke come by to talk to you, by chance?”

Aveline paused her shuffling, gaze unmoved.

Of course.

Why was she even surprised? Of course Isabela’s here to talk about Hawke. While she didn’t expect the pirate to barge into her office to inquire about Kirkwall’s recovery from the qunari—an attack she’s arguably responsible for, by the way—Aveline at least hoped there was a greater reason than to talk about Hawke. But when was anything not about Edgar bloody Hawke?

“No,” she said sharper than a fine blade. “What’s he done now?”

He couldn’t have caused that much trouble given the state he’s in, but Aveline learned early on that Edgar didn’t need much to make a mess.

“He’s done plenty, but that’s not the point.”

The headache continued to spread, intermingling with the irritation building in the back of Aveline’s neck. She steeled herself, and impatiently said, “You know what? I don’t care what he’s done. I don’t want to hear about it.”

With a long, drawn-out sigh, Isabela slid off the desk with graceful ease, dragging her hand across the wooden edge as she circled around. “He forgave me, you know.”

Aveline ignored her, picking up Lia’s application for what felt like the hundredth time, but the words bled together meaninglessly now.

“For running off with the relic,” Isabela stressed, resting a hip against the edge. “He could’ve just handed me over to the qunari. Would’ve been easier, and he wouldn’t be…” She chewed on her lip, head lowered. “Well, he wouldn’t need a cane now, would he?”

An uncomfortable sensation prickled at her insides. She’d heard about the cane. That Edgar could walk again. He could even engage in light combat, though whispers said Anders ensured that was a rare occurrence.

A question rest at the tip of her tongue, but Aveline remained guarded, committed to silence.    

“Point is,” Isabela prattled on. “If he can forgive me, he can forgive you, too.”

Forgive her?

Hang his forgiveness.

There’s nothing Aveline could say to Edgar that he’d accept. He only wished to needle her and take advantage of her position as Guard-Captain, then lash out when she didn’t bend to him.

Leandra’s death wasn’t her fault. He could spin it however he liked, but it wasn’t. Just as it wasn’t…

“Did you even try to look into it? At all?”

“I knew him, Edgar. Every guard here could attest that he was an honorable man.”

“I’m sure he was! Except for when he preyed on the elves, right? Or are we overlooking that bit?”

“There was no concrete evidence—”

“Ahh, just like how there was no evidence linking that ‘random’ string of murders to Quentin or Gascard, right?”

A glance at Lia’s application. Gritted teeth. 

Aveline already jeopardized too much for him and his antics, either because she felt he was in the right or purely out of loyalty, and look where it got them all.

“Why should I seek his forgiveness?” Aveline finally snapped. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

The words hung heavy in the air.

Isabela gave a sigh that managed to sound condescending. “Oh, sweet thing...”

“Don’t.”

She fully expected Isabela to quarrel with her, even if just to entertain herself. The silence proved her wrong, but Aveline felt the other woman’s golden stare fixated on her, studying and debating.

Weariness overtook her, voice hushed. “I have nothing more to say to him.”

“I don’t know how aware of this you are, Aveline,” Isabela started, frowning. “But mothers aren’t like lovers or husbands—Eddie can’t just pick out a new one.” Before Aveline could argue, the pirate silenced her with a gesture. “Look, normally I wouldn’t give a tit about this whole… mess of yours. Not my business to interfere, no coin in it, and it’s not even an amusing squabble to watch. By all accounts I shouldn’t even be here.” The woman pushed away from the desk, readjusting her hat, exasperated. “But here I am because it’s you two, and you’re both being stupid. And… Oh, I don’t know.”

“So you thought you’d come here in your hideous hat and, what? Talk me into conceding to Hawke as if I haven’t already tried to talk to him?”

“Scolding him while he’s bed-ridden and delirious hardly counts as trying, man-hands.”

A step toward the pirate. “Shut up, you poxy tart.”

“Griffon-lips.”

“Scurvy tramp.”

“Ooh, that’s a new one,” Isabela smirked with a step forward, leaving the two dangerously close. “Frigid bear-sow.”

