#its loving dad varric hours | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

morfinwen · 6 years

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28, 37, 41, 43, 44, and 50 for all OCs :)

RIP anyone on mobile, here’s a “read more” for the rest of you:

28 - What are some of their guilty pleasures?

Reagan - Dumb phone games, some she’ll download just to play once then remove forever.

Chris - Action paperbacks, the kind with paper-thin characters, plots that fall apart if you think about them for more than two seconds, villains as realistic as a Saturday morning cartoon, etc.

Angie - Her abiding love for the Disney movies she watched as a child goes beyond what most adults will admit to. She wore out her old video cassette of Cinderella, and takes very good care of the stuffed Winnie-the-Pooh bear she’s had since she was a baby.

Neal - There’s this one soap opera he’s kept up on since he was nine years old. No one can know.

Elarin - She loves cheesy pop love ballads. No matter how ridiculous or sappy they are, if it's got a catchy tune, she’ll be humming it under her breath for weeks. HK-47 confirms this was a trait she had even back in her “terror of the galaxy” days, which has led to some interesting mental images for both Elarin and her friends.

Meaghan - She has a collection of various animal figurines she’s collected from all over the place, from all different manufacturers and planets. Most of them are brightly colored and made of cheap materials, almost none of them are realistic. About the only thing all of them have in common, besides being goofy imitations of animals, is that she likes the way they feel in her hands.

Leah - Fancy Lads Snack Cakes. So sugary you can feel your teeth rot when you bite into one. So packed full of preservatives they’ve lasted as long as she’s been alive (which also means most of them are at least slightly irradiated). Whenever she finds a box somewhere, though, she’ll pick it up and hide it somewhere, for when she’s having a bad day.

Avery - There have been various incidents across Kirkwall that have occurred suspiciously close to times and places Avery and Varric were left unattended for lengthy periods of time. Avery doesn’t regret a single shenanigan, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to admit her involvement to Aveline.

Ash - If, hypothetically speaking, Ash ever watched a romcom or chick flick -- which, given the general low quality of many of those types of films, he is definitely not likely to ever do -- he would only do it somewhere private, where if some part of the movie might by happenstance make him tear up, he could keep his emotions to himself and not have to deal with the judgment and opinions of others. All purely hypothetical. You have no evidence.

Lanzo - Reality TV. It’s ridiculous and melodramatic and over the top and not realistic in the slightest, but he can get sucked into watching it for hours. What else is he going to do during the daylight hours?

Connie - Chasing sticks. It’s not fetch, it’s more like catch. With himself.

Aidan - Musicals. Even the silly ones with pointless plots and unbelievable characters.

Nate - He used to love Skittles.

Q - Some animated show that he watched a lot of when he was a kid. Absolutely refuses to speak of it to anyone. He has copies of his favorite episodes saved on his laptop in a password-protected folder with a misleading name, just to make sure no one learns about it.

Niner - Yarn. It’s not that werecats have anything against yarn -- many of them are just as entranced by it as Niner -- but batting a ball of colorful yarn around on the floor is not part of Niner’s image.

Amanda - Self-describes her drinking habits as a quest to replace all internal fluids with Coca-Cola.

Ian - Twinkies. He knows they’re terrible for him, but it’s a road trip necessity. He had a minor freak out when Hostess went bankrupt and they stopped being sold for several months.

Lauren - The occasional cigarette, when she is extra stressed or angry and nothing else will calm her down. If she's particularly self-controlled, one pack will last two weeks. She is usually not quite that self-controlled.

Kira - An older teen romance werewolf movie. She knows it’s dumb, but the lead male is just. The cutest. The dreamiest eyes. His smile. His hair ...

Darcy - Chocolate covered marshmallow cookies. Dipped in peanut butter.

Susanna - Susanna is too young to have guilty pleasures. If she likes something, she likes it, and refuses to be ashamed about it.

37 - Do they like glitter?

Reagan - It doesn’t bother her, but no.

Chris - Giving someone a card with glitter on it is one of Chris’ ways of getting petty revenge on people who haven’t done anything bad enough to merit serious comeuppance. He’ll always add a little extra, in such a way that the recipient won’t notice beyond “wow, there’s a lot of glitter on this card”.

Angie - Not particularly.

Neal - No.

Elarin - Not usually, but sometimes a girl just needs to feel sparkly.

Meaghan - Doesn’t care either way.

Leah - Sure, in small doses.

Avery - I don’t think they have glitter in Ferelden. If they did, she’d love it, but mostly for petty revenge like Chris.

Ash - Ugh. No.

Lanzo - He has a glittery tiara that says “DIVA” that he wears sometimes when he's drunk. When he’s sober, its tendency to get everywhere irritates the heck out of him.

Connie - No.

Aidan - Eh.

Nate - No.

Q - No.

Niner - Won’t ever admit it, but has a certain fascination with anything shiny or sparkly.

Amanda - When she was younger, she did. Nowadays she’s just slightly more likely to buy a glittery card than the average person.

Ian - He would, except he seems to have extraordinarily bad luck with it.

Lauren - With as many siblings as she had, there was always something leaving glitter everywhere when she was growing up, so she’s developed a dislike of it.

Kira - Yes.

Darcy - No.

Susanna - No interest.

41 - Have they ever broken a bone?

Reagan - Once, broke her arm falling out of a tree.

Chris - A few, while playing sports.

Angie - Never.

Neal - If asked, Neal might talk about the one time he got his collarbone broken while playing football in junior high. He will not mention the other times he had a broken bone in his childhood. His parents get angry with him when he talks about those.

Elarin - Considering all the violent conflicts she’s been involved in, she’s suffered serious injury on multiple occasions, but even without amnesia she couldn’t tell you offhand how many of them involved broken bones.

Meaghan - Same.

Leah - Pre-War, she broke a couple fingers playing sports. Post-War … she lost count a long time ago.

Avery - A few. She also leads a conflict-heavy life, but she keeps to the back and lets her better-armored friends take the charge.

Ash - Slipped and broke his ankle one winter. Most boring winter of his life.

Lanzo - Not since becoming a vampire. Vampires can break bones, but it’s significantly less likely.

Connie - No. Werewolves are also tougher than humans.

Aidan - Phoenixes, on the other hand, have light bones that break more easily. The longest he’s gone without breaking something is eight months. (Fortunately, phoenixes also have methods of healing faster).

Nate - Broke his left arm once, and his left leg on a different occasion. The latter event was the one that put an end to his skateboarding/rollerblading days and kickstarted his interest in video games.

