#Rose Trevelyan x Garrett Hawke

[theluckywizard]

Hiii Lucky!! Rawke you say, hehehe - "Boots soaked through, toes going numb" from Winter is Coming. Bonding over how much the world seems to hate you today, is the best kind of bonding. XD

Thank you Wren! For @dadrunkwriting I whipped up this bit for my distraction fic during which Rose and Hawke's mothers try to fix them up during DA2, Act 2. I'm not working on it chronologically anymore, but here's the first part from last DADWC! Rating: Teen WC: 1355 CW: None

Hawke stares, his jaw seldom agape this way, astonished to see the fussy looking ingenue tenuously descending a drainpipe from her guest bedroom balcony. Gone is the stiff green dress. Gone is the perfectly pinned hair. Instead it streaks down past her left shoulder in a long splintering braid. Dusting off her hands, Rose Trevelyan looks up the length of pipe she just climbed down, turns to stride into the night, and then walks straight into Hawke’s chest.

“Oh!” she cries, clutching her nose as he steadies her reflexively, unable to contain his laugh.

“I’m sorry,” he manages. “I saw you scrambling down from up there and thought perhaps— well I don’t know what I thought. I—” Staring at Rose, her hair loosely braided, he feels that same whisper of familiarity, but it’s more potent. It couldn’t be. He picks up her hand on the off chance, turning it over. But there’s nothing.

“I’ll have that back, thanks,” she says, a little put out by his strange reaction.

“Forgive me,” says Hawke, watching her tug on some gloves. He purses his lips and decides to pivot the conversation. “So. Climb down a lot of downspouts?”

“A few,” she answers, the corner of her lips turning. That can’t be all. He presses for more.

“Off somewhere special?”

“Not really. I thought I’d wander around a bit.”

“At night… in Kirkwall,” he says, the doubt in his voice concealing his utter amusement.

“Well I can’t wander around during the day. Mother would pitch a fit,” she says, annoyed to be prodded. “I overheard you say you were going someplace called the Hanged Man. Can I come?”

Hawke’s brow lifts in surprise. It’s not as though he isn’t surrounded by surprising companions, but his mother’s never tried to fix him up with any of them.

“Look,” she starts. “I’m sure you’re off to see your lover or whatever. And we don’t need to pretend that either of us are actually interested in settling, let alone with one another. But if you’re headed that way, perhaps you wouldn’t mind me tagging along. I can take care of myself once I’m there. I’d do anything for a moment out from under my mother’s vigilant bloody thumb.”

“So you’ve bought the rumors,” he chuckles. “Wild Fereldan man beds half of Kirkwall.”

“They do tend to get more ridiculous with each pass, I suppose,” she answers, donning that blazing smirk again. He gestures in the direction of Lowtown and she falls into step beside him. Peeking over, he notes the handsome leathers she wears under an enormous cozy looking knit wool cowl.

“What if your mother finds out you’re gone?” he asks.

“Oh I’ll blame you,” she says. “Obviously.”

A snicker snuffs through his nose.

“Do you always bring your sword and shield to the tavern?” she asks. Hawke stifles the next laugh, clutching his hand over his mouth before peering over at her. She looks up at him without a speck of irony, genuinely curious.

“I’m surprised you’re unfamiliar with the perils of Kirkwall. Given the fact that your mother expects you to live here…”

“I’m sure she conveniently forgot,” replies Rose. “She’s been trying to get rid of me for nearly five years now.”

“Must be desperate if she’s pawning you off on the ne’er-do-well son of an apostate.”

“Nonsense. She’s more than happy to overlook your rapscallion ways if there’s enough money and prestige involved.”

“Rapscallion?” Hawke grins. “I suppose if the shoe fits…”

“So how did you get talked into this monstrousness?” she asks, brushing her braid over her lips as if in thought.

“Unlike you, I don’t seem to be able to tell my mother no. I knew it would make her happy to see an old friend. And to at least look like I’m trying,” he says.

“That’s—“

“Adorable? I know,” he cuts in, flashing a smile that he hopes is marginally dashing for this surprising lady.

“I was going to say a little pathetic.”

“Oh. Well. That too of course.”

As they make their way through plazas and tree lined boulevards, he notices there’s a swing in her step that belies her upbringing. It’s graceful in its own way, but hardly the delicate glide he would have expected from someone of her background.

“So you’re a treasure hunter?”

“You do something one time,” he mutters, letting his head fall back. He fixes bright eyes upon her. “Yes. I went on a treasure expedition. And yes, it made me outrageously wealthy. But— that’s not what I am.”

Rose seems to be waiting for him to say more.

“Well, you can’t leave me hanging. What are you then?”

“Bit of this and that,” he answers with a shrug.

“This and that?”

“It was different when I needed to pay the bills. Mercenary work. Smuggling. Whatever brought the most coin without making me hate myself at the end of the day. And now…”

“A mercenary? You killed people for money?” she asks. He can’t decide if she looks galled or fascinated. Perhaps a bit of both. 

“That would be an assassin. I— made sure people paid their debts mostly. But I wound up spending my own money half the time when the people in question turned out to be down on their luck. In too deep with the wrong sorts trying to carve out a life in this infernal place. So I suppose that makes me a terrible merc.”

He sees her lips twist in a smile she’s fighting.

“And what do you do now that you’re fabulously rich?”

“Drink and carouse mainly,” he says with a grin.

“Somehow I don’t think that’s the whole of it.” Rose stares expectantly, crossing her arms.

“Solve the odd mystery. Run errands. Stick my fingers into pies I later regret.”

“Stick your fingers into pies?” she asks, raising her brow. “And do the pies feel the same regret?”

“Andraste’s blazing— Isabela’s going to like you.”

“Isabela. Was she the tall one wearing half an outfit under her coat or the quiet Dalish one?”

“Captain Half-an-Outfit herself.”

Hawke finds himself telling her all about his friends, a motley collection who barely get along unless they’re drinking or Varric is around to help him smooth everyone’s ruffled feathers with distractions. He’s not sure who exactly will feel up for the Hanged Man after the kerfuffle with Dougal and his goons, but he’s counting on at least a few of them being there and this poor woman had best be prepared for the madness.