“Just—” Aveline pointed at the door. “Get. Out.”

As fun as it was to spit insults at each other, her limit’s surpassed. Work needed to be done, and any thoughts of Edgar demanded to be put out of mind.

Isabela boldly held her stare, thin brows knitted, and lips pressed into a firm line.

“…Fine.”

The feathers of the hat hit Aveline’s nose with a swift turn, and Isabela headed to leave. About damn time.

 Except she hesitated in the doorway.

A beat of contemplation.

“By the way…” A glance over her shoulder. “I did come here for a different reason.”

And what could that possibly be? Other than to be a thorn in her side?

“Little Hawke’s coming home.”

And just like that, all tension within Aveline melted away, replaced with disbelief. Her features softened, eyes wide.  

“What?”

“He’s taken a month of leave from the Grey Wardens,” said Isabela. “Don’t know when he’s coming, exactly. Eddie’s all over the place about it.”

“He didn’t tell me.” The realization dawned on her. “And he had no intention of telling me.”

Isabela gave a half-hearted shrug. “I… thought you’d like to know.”

“…Right.”

The last time Aveline saw Carver was fleeting.

Somehow the Grey Wardens got caught up in the qunari fight, too. The Hawke’s always did have absurd timing.

Carver was damn near unrecognizable until he approached the group; equipped in Grey Warden issued armor, hair unkempt, and with a full beard. She could’ve mistaken him for Edgar if the height difference was disregarded.

A tired demeanor. A reluctance to leave his brother again, who struggled to tell him about their mother…

He looked like a man. Not that he was a child before, just… young.

“That’s not the best part, though. Carver won’t be alone.” She wiggled her brows suggestively. “He’s possibly bringing a lover with him.”

“Is he?” Well, somehow that’s a strange surprise. Before thinking, Aveline asked, “How’s Ed handling that one?”

“As well as expected,” Isabela snickered. “Don’t know anything about her, but the imagination does wonders.”

Aveline rolled her eyes. “Already concocted an entire story, have you?”

“Mmhmmm~”

“You’re setting yourself up for disappointment, you know.”

“So little faith in Little Hawke’s tastes? Shame on you.”

“I mean…” Look at who his brother moved into the Hawke Estate, and where he found him. Not to mention Carver’s previous infatuation with Merrill, of all people. The Hawke brothers had questionable taste at best. As long as this new woman in Carver’s life wasn’t another foolish or selfish mage, Aveline would wish him happiness.

Assuming she saw him at all.

“Speaking of Little Hawke and his lover~” Isabela drawled. “I better go. I have new bedding to pick out for their room. They’ll need something comfortable and a little… silky, but strong and flexible; have to account for all that warden stamina.” She winked. “We all want them both to enjoy their visit to the fullest.”

Aveline wrinkled her nose. Maker, she didn’t want to think about Carver doing… ugh.

“If you’d like some suggestions for you and Donnic—”

“I don’t.”

“Prude.”

“Whore.”

With a toothy grin, Isabela did a fluid, sarcastic bow, and waved goodbye. “Don’t be a stranger, and at least consider talking with Eddie. If you can’t find your big girl pants, I’m sure Donnic would hold your hand through it. Just hold tight—Eddie might charm those mutton chops right off.”

Aveline didn’t dignify that with an answer.

At least the pirate had the consideration to shut the door behind her.

Once again, the Guard-Captain was left alone in her office amongst a mountain of paperwork.

“So…” she mumbled. “Carver’s coming back to Kirkwall.”

And she’s the last to know.

Unbelievable.

To think, she thought better of Edgar. They were in an argument, yes, but to withhold that from her? Did he think she wouldn’t care to see Carver again? That’s nonsense. Of course Aveline cared, she cared a great deal! And he knew that!

“I shouldn’t have brought him.”

“No. You shouldn’t have. But he knew the risks.”

“It was either bring him, or lose him… but what did it matter? I lost him either way, didn’t I? …Shit. Shit!”

“Hawke…”

“He just… collapsed. Aveline, he collapsed, and he was so pale—I’ve never seen him that pale, it was—and his eyes, and his breathing—”

“I know. I know, Edgar. I’m sorry. At least… at least you found the Grey Wardens. Maybe they can save him. That’s more hope than Wesley had.”

