#ezekiel surana

[wildercrow]

Hey, guess what I finally updated after 3 YEARS of being hopelessly stuck! It's my overly ambitious “retrieve Hawke from the Fade” fic! Here, have like 5k of Anders and Justice having a no good very bad day.

~Nuri 🕯️

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Fandom: Dragon Age Characters: Most of the DA2 and Awakening squads plus some spirit OCs, but this chapter is Anders- and Justice-centric! Rating: Mature Fic Words: 11k Ch. 3 Words: 5k

Fic Summary: Mo Hawke expected to die when she volunteered to stay in the Fade with the Nightmare. She isn’t expecting an elaborate mission set in motion by her spirit friend and carried out by a ragtag group of loved ones and complete strangers.

Ch. 3 Excerpt:

The farther into the Nightmare realm they trek, the more eerie it becomes. They haven’t travelled more than five minutes when a booming voice echoes around them. “Justice,” it sneers, “or should I say Vengeance? After all, what you did to the Kirkwall chantry did nothing to achieve justice for mages, did it? It was merely a petty act of revenge.” Justice growls, “I am not a demon. Unlike you.” “Is that so?” the voice rumbles back. “Did you not get here by blood magic? That seems like something a demon would do to me.” “We…” Justice searches for words, desperate to defend himself, but he can’t find any. Fear clenches his chest. How can he know for sure? Perhaps he was a demon all along. Perhaps he was corrupted when he left the Fade. Or when he fused with Anders. Or when he blew up the Chantry. Or when he agreed to let Merrill send him here using blood magic. Perhaps… Suddenly, he feels Anders push forward and take control of their voice. “You shut up!” Anders shouts, not sure where to direct his voice so he just yells as loud as he can into the Fade. “Justice is not a demon! I would know better than anyone, since I’ve been sharing a body with him for the past decade! And you know it, too! You’re just saying shit to get a rise out of him.” The voice laughs around them. “It worked, did it not? I wonder what other fun ways I can get a rise out of you?” the voice muses, then goes quiet. “Well, that was terrible,” Anders mutters.

AO3 Link (Ch. 3): https://archiveofourown.org/works/35393581/chapters/156855154 Or Start From Ch. 1: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35393581

[pkbth]

Cullavellan sketches that i forgot to post them here ;b

[cyber-skeletons]

Also drew a very related holiday present of Morrigan, Kieran, and my beloved @wildercrow‘s Warden, Ezekiel Surana, being a happy family <3

[mercs4art]

........ I did it  

All my OCs in the year 2020!

[jellydishes]

tagged by @siriskulksnerding for wip whenever, and tagging anybody who wants to do it :v this is from a section i wrote up months ago for @wildercrow but never finished:

There was always something new to see in Morrigan whenever Ezekiel Surana looked at her. A hint of a scar that hadn't been there before she'd been healed most recently, or a freckle that changed the whole landscape of her face when added to his inner map, the one he made anew every time he looked at her, kissed her, or swept his thumbs over her high cheekbones as he did now.

The purple stripe of kaddis she'd drawn across her eyes in the fashion of her father's people smeared beneath his touch, and he laughed a bit self consciously and murmured an apology. It wasn't the first time it had happened, of course - he had a tendency to forget details like that when caught up in her laughing golden eyes. They made him feel like the bottom had dropped out of his stomach and kept right on going, like he was flying, or perhaps falling.

He only realized he'd been saying that aloud, too, when Morrigan tsked her tongue against her teeth. "Leave the getting caught up in the clouds to me, won't you?" Her voice wasn't cutting as some may have expected, but soft. Hushed. Amused, but not at him. Not the way that templars or even the other mages in Kinloch sometimes had. No, her laugh was meant for him. Offering a hand to join her in the joke instead of slapping it across the face.

"Where should I be then, instead?" He asked without thinking. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere except with you."

She'd started to lift her chin and reply automatically with a grin, something that started with, "I expect you'll be halfway between, like you always-" He could see it in her eyes when his words really hit her. That, and from the way she stumbled over her words, her gloved hands shaking just slightly where she'd lifted them to trace against his own on her cheeks.

"You're making a fool of me! How could you expect me to hear something so foolish as that with a straight face?" She huffed. Her warm brown skin darkened just beneath the kaddis, and he smiled at her and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Because it isn't foolish at all. It's the truth. You bring the sky with you."