Q - He’s suffered a lot of batterings, thanks to riding a bike professionally -- mostly scrapes and minor cuts, but also more than his fair share of broken bones, he’s sure.

Niner - Probably not? When asked, she claims not to know what bones are, and shows no interest in learning. Q is 88% sure she’s joking, but … it’s Niner.

Amanda - Once, broke her leg very badly during an investigation.

Ian - Once, in college. He got lost on his way to class, and thought he was walking down a different set of stairs on the other side of campus -- ones that didn’t require you to be as mindful of where you put your feet.

Lauren - Answered.

Kira - Broke her collarbone once.

Darcy - No.

Susanna - Two fingers, one toe, her ankle, and one hairline fracture in her arm. Considering how much energy Susanna puts into doing everything, it might be a bit surprising she hasn’t broken more.

43 - Have they ever drunk underage?

Reagan - As a small child, she wanted to try her aunt’s wine. Janet figured allowing her a taste would put her off of it for a while, and it did. Reagan never drank again for years, until some very determined coworkers convinced her to accompany them to a bar after work.

Chris - He was at a few parties in high school where there was drinking going on, but he never had any himself.

Angie - Nope. No interest, no opportunities.

Neal - His dad’s idea of “male bonding” was making his twelve-year-old drink an entire can of beer while watching old videos of him playing high school football. Neal threw up shortly afterward, which did nothing to improve his relationship with his father, but it did mean he never “wasted” his beer making Neal drink it again.

Elarin - Never really had the opportunity, and wouldn’t have taken it if she had.

Meaghan - Ditto.

Leah - Someone spiked the punch at one school party Leah attended her sophomore year of high school. Before she’d had more than half a cup, her not-yet-boyfriend Nate warned her about it, and offered to see her home, as the friends she’d come with were not put off by the spiked punch.

It was a warm spring evening, so they walked home very, very slowly, talking about everything going on in the world and what they hoped to do to change things for the better.

Avery - I’m not sure if Ferelden has a drinking age. If it does, then no, but not for want of trying -- so many adults seemed to love alcohol so much, young Avery just wanted to know why, but the mean bartender never let her try any.

Ash - Nope. His dad took him to his favorite local pub shortly after Ash’s twenty-first birthday, and gave him a lot of advice on the topic.

Lanzo - If the concept of minors even existed when Lanzo was born, it was a very different understanding. He grew up drinking alcoholic beverages with pretty much every meal.

Connie - Disliking the taste of alcohol and/or being more susceptible to it are not so common among werewolves as to be a distinctive trait, but for some reason are more likely to be true of the average werewolf than the average human. For this reason, among others, there wasn’t much peer pressure or opportunity for underage drinking.

As an adult, Connie’s tried a variety of different drinks, all of which taste vile to him.

Aidan - No underage drinking, though he did visit a couple speakeasies during Prohibition.

Nate - A little in college, mostly just a friend offering him a taste of theirs. Once at a party he picked up someone’s mixed drink by accident and drank the entire thing. Apparently, Nate’s a great dancer once he loosens up a little.

Q - Not by British standards.

Niner - Werecats leave their immediate families when they reach physical maturity, usually in their early teens, and will travel for a while with others of the same age. One of the other werecats in Niner’s group discovered an abandoned bottle of whiskey on the side of the road, and gave it a try. His reaction was so strong everyone else in the group had to give it a try as well. None of them liked it.

Amanda - For a short period of her teenage years, Amanda rebelled against the strict rules and high expectations of her mother by engaging in various transgressive acts, such as sneaking into bars with fake ID and attending parties where alcohol was available. She was very careful never to get drunk, as she knew there would be serious consequences if her mother ever found out.

Ian - He accidentally drank some of his dad’s beer once as a kid. Like Reagan, it was enough to put him off of it for years. He tolerates some mixed drinks, but he’s still not super-fond of alcohol.

Lauren - She was raised Catholic, so she had wine with her first Communion in grade school. Apart from that, her parents permitted their children to have a single glass of wine at dinner on certain special occasions, once they were double-digits. Like most of her siblings, Lauren didn’t like the taste of it, but it made her feel very grown-up to ask for some. There was also a lot of competitiveness between the siblings, so once one had a glass, all the rest had to have it too, lest they be “shown up” by the others.

Kira, Darcy, Susanna - Nope.

44 - What is the first thing they do when they wake up?

Reagan - Check her phone.

Chris - He has a whole system that starts with getting up, making the bed, getting dressed, brushing his teeth, making breakfast …

Angie - Opens a window.

Neal - Wakes up gradually to the smell of coffee -- sets his coffee maker to start automatically in the mornings.

Elarin - Goes back to whatever she was doing before someone made her go to bed.

Meaghan - Meditates.

Leah - Helps whomever is making breakfast, or starts it if no one else has.

Avery - Mornings are difficult for Avery, so once she’s awake she just lays in bed for a while, until she feels better or something forces her to get up.

Ash - Makes tea and goes outside to watch the sunrise.

Lanzo - Has a drink.

Connie - Showers, if he has to work. Picks up the nearest book and leafs through it until he's fully awake, if he doesn't.

Aidan - If it’s rainy, and it usually is, he’ll get up, get dressed, and find some breakfast. On the rare occasions it’s sunny, goes outside, climbs onto the roof, and watches the sunrise for as long as he can.

Nate - Doesn’t sleep anymore. Back when he did, he would check his phone first.

Q - It takes him a while to fully wake up, so some mornings the first thing he does once he’s awake is make tea, other mornings he’s halfway on his way to work before he can be considered “awake”.

Niner - Food is the only thing on Niner’s mind when she wakes up.

Amanda - She uses the radio for an alarm, and her preferred daytime radio program starts a half hour before she has to get going, so she’ll lie in bed and just listen, letting herself wake up more gradually.

Ian - Wakes up to his alarm, hits the snooze button one too many times, gets up in a panic and drinks as much coffee as he can before leaving for work.

Lauren - Takes a cold shower.

Kira - Bury her head under her pillow, groan, then very reluctantly get up.

Darcy - Get dressed.

Susanna - Run downstairs for breakfast.

50 - Are they good at remembering significant dates? Anniversaries, birthdays etc?

Reagan - She’s not terrible at remembering. Whether she’ll do anything for it is a different matter.

Chris - Yes, but he’s not above getting it wrong or ignoring it if he feels it’s called for.

Angie - Always. In fact, there have been occasions where Angie has recognized a significant date for someone in her social circle and honored it appropriately without that person having any recollection of telling of her that such a date even existed, let alone when it was.

Neal - For the people he cares about, yes. Otherwise, probably not.