“Oh, Maker…”

Aveline dropped back into her chair with a huff, yanking her gauntlet off to rub at her face.

For the briefest moment, she considered storming out of the Viscount’s Keep and marching down to the Hawke Estate. She wouldn’t bother knocking or having Bodahn fetch him; Edgar would damn well know it’s her by the stomping and bellowing of his name.

Then… what? They’d talk it out like mature adults? Edgar Hawke was incapable of such behavior.

No. Perish the thought.

Now that she knew, Aveline could keep an ear and eye out for any Grey Wardens arriving in the city. When Carver arrived, she’d know, and then…

“Flames.”

 The paperwork living on her desk was messed up thanks to Isabela’s visit, but Lia’s application still occupied the forefront of it all. Hard eyes darted over its entirety, resoaking in the passionate penmanship and dedicated promise.

 With an incensed groan, Guard-Captain Aveline tossed the application in the bin with the other denials.

-x-

So much to do, oh so much to do!

Already too much wasted time! Edgar has yet to prepare everything for Carver’s arrival, which he still had no exact date for, and resorted to being a busy body that tottered all over the Hawke Estate. The cane he used for support remained in the bedroom, despite Anders’ insistence that he still needed it. Bah! He had no time to think of his leg, not when his dear baby brother’s room was in shambles! He meant to clean it up sooner, but too many things required his attention.

He demanded a free evening. Edgar told Bodahn to send away all visitors, save any of his companions, so he could have the entire evening to himself to get things done. The only visitor so far was Isabela, whom he’d already spent a good portion of the afternoon searching for. He would’ve scolded her, but she brought the new bedding they were supposed to pick out together, and he shooed her away before she could make any more warden stamina jokes.

Edgar didn’t need to think about his dear brother and this companion of his “mastering each other’s taints.” Did he not hear enough of those when he and Anders first got together?

“So, Eddie, have you explored his Deep Roads yet? Did he thrust his mighty sword at your archdemon? How about cup your Joining? Did Anders serve his justice all over you?”

“What does that even mean?”

“You know~”

Oh, Maker help him.

Dust covered every surface of the bedroom, and spiders build cities of webs in every corner. The old bedding hadn’t been touched in Maker knows how long, the armoire had a missing door, and the fireplace overflowed with ash.

Crates stuffed with Carver’s belongings sat on the musty bed, all things Edgar packed himself when they departed Gamlen’s home. Mother couldn’t bare to do it, like she couldn’t bare to do a lot of things.

It fell to him to fold every piece of clothing, to stack every book, to gather every small trinket Carver collected in his pockets and forgot about. He bound every letter he received with twine, wrapped a nearly empty cologne bottle in protective cloth, tucked away with a knife passed down to Carver after Father died. Edgar had to sort through everything of Bethany’s that Carver kept close. All of it to be put in crates and hidden away in a bedroom that his brother never even saw.

 Well, no longer would that be the case! This time, Edgar could take the time to unpack and sort through things with delight instead of grief.

Though after Bodahn delivered a stack of letters to his desk this morning, he considered making a sign to hang outside the estate; ‘I AM BUSY. CARVER’S COMING HOME. WILL BE UNAVAILABLE FOR AT LEAST TWO MONTHS. POSSIBLY LONGER. SOLVE YOUR OWN PROBLEMS.’

Too many requests, too many dinner party invites, and far too many letters from nobles looking to court him.

“Hawke this, Hawke that,” Edgar grumbled from where he knelt down before the dresser, shoving Carver’s old clothes in. “’Hawke, raiders stole my cargo, get it back for me!’ ‘Hawke, my wife’s sister’s cat ran away, can you find him?’ ‘Oh no, Hawke, my baby’s stuck in a tree again and the guard won’t help! Please get him down for me!’ ‘Knight-Captain Cullen looked at me funny! Do something, Hawke!’” Edgar scoffed, closing the drawer with a strong thud. “What do you expect me to do? Cullen looks at everyone funny!”