As they saunter down the street, they’re accosted by a sudden burst of snow, falling in a sideways waltz on a wet breeze kicked up from the harbor. The flakes cling to one another and then to Hawke and Rose, their hair and clothes quickly dusted with it. It doesn’t take long for the streets of Hightown to grow perilous for leather soles, but Hawke consoles himself that soon the carefully laid cobbles will  dwindle away and then disappear entirely as they make their way into Lowtown. When she nearly slips, recovering herself in an awkward dance of flailing limbs before clinging to his arm for support, he makes it a point to slip a few minutes later, landing on his arse hard enough that he’s sure it will bruise.

Rose extends him a hand, reaching for him, a pitying smile brightening her face. He can’t help but admire it from his spot in the slop on the ground. The soft indigo gray of her wide eyes, the spray of freckles all over, the way she looks at him.

He had seen her before. In that haunting blazing dream of his. 

“You,” he utters softly.

“Me?”

“I mean— you— look rather fetching in inclement weather,” he says, burying the thrill that hums inside him.

“You don’t owe me any sort of compliments, Messere,” she says, pulling him up with surprising ease. “We don’t have to pretend.”

“Right. Good. Terrible look on you anyway, snow. Does nothing for your complexion.”

She laughs, hiding it behind a fist tucked inside her jacket. In spite of the dream, in spite of his sudden certainty, Rose Trevelyan looks perfectly darling.

“I think the slush is seeping into my boots. Can we get a move on before my toes go numb?”

“By all means,” he says. They carry on bantering about all manner of things, passing the time so agreeably that he stumbles into the nexus of Lowtown that contains his favorite haunt. He smiles at this adorable creature as he considers this farce of a matchmaking scheme might not be the dreck he though it might be. 

And then he remembers all his friends who could be at the Hanged Man. Their brutally impertinent looks. Their filters carried away on vapors of Antivan Sip-Sip. All the rancid gossip and nonsense they might foist upon her.

Oh fuck.

[mysdrymmumbles]

4, 5, 6, 10, 24 >:), 26, 27, 28 for the Valentine Fandom Ask Meme, please :3

4) Name a popular ship you don’t get the appeal of. Fenders.

5) What is your most fluffy + happy ship? Marian Hawke x Merrill, or Lorelai Trevelyan x Sera. 

6) What is your most angsty ship? That I’ve written? Liila x Timmons, in Impervious (world of warcraft). That I actually ship? I guess Liv x Lowell from iZombie. Or Yuna x Tidus from FFX. 

10) Is there a ship that makes your skin crawl? Orsino x Meredith. Just really not into hate sex and huge ass power imbalances. Also, Sailor Moon x Tuxedo Mask. I hate him so much. She was better with Seiya. Also, the Teacher x 4th grade student relationship in CCS. It’s fucked up. 

24) What is one scene you want to see happen for all your ships? Tagging @ma-sulevin, who asked this one as well: This might be a little lame, but I really just want to see them happy. 

26) Name a ship that ended like you wanted it to. My bromance with Shale ended exactly the way I wanted it to. Of actual ships though, I guess Beckett x Castle. Also Mara x Cullen from @slothquisitor‘s fic, Reparation. They have a nice ending. 

27) Name a ship that deserved better in the end. Half of the ones I write. LIV X LOWELL 4ever bitter.

28) Is there a character you have several ships for? Well, I’ve written different ships for Cullen, Garrett Hawke, and Marian Hawke, haha. Also Rose x Nine and Rose x Ten. I love them both. 

Thank you so much for the ask!

V-Day Asks 

[theluckywizard]

Kiss Me Moonstruck

Hawke x Trevelyan | DA2 | Matchmaking Mischief | Fluff and Smut | Fish out of Water | Romantic Comedy

At long last! I have begun publishing my 'distraction fic' Kiss Me Moonstruck, a romantic comedy romp set during Dragon Age 2, Act 2 between scrappy warrior Garrett Hawke and plucky noblewoman Rose Trevelyan. This fic happened when I overheard Leandra Hawke plotting to find Hawke a spouse right at the start of Act 2 and decided to run with it! New chapters weekly or biweekly (haven't quite decided yet) 💖

Fic Summary: Smashed together in a matchmaking scheme cooked up by their enterprising mothers, Garrett Hawke and Rose Trevelyan are forced to endure one another for a whole week over Satinalia at the Hawke Estate. Rose hears he’s a swashbuckling treasure hunter, as wild as he is handsome and as ill-bred as he is rich. Garrett suspects she’s a brat of an ingenue with a string of rejected marriage proposals behind her. Determined to prove to the other that they could not be less compatible, they quickly find their mothers’ plot might be working better than they thought.

I have loads of art of these two for my DA:I long fic, but not for KMM yet! But this favorite of mine is by @crunchyncrumbly 👇 and the one below is the favorite of mine that I made!

Chapter one excerpt below the cut 👇

The carriage winds from the outer gates through the undesirable part of the city, slowed by restive crowds who can’t be bothered to get out of the way. The unfamiliar livery of their carriage offers no additional incentive; indeed the teeming masses seem utterly unmoved by the finery of the vehicle. Rose counts derisive stares, supposing they’re envious of their fortune, the one passed down through generations. She wonders how they’d feel if they knew that her veins coursed with the same humble blood and whether it might soften the bitterness in their eyes. 

“I wish they would hurry up,” mutters Alsatia, fiddling with her delicate kidskin gloves.

“Oh I’m sorry, Mother, are the unwashed masses making you nervous?” asks Rose. “Didn’t you tell me that Leandra lived in these parts before her fortunes were restored?”

“Well it’s not as though she wanted to be down here any more than I do,” retorts Alsatia. 

“And wasn’t she a Blight refugee? From a humble life in Ferelden she chose for herself? I’m amazed you ever managed to become friends in the first place.”

“Hush, Rose,” says the elder Trevelyan, drawing her furs closer around her neck.

“It’s true. You can be an unbelievable snob,” presses Rose. “But maybe you weren’t so stuffy back in the day.”

“Polish up that mouth of yours,” she warns her.

“Or what? He won’t make me an ill-fated offer of marriage?” she asks. Alsatia’s frosty eyes land on Rose’s with a determination that matches her daughter’s flippant resistance. “Truly though. Isn’t he some sort of swashbuckling treasure hunter? I’d be amazed if he cared.”