"Oh, of all the-!" Morrigan stepped away and turned a half circle, sweeping her arms out wide so that the length of thick burgundy cloth crisscrossed across her chest flared just a bit. Anyone else would think she was exasperated with him, or even angry, but he didn't.

[mercs4life]

I drew all the OCs I have plans to do things with!!! Happy Pride Month!!!!!

[succubused]

oc cinnamon roll meme

tagged by @redribbonhood 

lmao half of these are going to be true OCs aka yall wont know who the FUCC they are but that’s fine

Looks like a Cinnamon Roll but can actually kill you: Constance Ryder, Calysta Surana, Genevieve Hawke, Lace Masters

Looks like a Cinnamon Roll and is a Cinnamon Roll: Maven Salvas, Shasta Merrin

Looks like they can kill you but is actually a Cinnamon Roll: Ezekiel James, Rosamond Neven

Looks like they can kill you and can kill you: Valkyrie Everett, Quinn Thrace, Aisling Trevelyan, Mien’harel Lavellan, Corentine Amell, Constantine Hawke, Paroxys

Sinnamon Roll: Solaris Artemisia, Kharis, Seraphina James, Trinity Shepard

if u wanna do it then go ahead!! i tag you in spirit

[wildercrow]

Every Time by Nuri (SpicyIsopods)

Another spooky/fall prompt! This one's "footsteps that follow wherever you go." I also pulled a lot of inspiration from the song Every Time by The Last Bison. <3

Context Note: in this timeline, Morrigan and Ezekiel have an adopted dragonling daughter named Aednat.

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Rating: General Characters: Ezekiel Surana, Morrigan (and briefly their kiddos) Relationships: Morrigan/Ezekiel Genre: Fluff Content Warnings: Dragon Age Origins Spoilers Words: 437 AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34368964/chapters/128015809 Fic:

“Remember how I used to get cross at you for following me everywhere?” Morrigan muses.

Ezekiel giggles and nods.

It had stung a bit at the time, but those days are long gone now. There’s enough distance between then and now that they can laugh about it together as they watch their children play in the early morning light. Kieran has recently learned to make snowballs with his magic, and Aednat is having a great deal of fun slapping them out of the air with her tail.

“In hindsight, I am glad you did,” Morrigan continues. “’Twould be a shame for us to miss out on… this.” She gestures vaguely at Kieran and Aednat. At herself and Ezekiel.

“Being family?” Ezekiel signs.

Morrigan chuckles fondly. “Yes. That.” She pauses a moment, then adds, “You always have been a stubborn one. Are you aware of that?”

He beams and signs “I try.”

She huffs. “Remember that first year, camping? Every night, I would set up camp as far away as I possibly could. And every night you would come find me, despite my being thoroughly unpleasant to you. At the start. I hardly knew any sign at the beginning, either, so you went to all the trouble to bring over paper so you could write little messages. ‘Twas infuriating at the time, but I… find myself feeling rather grateful for it, now.”

Ezekiel just smiles and bumps his shoulder against hers.

“And exploring…” she snorts. “Everywhere I went, your footsteps seemed to follow. No matter how far I strayed from your own goals.”

“Safety in numbers!” he signs.

“Fair enough. However, you had safety in numbers already. ‘Twas I who was foolhardy enough to wander off alone. It… was welcome company. But why?” She tilts her head, brow furrowing.

“Your safety!” he insists. “Besides. Was curious. Wanted to know more about you.”

She huffs indignantly, but a small smile gives away her true thoughts on the matter. “And then… you came and found me at the eluvian. I…” she fidgets slightly, “…am glad that you did. I am glad that you waited. That you gave me space. However, I am glad that you followed me eventually. I do not regret bringing you with me. I hope that you know that.”

“I know,” he signs, grinning, before flinging himself at her and knocking her backwards into the grass with the force of his hug.

She makes an indignant noise, but wraps her arms around him nonetheless. “You, my dear warden, are an utterly infuriating person,” she says with laughter in her voice, “and I am endlessly grateful for it.”

[wildercrow]

🦀 Art by Deyan 🦀

Ezekiel Surana with his ring from Morrigan! They’re separated often because of their various life circumstances, but Ezekiel finds a lot of comfort in knowing that Morrigan can always find him again.

[wildercrow]

Ezekiel Surana

🦀 Art by Deyan 🦀

He/him pronouns for this nerd, please. Read more about him HERE!