Elarin - Dates of personal importance, to her or those close to her, yes -- though mostly by setting up alerts to remind her and other, more subconscious methods. Otherwise she has trouble remembering what day it is.

Meaghan - She’s pretty good at remembering, unless something very serious comes up to distract her.

Leah - She’s good at remembering the actual date, but between all her responsibilities, the incredibly low likelihood of coming across any accurate calendars, and the fact that the Commonwealth’s weather patterns have changed a lot since she was growing up, she might not realize an important date has come up.

Avery - For Avery, recognizing the occasion is more important than getting the date absolutely right, but she is decent at recalling dates, and she makes a point for those to whom getting the date right is important.

Ash - As soon as he learns about an important date for someone who’s more than a casual acquaintance, he writes it down in his personal calendar/address book. You would really have to work to aggravate him enough not to send you a birthday card, once you’re in the book.

Lanzo - Yes, but after this much time, he occasionally mixes up what day is important to what person. Especially awkward when he confuses someone in the house’s birthday with the birthday of, say, one of his wives.

Connie - With a little effort, he can. He has a calendar with every important birthdate written down on it.

Aidan - Nope!

Nate - He remembers all important dates for his immediate family, and a few for his extended family. Otherwise, not really.

Q - Yes. Not really a benefit to him at present, seeing as most of the significant dates he remembers are for his ex-girlfriend and terrible aunt and uncle.

Niner - Vaguely aware of approaching holidays. Otherwise, can’t even tell what day of the week it is, or even what the days of the week are. She’s almost certain “Wednesday” isn’t a real word.

Amanda - She tries, but she gets so involved in her work that it can slip her mind until it’s too late. She really does put in an effort for her closest friends and family.

Ian - Answered.

Lauren - The only important dates she can really remember are those of her family and Ian’s family.

Kira - She only has to hear it once to remember it. Now if only that worked for her history tests …

Darcy - Has been known to forget when his own birthday is, so that would be a no.

Susanna - Not particularly, though she has on multiple occasions surprised people by remembering an important date they were sure she’d forgotten.

Long enough for you? Thanks for asking, though! Still fun working through these. Most of these, anyway. (Poor Neal ... )

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cedarmoons · 7 years

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@playwithdinos wanted some dad solas (specifically, solas holding his child for the first time), so i naturally gave her sad dad solas. contains mention of abortion and lots of solas angst. future dad solas things in this verse should be happier, i promise. (;﹏;)

She takes him out to the gardens at twilight. It’s the time of day where there’s still daylight, but the cold of night is settling in, just chilly enough to chase everyone else indoors. Solas, for his part, had cast a warmth charm over them, so she does not need more than her usual tunic and leathers when they venture hand-in-hand outside.

She leads him to the gazebo, moving with a familiar nervous energy. She’d moved the same way when she approached him for a dance in Halamshiral, and in the immediate aftermath of their first kiss. The sight is endearing, arresting, and Solas cannot help but smile as she sits him down and joins him, their knees pressing together.

She inhales, sharply, and takes one of his hands in hers. “I don’t know how to tell you this,” she says, and presses his hand against her stomach, “but, um, I’m pregnant.”

Solas’s smile vanishes. Common sense keeps him from pulling away, but madness keeps his hand where she’d placed it. She begins to ramble, something about a tea, another nervous habit, but he does not listen as he should.

Instead, he stares at the curve of her stomach under her hand—could it be? No, no, it was nothing. Not if she had just discovered it. But, how, how, he had ensured his seed would not take—had the magic faded during uthenera? Possible. He had not checked. He had not thought he needed to check. Fool, stupid idiot fool, he should have checked, he should have been thorough, he should not have taken it for granted, of course it had faded, ceased to be, with the Veil and thousands of years passing, of course of course fool idiot—

“Solas?” Her fingers brush against his cheek, and he looks up. She is wide-eyed, alarmed, and he inanely focuses on her brow, still marred with some strange version of Mythal’s vallaslin. His mouth is dry, and he can only think of the relentless call of the dinan’shiral.

He can sacrifice his heart. He can sacrifice his friends. He can sacrifice this world, for the People.

But, but—a child—his own—his own child—their child—children, perhaps?—

She cups his face in her hands, and her warmth brings him back. He lifts his gaze to hers, and she smiles, but the worry does not leave her eyes. “Solas. Solas, breathe.”

Oh.

He’s hyperventilating.

She presses her forehead to his and closes her eyes, breathing deeply. He closes his eyes as well, trying not to think of what this means, what it cannot mean, and focuses on her. Her presence. Her warmth. Her steady, deep breaths. Her hands, grounding. He mimics her breaths, inhaling until his lungs strain, then exhaling in a rush. He breathes until it does not feel as though the weight of his duty will drown him.

“Say something, arasha,” she says, pulling back and leaving him bereft.

He opens his mouth and looks at his hand, spread over her stomach. “Ah… Congratulations.”

She does not reply. He looks up and sees that her mouth has fallen open, and her eyebrows risen impossibly high on her forehead. “Solas.” She blinks, gracing him with a small, playful smile that breaks his heart. “It’s yours.”

He swallows. “Of course,” he manages.

She laughs outright, brow furrowing, eyes alight with affection and bemusement. “That’s a very… odd way of reacting to the news that you’re going to be a father, Solas.” The playfulness fades from her features, and her eyes darken. “It’s still early,” she says. “There are… brews I can take. To get rid of it.”

His mouth goes dry. “It is your choice,” he manages, though his stomach churns at the thought of the fragile light within her extinguishing. I have no right, he thinks, none at all. It would only spare us both more pain. It would be kinder, in the long run.

“I know it is. But you seem reluctant about this, and I refuse to raise our child alone. I won’t subject them to that.”

Our child. The words thrill within him, lightening the weight of the dinan’shiral pressing upon his shoulders.

He wants to ask her, You think I would leave? but knows that she rightly holds her suspicions. Once the orb is retrieved, he will leave her. He will… he will abandon her, and their child. It will be agony, but he will do it. The People need him more.

He looks down at his hands, clasped loosely in his lap. “They will not be alone,” he whispers. “You have the Inquisition. The child will be well loved.”

Her fingers brush against his chin, lifting his head, making him face her. “I grew up without a father, Solas,” she says, softly. “I don’t want that for them.”

When he says nothing, she whispers, “You truly intend to leave, after Corypheus?”

Solas turns his face away, shamed, and closes his eyes. He cannot tell her. He cannot confess his indecision. Better to let her think him already gone, better to give her a chance to recover—a second time, he thinks, hating himself all the more—than give her false hope.