“He’s richer than the Maker and an Amell and you will do your best to make a favorable impression.”

“I thought he was a Hawke.”

“The name doesn’t matter as much as the lineage.”

Rose slumps back and huffs a sigh. Aside from Alsatia’s industrious pursuit of an advantageous match for her daughter, she knows it’s all a clever plot to avoid her father’s family who descends upon Swinley House each Satinalia and treats her low-born mother with thinly veiled contempt. And now they’re off to see her old friend who suffers from a similar affliction: Leandra Amell had famously absconded to Ferelden with an apostate mage. The upper crust never forgets these sorts of things. Rose certainly knows that.

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[theluckywizard]

In the Shattering of Things, Ch. 80: Blood

Cullen x Trevelyan | Hawke x Trevelyan | DAI | Epic | Multiship | Slow burn | Fast burn | Complications While Saving the World

Chapter Summary:

Rose prepares to confront the sins of the Grey Wardens at the ritual tower in the Western Approach.

Fic Summary:

Lady Rose Trevelyan's idle, aristocratic life blinks out in a haze of irrelevance when the breach destroys the Conclave. She may be soft and coddled when she joins the Inquisition, but there's a fierceness inside her she's yet to fully recognize. Armed with only a few relevant skills and the mark that makes her a legend, she is thrust onto a path delivering hope where it’s long been scorched away and finds comfort in the grumpy, handsome stick in the mud charged with her protection and training. As she stumbles her way across southern Thedas, she begins to realize she's tangled at the center of machinations she barely understands, and she's not alone in that. Enter Hawke.

Excerpt under the cut 👇

As we push ahead inside the shimmer of overlapping barriers, I realize that amongst the Wardens are demons, docile and awaiting command— the forge-glow of rage, the hunched husk of despair and of course, terror, all limbs and teeth and sinew. To the right is a preliminary heap of Warden bodies, unspent blood commingling in one black puddle reflecting the sibling moons. But without our back up, we are overpowered nearly four to one. I pray they’re willing to talk.

“Wardens!” calls Stroud, cleaving the silence. “You’ve been misled. Abandon this madness while you still have some dignity!”

The shuffling and shrieking of suddenly drawn weapons surround us. Venatori and Wardens alike, ready to destroy us with a word. The man pacing on the dais turns to address us, descending and then skirting the altar.

“Inquisitor Trevelyan. I’ve been expecting you,” he says. Something like delight drips from his voice like syrup, intolerably smug. His dark hair glistens with pomade in the firelight and a mustache curls down around his sneer. My companions part to let me come forward.

“I’ve never had the pleasure,” I call, faking courage.

“Lord Livius Erimond,” he says with an extravagant bow almost certainly meant to mock. “At your service.”

“You’re no Warden,” says Stroud. I glance at the glow of the rage demon, wondering if it feeds the tremor in his voice.

“And you are. You must be the ones Clarel let slip. And then you found the Inquisitor to try to stop us. Shall we see how that goes?”

“My friends. This man is deceiving you,” says Stroud. “He serves an ancient Tevinter Magister who wishes to unleash a Blight.”

“That’s a very serious accusation,” says Erimond, raising his brow. His staff, uncommonly ornate, bounces from one hand to another in a brassy show, about as flashy as most of the Tevinters I’ve ever met. I wish Dorian was here to knock him down a peg. “Shall we see what your friends think? Wardens! Hands up!”

The mages standing beside their bound demons comply. 

“They’re bloody slaves,” mutters Alistair and then louder to Erimond, “What did you do to them?”

“They did this to themselves. Desperation is a powerful thing,” he says. “And if you think you’re in any position to negotiate, well, you’re in for a surprise.”

Erimond reaches out and by some unseen force, seizes me by the anchor, tearing me from the barrier that’s meant to protect me. Before anyone can react, I’m snatched halfway to him by the curse in my hand, my feet scraping across stone, a web of agony racing up my arm and into my head, my vision haloing, bile creeping up my throat. Erimond holds me half-suspended, like he’s gathered all the threads of the anchor and squeezed.

“You see, the Elder One taught me how to deal with you if you interfered,” explains Erimond, coming closer. The man stinks of lavender and rust. I hold my breath. His eyes whip past me to my companions. “Move and she dies.” 

He strokes the golden point of his finger— some kind of bladed false tip— down the mark over my jaw and neck. Stripping off my glove with his free hand, he appraises the glowing tendrils of the anchor up my wrist and then trains the beads of his eyes on mine. 

“He’ll be delighted when I present you as a trophy. And who knows. Maybe your blood can be useful too.”

Erimond’s taunting look at my companions cuts like razor as I grind my teeth to near breaking. He rakes the apparatus along my wrist, the sharpened point incising my skin and then with greedy eyes, without a hitch in his grip, summons a wisp of my blood into the air and beckons it to him. It atomizes into a dark cloud in the too-small space between us and then— just like snuff or levigated ghoul’s beard— draws it into his nose sharply. Erimond’s eyes gleam a sudden unholy violet over the curl of his satisfied lips.

His eyes grow distant, considering. “Mage lineage. Dilute, but there.”

“You’re disgusting,” I spit. Erimond only smiles.

“Bring the next one,” he commands, still gripping me by that unseen hold.

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[theluckywizard]

Finished 🥰 (until I decide that I am not)

Garrett Hawke and Inquisitor Rose Trevelyan being mushy in the Western Approach. Maybe they can be happy for a second.

Sometimes it’s just easier to draw romance than write it.

The still that inspired me from The First Kiss, a film that is considered to be lost forever (and gosh that makes me so sad)

[theluckywizard]

In the Shattering of Things, Ch. 79: Hope is a Brittle Thing

Chapter Summary: As the Inquisition settles into camp in the approach, Blackwall seems to be struggling with the presence of a dozen fellow Wardens, plans are hatched to deal with the Wardens and Venatori at the Tevinter ritual tower, and Rose hopes to extract a certain romantic declaration from Garrett.

Fic Summary: Lady Rose Trevelyan's idle, aristocratic life blinks out in a haze of irrelevance when the breach destroys the Conclave. She may be soft and coddled when she joins the Inquisition, but there's a fierceness inside her she's yet to fully recognize. Armed with only a few relevant skills and the mark that makes her a legend, she is thrust onto a path delivering hope where it’s long been scorched away and finds comfort in the grumpy, handsome stick in the mud charged with her protection and training. As she stumbles her way across southern Thedas, she begins to realize she's tangled at the center of machinations she barely understands, and she's not alone in that. Enter Hawke.