[pkbth]

World state YAOI

-Elijah Surana, the royal arcane advisor after mastering the blood magic he finally found the cure to the warden taint and reunited with his King consort Alistair

-Garrett Hawke, he returned to Kirkwall with Fenris(and his mabari jofc)

-Ezekiel Lavellan, settled down with Cullen in the countryside and raised their adopted mabari and its pups together

[pkbth]

Cullavellan sketch dump #1

-Ezekiel lavellan or presumably known Zeke Surana was a city elf from Denerim. he often sneaked into the circle to give his cousin (Hero of Ferelden) medicines for his breathing problem -Young templar Cullen caught him but after Zeke explained the reason, he just let the child go and never report to the authority -Later that child grows up to be the inquisitor he's working with

[wildercrow]

Aednat Surana

🦀 Art by Deyan 🦀

Ezekiel and Morrigan’s adopted dragon daughter (NOT pet), Aednat. She/her pronouns please. Read more about her HERE!

[wildercrow]

“No, no, no, you can’t close your eyes right now!” for whichever characters you like 😊

Thank you for giving me an excuse to... injure my son? It's okay, he gets cuddles afterwards!

For @dadrunkwriting

~*~*~

Rating: Teen Characters: Ezekiel Surana, Morrigan (with appearances by Shale, Oghren, Lightning the Mabari) Relationships: Morrigan/Warden Genre: Hurt/Comfort Word Count: 1375 Content Warnings: Graphic descriptions of a head injury (including nausea/vomiting and blood), Strong language AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35492512

~*~*~

A magical tempest of wind and snow and lightning swirls around Ezekiel as he smacks a Hurlock to the ground with his shield, leaving them vulnerable to a strike from Shale. He scans the area and spots a swarm of genlocks giving Oghren a hard time, so he sprints over and knocks as many of them over as possible while Lightning the mabari bowls over the rest. Then he gears up a lightning strike to take out the Hurlock archer that’s been harassing Morrigan…

But before he has a chance to cast his spell, he feels something heavy slam against the back of his head and the world goes blank for a moment.

When he comes to, he’s not sure if he’s been out for ten seconds or several hours. In fact, he can’t remember what knocked him out to begin with, and he’s only foggily aware of what’s happening around him. He decides to take inventory.

His helmet is nowhere in sight. His head hurts, though not as much as he would expect. The pain emanates out from the back of his skull and into his ears and jaw and temples, leaving him feeling vaguely nauseous. The cacophony around him tells him his friends are still in battle, and he can feel fresh blood trickling down his neck, which presumably means he was only out briefly.

A moment later, though, he feels a soft touch to the side of his face. “Ezekiel!” Morrigan’s voice is full of worry. “Are you alright?”

The world is spinning entirely too much for him to sit up, but his hands aren’t really available for signing when he’s face down on the rocky ground like this. So instead he lets out a pained groan and doesn’t move.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Morrigan cast a worried glance over her shoulder, presumably to make sure Shale, Oghren, and Lightning are holding their own against the remaining darkspawn. She visibly relaxes and turns her attention back to Ezekiel, which he takes as a good sign. “Alright, my love,” she says, pulling out a jar of salve and carefully reaching out to rearrange the elf’s messy blonde hair so she can apply the salve directly to the worst of the wound.

Once the salve is on, soothing relief floods through Ezekiel and his eyelids suddenly feel heavy.

“No, you cannot close your eyes right now!” Morrigan scolds, a hint of desperation in her voice. “’Tis not safe.”

He responds with a groggy whimper.

A moment later, they are joined by Shale, Oghren, and Lightning. Lightning immediately comes over to lick Ezekiel’s face and hands, which does a decent job of waking him up the rest of the way. A giggle escapes his throat, but he quickly cuts it off because it makes his head throb and his stomach reel.

“Man, you really ate shit after that Hurlock alpha got you!” Oghren says.

“Squishy bodies continue to be hilariously inconvenient,” Shale remarks, but adds, “Is it harmed?”

“’Twould be easier to heal him if everyone would step back,” Morrigan snaps.

Oghren complies, but Lightning and Shale don’t budge.

Morrigan lets out an exasperated sigh and tries again, “If you would like to make yourselves useful, you could set up camp. I doubt we will be leaving this cavern tonight.”

“I don’t need a bed or food,” Shale points out, contrary as ever.

“Would you like to help Ezekiel?” she growls.

“Well… yes,” the golem admits.

“Then set up camp,” Morrigan instructs, then remembers to add, “please.” She’s learning. They both are.

Shale sighs loudly, but stomps off to help Oghren set up camp as requested.

