#if you recognize parts of this you win a prize <3 wee

[ghostwise]

Matacuervos, ch. 2 Introduction to conversational Antivan Read on AO3

The word ‘honeymoon’ was exactly the same in Antivan: luna de miel. This coincidence delighted Hamal, as did the language, which, for all its associations with his beloved, was objectively one full of poetry and art.

Why was a sleeping shrimp a cautionary tale? What did it mean if something was from the year of soup, or fresh as a lettuce? And how could he not admire the way Zevran came alive when speaking Antivan, with all its twists and turns?

He had some time; though the proposal had been spontaneous, the wedding was anything but. There were rings to procure, a chapel to settle on, and assassins to evade. Still, Hamal was in a hurry most unlike him. The mystery of that tongue beckoned him. To learn it was to learn Zevran a little better, so he set about this task immediately.

Numbers and colors first. Days of the week and directions.

Hello, goodbye, please and thank you. Love songs and lullabies. All the vital parts of the language: kiss me, come here, yes.

Terms of endearment captured him the most. He’d already learned some: Amor, corazón, mi vida. Certainly he had many of his own: Ma vhenan, emma lath, mir atish’an. But he liked Zevran’s best, because he heard them so often in that sweet voice, whispered into his ear at market, or amid a flurry of sheets and pillows.

He devoted himself to all this and more.

“You are learning quickly!” Zevran observed, Antiva City far behind them. His smile shone, like the ironbark ring Hamal had gifted him.

“I have a good teacher,” Hamal said simply with a laugh.

Equally thrilling were Zevran’s attempts at speaking Elvhen.

In Zevran’s accent, ma vhenan became something like ven ( which in Antivan meant ‘come here,’ as in, stay with me always), or something like venas (which in Antivan meant ‘veins,’ as in, you are in my blood). As Zevran might say, the interplay of their mother tongues danced.

And when the time came, he said his wedding vows in Antivan.

The process of translating the words from Elvhen to Common, then to Antivan, took he and Zevran the better part of an afternoon—but time moved slower in love, it seemed. Thank the Creators for that. And Zevran had insisted on reciprocating the gift.

In the end they were left with three copies of their wedding vows: one in their respective mother tongues, one in that awkward yet vital bridge of Common, and one in the language of their chosen homes.

A charm, like turning a ring three times to make a wish. Such excess of love and language was like spring after a cold winter.

Such was marriage.

.

Following a quick ceremony in a rural chapel, they vanished into the northern region of the country. They moved quickly, careful not to be tracked—that bloody night in Antiva City remained fresh in both their minds—but their travel involved more pleasure than it did business. They were newlyweds, after all.

There were fruits here that could never grow in Ferelden, sold in little street carts, arranged with such artful skill that it almost seemed a shame to eat them. There were shops selling hand-made sandals and ornate patterned belts, and the smell of the leather damn near made Zevran cry with joy.

Hamal felt he could lose himself in this feeling forever, and with this thought came a startling realization: that Antiva with Zevran felt more like home than Clan Sabrae without Zevran ever could.

He promptly bought Zevran the sword and leather scabbard he’d been admiring.

Every night they went to a different inn, falling into one another; effortless and joyful, the way they fit together, almost like it’d been long-rehearsed. Hamal might whisper something he’d overheard a giggling couple say on the street. Whatever it meant, it caused Zevran to fall back laughing, unable to hide the blush rising to his cheeks.

And every day brought about a new vocabulary lesson so that Hamal could more easily navigate his new home. Over their shared morning coffee, Zevran coached him in important phrases. How to trade, how to ask directions.

“No entiendo. Necesito traducción, por favor.”

“No entendo, nescito…”

“Ne-ce-sito,” Zevran said, elaborating a little. “Like ‘necessity’.”

“Right,” Hamal said, trying again. “Necesito traducción, por favor?”

He’d stumbled through many an awkward translation error, but oh, he tried. It was as much a mark of commitment as the vows they had taken together; as precious the rings that now adorned both their fingers. It was like every word Hamal learned in Antivan translated simply to I do, I do, I do.

“Just like that,” Zevran said, satisfied. “That’s my boy.”

Hamal’s smile pulled at his peeling sunburn, his eyes glinting fiercely with pride.

.

“You know, I grew up near here,” Zevran told him one morning.

He had a map rolled out on the table in front of him. On it were the beginnings of something; a nebulous sketch of the task ahead, a road neither of them knew just yet.

“Did you?” Hamal asked. “Were you born near here?”

“Here, in Rialto,” Zevran said, gesturing. “I lived there before the Crows… acquired me.”

Hamal considered Zevran’s careful choice of words; he knew what he meant, so he didn’t ask for clarification. Instead, he gave him a warm smile, gentle and encouraging.

“I would love to see it, if you’re up to visiting.”

“Perhaps. If we have the time,” Zevran said. “But really, amor , the place means very little to me. I have no childhood home, unless you count the brothel my mother worked at. I had no family there. No friends. None that would remember me, anyway.”

“Still,” Hamal said, “It is your birthplace, vhenan . That alone makes it special. Consider it a sentimental request from your husband?”

The question lingered for a moment, then Zevran rolled up the map quietly. He planted a quick kiss on Hamal’s cheek.