Excerpt under the cut 👇

We both quiet down again, ceding the moment to the other, but the hush fills up with crickets and distant coyotes and the din of camp a quarter mile away. I melt further into him, hoping he’ll take advantage of my silence, but he only kisses my temple and rakes his fingers over the rising goosebumps on my skin before wrapping me tighter inside his warmth.

“I’m scared to face the Wardens,” I admit. “I grew up hearing legends of them. And the Blight — it just feels wrong to oppose them.”

I feel a cool huff in my wet hair. “I know. But even heroes can take a turn. What I saw the other day— sacrificing their own to summon demons?" He grumbles a sigh. “Do you know how much I hate having my worst fears confirmed?”

“The pitfalls of perceptiveness,” I say against his skin, his arm hairs tickling my lips.

“I’ve been in the world long enough to know that hope is a brittle thing. Every time I’ve dared to hope, I’ve been disappointed,” he says. He laughs softly and then tightens his arms around me. “Well. Not every time.” When I look up at his smiling eyes, I’m sure I could drown in my own happiness. He pinches my nose gently. “I just— even with Alistair and Stroud and the rest, I’m worried.”

“When you’ve crossed a line like that is there any turning around?” I ask, hanging onto that brittle hope.

“My father was forced to use blood magic once. Did it to save his skin, to have a life with my Mum. But I’m not sure he ever forgave himself. It had a terrible cost. Demons flocked to him, almost like the veil had thinned at the very point of his existence. He talked in his sleep. And some things you can never unhear. These people didn’t just offer up a splash of their own blood. They’re looking demons in the eye and asking what the life of their comrade will buy them.”

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[theluckywizard]

Kiss Me Moonstruck, Ch. 3: Curiosity

Gif by @okhotshots

Chapter Summary: With Garrett Hawke off dealing with some kind of street fight and the mothers busy catching up on a few decades of gossip, Rose decides to acquaint herself with the Hawke Estate. A little snooping never hurt anyone.

Fic Summary: Smashed together in a matchmaking scheme cooked up by their enterprising mothers, Garrett Hawke and Rose Trevelyan are forced to endure one another for a whole week over Satinalia at the Hawke Estate. Rose hears he’s a swashbuckling treasure hunter, as wild as he is handsome and as ill-bred as he is rich. Garrett suspects she’s a brat of an ingenue with a string of rejected marriage proposals behind her. Determined to prove to the other that they could not be less compatible, they quickly find their mothers’ plot might be working better than they thought.

Excerpt under the cut 👇

Rose stands abruptly, tired of waiting at the fringes of this conversation for something that actually interests her and declares that she’d like to stretch her legs after such a long carriage ride.

“Of course! Please. Our home is yours,” says Leandra. “Bodahn and Orana will be about if you need anything.”

Alsatia eyes her daughter with the barest hint of suspicion which Rose blithely ignores, slipping out of the drawing room. Rose doesn’t suppose that Leandra actually meant she could have free reign of the place, but it would be easy enough to beg forgiveness and her mother assures her that there are few people as accommodating as their hostess.

The home is quiet save for the snapping of the enormous fire in the grand foyer, the muffled chatter that continues behind her and the soft snuffling of the family’s Mabari who lifts his head in interest as she descends the stairs. Rose relishes in her soundless footsteps, honed in hunting lessons with the gamekeeper and nights spent sneaking around and out of her family’s estate in Fenwick. She holds an impish finger to her lips as she passes the great hunk of canine muscle watching from his spot by the fire and enters the vestibule. 

One side of the room is essentially an armory. Rose wonders why a man ‘richer than the Maker’ would have so many battered, sad-looking shields and chipped swords, but they hang in an imposing row along the wall. Perhaps they are trophies. Or memories. How many people have been cut down by those blades? The number begins small and then inflates rapidly as her imagination takes wing. But the man had seemed so unpretentious and affable after tripping his way through their introduction. It doesn’t seem to square with all this weaponry, but it must. Somehow. 

Closer to the foyer is a number of armor stands with sets of lightweight leather armor and splintmail. She pleases herself identifying the various components, knowledge she’d gleaned sifting through pages on the floor of her father’s library rather than any real experience. In a closet beyond is an extra hauberk and an assortment of gambesons and maintenance tools and equipment. Awls and oil. Garrett’s finery from earlier hangs on a hook. Feeling venturesome and more than a little nosy, Rose leans in to get a whiff of this man she’s meant to like enough to marry.

Peppermint, obviously. Camphor. Herbs she can’t quite distinguish. Elfroot probably. Rashvine and spindleweed perhaps. And buried beneath those is the indescribable scent of what she assumes must be him. It's unexpectedly cozy, like hints of a busy kitchen at dawn. Rose startles at a sudden contact between her thighs, stumbling back from her insolent task to discover Garrett Hawke’s Mabari has an equally insolent interest in her.

She shoves him back gingerly and with placating tones, unsure if a war dog would be friendly toward an interloper like herself. He’s three times the size and heft of any of her hunting hounds, and his undocked tail lashes and whips with enthusiasm when she scratches behind his ears.

“Well aren’t you persistent,” she mutters, attending to the short fur of his broad white chest. She carefully avoids the precarious string of slobber that dangles from his maw and returns to the foyer hoping the creature will settle down by the fire again. He doesn’t. Enthralled by the attention, he stays at her heels, following her over to an apparent writing desk.

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[theluckywizard]

Kiss Me Moonstruck, Ch. 2: Introductions

Another installment of my Dragon Age 2, Act 2 matchmaking moms fic! Please join me in rare pair hell.

Chapter Summary: Rose and Alsatia Trevelyan arrive at the Hawke Estate for introductions. Rose can't decide if it's disastrous, ridiculous or utterly enthralling. Perhaps all three.

Chapter word count: 2305

Fic Summary: Smashed together in a matchmaking scheme cooked up by their enterprising mothers, Garrett Hawke and Rose Trevelyan are forced to endure one another for a whole week over Satinalia at the Hawke Estate. Rose hears he’s a swashbuckling treasure hunter, as wild as he is handsome and as ill-bred as he is rich. Garrett suspects she’s a brat of an ingenue with a string of rejected marriage proposals behind her. Determined to prove to the other that they could not be less compatible, they quickly find their mothers’ plot might be working better than they thought.