Morrigan turns her attention back to Ezekiel and sets to work wordlessly inspecting him for other injuries. Once she’s satisfied, she lets out a sigh of relief, “I believe you have a concussion, but your skull and spine don’t appear to be damaged. Let us get you out of that armor and find somewhere more comfortable for you to rest, shall we?”

He makes what he hopes is recognizable as a sound of agreement.

“’Twill be easier if you are upright,” she points out.

Between the salve and Lightning licking his face, he’s feeling a bit better. So he makes another sound of agreement and allows Morrigan to help him into a sitting position and strip off his armor. His shirt is sticky with half-dried blood, so he shucks that off as well.

By that point, Oghren and Shale have one of the tents set up, so Morrigan nods towards it, “Shall we go to the tent so you are able to rest properly?”

Ezekiel clumsily signs his agreement, so Morrigan sets to work helping him to his feet. Unfortunately, the movement makes his head throb and leaves him with an unpleasant pressure deep within his ears that makes him feel overwhelmingly nauseous. He moves to sign that he’s not feeling well, but before he can he finds himself retching onto the ground in front of him.

“Oh… love…” Morrigan sounds unsure of what to do. How to comfort him. But she’s better at this than she thinks she is. She places a gentle hand on his lower back and rubs circles with her thumb until she’s sure he’s done being sick, then she hands him a clean cloth to wipe his mouth down with as she checks the back of his head to make sure his wound hasn’t been exacerbated by the strain of throwing up. “Look at me?” she requests.

He does so, allowing her to stare intently into his eyes for a long moment before she nods, looking relieved.

Before they move to the tent, Ezekiel shucks off his vomit-splattered pants and tosses them in the growing pile of dirty laundry and armor. Whatever scrap of modesty he might have once had was long since trained out of him by the Circle – he doesn’t care that he’s now stripped down to his smallclothes. Unfortunately, he can’t just toss his feet in the laundry pile. He whimpers and tries to pick up a foot to wipe it clean, but he immediately wobbles. Morrigan catches him.

“Shall I clean your feet before we progress to the tent?” she offers.

He makes a sound of agreement, so Morrigan takes the cloth back from him and stoops down to wipe his feet clean. Once he’s adequately clean, he makes an appreciative chirp and allows Morrigan to lead him (and Lightning) to the tent. Once inside, she sits him down and wraps him in a blanket. Lightning pads over and lays his big, slobbery, comforting head down in his lap. Once the dog is situated, Morrigan hands Ezekiel a waterskin and demanding he drink. Then, after he drinks his fill, she sets to work cleaning the blood and grime out of his hair before applying a poultice and fixing it onto his head with a creatively-wrapped bandage.

“There,” she says, a hint of smugness in her voice and smile, “that ought to help.”

“Sleepy,” he signs, suppressing an unwanted yawn.

“You must keep your eyes open for a little longer, love. Your head is injured. ‘Tis best if I monitor it for a time before you sleep. Just a few hours.”

“Bored,” he signs.

“Unfortunately, ‘twould also be wise to rest your brain while you recover,” she says apologetically, then gives a thoughtful hum. “I could, perhaps… massage your back. And… would more shapeshifting tales interest you? I don’t imagine those are terribly mentally taxing to listen to.”

“I like that,” he signs, so Morrigan moves behind him and rearranges his blanket so she can access his back. Her touches are exceedingly gentle. Cautious, even. More caressing than massaging. So careful not to disturb his injured head.

“Have I told you about the time I lived as a crayfish for a day?” she asks.

“Hm-mm,” he says, hoping the sound communicates his answer clearly without him needing to shake his head.

“Well then,” she says, “allow you to tell you now.” She leans forward to press a soft kiss to his shoulder before launching into her tale, love emanating from every word as Shale and Oghren argue about whether or not to start a campfire outside.

[wildercrow]

Hello! For DWC, how about Velanna/Nathaniel with “I don’t think it’s food poisoning. We ate the same thing, and I don’t feel bad at all.”

Oh this was a delight to write, thank you for giving me an excuse to write Velanna getting cuddles!

For @dadrunkwriting​

~*~*~

Rating: Teen Characters: Velanna, Nathaniel, Anders, Sigrun, Ezekiel Surana Relationships: Velanna/Nathaniel Genre: Sickfic Word Count: 1015 Content Warnings: Nausea/vomit, Description of an anxiety attack AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34368964/chapters/89654038

~*~*~

Pain gnaws at Velanna’s abdomen as she eases herself back onto the rock she and Nathaniel have been using as a makeshift bench. She digs her fingernails into her knees in an effort to keep her hands from shaking. Hopefully the light from the campfire will distract her friends from the fact that her skin, hair, and robes are absolutely drenched in sweat. She keeps her distance from Nathaniel, hoping he doesn’t try to close the gap to cuddle this evening. Not because she doesn’t want the comfort of his touch – Creators, she would love nothing more – but because she’s embarrassed.