Ariala sighs, and he feels her lips press against his cheek. They linger, and the urge to turn and kiss her, to hold her close, is so powerful it almost overwhelms him. “Then I wish you safe travels, arasha,” she whispers. “Remember, you can always come home to me.”

Solas watches her walk away. When she is gone, he presses trembling fingers to his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut to keep tears at bay.

A child.

No.

Please.

No.

She comes to his rotunda a week later. Even the sight of her makes his heart race. Solas tucks his hands under the desk, concealing their finite trembles. “I’m not taking the tea,” she tells him, a determined set to her jaw. “I thought you deserved to know. In case that changes anything.”

The last phrase is spoken softly, her tone almost hopeful. His mouth goes dry. They watch each other, silent, for several long moments. His hands are shaking under the desk.

“Thank you for telling me,” he whispers, even as he knows, he knows it cannot change anything.

When she is gone, he makes no sound as he stands, leaves the rotunda, and navigates the Great Hall to his private chamber. It is bare of any personal trinkets, save his journal and charcoal; the dresser meant for his clothing is half-empty.

Solas sits and buries his face in his shaking hands. He thinks of his other children, so long ago buried with the rest of his People: Thenaera, Soran, Viera. Thenaera had favored him most, with her reddish-brown hair and the color of her eyes. Soran had been cursed to bear his nose, but had a wit sharper than his father’s and designed some of the grandest buildings in the empire. Viera, fiercest of them all and the spitting image of her mother, his lieutenant and right hand, the first to have her vallaslin removed by his hands. All superficial details, in the end.

He cannot remember the sound of their laughter. He cannot remember the shape of their faces, the sound of their voices, their fears or their hopes or their grandest desires. Five, six hundred years he’d had with them—and this newest, brightest light in his life would not even last a tenth of that.

Because of him.

Again, his own child would die by his own hand; either by the world he has created, or by the world he seeks to restore. Fate, if it exists, is truly cruel.

Solas laughs until his shoulders shake, until his laughter turns to tears. He wonders if he is cursed—and then he thinks, I would deserve it.

Corypheus attacks when Ariala is four months pregnant. She does not face him alone.

The entire Inner Circle joins her side. Solas never strays far from her; he allows Dorian and Vivienne to handle the offensive magic, and he simply focuses on maintaining the barriers. Corypheus may have stood a chance against a smaller group, but even with the orb and his dragon, he is destroyed within an hour.

It is… actually somewhat underwhelming.

Solas watches as the orb flies to Ariala’s palm, as she summons its power and uses the Anchor to destroy Corypheus, and rend him to ashes in the wind. She lifts her Marked hand, head thrown back, the wind of the mountains buffeting them all. She remains steady, though, and Solas watches as a column of green erupts from the orb, shooting up into the reopened Breach.

When the rocks fall, he is unprepared. The boulder he is standing on collides with the mountainside, and he loses his balance, landing hard on his hands and knees. His staff rolls off the edge of the ruptured earth and into the sky below, and Solas can do nothing but close his eyes and brace for the impact.

When it does, the collision shudders through him, jamming his bones together and causing small rocks from the mountainside to shower across his back. When the shaking world lies still, he pushes himself up on his arms, blinking through the haze of dust and rock to see others doing the same. Dorian. Cassandra. Varric.

He does not see Ariala, and his heart leaps into his throat, a panic so visceral it blocks out his pain.

It is a ten-minute search, but when he finally sees Ariala, standing and being supported by a steady-armed Iron Bull, the sheer relief of seeing her alive and well brings tears to his eyes. He crosses the space separating them with seven long strides, holding her face between his hands and capturing her mouth. The taste of her is so sweet, and the pulse of life under his hands even sweeter. She sways against him, her hands gripping his tunic, and he pulls away to press his forehead against hers.

Bull has disappeared; he does not know where he went, nor does he care. All that matters is her. “You are well?” he asks, and she nods, tears tracking through the dust on her face. He wipes the wetness from her skin, smearing his thumb with dust, and dares to whisper, “And the child?”

“They’re fine,” she assures him. “Bull cushioned me from the fall.”

Solas’s exhale is harsh, wet, and he presses harder against her, his fingers combing through her messy bun, undoing its half-undone twists with a few gestures. Her hair spills down her back, thick and soft, and he holds her close.

It is not until after the euphoria and adrenaline wear off, that he remembers the orb. He delivers her into the care of Dorian and the Iron Bull—he will have to thank him, properly, but his mind is too preoccupied to think of such a thing now—and begins a new, far more discreet search.

He finds the orb at the base of a skeletal ruin, a leftover from the Temple of Sacred Ashes, cracked in half and empty of all power. An instinctive “no” rushes out of him, and he finds himself kneeling before the orb, the last hope for the People’s restoration.

It was not supposed to happen this way.

What could he do? What could he do? He had no power, no way to strengthened his anemic state, no possible avenue—he thinks of a withered woman with golden eyes, the eyes of the Mother, and stills. He could go to her, take what was needed and provide what she needed as well. An alternate path, but still the dinan’shiral. It would be enough to start on the path, at least.

But—

There is a home, back in the mountains. A woman who loves him, and whom he loves in return. Friends who care for him, who laugh with him and bet against him.

A child.

But the People, he thinks, despairing.

He hangs his head, driving the heels of his palms into his eyes. Forgive me, he thinks, and rises slowly. He glances ahead, toward the mountains, toward the dinan’shiral and salvation of the People, and turns to walk back to Skyhold.

He packs his bedroll several times, all in the dead of night, whenever his thoughts of duty drive him to action and from the warmth of her side. Each time, he looks up to see Ariala curled up in the bed, her hair the only visible thing from underneath the covers, and sees the impression of her belly underneath the covers.

Each time, he weighs what he has lost with what he has; each time, cowardice has him slip under the covers and wrap around her; each time, shame at his weakness heats his cheeks, a heavy burden he does not know how to cast from his shoulders.

The last time he tries to bring himself to leave, Ariala shifts in her sleep, murmuring nonsense under her breath, and the covers shift down, covering her hips but exposing everything else. Her stomach is rounded with child, the pale lines stretching across her skin turned silver by the moonlight, and his heart trembles at the sight.

He leaves his bedroll where it is and walks to her side, kneeling carefully, until he can press his lips to her skin and flatten his palm over the curve of her belly. “Ir abelas,” he whispers, closing his eyes. It was for the best. It would be kinder in the long run, if they did not know their father, if he focused on making a better world for them—

The child kicks, and tears spill down his cheeks. His next exhale is soft and wet, rasping.

Damn my cowardice, he thinks.

He does not try to leave again.