A soft chuckle from the doorway.

“Making fun of imaginary people again, love?” Anders asked, leaning up against the frame. A lovely sight he was, except for the damn cane in his grip. With the usual robes discarded, the exhaustion of a day’s work in the clinic clung to him like the blood stains on his shirt, and fatigue shone in those handsome, warm brown eyes of his.

“It’s never-ending.” Edgar used the wooden dresser as leverage to stand back up. “Don’t they know I’m busy? Surely all of Kirkwall has heard by now that—" A sharp pain shot through the back of his thigh. “—mmph—that Carver could be here any day now?” He stumbled, hip hitting the knob of the top drawer.

Ouch.

Anders probably didn’t notice that.

Except he absolutely did, waving the rune-decorated cane with a knowing look. “I don’t think they care about Carver or that you’re busy, just as they don’t care that you’re still in recovery.” Anders approached, handing him the cane before smoothing out the front of Edgar’s maroon robes. “And you don’t seem to care either.”

“I’m recovered well enough.” Edgar gripped his shoulders and planted a quick kiss on his lips. “There’s too much to do to not be.” The cane was tossed onto the bed, and Anders’ displeased sigh was ignored as Edgar continued to rummage through crates. “I wish Rose had given me a proper date, or that Carver would write—which we both know he won’t, especially if he’s sore about my letter. It’d make all this planning much easier on me, but we’ll make do.”

“There’s no rush,” Anders said.

“No? What if he shows up tomorrow?”

“Then he can tell you there’s no rush.” The heat of his lover’s hand smoothed out over Edgar’s shoulders before settling at his lower back. “If you don’t slow down, you’ll hurt yourself again, and then where will you be?”

With a quick, dismissive wave, Edgar sorted through the rest of Carver’s old books, letters, and other small baubles. He’d need to wipe down the bookcase in the corner before displaying all of this.

What did he do with his cleaning rag?

“I need to draw up a list for Bodahn, we’ll need extra groceries,” Edgar said, twisting around to search the room. “If his appetite is as great as yours, you’ll both eat us out of house if we don’t plan ahead. And I need to go downstairs and look through the wine in the cellar. Carver’s not one for the stuff but there was this one he liked—what was it called? Something, something burst?"

“Burst?”

“Yes… oh, what was it?”

 Wonderful, now that would bother him until he thought of it. It’s the same wine he once caught Carver and Merrill drinking together shortly after the Great and Absolutely Necessary Viscount Garden Break-In of 9:31. Edgar had gone to visit Merrill only to find her and Carver on the floor, drunk, in a fit of giggles, and almost finished with their second bottle. Strong stuff, whatever it was.

“You’re a terrible influence.”

“Are you talking to me or her?”

“Both of you. It’s only noon!”

“Don’t look at me. Wasn’t my idea.”

“Merrill…”

“Hehe~”

The rag sat discarded on the floor, picked up to hastily wipe down the bookcase as Edgar continued, “Oh, just add it to the list. Orana’s washing the new bedding—Isabela brought it over. It’s rather shiny, and I don’t know how he’ll feel about red.” Another ache stretched through his muscles as he knelt down to get the bottom shelves. “Sandal’s supposed to come in and do something about the fireplace—logs, we need to bring logs up, remind me to remind him—"

“Ed—”

“—and Bodahn needs the grocery lists, and I should start a guest list for the dinner party. And how is the clinic’s stock? You’ve everything you need?”

Anders, who stood almost a head taller, came around behind his lover to wrap his arms around his waist in an effort to keep him still, though Edgar just wiggled about anyway.

“Love, you’re stressing yourself.”

“I’m not stressing,” he insisted, holding the rag out of reach when Anders tried to take it from him. “I’m planning. He’s only here for a month, and that’s so little time to do everything, and there’s still so much to do and…” he trailed off, leaning back against Anders’ chest. It felt dangerously nice to be held, but the distraction tactic wouldn’t work. Smoothing out his beard with a frown, he admitted, “…Alright, maybe I’m stressing, but only a little.”

“You think?” Anders smiled, brushing the long, dark locks away from Edgar’s face. “Do you want to talk about it?”