“Are you feeling alright, Velanna?” Anders asks from across the campfire. “That’s the third time you’ve excused yourself since dinner. It your stomach bothering you?”

“I’m fine,” she snaps, offering no further explanation.

“You’re awfully pale and sweaty for someone who’s supposedly fine,” Sigrun points out.

Velanna blanches. Her head starts to spin, though she’s not sure if she’s panicky or nauseous or both. She tightens her grip on her knees and tries to steady her breathing.

“My lady, you don’t have to suffer in silence,” Nathaniel says, placing a comforting hand on her back.

“Don’t touch me,” she hisses, immediately shrugging away from his touch. The movement jars her body and sends a lash of burning pain through her abdomen, accompanied by saliva pooling in her mouth. She swallows thickly. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Ezekiel get up and wander off wordlessly. She’s not sure if that’s reassuring or not. Her head is spinning too much to predict what he might be up to.

“My apologies,” Nathaniel says, withdrawing his hand. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No,” she growls, “because I’m—” she cuts her sentence short and clamps her teeth together as her panic and nausea crescendo. She stands and turns to try and find somewhere more private, but before she can escape she doubles over and heaves, bringing up only a thin trickle of bile that burns her already-raw throat and nose.

She feels a hand on her elbow and turns to find Ezekiel holding out a waterskin with a worried frown on his face. She glances around at all the sympathetic eyes on her and feels panic once again rising in her chest. She sniffles, swallows, and takes the waterskin before turning tail and speed walking out into the desert.

Once she’s sure she’s out of hearing range of her companions, she sits down in the still-warm sand and tries to catch her breath. She’s not sure if her ragged panting is from panic or exertion, but it only serves to aggravate her nausea. A pounding headache has joined her other symptoms, now, which is probably the only thing keeping her from crying.

Once her breathing evens out a bit, she uncorks the waterskin and takes a swig, swirling the water around to rinse her mouth before swallowing it in tiny increments, desperately hoping it won’t further aggravate her stomach. Her insides protest loudly, but she manages to keep it down.

“Velanna?” a familiar voice calls out nearby. She turns to see Nathaniel approaching. “There you are. I know you wanted to be left alone, but…” he trails off.

“Then why are you here?” she asks, her voice more sulky than angry.

“Being alone in the desert as night is falling is inadvisable under the best of circumstances,” he says, taking a seat in the sand a few feet away from her, “much less while ill.”

“I’m not ill,” she objects weakly. “It’s just… a bit of food poisoning. I’ll be better by morning.”

He responds with a skeptical hum, “I’m not sure it’s food poisoning. We all ate the same thing, but you’re the only one feeling ill.”

Which she knows, of course, but admitting that she’s sick is somehow twice as mortifying. It feels easier to just deflect blame onto Sigrun’s cooking. Especially since the dwarf has managed to give them all food poisoning… multiple times.

“Is there a particular reason you’re so averse to admitting that you’re ill?” Nathaniel raises an eyebrow.

She lets out something between a sigh and a growl, “I don’t know. It’s… embarrassing, I guess.”

“Embarrassing in what way?” he asks, his voice infuriatingly gentle.

“I…” she tries to think, but her throbbing head makes it difficult, “don’t know.”

“Well,” he says, “I don’t think you’re a bother, nor do I find you disgusting, in case either of those is your concern. It simply pains me to see someone I love suffering. That’s all.”

She’s not sure if either of those things were her concern or not – they might be, but she doesn’t feel well enough for that level of introspection. Still, his words are, bafflingly, quite comforting. Without saying anything, she scoots herself in his direction, closing the distance between them.

“May I touch you, now, my lady?” he asks.

“Alright,” she mumbles, so he reaches up to caress a soothing hand over her shoulder blades. Her muscles tense instinctively at first, flinching away from intimate contact at such a vulnerable moment. But she wills herself to relax. To accept the comfort. And once she does, she finds that the gentle touch feels… wonderful, really. Safe and cozy in a way that she’s only felt a handful of times since she lost her clan. After a few minutes, she quietly lays down with her head in his lap and curls up, closing her eyes.