He wakes, many months later, to Ariala’s shocked gasp. It’s still dark, still, and cold, an early morning in Firstfall. “Solas,” she gasps, and the panic in her voice has him sitting up, instantly awake. “Solas, the baby’s coming.”

His heart thuds, painfully, under his breastbone. “Are you sure?” he asks, and she nods, her hand going to her swollen stomach. She hisses again, hands traveling lower, pressing against her lower abdomen. He kisses her temple, sends a swathe of soothing magic, to ease her aches, and gets out of bed. “I will fetch the midwife.”

Though it must be early in the morning—the third hour, if the moon is any indication—the news spreads quickly, once the labor begins in earnest. Though Solas had not spoken to anyone, and the elven midwife they’d chosen is discreet, Ariala’s screams are loud enough to wake everyone by dawn.

He stays with her until, in a short, blessed pause between contractions, Ariala sags against the pillows, sweatsoaked, and releases her death grip. Solas flexes his hand, subtly, between his legs where she cannot see. “Arasha,” she sighs, eyes clouded by pain, “please, go eat.”

“I will not leave you,” Solas assures her, and another contraction hits before she can reply. Ariala curls over herself, her throat gone raw from screaming, and Solas offers her his good hand.She takes it and squeezes, tightly enough that the bones in his hand ache in protest.

“Go eat,” she croaks again, once the contraction passes. Solas does not move, and her eyes narrow. “Fine, go get me something to eat. And tell the others what’s going on. They’re probably outside.” The midwife echoes her concern—’tis good for you, ser, and she’s doing well enough—and, finally, he is forced from the room.

The entire inner circle is waiting outside her door, as she’d predicted. Sera is half-asleep, but she jumps up as soon as Solas closes the door, just as Ariala starts screaming again. He has to fight his urge to rush back to her side, to soothe the contractions, and hold her close.

It never gets easier, this anxious waiting.

“She is well,” Solas says. “The midwife says she is doing well. She needs food.”

They all nod, and it takes him some time to push past the court and the advisors, everyone who wonders about the state of the Inquisitor. It takes him even longer to ask the cook for a simple, filling meal—he paces in the kitchen, thinking of Ariala and their child (how his heart pounds)—and the cook kicks him out of the kitchen, telling him a servant will bring up the food immediately, once it’s ready.

When he returns to the hall outside, it is empty-handed. No one has moved; Dorian has his head in his hands, sitting at the base of the door. They all glance up at Solas’s arrival, and he feels his heart catch in his throat. “Any news?” he asks. Dorian shakes his head, minutely.

As Solas crosses the hall, placing his hand on the doorknob, a new sound fills the air—the piercing wail of an infant.

His heart begins to race, so hard he feels lightheaded. He is not even aware of throwing open the door and running up the stairs, rounding the stone banister to see Ariala lying flat on her back, heaving for breath, and the midwife with her back to Solas, murmuring, “That’s it, Your Worship.”

Ariala’s eyes slide over to Solas, and she lifts a hand toward him, weakly. He is there in an instant, sitting at her side, clutching her hand between his. He kisses the backs of her knuckles, and she squints at him. “Where’s my food?”

Solas laughs and presses his forehead against hers, relishing in the tackiness of her sweat on his skin. She is alive, she is alive, she is alive. “On its way,” he murmurs, and her fingertips brush against his. When he pulls away, he holds her hand almost as tightly as she had gripped his in her labor. She licks her cracked lips, and Solas lifts the half-empty glass of water, bringing it to her lips. She drains it in seconds.

The babe cries again, a shrill, piercing sound, one he has not heard for thousands upon thousands of years. He turns back to see the midwife rocking the babe, wiping off blood from its skin. Their child is wet, and shriveled, and red, but beautiful.

“A girl, Your Worship,” says the midwife. Solas’s breath catches in his throat. A girl. He had told her he would love a boy no less, but he had missed having a daughter. He—he had missed being a father.

A lump wells in his throat, and he kisses the backs of Ariala’s knuckles again.

“Give her,” Ariala says, too exhausted to even finish her sentence. The midwife complies, and as their daughter nurses, she tends to the afterbirth. Solas cannot keep his eyes off their daughter. She is still red, and wrinkled from the womb, but there are wisps of black hair on her scalp, and she has the exact shade of brown eyes as her mother.

She continues to cry until she finds Ariala’s nipple, and Ariala sighs as she relaxes once more into the pillows. She is sweaty, undoubtedly sore, but her lips are curled in a smile of contentment. Solas curls against her side, resting his chin on her shoulder, watching their daughter. He lifts a hand, running it down her back, and presses a kiss to her clavicle as he watches their child.

“Look at her,” Ariala murmurs, voice soft with awe. “I made that. All me.”

Solas laughs. Their daughter whimpers as she nurses, brown eyes falling shut, and—though perhaps it is too early to tell—Solas thinks she has his nose.

Ir abelas, da’len.

He cannot stop himself from reaching down, brushing a fingertip down her soft cheek. A wrinkled hand flies up, stretching out small, delicate fingers, and her eyes open wide, regarding the world with bewilderment. She whimpers, and Solas hushes her, gently. “Poor thing,” he whispers, words muffled against Ariala’s shoulder.

Ariala huffs. “Poor thing?” she asks, quirking her eyebrows at him. “Excuse me, was she the one who just spent sixteen hours in labor?”

Solas laughs until his belly aches, and Ariala joins him, shoulders shaking as she tries not to jostle the babe. Solas leans forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Poor thing,” he murmurs, and she turns her head to kiss him properly.

When they part, it is the most natural thing in the world to rest his forehead against hers. She closes her eyes, sighing. The midwife quietly lets herself out, but Solas barely pays attention; his entire world has shrunk to two people, the two beloved halves of his heart.

Their daughter calms, afterward, and Ariala’s gentle rocking lulls her to sleep. “Want to hold her?” Ariala asks, and Solas’s breath catches when he holds out his arms, gently taking her from his heart. It has been some time, but the gestures are old, etched into the memory of his body; he supports her head, her fragile neck, and holds the feather-light weight of her in both of his hands. He holds her as he had held Thenaera, Soran, Viera, so long ago.

Spit bubbles in the corner of her mouth as she sleeps, and—she is so, so beautiful.

I almost left you. He glances at Ariala. I almost left you both.

He blinks. Twin tears run down his cheeks, soon followed by more, but he does not bother to wipe them away. “Solas,” Ariala laughs, her hand coming up to brush them away. Solas leans forward, and she meets him halfway, their foreheads pressing together. A familiar act, now, but no less comforting. No less intimate.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too,” she murmurs back, lifting her hands to cradle his face between her palms. She leans forward and kisses his tears away. “What’s wrong, arasha?”