What was there to talk about? Aside from everything?

Actually, one thing did weigh on him...

“Who do you think Carver’s bringing?” he asked, turning in the embrace. “You served there, too.”

“Years ago.” Anders shrugged. “And things have changed. The only women in the Grey Wardens at the time were Velanna and Sigrun. And Rose, but given she’s practically married, I doubt it’s her. Unless other women have joined, or she’s not a warden at all, those two are the only ones I know of.”

Well, that narrowed it down, except those names meant nothing to him. Did Anders ever mention either of them before? He didn’t care to speak on Grey Warden matters when pressed to begin with, what with all the secrets of the order. The most he ever got out of him, and Carver for that matter, was when they all went to the Deep Roads for the second time to find Corypheus, everything he learned disturbing at best.   

Then a wince twisted at Anders’ mouth, and his shoulders tensed. “But if they’re our options, we should probably cross our fingers for Sigrun.”

“Why?” asked Edgar. “What’s wrong with Velanna?”

A beat of silence.

That didn’t settle any unease nagging at Edgar’s insides.

And neither did the explanation of, “When we first met her, she killed a bunch of merchants and then brought trees to life to kill us. And she once told me she found human’s repulsive. Then there was the time she stashed slugs in Alistair’s socks. Overall, just an unpleasant woman. She used to make fun of my fireballs.”              

Oh no, not his fireballs.

“…So, she’s a mage, I take it?”

“And Dalish.”

“Oh.” …Oh.

Would Carver… no—Well, if she were kind to him—

“But…” Anders hesitated, as if debating on if he should continue. “…she and Rose had a, let’s say, disagreement on human-elf relations when Velanna found out she and Alistair were more than just Commander and Lieutenant… among other things.”

“Well, last I checked, Carver’s human.”

“So we may have nothing to worry about.”

“And Sigrun?”

“Ah, she’s a lovely little thing,” Anders said. “Dead, though. Kind of. She had a funeral before joining the Legion of the Dead.”

“The what of what?”

“Legion of the Dead. It’s a dwarf thing.”

Oh well, that explained everything. Except not at all.

Edgar took all that in the best he could, decided he didn’t want to think on it any longer as the anxiety of it made his stomach upset, and cleared his throat.

“Well, regardless. Whoever this ‘beloved companion’ is, how am I supposed to know what she likes? What if she doesn’t like the wine? Or the food? Or the bedroom or the sheets?” he huffed, turning with his hands on his hips. “Maker, what if she doesn’t like me?” Oh, no. Oh, no. “What if she’s terrible and I hate her, Anders? Then what?”

The laughter of his lover was usually contagious, but Edgar thought nothing funny of the matter!

“You say that as if Carver doesn’t hate me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“Mmhmm.”

“He doesn’t,” Edgar insisted, gripping his lover’s shoulders. “If he truly hated you, you’d know it.”

Anders rose a brow. “You mean like when he said, ‘I hate you, mage’ directly to me?”

“…Well, he left you unstabbed, didn’t he?”

Alright, fine, Carver may have disapproved of Edgar’s affection for Anders from the start, and he may still. He never worried about that; Anders had no intentions of coming between them.

But who knew what this companion’s intentions were? Was it that silly to worry?

“Edgar,” Anders coaxed him to meet his eye. “What’s really bothering you?”

Where did he begin?

“I worry that…” He faltered. “…that if something goes terribly wrong, or he doesn’t enjoy his time here, or if this companion of his doesn’t like me, Carver will never want to come back.”

“Oh, Ed...”

 “I know he’s dedicated himself to the wardens,” said Edgar. “He’s always wanted to strike out on his own and forge his own path and have a life that wasn’t about hiding or worrying himself sick about me or—or Bethany. I’ve always wanted that for him, too, but—” Anders’ forehead came to rest against his. “—but I still want a part in his life.”

“Some wardens completely cut ties with their other lives. Give up their names, their families, all for the order,” said Anders. “He still writes to you, and still wears the Hawke name with pride.”

“I know.”