Excerpt below the cut 👇

Another dwarf enters and stares at Rose, his wide, ice blue eyes fixating upon her face with both awe and utter delight. Alsatia seethes quietly at the impertinence as he collects their luggage and shoulders a trunk easily, watching Rose the entire time.  When he leaves the room, Lady Trevelyan huffs to herself softly. “No footmen?” she remarks on a hiss. Rose hates that her own suspicions were correct. “Indeed. How could they possibly make do?” Rose replies, the edge of sarcasm so soft that her mother might not notice. They pace in restrained circles, taking in the cornices and marble tiles and the elegant staircase that bends around the back of the room. The place feels shockingly hollow, barely lived in in spite of the warmth of the fire. But then, they’d only just moved in that autumn after the younger Hawke’s infamous success on his Deep Roads treasure hunt. As the introduction looms, Rose feels her insides twist and hum, an unruly sense of anticipation muscling its way out from underneath all the disinterest. She chalks it up to being eager to see what manner of man would fail to excite her interest this time, but truthfully the Amell heir has provoked an abiding curiosity that has persisted since she first heard of him. A truth she squashes down as she hears footsteps up above. A man appears on the mezzanine then descends the steps two at a time, advancing toward them in easy swinging strides and stands over them both with a dashing yet remarkably goofy grin under a beguiling bright blue gaze. “So which one of you is the woman I’m supposed to marry?”

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[theluckywizard]

WIP Whenever

Here's a little tease from an upcoming chapter of my DA2 Hawke x Trevelyan matchmaking fic Kiss Me Moonstruck, a scene between a certain Lowtown herbalist and Rose Trevelyan.

The herbalist flicks her eyes over Rose’s crimson cheeks and then fishes in her apron for a key to open a trunk behind her. “Got yourself a strapping fellow, then?” she asks casually. Strapping. Slight understatement. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” fibs Rose. “I certainly would,” answers the herbalist, wrapping the five vials in last week’s newsprint, shoving them into a burlap pouch. Shit. What does she know? How could she know? Rose doesn’t like the answer to that question. She continues in a sly hush behind her hand. “Little bit of advice about Hawke. Try licking his ear. He’s mad for it.” Rose is staggered by her presumption, by the implications, by the precision of her assault. She looks the woman over, the discovery rankling inside the deepest recesses of her core until indignance and envy seeps from every pore. Suddenly the herbalist is even more bloody flawless than before, her nose a dignified Alamarrian swoop, her eyes a sultry amber, her skin clearer than Andraste’s backside— “That’ll be seventy five silver,” says the woman, holding the pouch up by its strings. It dangles between them as awkwardly as Garrett does.

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(Art of these two goobers by me is actually for my DA:I longfic. I think this means it's time to draw some KMM art)

@greypetrel, @crackinglamb, @skinwalkingxana, @exalted-dawn-drabbles, @breninarthur

[theluckywizard]

In the Shattering of Things, Ch: 77: Confessions

Chapter Summary:

Rose and Garrett share a last morning together before he leaves to search for Carver in the Approach and the Inquisition turns its attention toward southern Orlais.

Fic Summary:

Lady Rose Trevelyan's idle, aristocratic life blinks out in a haze of irrelevance when the breach destroys the Conclave. She may be soft and coddled when she joins the Inquisition, but there's a fierceness inside her she's yet to fully recognize. Armed with only a few relevant skills and the mark that makes her a legend, she is thrust onto a path delivering hope where it’s long been scorched away and finds comfort in the grumpy, handsome stick in the mud charged with her protection and training. As she stumbles her way across southern Thedas, she begins to realize she's tangled at the center of machinations she barely understands, and she's not alone in that. Enter Hawke.

Rating: Explicit

WC: 418,000

Excerpt and art below the cut 👇

Upstairs again, Hawke wiggles his toes out the bottom of my blankets, stretching his arms long along the pillows crammed up against the headboard. The whole look is a gorgeous invitation. I toss my robe over a chair and crawl over the blankets to perch on top of him. 

“Best eighteen hours in ages,” he declares, tracing a finger along the pale streaks up my left arm. “Maybe ever.”

“I’m not often visited by cheese deities, so at a bare minimum it was— very memorable,” I tease him, drifting my hand over his obvious enthusiasm beneath the bed linens. “One more time for the road?” He hums a hungry grumble as he pulls me close, inhaling deeply of my skin as if cataloging it in his mind for the long journey.

“You’d think after last night I’d still be soup,” he remarks, welcoming me back under the blankets.

“We have to be quick,” I murmur against his neck.

“Who says?” he asks.

“The kitchen boy,” I answer. Garrett grins as he shakes his head, then smolders at me as he finds the exact spot to knock away my smirk.

We laugh our way through a raucous, breakneck tumble, testing the joinery of this fancy new bed of mine as we scramble to see who can climax first. Then we squeeze into my tub for a quick bath before breakfast, him scrunched up with his legs bent and me wedged between his thighs. The tub is far too tight to be everything my favorite smutty romances promise, but I rather like being squashed up with him.

“I think I’m going to send for Bethany,” he says behind me as I mop his arms with a soapy cloth. 

I pause, warmed by the thought. “To join us here?”

“You could use another a healer, couldn’t you?” he asks, hunching down to set his chin on my shoulder.

“We’d be delighted to have her. Ellendra is desperate for competent help.”

“I meant— in your escort. With the rest of us. We could use another battle medic besides Solas. You never know when we could lose him. And Bethany has the chops.”

“Oh. Oh.” 

We. 

A tiny rush scurries through me.

He closes his slippery arms around me. “She’d thrive here, I know she would,” he says. “And with the rest of the team. She knows Varric of course. And I think she’d be grateful to reunite with some of her circle friends. And— I’d like to think you two would hit it off.”

“I’d love that. I’d love to meet her,” I answer. “What about Carver? Do you think we’ll get along?”

Garrett lets out a gravelly sigh. “Hard to say. But I hope so. But— well. Don’t be surprised if he’s a cranky bugger.” He snorts softly. “I suppose I’ve got this fantasy of getting Carver and Beth and I together one more time. Like if I can just pull it off maybe it will make everything better.”