“Nothing,” Solas says. “Nothing is wrong, vhenan.”

And for once, it is not a lie.

He does not leave the room for another half-hour, until he is certain both mother and child are resting comfortably. The Inner Circle has remained where he left them; Vivienne had had a chaise brought in, and she is leisurely reading a treatise where others—Cassandra and Cullen—pace restlessly or sit on the floor, as Sera does.

When he enters the corridor, though, all actions cease, and the hall is filled with voices, shouting questions. Solas lifts his hands, unable to stop his smile, and soon his companions—no, his friends—quiet.

“A girl, huh?” Varric asks, breaking the silence first. He is grinning. “Congratulations, Chuckles.”

“How’s Quizzy?” Sera asks. “She good?”

Solas’s smile widens. “Thank you, Master Tethras. Ariala is well, Sera, thank you. My friends.” He swallows, hard. “My friends, thank you for waiting. The baby is sleeping, for now. Ariala is resting, but she told me that you are all allowed upstairs, so long as you all swear to be quiet.”

There’s a litany of agreement, and Solas tilts his head.

“Well, then.” His smile widens. “Come meet Rhona.”

#solavellan #dad solas #do i know anything about babies or pregnancy or childbirth?#no #will i write about them anyway? HELL YES #fic #ariala lavellan

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dragonagecompanions · 7 years

Note

DA:I companions (and advisors, if you feel like it) react to an Inquisitor with a young child from a previous relationship? (The other parent is not relevant to the Inquisitor anymore) Romance please, if you can, thank you!

Sorry for the lack of updates on my end. Life has been hectic the past 2 weeks. Ranging from job interviews and getting community service hours to graduate. (I already have the 80 i just want to get the cord but I need like 300+ hours.) Anyways sorry for the delay

-Mod Othe

Cassandra- She could tell that the Herald was stressed, not just from everything that’s happened but from something else. It isn’t until the scouts find a young child that she finds out why. Seeing them fuss and hold the small child in their arms makes her realize how little she knows about them. She makes a comment of how their child is cute. She helps with what she can. watching the child when the Herald is called away. If Romanced: She wonders if there is another woman. Or if she’s the other woman. She asks her lover but when he tells her that the child’s mother isn’t in the picture she relaxes. She never thought she wanted children but things change.

Varric- He finds it charming that they have a kid. It makes them seem more real. More than just a figurehead. When the Inquisitor is called to a meeting or any other situation he offers to watch their child. He’s often seen reading to the child in the main hall. He uses his contacts in the Merchants Guild to make sure that the child is well provided for when the Inquisitor isn’t around. When the Inquisitor tries to pay him back he declines. “Just give the kid a good life. Don’t worry about a thing.” He enjoys watching the Inquisitor with their child. Seeing the way the Inquisitor holds them after being apart from them, telling them little stories, laughing with them, playing with them. Its humbling. Another little fact to add in his book, to show people that the Inquisitor is human, normal.

Solas- When he sees the Herald. crying over their found child, he feels his blood run dry. He knows that the child won’t have a normal life. Not with what the future holds. It also makes him think of all the others caught in the blast and it weighs heavily on his conscience making him doubt for just a minute. But its quickly pushed aside, he needs to focus on his people. He tends to avoid the child however, seeing them brings back the doubt and guilt. If Romanced: When she shows him her child he has questions. Surely the father would want his child and lover back? But when he is told that the father isn’t in the picture he is still hesitant for a different reason. But he allow himself to relax. He knows he shouldn’t but he lets himself get comfortable.

Iron Bull- He’s actually really great with kids, basically a gentle giant (literally.) He’s like a really big uncle. He keeps the child safe when the Inquisitor isn’t there and enjoys giving them piggy back rides. He also jokes that one day the child will get as tall as him. If they are old enough to understand they are in awe at it. And if they are a qunari child he actually means it. If Romanced: He wonders if they have a partner and if hes just a lay for fun. Yet, when he’s assured that the other isn’t in the picture he enjoys having a child with the Herald and relishes in seeing them together. His little family.

Dorian- He finds the child cute and will often be seen with the child in his lap reading a book to them. Often the child will fall asleep in his lap. He hopes that the Herald will give them a good life, a better one than his own gave him. But he knows the Herald and he knows the child is in safe hands. After his companion quest he makes a comment to the Inquisitor, “Your child is lucky to have a parent like you.” He knows the child will grow up happy and loved. If Romanced: What the hell, is the first thought at seeing the child. He panics and wonders if hes just a lay for fun. But when he asks and his lover assures him that his former girlfriend/ wife isn’t in the picture he relaxes and can’t help but smile at being a dad. Even though he does joke that hes too ‘young’ to be a dad.

Viv- When she first sees the child she can’t help but smile. She tells the Inquisitor that other nobles who have children will be more relaxed when they to see that the Inquisitor also has a child. She puts her own funds towards the child’s education and even clothing. The child must be seen in the best of light possible. When the Inquisitor makes a comment about repaying her she to declines. “Just give them the best life possible. Show them love and acceptance that can be my payment.” While she does see the child as something to be used to help strength ties she also enjoys being in the child’s presence their laugh and smile is simply precious.

Sera- At first she avoids the child not really sure how to react to them. Then one day the child is around to witness on of her pranks and when she hears them laugh and see them smile she realizes that she can teach them to prank. This is much to the Inquisitors dismay. She does keep a watchful eye on the kid more so when she’s doing some elaborate prank. She enjoys being with the child more after that. If Romanced: She is definitely confused and wonders if there is someone else. But when her Honey Tongue tells her that the father isn’t in the picture anymore she relaxes. She loves being with her new little family and she loves spending time with the child.

Blackwall- He likes making toys for the child and when the Inquisitor is called off to somewhere he takes the child to paint wooden blocks together. At the end of it he often has paint in his beard but its worth it. If Romanced: Hes wary. This means that she has a husband or lover somewhere out there. When she tells him that the father hasn’t been in the picture he relaxes. He loves his new family. He love just being with them.

Cole- “Small hands, small little feet, back in my arms. Happy and loved. This is how it should be. You in my arms, hearing your little laugh and seeing your little smile. Life is complete again.” He is the best one to take care of the child. He can sense what they need and when they want to be with their parent. He also know when they are getting overwhelmed by the thing going on around them.

Leliana- She is different around the child. Softer, gentle. She can sometimes be seen holding the child and sometimes be heard singing to the child. The soft singing will calm the child and often bring the child to sleep. If anyone tries to harm the child she shows no mercy bringing that person to a swift end. No harm will come to the child not while she breaths.