With only letters tying them together now, he felt as though he simultaneously did and didn’t know his brother. Some things never change, but the rest always do.

Neither of them would’ve chosen this, though. The Grey Wardens lived with the looming presence of their hourglasses draining, more aware of it all than everyone else. Carver had a calling, just as Anders did, and Edgar knew one day he’d lose them both to the bloody Deep Roads and the darkspawn… because losing Bethany to them wasn’t enough.

They both lived with the consequences of the Deep Roads expedition, and sometimes when Edgar was left alone with his thoughts for too long, he’d wonder how different things would be if he hadn’t brought Carver.

“I’m going. I have to, Ed. It’s just as much my expedition as it is yours! This is our only chance, and I won’t let you do it alone. If you make me stay, I—I will never forgive you.”

With everyone else gone—Bethany, Father, and now Mother—Carver’s all Edgar had now.

Well, and Gamlen, but he’d rather not count his uncle unless he absolutely had to.

He also had Anders, who grounded and loved him more than any other man Edgar’s been with. He was well-known in the city even before he was titled Champion of Kirkwall, and that status kept Knight-Commander Meredith from dragging him to the Gallows by his ear. He had the Hawke Estate, and enough money to live comfortably. He had Varric, Merrill, Isabela, Fenris, Seb--

“Anders!” Edgar gasped, jerking away from his lover and to point an accusatory finger at him. “Sebastian! I forgot—Fenris didn’t—You were supposed to remind me to go talk to Sebastian!”

“I was?” the mage asked, startled. “Since when?”

“Since… since when I last asked you to remind me!”

“Oh,” Anders said, thoughtfully, then shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t forget to go talk to Sebastian. I hear he really wants to meet Carver.”

Edgar adored Anders dearly. Loved him to the moon and back. Would fight an endless pit of darkspawn for him if he asked.

But sometimes, he really knew all the wrong buttons to press.

Oh well. At least Edgar wasn’t above finding the humor in stressful situations, so he snorted a laugh.

“Right, thank you.”

“Always happy to help.”

“In that case,” he tossed him the rag, “enough mushy talk. Clean the windows, would you?” Using the break of the moment to compose himself, Edgar imposed a return to his usual charm and upbeat attitude. “We can’t mope about! Carver could show up tomorrow! Or the day after!”

While Anders went to the window with a shake of his head but also a fond grin, Edgar took to placing books on the shelves. There weren’t a whole lot, and all of the titles were ones he recognized. He made a mental note to make a trip to the bookshop in town; Carver might appreciate some new ones to take back with him, if he even had time to read anymore with all the world saving he’s apparently doing.

But an old, worn novel gave him pause; The Adventures of Prince Briaron Ambrose, written by an author whose name was nearly rubbed away from the cover, leaving only “Bo” behind.

Bethany’s favorite.

It’s one of the few things Carver brought with him from Lothering. Before he got sick, Father used to read to them every night before bed. Whenever Bethany’s turn to pick the story came, she always picked this one.

Prince Briaron’s grand quest to find his true love, but every woman he met who he thought could be this true love usually turned out not to be. Until the ending where it turned out this true love of his was right under his nose the entire time—a serving girl the prince knew his whole life who was revealed to be of noble blood. Bethany knew the story by heart, and Father had far more patience for the tale than he or Carver did. Too much mushy, gushy kissing, not enough dragon battles.

Edgar flipped through the yellowing pages with care to where a dried, pressed daisy marked the page Carver last left off.

A pinprick in his heart.

…and as Briaron stands atop the hill overlooking the wilderness of dark and vibrant greens that surround his kingdom, he admires the spring flowers in full bloom. Wild rose bushes of blushing pinks and scarlet scatter about. Elfroot grows in thick patches, the occasional wildflower flourishing alongside them. Butterflies and fat bumblebees thrive here, just as Briaron himself does. In this moment of bliss, he grins from ear to ear, and with ever flutter of his heart, he knows. There’s a love that only happens once in a lifetime, and he’s finally found her; the wish he whispered for on a dandelion all those years ago.