I lean down to kiss his arm. “I hope so.”

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And I can finally share this commission by @crunchyncrumbly I got like nine months ago. I've finally arrived at this part of the fic 🤩 (and this is the other commission from crunchy I got of these two)

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[theluckywizard]

In the Shattering of Things, Ch. 67: A Diplomatic Affair

Summary: Rose continues preparations for the peace talks at Halamshiral learning what she can from Leliana, Josephine and Vivienne. The Game. The players. Tailoring fit for a bard. Dancing. And when all the pressure steals away any hope of relaxing, she finds comfort in the familiar.

Fic Summary: Lady Rose Trevelyan's idle, aristocratic life blinks out in a haze of irrelevance when the breach destroys the Conclave. She may be soft and coddled when she joins the Inquisition, but there's a fierceness inside her she's yet to fully recognize. Armed with only a few relevant skills and the mark that makes her a legend, she is thrust onto a path delivering hope where it’s long been scorched away and finds comfort in the grumpy, handsome stick in the mud charged with her protection and training. As she stumbles her way across southern Thedas, she begins to realize she's tangled at the center of machinations she barely understands, and she's not alone in that. Enter Hawke.

Excerpt below the cut!👇

Vivienne gazes across the old table between us, the barest crease of concern marking her brow, but I see it. “Romantic entanglements can be a dreadful inconvenience. But they can also be a source of great strength. Certainly I could have pursued my ambitions confidently without Bastien’s support, but his steadiness has been nothing but a boon. It isn’t romantic relations that’s the problem precisely, it’s managing your disappointments,” she says, a little too pointedly. “I’m well aware of how things failed to coalesce between you and the Commander.”

Of course she knows. I open my mouth to speak but she continues.

“I’m also aware of the liaison between you and Hawke that seems to have concluded.”

I gasp a dismayed laugh. “So the gossip reached you too.”

“Not at all, darling. I would have to have been fantastically blind to have missed it.”

So much for being discreet. “It was a fling,” I explain.

She bears into me with another focused look, her serene expression not quite hiding the turning gears of her calculating mind.

“I need to stay focused.”

“Mm.”

I fidget under her scrutiny. “Obviously.”

“I’m glad we both agree,” she says, an abiding tension in her voice. “There are also the political implications to consider. Choosing a partner or a lover is a reflection of your priorities and values.”

My breathing tightens as I consider what might have been construed from a relationship with my own general.

“Forgive me my impertinence but consider. Publicly partnering with a templar, the man known to have cosigned on years of Knight-Commander Meredith’s mismanagement and eventual madness? Not that he didn’t single handedly hold Kirkwall together in the aftermath, but that’s a stench that will never quite wash off. I’m sure he’d agree. Still, he’s a general. He carries himself with commensurate gravitas. And he refuses to engage in the machinations of politicians. You can guess what conclusions might have been drawn.”

“And the Champion ? Well that’s another matter entirely. His celebrity could be advantageous. But given his relatively apolitical status, his strange associates and disastrous choices are normally dismissed as curiosities than anything worth careful scrutiny. Aligning with him publicly would change that. You’d be associated with someone who supported mage extremism.”

“I think if you spoke with him you’d find—”

“The truth of it matters little. Only the appearance.”

I purse my lips, prickling in his defense. In my defense. And Maker knows why.

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[theluckywizard]

In the Shattering of Things, Ch. 76: Forget the World

Summary: When Hawke comes back from Lydes, Rose conspires to keep him all to herself.

Fic Summary: Lady Rose Trevelyan's idle, aristocratic life blinks out in a haze of irrelevance when the breach destroys the Conclave. She may be soft and coddled when she joins the Inquisition, but there's a fierceness inside her she's yet to fully recognize. Armed with only a few relevant skills and the mark that makes her a legend, she is thrust onto a path delivering hope where it’s long been scorched away and finds comfort in the grumpy, handsome stick in the mud charged with her protection and training. As she stumbles her way across southern Thedas, she begins to realize she's tangled at the center of machinations she barely understands, and she's not alone in that. Enter Hawke.

Excerpt below the cut 👇

When I arrive at the final landing below my chamber, I can’t help but feel a little bit blessed by the Maker. Hawke stands naked as a newborn, toweling his hair dry by the balcony door, his skin still flushed from the heat of the bath. A giddy laugh nearly pops out of me when he turns, afternoon light catching the flex of his beautiful arse.

“I was hoping I might catch you before you finished up,” I say, sweeping an appreciative look over him as I traipse up the last few steps.

“You’ve only missed a wrinkly goof in pot of grimy water,” he says, shaking back his damp hair as he wanders over to me.

“I’ll settle for the goof,” I say, looping my arms around his waist. I stamp my lips against his chest, still tacky from the bath, and slip into a cloud of desire as I clutch this tower of muscles against me. “Let me guess. You waited until you heard the door below to get out of the bath so you could wander around like this.”

He chuckles, but a rare and immediate blush gives him away. “Nope.”

“You did too,” I say, pinching his cheek.

Hawke— Maker, Garrett — only smiles and lifts my violet cowl off to plant a line of soft kisses from my jaw to my shoulder, humming against my skin. Every bit of him brushing against me drives me further into senselessness: his thumb sneaking under my waistband, his other hand claiming a handful of my rear, the provocative nudge of him against my stomach. He lifts my chin to conquer me with an outrageously blue smolder. By his faint smirk he knows exactly what he’s up to.

“Stop that,” I breathe. 

He bites down on a cheeky grin. “Oh you don’t like it?” he asks as he ducks to brush his parted lips over my face and neck.

A soft puff of breath escapes me. “You’re just trying to make me blush.”

“How could I resist?”

I flick him a scolding glance. “Miscreant. Get in my bed already.”

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[theluckywizard]

In the Shattering of Things, Ch. 74: Departures

Chapter Summary: With an alliance with Celene secured, Rose departs Halamshiral, hoping to turn her attention toward the Wardens and operations across southern Orlais. Unfortunately, there's a minor hiccup.

