#it might be because of music I was listening to atm 😭 who am I kidding ofc it was mix of both

[icy-warden]

And OF COURSE I would also have some questions for Saskia and Nelaros if that's okay (I am still thinking about their story. It still makes me sad in a good way):

4. Their favorite physical feature on each other?

8. What are their most prominent memories of each other?

14. Is their anything they associate with each other?

15. Does their view of themselves differ from their partner’s view?

Again, choose whichever questions catch your attention or just ignore ^^ I hope you're having an amazing day! 💐💐💐

Hello, thank you for the asks 🌼💙 I'll be doing them one at a time when the inspiration strikes. Here's the first of the mini-stories for Saskia and Nelaros 😉

14. Is there anything they associate with each other?

[timeline: Saskia's story - Vigil's Keep, over three years after the Blight; Nelaros' story - somewhere in Tevinter, two years after the Blight; slight angst; implied/mentioned abuse and slavery]

For Saskia -

Saskia is sitting cross-legged on the floor, a sword over her lap when Nelaros comes in with dinner. 

“Your hair looks like pineapple.”

She put her hair up with a spare ribbon to keep it out of her face while she took care of her weapon. It might look silly but she doesn’t care.  

“What’s that?” Saskia sets her sword and cleaning cloth aside and makes room for him as he sits down next to her, a tray of food between them. Her stomach grumbles at the sight of two bowls full of soup with chunks of vegetables and meat, thick slices of freshly baked bread beside them.

“Imported fruit from Seheron. Expensive and spiky.” 

She hums, digging into her bowl without hesitation. She tries not to inhale her food but must make a poor job of it because Nelaros’ fond smile crinkles the corners of his eyes. Saskia smiles at him and grabs the bread, “They eat that pineapple?”

She asks because of what she gathers from Nelaros’ stories, Vints like to put on a display a lot, and not necessarily use things, like normal people would.

“Yes. And decorate tables with it. There are artists who make fruit arrangements for hire.” 

Saskia’s watching him as he talks, tone light and unbothered. Like it’s just a memory of the things he saw in passing and not his everyday life back then. Life of serving someone not because you get a coin for it but because you were bought to serve. 

She should be glad he made peace with the past but every time she gets a glance of his wrists something hot and ugly flares in the pit of her gut. Those uneven silky marks on his skin are a reminder of what she lost. 

Of what they lost. And found again.

But.

He accepts her scars. She should do the same for him. 

Saskia bites into the bread, eyes widening when the flavour kicks in. She swallows a mouthful, almost choking with the speed as the words tumble out, “You made this.”

Nelaros blinks, “Well, yes, no one makes fuss when I use kitchen.”

“No. No, it’s not-”

He frowns at her now, watching her struggle with words. Her hands clench and unclench, the slice of bread molding in her fist. 

“You made bread. It’s your bread.”

She sees the fallen crumbs on the floor and gasps, trying to pick them up. She’s wasting food, food he made for her. A hand on her own stops her and she looks at it through the blur, the weight and warmth of it making her still. 

“Saskia?”

“I-”

Her throat is suddenly tight but she pushes the words out, “I tried to make it when-” she rubs her eyes with the back of her hand, skin suddenly wet. “Recipe, I tried to follow it but it didn’t taste right and I tried-”

“I tried so many times and it wasn’t right. You-” 

He is much closer now and she hasn’t noticed him moving, the grey in his eyes like a silver sea of patience. Nelaros shifts and she lunges at him, wrapping arms around his back. She feels him doing the same, a shaky exhale of breath tickling her ear.

“You made bread.” She murmurs into the crook of his neck.

A choked laugh ruffles her hair. “And I’m going to make you as much as you want.”

For Nelaros -

Today the sun seems to have it for him, mercilessly beating at his back. It’s good he’s got a straw hat on his head or he’d faint a long time ago. He gets up slowly from a crouch, using a piece of cloth to wipe down the sweat from his brow. His throat feels parched. Water, he should drink some if he’d like to avoid another sudden dizzy spell. His knees protest when he stands, feeling the long hours he spent bent over in his spine. 

Nelaros looks at the progress he made at the vegetable patch, neat rows of plants already free of weeds. Only two as long ones to do and he can have a longer break. He makes his way to the well near the wall of the garden, the shade of olive trees letting him breathe a little easier when he steps under them. 

There’s two others next to the well, drinking from chipped clay mugs. Leo waves at him when he spots him, Aurelio granting him a passing glance.

He chats a little with Leo, both of them filling in the blank spots with their hands when they lack the words. His language skills are still a work in progress when it comes to casual conversation. 

Of course, the most important commands that he should always answer to have already been drilled into his brain. 

Aurelio doesn’t speak to him but when he says something too quiet for Nelaros to hear, Leo just shakes his head with a grin. They go back to work soon after, Leo’s arm around Aurelio’s shoulder as they walk and Nelaros notices Aurelio doesn't try to shake off the friendly man as hard as he could if he wanted to. 

Nelaros sighs when he brings wet cloth to his face and leaves it at his nape to cool down a bit. He shifts and something falls down from his pocket to the ground. 

His notebook. 

He’s allowed to keep it, filling it with words in Tevene and a list of things to do around the estate. 

He picks it up and a flower falls out. He squints at the bright yellow petals, seeking for damage. When he finds none he opens the notebook, searching for the page he put it this morning when he found it during work. There are other, older flowers, pressed and dried. He has so many already, he’ll run out of space soon. But he can't throw them out, not when he wants to show the collection to his wife.

Saskia.

She likes pressed flowers. He’s sure she’d like to see what he got for her, so many plants that don’t grow in Ferelden but are treated like a weed here. 

His fingers follow the fragile line of the first flower he picked up. Its purple petals are paper thin, losing its vibrant colour. He frowns. How long is it already? Two years? He remembers he saw Lyla a few months ago at the market and they talked for a moment about how the time flies by. They heard about the Blight, how it appeared and ended, the rumours about it being a fluke. She was a little rounder around her middle, the shadows under her eyes more prominent than usual. But he didn’t ask what he wanted to- 

Are you alright? How are they treating you? Who’s the father? 

- and he hasn’t seen her since then. She’s the last person he knows from back home. He hopes she’s still there, well and with a healthy baby.

He hopes everyone in Alienage is well too. 

That Saskia is well. 

He hopes that she still remembers him as he does remember her, clinging to the fading memories of her face, of her voice. 

His wedding ring was lost a long time ago. He’s not sure when or where, it was just gone.

One moment here and the next misplaced Maker knows where. 

Just like him.

Nelaros leans his head back, tipping the hat over his face. He’ll stay here for a moment longer, until the burn in the back of his eyes passes.

[Romance asks]