Sappy, gagging, and too flowery—literally. Edgar could practically hear his own eyeroll, yet his grin remained at the thought of his dear brother reading it of his own accord. Carver, who wielded a great sword and towered over most who met him, reading about blushing roses and ooey-gooey romance with a straight face.

Whether he actually enjoyed it, or only read it in honor of their sister, he didn’t know, and it didn’t really matter.

Running his thumb over the delicate petals of the daisy…

“Have you heard from Merrill at all?” Edgar asked, distantly.

“No,” Anders replied. “Not since cards last week. I’m surprised she’s not here helping you.”

“Yes…” Edgar tucked the daisy back into the book, and shelved it. “She said she’d stop by when she could. Wonder if I should go see her.”

“She’s probably fussing over that bloody mirror of hers. Be careful if you do,” said Anders, then added, “And call on Sebastian while you’re at it.”

Edgar nodded absently.

He had no worries about anything happening at Merrill’s place, other than maybe a piece of her roof nearly falling on his head, or another rat gnawing its way through the floorboards to scurry across his foot. He trusted Merrill more than he trusted the eluvian, and any concern he had was over her well-being.

He’d been so preoccupied with everything that he hadn’t taken notice of her absence until now. How… bizarre.

He never said it out loud—surprising, yes—but Edgar always thought… or rather, he always hoped that there was something more between his brother and Merrill.

“So… Merrill.”

“What about her? …Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You two have spent an awful lot of time together recently.”

“So? What of it?”

“It’s just an observation. She’s pretty cute, isn’t she?”

“Shove off.”

“You should show her your tattoo.”

“We’re not talking about this. Stop looking at me and go—go away!”

Though now those chances seemed slim. Not only because of the passage of time and the Grey Wardens keeping his brother and Merrill apart, but it sounds like Carver’s moved on.

Oh, Maker…

Weariness weighed on his eyelids, and a distant ache thrummed in Edgar’s hip down to his leg as a swell of hurt overshadowed his heart. The afternoon sun hit the window just right, the light seeping into the warm bedroom.

He shouldn’t dwell. Nothing will get done.

So much to do… oh so much to do.

-x-

Evening came with clear skies and only a sliver of the moon’s light, the dark seeping over Kirkwall. A wistful, restless night with too much noise inside her.

But Merrill had grown quite good at clearing her mind when she had something else to pour her focus into—the eluvian.

She lost count when the days began to bleed together. That tended to happen when she didn’t leave her house and spent hours upon hours trying to make the eluvian work. She hadn’t attended any of the gatherings at the Hanged Man, and no one called upon her, not even Edgar.

Everything’s fine, of course. Nothing to worry about. Merrill was perfectly fine—happy, even! Completely thrilled to spend all her time staring into a mirror that held no reflection, didn’t do anything no matter what she tried, and was frustrating beyond belief.

It remained in the same corner it always had since she reconstructed the beautiful frame. But even with the Arulin'Holm Edgar helped her get from the Keeper, the mirror remained still and reflectionless. Nothing Audacity told her helped, the Arulin'Holm didn’t work, nothing she’s done has made much of a difference.

“I’m missing something,” she murmured. “Always missing something.”

A cup of tea chilled in her hands, barely sipped, as Merrill stood before the eluvian, staring into the nothing.

But determination held strong within her; she’s lost far too much to let this go, and a small part of her—a bitter wound left on her pride and soul—that desired to refute the Keeper’s claims about her, to prove to the clan that all she’s done was to help them. 

Merrill left to devote years of her life to the People through the meticulous restoration of something ancient, a connection to the past they all lost… and all the Keeper could do was inflict fear and paranoia in the hearts of those Merrill once called family.

All the ire in the eyes that watched her through the clan’s camp, Keeper Marethari’s condescending voice as she handed Edgar the Arulin'Holm instead of her. The way Pol looked at her when they found him outside the Varterral's lair…

Merrill spent days with the eluvian until her eyes burned and stomach groaned. Mana drained. Exhaustion overpowering focus.

Then the thought struck her; she may have no choice but to go back to Sundermount and speak directly to Audacity once more. The demon’s grown silent recently, and that was… troublesome, to say the least. Usually, she could communicate with him through the Fade, but nothing.