Fic Summary: Lady Rose Trevelyan's idle, aristocratic life blinks out in a haze of irrelevance when the breach destroys the Conclave. She may be soft and coddled when she joins the Inquisition, but there's a fierceness inside her she's yet to fully recognize. Armed with only a few relevant skills and the mark that makes her a legend, she is thrust onto a path delivering hope where it’s long been scorched away and finds comfort in the grumpy, handsome stick in the mud charged with her protection and training. As she stumbles her way across southern Thedas, she begins to realize she's tangled at the center of machinations she barely understands, and she's not alone in that. Enter Hawke.

Excerpt under the cut 👇

The remnants of frothing waves wash past my feet, hollowing out the space beneath them until they sink comfortably into the sand. It’s a colorless day, banks of fog mostly swallowing the Waking Sea, the gloom of the sky and the murk of the sea mingling in a sort of lost horizon. The shore to my left is littered with limp clumps of black seaweed and white slivers of bleached shells in want of collection. A tall sandy escarpment, half-devoured by the whims of the sea, runs the length, hiding my home up above. It’s all gray, but it holds me like sunshine.

The pull of the sand around my feet firms up, each step sinking deeper. 

And then it doesn’t let go.

I laugh at first and then begin to dig, but the sand just fills back in. My feet won’t budge. A flutter of panic becomes beating wings inside my chest. I’m trapped. Caught. Just like the avalanche.

And then the water creeps higher. Foam streams past my shins and then sloshes at my knees as I continue to claw the sand away from my feet. The water deepens until I have to draw a breath before plunging beneath the surface to fruitlessly scrape away the tenacious sediment. When I surface again he’s there.

A mist dulled red fox staring at me with golden eyes safe above the tide line. I’d dug myself free the last time he’d been so close. I draw another breath and plunge in, shuddering sobs tugging at my lungs as I try to free myself. Standing again, the waves splashing up at my waist, I wipe saltwater from my face and blink. Solas stands on the shore beside Jaime. Staring.

When I look down I’m bleeding from two open stab wounds, brilliant red wicking in the sodden weave of my dove gray dress. But I was healed .

“Solas!” I choke, but I already know that he won’t help me.

He only leans on his staff watching with grave interest, his gray unblinking eyes fixed to mine. The fox sits, settling in for this show.

The water inundates the bleeding wounds but the salt doesn’t sting. It’s a dream . Merciful Maker. It’s only a dream.

Down the beach the air ripples, a figure made of light pierces the landscape, the world wobbling all around them and then leaves a trail as everything sloshes back together behind them. They approach, walking straight for me into the grasping sand, cutting into the lacey surface of the sea, their radiance far too intense to make out much of anything. 

But I know them.

I just do.

My fear settles even as the water laps at my chin when they stand before me, the sea and air shimmering and warping around the edges of them. They’re in this dream but they’re not of it. And as a wave crests past my mouth, they reach out and brush my forehead with a gentle finger. And I don’t hear it but I feel it, the same way I’ve felt it before.

Rose. Wake up.

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[theluckywizard]

In the Shattering of Things, Ch. 68: No One But Me

Summary: Rose confronts Cullen when she hears a devastating rumor and then is confronted with a bitter truth. With their Winter Palace operation closing in, Rose needs to get solid ground under her feet.

Fic Summary: Lady Rose Trevelyan's idle, aristocratic life blinks out in a haze of irrelevance when the breach destroys the Conclave. She may be soft and coddled when she joins the Inquisition, but there's a fierceness inside her she's yet to fully recognize. Armed with only a few relevant skills and the mark that makes her a legend, she is thrust onto a path delivering hope where it’s long been scorched away and finds comfort in the grumpy, handsome stick in the mud charged with her protection and training. As she stumbles her way across southern Thedas, she begins to realize she's tangled at the center of machinations she barely understands, and she's not alone in that. Enter Hawke.

Excerpt below the cut 👇

I recognize his gait before I recognize any other detail— the set and dip of his shoulders as he strides across the yard with determined steps. He disappears into the armory. I follow.

I’ve been feeling ill since Dorian confessed it to me. He said they’d been playing chess, carefully avoiding the subject of me, and it had just sort of slipped from Cullen’s lips. An offhand remark about stepping down. I’d pressed him for more but Dorian said the comment had emerged seemingly out of nowhere. He’d said that he looked exhausted and generally withdrawn, but that I could see with my own eyes.

Fires from the twin forges throw heat clear across the space, searing my skin with sudden radiance as I enter behind Cullen. A pair of blacksmiths repair dented shields and sharpen blades, the grinding and clanking reverberating off the timber and stone walls. The work doesn’t abate for my benefit which I appreciate as it provides enough cover for this prickly conversation.

“Commander,” I say, when it’s clear Cullen is on his way up to Cassandra’s small suite in the attic.

“Inquisitor,” he says, obviously flustered by my sudden presence. He hesitates in his boots but then saunters back toward me, stopping several paces away.

“Dorian mentioned something to me that I thought merited follow up,” I start with a heavy, inescapable sigh. “He was worried and didn’t know what to do. So he told me.”

Cullen shakes his head, grimacing, no doubt abusing himself for saying anything or trusting anyone at all. He motions to the smiths at work to vacate the space.

“He would never betray your confidence unless he thought it was serious,” I add, swallowing back the anxious knot in my throat. “He said you mentioned leaving.” Just saying it hits with the same savagery as it did the first time I heard it an hour ago.

Cullen blinks at me, chagrined. “That is not what I said. Whether he interpreted it that way is another story. And I will not be held accountable for his wild extrapolations.”

“I can see that you’re not doing well,” I press.

“It’s not your concern,” he answers. Too quickly.

“It is my concern. You’re my friend.” I wonder if that’s even true anymore.

Cullen snorts, pacing around in a restive figure eight, eyes searching blankly as he mulls over my words and prepares to parry. He’s building a wall between us faster than I can climb over it. 

“And the commander of my army.” At least that should mean something to him.

He fixes an aggravated, hollow stare upon me. “Has my performance been substandard?”

I’m startled by the question. “No, not at all— I—”

“Then with respect, I assume the discussion is over.”

“Maker, Cullen. Don’t think I don’t notice.” I feel like I’m pleading with him. “I see it.”

“I believe I told you that Lady Cassandra would monitor my performance. And if I recall correctly, you consented. If you would like to redraw the parameters of the arrangement—”

“Stop,” I beg him. “Can’t we just talk the way we did before?”