Josephine- She loves the Inquisitors child and will sometimes encourage them to bring them to meetings with nobles that also have children. It shows people that the Inquisitor is more than just the Inquisitor. It shows they are a parent and someone who was loved or is loved. If Romanced: She is a bit concerned, thinking that she’s stepped on a already formed relationship. When shes told the the other isn’t in the picture she relaxes. She can’t help but feel a little pride at having a small family.

Cullen- He makes sure that the child is well protected at all times. He hates to think that there are people that would harm the child just for being the Herald’s child. He does like seeing the Inquisitor with their child, knowing that the child will be loved and cared for. If Romanced: Like any sane man he immediately wonders if his lover has a husband or boyfriend. When hes told that he isn’t in the picture he spends more time with the child. He’s often seen reading reports with the child in his lap and sometimes seen rocking them to sleep.

#dragon age inquisition #Cassandra Pentaghast #Varric Tethras #Solas #iron bull #dorian pavus #vivienne de fer #sera #blackwall #cole #josephine montilyet #Leliana #cullen rutherford

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degenerate-perturbation · 8 years

Text

Top 13 Most Unfuckable Men in Dragon Age (according to me, a lesbian)

Honorable Mention: Oghren

I am not including Oghren on the official list for a couple reasons. Firstly, jokes about how gross Oghren is are basically everywhere. I can't make a remotely original joke on this subject because they have all already been made. Secondly, I don't want to subject anybody to actually thinking about fucking Oghren. And third, it's no fun punching down. Nobody likes Oghren except me. And I get it. Oghren is a pretty cool character who was grossly mishandled by writers who think sexual assault, alcoholism and homophobia are hilarious jokes and not serious issues. Sorry about all this, Oghren. Enjoy your free pass from being mocked by a lesbian on the internet.

13. Zevran Arainai

Zevran is the least unfuckable man in Dragon Age because he wouldn’t make it weird. He’d give you a nice lay, do a good job, and then high-5 you afterwards. He’s nice-looking and experienced and would overall be an almost not-unpleasant experience. If there was a gun to my head and someone forcing me to pick a Dragon Age man to fuck, it would be Zevran.

12. RDP Sten

I say Realistic DAO Project Sten and not regular Sten because frankly RDP Sten is the true Sten. Honestly, look at this man. Assuming you didn’t die during intercourse, he’d make you breakfast the next morning, then reshackle your roof and do your taxes. RDP Sten would take care of you. RDP Sten would treat you right.

11. Justice

…as long as he gave Anders’ body a bath first, because wow he sure is a guy who lives in a sewer. Justice is a friendly Fade spirit curious about the mortal world and its many wonders. Fucking Justice would be a nice opportunity to show an otherworldly being a good time. Not to mention the novelty. Think of the puns you could make afterwards. “It was a spiritual experience.” “It was truly righteous.” “Justice isn’t easy–no, Justice is hard.”

10. Varric Tethras

Varric would be the ideal sugar daddy. He'd indulge you, buy you nice things, tell you stories, and when it's time to go to bed, you'd just have to put up with him bringing his crossbow with him. Honestly, he probably wouldn't even get to the sex. You'd have half your clothes off and then he'd start telling a story and three hours later he's cried a little about his ex and fallen asleep cuddled up to his crossbow. Meanwhile, you are free to go back to your house with your money and jewelry. Ideal.

9. Alistair

Alistair is inexperienced, but a nice boy. You could show him a good time, and then pat him on the head and give him a cookie afterwards. He’s funny and nice and if you aren’t his first lay, it’ll probably be Morrigan and she would probably turn into a spider halfway through just to fuck with him. I’m willing to fuck him just to spare him that being his first time. Alistair might make it weird and try to give you a flower or something, but he’s young and easily dissuaded. Fucking Alistair would be acceptable and satisfying in some ways.

8. Iron Bull

He ugly, but otoh, monster dong, if you’re into that. Iron Bull wouldn’t make it weird emotionally, but he would definitely make it weird sexually. Assuming you survived, you would have a hell of a story. I would bring that up at every cocktail party I went to for the rest of my life. “I fucked a minotaur man,” I’d say, sipping my martini. “He had an eyepatch, and a dong the size of your forearm. I’m lucky to have survived.” The party guests gasp and fan themselves at the scandal.

7. Nathaniel Howe

I have no feelings either way about fucking Nathaniel Howe. I would show up, do the deed, and leave. Maybe give him a thumbs up, to be polite. My entire soul doesn’t rebel against the concept, but neither can I think of any benefits to fucking Nathaniel Howe.

6. Sebastian Vael

I wouldn’t hate to fuck Sebastian, and he seems nice, I guess. He’d be on par with Nate, except for the fact that he’s a devout fantasy Catholic. I’m morally opposed to fucking Catholics, because I don’t like Catholicism, and because I don’t want to deal with their ensuing guilt. I would tolerate fucking Sebastian.

5. Fenris

Fenris is objectively one of the best-looking men in Dragon Age, but oh lord, the canon romance path is so much. I’d do it just so I could touch his pretty hair, but I’d feel real bad about it. I like fenris. I don’t wanna cause him troubles. On the other hand, Isabela seems to manage it without much emotional fallout, so perhaps it would be alright. Fucking Fenris might be perfectly fine, but it might end terribly for all involved. As a lesbian I’m not gonna risk it.

4. Anders

Anders is a nasty sewer man who has no particularly attractive physical features to make up for it. He’d probably be an alright lay, but if you fucked him he’d definitely fall in love with you. Possibly he’d have already been in love with you for like three years. Then post-fuck he’d say a lot of weird stuff and ask to move into your house, and you’d be so worried about his eating habits and his stress that you’d be like “sure :)”, and then you’d have to change your name and flee the city to escape. Don’t fuck Anders.

3. Blackwall

I previously had Blackwall a spot higher, but then when I went to google a picture of him I realized he actually looks okay. Lumberjack aesth. Nice beard. Probably nice chest hair. Good muscles. But he’s also kind of a stinky old man who is kind of like your dad, and he would make his weird guilt issues your problem. I’d rather not, although I grant that if he was a couple decades younger he might be Acceptable.

2. Cullen

I would really hate to fuck Cullen. I find him morally repugnant, physically unimpressive, and overall vile. Not to mention that he seems like the kind of sexually inexperienced dude to just try inserting Tab A into Slot B with no foreplay–but then, would you really want foreplay from this guy? At least it would all be over within 5 minutes and then you could make your escape through the window.