“You know,” he says, smoothing his hand up and down her upper arm, “we could go back to camp and do this in a tent. Must less sand, that way.”

“Yes, and much more noise,” she retorts. “Besides, the sand is the perfect temperature this time of day. It’s like one of those… spa things you keep talking about.”

“This is hardly a spa,” he scoffs, “but if you want to lay in the sand a little longer, I won’t be the one to stop you. Just let me know when you’re ready to return to camp.”

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

[wildercrow]

Hello! ‘"Snuggling helps with a lot of things, so come here". For Ezekiel Surana/Morrigan. Thank you!

Aaaaaa thank you for giving me an excuse to write these two, I care them so much...

For @dadrunkwriting

~*~*~

Rating: General Characters: Ezekiel Surana, Morrigan Relationships: Surana/Morrigan Genre: Hurt/Comfort Word Count: 660 Content Warnings: Descriptions of anxiety, Nonspecific references to past abuse, Dragon Age Origins and Inquisition Spoilers AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34368964/chapters/87059815

~*~*~

Context Note: in this timeline, Morrigan and Ezekiel has an adopted dragonling daughter named Aednat.

~*~*~

Ezekiel awakens, sweating and gasping, to a cold spot beside him in the blankets. He’s used to the nightmares. They’ve been a constant in his life since he became a Grey Warden almost eight years ago. But it’s still hard to get back to sleep after. Burying himself in Morrigan’s arms helps, but… where is she? Her absence leaves him equal parts worried and lonely.

He takes several slow, deep breaths to still the pounding of his heart. Leans over to press a soft smooch to Kieran’s sleeping head. Rests a gentle hand on Aednat’s side and gives her head a kiss, too. Then untangles himself from the blankets and crawls out of the tent to look for his partner.

It doesn’t take him long to locate her, thankfully. She’s sitting against a crumbling wall nearby, fidgeting with the rings on her fingers and gazing out into the vast abandoned emptiness of the Crossroads. Ezekiel shuffles over to her and wordlessly takes a seat at her side, affectionately bumping his shoulder against hers.

“You should go back to sleep,” she says, her voice raw and heavy with sadness. “’Tis the middle of the night.”

He shakes his head.

“Ah. Nightmares?” she asks softly.

He nods, then signs, “You?”

“’Tis nothing. I merely needed some time to think.”

Ezekiel gives her a look that wordlessly communicates that he’s not buying it.

She sighs, moving a ring from one finger to another with a metallic clink. “You have an infuriating way of luring me into talking about my feelings, are you aware?”

He chirps at her, tilting his head expectantly.

“Yes, just like that,” she says with a wry laugh. Then she sighs again, “Do you ever worry that we cannot give our children what they need? What they deserve? Is this really all so different than what my mother gave me?” She gestures at the emptiness around them.

Ezekiel frowns. There’s so much he wants to say. He wants to tell her that there is a world of difference between this and the way her mother raised her. That Kieran and Aednat have them and each other and are so, so loved. That this is hard for all of them, but it’s not the same. That she is not her mother. But words – even signed words – are hard on the best of days, and right now he’s sleepy and still a bit shaken, so all his brain seems to be providing is a jumbled mix of pictures and emotions. So he settles for wrapping her in a tight hug and gently headbutting her jaw.

She lets out a sad huff of laughter and reaches a hand up to pat his arm, “My apologies, I… should not have brought this up now. ‘Tis not a good time.”

He pulls away and signs “Tomorrow.” It’s a statement, not a question. A promise that the topic is not dropped, merely postponed for a time when he has more words.

A ghost of a smile flickers across her lips, “Thank you, my love.”

Ezekiel smiles back, then points to the tent and signs “Snuggle?”

“I doubt snuggles can untangle this mess,” she says, leaning back against the crumbling bricks and fidgeting with her rings once more.

“No,” Ezekiel signs his agreement, “but snuggles fix lots.” He once again points towards the tent, more insistently this time.

“Alright, if you insist,” she begrudgingly stands and follows him back to the tent, where they both kiss their sleeping children before crawling back under the blankets together, Morrigan on her back and Ezekiel curling around her with his head on her chest, his arm across her belly, and a leg tangled up with hers.

Despite her protests, the snuggles appear to be a powerful antidote to Morrigan’s anxieties, because it doesn’t take her long to drift off to sleep. Ezekiel follows soon after, lulled back to sleep by the familiar rhythm of his sleeping partner’s breathing and heartbeat.