“That, I can do,” he said. “Besides, what better place to continue our investigation into the Crows, than where I first encountered them myself? Perhaps the Crows are still active in Rialto, gathering their recruits the same way they did back then. We ought to investigate.”

“It seems a sound approach,” Hamal murmured. His eyes slid from the map over to Zevran. “So, ma vhenan. Back to business, is it?”

Zevran paused. “Yes. I suppose so.”

That single syllable carried more weight than either of them were prepared for; it heralded the arrival of something unforeseen. A change. An end. Or a beginning.

There was no shame in flinching from it.

Zevran smoothly tossed the map aside, and turned to his husband with a smile.

“For now, let us just enjoy the last day of our honeymoon. What do you say, amor? ”

Hamal laughed. The sound bloomed in Zevran’s chest. But it was settled.

The next day, they departed for Rialto.

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

1. Always post these rules

2. Answer the questions given by the person who tagged you

3. Write 11 questions of your own

4. Tag 11 people

I was tagged by @mccoymostly​

Anna’s Eleven Questions

What’s your absolute favourite scene from any film?

Girl Power. Yo. This was actually really hard for me because there are so many great movies that I love. But this... this speaks to me, and makes my heart swell.

What’s the most terrible book you’ve ever read?

The Twilight books. Do not get me ranting about the horrible message being given to young girls about tolerating the level of abuse Edward heaps on Bella.

Star Trek NoTP, and why?

AOS for me is Chekov and pretty much anyone. Because he’s just a child in the first movie. And I get it, he’s like... 6 years older by Beyond, but he’s still a wee sweet baby in my mind, and I feel like I’d probably mother him to the point that he told me to fuck off. But yeah, no mother wants to think about her children doing it, and I totally have Chekov in my head as my wee Russian son.

The four most badass humans to ever walk the earth? If you’re feeling it, I’d love to hear your justification. ;)

Can we talk about how fucking badass Marie Curie was? First woman to win a nobel prize. Only woman to win it twice. Died of radiation sickness from all the research. But did you also know she developed mobile x-ray units for use in field hospitals in WWI? She was seriously badass.

How about Roberta Bondar - first Canadian woman astronaut. Joined Discovery in 1992. She is an MD, and has a PhD in neuroscience. Prior to becoming an astronaut, she worked at Nasa for years, studying the effects of space on astronauts. She’s also an accomplished photographer, and runs a non-profit about environmental issue. The kind of woman I want my daughter to aspire to being.

Jesus, Anna. Asking for 4...

Trota of Salerno - it’s questionable whether she existed. However, if she did, she was most certainly badass. She was a noted physician in the 12th century, and taught at the fames Salerno school of medicine (considered THE medical school in the 12th century). She LITERALLY wrote the book on women’s medicine in the 12th century, long before barber-surgeons took over the care of women. But she wasn’t just as midwife - she was a fully recognized as a physician, which was as important a distinction then as it is now (but midwives got more respect in the 12th C than they do now)

Hildegarde of Bingen - a nun, a healer, a little bit crazy. Some of her treatments are currently in clinical trials in Germany. And they are WORKING. And changing the way we view holistic approach to medical care.

The fictional character you identify most with, and why?

Anne Shirley. At the base, we’re Canadian redheads. But it’s more than than. Anne was a daydreamer, a writer, a romantic realist. And early feminist - she rejected a number of wedding proposals in order to pursue what she loved, and only chose to get married after being assured her beloved respected every part of her. 

If you could hang out with one person for a day, living or dead, who would you pick, and why?

This is a person who has actually existed? It’s difficult. I want my Mum back for one day, but the heartache that would come with it? I don’t know if I could do that. I’d love another day with my Poppa, who was also stolen too soon by cancer. The frivolous side of me would love a play-date-adventure-day with Chris Evans, or Karl Urban. Or a family picnic day with RDJ and his family and my family.

What character, from any source, do you think gives the best kisses, and why?

Gilbert Blythe. Because he was the first man I ever wanted to kiss. 

Who is your favorite artist (any medium; this can be interpreted broadly), and why? 

They both sound so cliché, but Picasso and Van Gogh.

The way Van Gogh used brush strokes to show movement...

What’s your favourite theoretical crossover? In other words, what characters, from different fandoms, would you like to see interact, or who would you like to see thrown into a different universe? I hope this question makes sense, guys.

Guardians of the Galaxy and Star Trek. Or the Avengers and Star Trek. I think Tony and Bones would initially hate one another, but then realize they’re similarly broken, and fall in to being best buddies.

Who is your favourite iconic scientist, and which of their contributions do you find most significant?

Probably Carl Sagan. Because he made science and space understandable, and attainable. 

If you could remake any movie, in any way you want, what movie would you pick, and what would you change? 

I honestly can’t think of one off the top of my head. Maybe I would ditch the ENTIRE script of Into Darkness, and make a completely different better movie?

Bonus, because Anna lives to break rules

If you could make any contribution to any field (cure any illness, make any discovery, invent any technology, write any book or create any art, be remembered for anything), what would it be, and why?

Well.. curing cancer would be nice...

I’m going to have to come up with my 11 questions while I’m at work.