Merrill knew the risks, always had, but Audacity told her years ago that he witnessed the creation of the eluvian during the days of Arlathan. If he could help her then the risk would be worth it, even if it cost her everything. It’s a keeper’s job to remember.

Remember. Seemed like all Merrill did was remember.

Remember. Remember. Remember…

“Merrill…?”

His top lip, feather-light, grazed hers…

“By the Dread Wolf,” she groaned, stirring a new mug of steeping tea far more harshly than necessary.  “Why must I be like this?”

While she managed to put Carver and his impending arrival out of thought for the sake of her nerves and dedication to the eluvian, he always found his way from the back of her mind to the forefront. It’s not that this self-confinement was a means of avoiding Edgar and everything related to Carver—Really! She swears!—it’s just…

The tea abandoned to the table, Merrill wandered into her bedroom, lingering in the doorway.

Maybe she shouldn’t—but why not? If there was ever a time for it, this would be it, right? If these thoughts and feelings could resurface, why couldn’t everything else?  

That’s what led to her digging under the bed for a blanket wrapped box hidden in the shadows.

How foolish it was that her heart raced.

After Merrill found out what had happened to Carver, the little reminders of him around her home became unbearable to pass by every day. Those things found themselves tucked away in a small, wooden box wrapped in an all-too-familiar blue blanket. Dust settled into the folds of the heavy fabric from years as a closely kept secret.

Sat upon her bed, Merrill dumped the contents out before her.

Bittersweet melancholy struck her nerves.

Two stones. One a tiger’s eye, smooth to the touch, found while pilfering through a barrel by the docks. Too excited when she held it up beside Carver’s face.

“Uh… Merrill?”

“I knew it, it’s a perfect match! For your eyes, I mean.”

“Oh. I guess it is?”

The other stone was rough to touch, deep green in color with a thin vein of red jasper that ran through it.

“Here.”

“Ooh, that’s a pretty one!”

“It’s the only one I could find to match.”

She once kept them displayed together on her shelf, along with a small, black button from one of Carver’s shirts that she always intended to mend for him.

A small bouquet of dried flowers tied together with twine. All from the Viscount’s Garden. The thorns of the yellow rose still pricked against the pad of her thumb. Some daisies, baby’s breath, and a pink carnation. Once it hung on the wall above her bed.

They hadn’t intended to break in there, honestly, and she’s surprised Carver even agreed to it. Merrill had wanted to see the garden in the evening time, but didn’t fancy getting arrested after Aveline scolded her the last time, and Varric paid off the guards the time before.

“Can I borrow your knife?”

“Oh, is someone coming? Are you going to shiv them?”

“What? No, I’m not—just, can I please see your knife?”

The last thing in the box was a book she borrowed, and never had the chance to return; “The Dane and the Werewolf.” The cover didn’t look very interesting, but she’d watched him single it out in the bookshop they once visited.

“’The wolf pack circled, ever closer, and he who felled boars and bears with his bright blade knew fear. They spoke his name in roars, like gravestones, offering a beast's bargain—’ …What?”

“I like the way you read it.”

“I—thank you.”

“You make it sound so exciting! Have you read this one before?”

“A few times.”

“I should get you to read Varric’s tales aloud, too. I bet you do a great Donnen voice. ‘Hnngg, I’m a gruzzled, old guard, one week from retirement, grrr!’”

“’Sure would be a shame if someone got murdered on my watch—oops!’”

“Yes! Exactly like that!”

Merrill flipped through the pages, stopping when she saw the underlined passage, “But some things cannot be repent, some coinage cannot be unspent, when hearts are wagered, a fissure rent.” Carver left no explanation as to why he marked it. She never had the chance to ask him.

But now she would. Get the chance, that is.

Heat stung behind Merrill’s eyes.

Carver’s coming home.

Too many things she’d like to ask him; How have you been? Is it nice to live in Fereldan again? Are the griffons really extinct? What do you like to do when you're not stabbing darkspawn? Do you ever think of me?

Can we start again?

Is it too late for us now?

[alldancersaretalented]

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