He grudgingly turns to face me fully and nods, forcing himself to look at me.

“If you’re struggling without lyrium—”

“Are you asking me to take it?”

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[theluckywizard]

Kiss Me Moonstruck, Ch. 5: That Nosy Bird

Hawke x Trevelyan | DA2 | Matchmaking Mischief | Fluff and Smut | Fish out of Water | Romantic Comedy

Gif by @lavellanlin

Chapter Summary: Garrett comes home. Rose eavesdrops. Garrett gets stitches. Rose gets an eyeful.

WC: 2,592

Fic Summary: Smashed together in a matchmaking scheme cooked up by their enterprising mothers, Garrett Hawke and Rose Trevelyan are forced to endure one another for a whole week over Satinalia at the Hawke Estate. Rose hears he’s a swashbuckling treasure hunter, as wild as he is handsome and as ill-bred as he is rich. Garrett suspects she’s a brat of an ingenue by the string of rejected marriage proposals behind her. Determined to prove to the other that they could not be less compatible, they quickly find their mothers’ plot might be working better than they thought.

Excerpt below the cut 👇

“Well I think it went well!” says Leandra, returning to the chopping block with supplies. As she wanders to the fire to pour a cup of tea for her son, she carries on. “I— admit Alsatia seemed a bit stiffer than I remember. But I think she liked my tart.” 

There’s something tense in her voice like she isn’t sure at all. She’s soothing herself. He can see it in her expression.

He takes an inelegant oversized bite and speaks through a mouthful. “Well if she didn’t, she’s a blazing moron.” His factual assessment is met with a glower. “ Only because it’s the finest treat in the whole of the Marches.” He adds. “I hope it was a pleasant evening.”

“Alsatia and I were able to catch up for an hour or so. Lady Rose was tired from the journey so she didn’t stay with us long, but I can’t say I blame her exactly. It’s a terribly long time to sit in a carriage.”

“I spotted her in the library just now,” he says.

“A reader! That’s promising,” says Leandra, dunking a cloth in a basin of water.

Garrett exhales a chuckle and shakes his head. “Yes, the barest indication of intelligence.”

His mother tugs on his arm in annoyance, flashing him a look of reproof. “Let me see this wound of yours,” she says, jerking his arm straight to inspect. She wipes the dried blood off his forearm and then bends to squint at the laceration at his elbow. “Five or six stitches I’d guess.” She wanders over to the larder for a bottle of alcohol. 

“Is that— Maker, Garrett your back is bleeding as well!” she cries upon her return.

Garrett cranes his head to look over each of his shoulders, catching a glimpse of deep scarlet over his left. He thought he felt something itchy back there. “Huh. They must have caught the edge of my cuirass.”

“You’re going to send me to an early grave, you know that?” she mutters, pushing his linen shirt up off his back for a look. “This one is bigger. Take it off, come on.”

Garrett tugs his shirt off, peeling carefully where it sticks to the drying blood on his shoulder. He laughs into the crimson stained shirt he balls up for washing. “Take enough blows you stop noticing them, I suppose.”

“Maker, Garrett. You didn’t kill anyone tonight, did you?”

“I don’t think so. Dougal’s thugs are just hired help,” he says. “Probably have families to feed, same as me.” He takes a gulp of tea and pushes the last of a slice into his mouth. “So is it good to see her? Your old friend?”

Leandra is quiet for just long enough that he can tell something is off. “Chew with your mouth closed.”

Garrett rolls his eyes. “You can tell me you know. Regardless of whatever you hope for me.”

“She’ll settle in I think,” says Leandra over the swish of a bottle as she dabs gauze. “She’s been amongst nobility for a long time. It’s made her—”

“—a bit of a snob?” Garrett finishes, turning and squeezing her shoulder.

“Eat your galette.”

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[theluckywizard]

Rumors

This is a self-contained fic about the rumors Garrett Hawke faces about his relationship with Inquisitor Rose Trevelyan upon returning from Crestwood. Leliana confronts him about their relationship. It pairs with Chapter 65 of my long fic In the Shattering of Things! WC: 2189 Rating: T

Excerpt below the cut 👇

“Do you always take people to the wine cellar for job offers?” he asks, reaching up for a bottle on the highest shelf to examine the label while his old friend sets her torch in the sconce.

“There are few places of true discretion in this wreck,” she says evenly. “Sit.”

Hawke raises his brow. He knows he ought to follow her directives— there’s a careful management to her tone that says so— but he’s feeling peevish having seen Rose and having failed to connect. He turns to tower over Leliana.

“I think I’ll stand.”

“Suit yourself,” she says.

“You didn’t see fit to interrogate me before,” he says, calling her game. “Unlike the Seeker.”

“You aren’t that mysterious, I’m afraid,” she chuckles. “Besides, what makes you so sure I didn’t?”

He laughs softly. “I don’t seem to recall answering a litany of questions.”

“There are ways to interrogate without throwing someone into a chair in a dimly lit room, Hawke.”

“Well, I can see that I’ve arrived,” he says, gesturing at the space. “What can I do for you, Nightingale? I used to watch you weave dandelion crowns for the village kids you know. You can’t scare me.”

Leliana sets her mouth and bores into him with unblinking gray eyes. It’s a different kind of intensity than when they were both young in Lothering. She’d buried the danger under fervor and lightness of spirit back then. And now her stare is filled with a thousand horrors and thousand more that have yet to be.

“Really?” he says, feeling the weight of it.

She persists. Hawke squirms.

“Dash it all. What ?”

“I know you’ve been sleeping with the Inquisitor.”

“You’ve been watching her?” he asks, incredulous. Leliana’s brow tilts as if his obtuseness surprises her and he snorts and reaches up to run both hands through his hair. “You’ve been watching me.” He paces while he chews on the implications— what had they seen? What did they think of them?

“Put yourself in my position, Hawke,” she says placidly. “I’m not foolish enough to believe my old friends cannot have hidden motives. Even before you left for Crestwood I could see the potential for influence. None of it mattered until you had her ear.”

“And you don’t trust your prior intelligence? ”

“Our prior source was Varric.”

He puffs his lips and starts organizing bottles again, picking up a label that’s become unglued. “Well I can’t argue with that. Since you seem to think I’m bad news for your boss, do your thing, Spymaster.”

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