1. Solas

Solas is the absolute most unfuckable man in Dragon Age. Not only is he bald, and a genocidal maniac, but he would also get weirdly hung up on you. Then he’d like, haunt your dreams. “Vhenaaaaaaan,” you hear every night forever, to your horror. “You’re not like other girls,” he says, before showing you a picture of his fursona, which is a wolf. I would rather do literally anything else but fuck Solas. I thank G-d every day that Solas is not real, and that I am in no danger of ever fucking him. Solas is the least fuckable man in Dragon Age.

#people kept asking about varric and oghren so here they are i guess

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crisontumblr · 7 years

Text

Fic Doodle: So Alike, I Cannot Tell the Difference [Dragon Age]

Related Reading: Tabristair Masterpost

Born out of a conversation with the lovely @celeritassagittae that basically amounts to, “So what if Alistair went looking for his dad--but as a Grey Warden?”

And then I wound up writing about the aftermath of embarking on that journey instead, because my brain is weird.

This one was a challenge to write--not for any particular reason outside of the fact that I just haven’t really written in a while. I’m happy with it, though. Obviously, I am; you wouldn’t be seeing it, otherwise! XD

How strange that even now, after so many years and so many miles traveled, there still exists someone hoping to put a crown upon his head. His own father, still perhaps awash in the fantasy forced upon him by the Fade—

But what else did Alistair expect? Surely not some heartwarming reunion with tears and warm embraces! Father or not, they are as much strangers as kin. Besides, how could Maric have kept up with the outside world, trapped as he was? He couldn’t have known!

This entire journey has been nothing like how Alistair had hoped it would be, and now this—the man they came to rescue, shackled and bound to the large wheel; his body worn away by time and Maker only knows whatever dark magic the magister was using to accomplish his goals. And all Maric can tell him, in a rasping voice and with gasping breath, is how proud he is to know Ferelden will be safe under Alistair’s rule.

He could lie to the old man. He could pretend. He should, shouldn’t he? It would be easy. It would even be the right thing to do, wouldn’t it? All things presently considered?

“I’m no king.” Alistair shakes his head. “Ferelden sits in safe hands, but those do not belong to me. No, I’ve— I’m a Grey Warden.”

Maric tilts his head. “A Grey Warden?”

“Yes.” Alistair’s voice is low. “I went my own path—”

“Ahh…” But it sounds like a hiss, or maybe like a last breath leaving the body. Maric shuts his eyes. The ghost of a smile flickers across his dried lips. “A Warden. Consider! The grand legacy… Your mother would be proud. Following her steps…”

His mother? What is Maric talking about? Alistair glances to his companions, who look just as confused. He shakes his head again. “She was never—”

“Warden, careful. The old man is on his last,” Varric warns him quietly. “Maybe he’s even past his last. His mind may not be right.”

Maric lifts his head and looks directly into Alistair’s eyes. “My son…forgive the lies… We had our duties. She wanted—”

The old man's body seizes as he gasps and chokes on what remains of his life. Alistair’s chest tightens. His gaze goes to the machine keeping his father alive—if barely that. If he destroys it, Maric will surely die. Even if he survives, what life would exist for him as he is now? How much longer would he even last?

“I did not fail. Fiona… Our son…” Maric sounds eerily serene. “I did not fail you.”

Alistair swallows hard, but he moves towards the fiendish machine with resolve and with purpose. He knows what he has to do. It is the right thing.

That’s what he is able to tell himself, at least.

Thunder awakens Alistair from slumber. Even as he keeps his eyes closed, he considers this a blessing.

“Are you awake?”

Aeron’s voice is soft and comes from farther away than he would like. Reluctantly, he reaches out across the mattress and finds her side of the bed empty. Cold. How long has she been up and away? He knows why. He can hear the soft clinking of the glass jars as she arranges them on the ledge jutting out from the windowsill. Every time it rains, without fail…

It’s proof, Aeron said once (perhaps with more than a little bit of pride), that it doesn’t matter how far an elf is from their Alienage; the vhenandahl’s roots are forever wrapped around their ankles.

“Come back to bed.” Alistair fights against a yawn. “You’ll catch a cold—” He loses. “You’ll get all sick and cranky, and it will stress me, and I will wind up with grey hairs.”

Aeron makes a small sound. “More of them to match, then.”

Alistair responds with a small groan. She is coming back, though, isn’t she? He can barely hear her footsteps against the large rugs they put down around the bed—their joint attempt to keep the winter cold from advancing while they still have most of autumn to get through—but soon the blankets briefly lift and the mattress shifts on her side.

“Did you have the dream again?” Aeron asks, and that is when he finally opens his eyes. She looks worried. “You were tossing about for most of the night. Whispering things—”

“I’m sorry.”

“Mm?” Aeron blinks. “Why would you be sorry?”

“I—” Alistair sighs. “I don’t know.”

And he wonders how long this has been happening, that she no longer has to be specific when asking him about the dream. How long has it been since he returned home from the search for his father? How much has he actually slept—or rather, truly rested—since then?

How much has he actually told Aeron about what he saw? How much does she know about the things he did, felt he had to do?

The answers make Alistair shut his eyes again and seek comfort wrapped up in as much of her as possible. Soon, he promises himself. Soon he’ll tell her everything. He needs to—wants to, truly—but the details are still just too fresh! Too vivid! They wrap tendrils ‘round his throat and strangle him until he surrenders to silence! And so, he suffers. Continues to suffer.

But maybe…if only for a little while…

It goes some ways towards his relief that Aeron yields when he pulls her close to him. She slips her arms about his shoulders and says nothing when Alistair hooks her right leg over his hip. Oh, but how she shivers when his fingers slip under her nightshirt and skim up her bare side…!

“Is this a formal request to change the subject?” Aeron asks.

“Mm.” Alistair had only half-considered it, but now it sounds like a grand idea. He presses a kiss to her collarbone. “Is it working?”

Aeron breathes a sigh of her own as his mouth moves upward; now her neck, now along her jaw, soon just slightly behind her ear. His left hand finds its way to her right breast, and she shifts under his gentle kneading.

“Well, you’re certainly making it quite a challenge to say no, aren’t you?” There is an exchange of small laughter as his mouth at last meets hers. “But is this—?”

“Hm?”

“Alistair.“ Aeron brings his gaze to hers. “Is this you? Are you really sure you want to?”

“Mm-hm.” Another kiss. “Very sure, my love. Very…”

Alistair finds encouragement in the way her skin warms with more gentle touches and kisses. He relishes the little moans he draws out of her when his fingers finally slip between her legs. When Alistair at last shifts onto his back—their nightclothes abandoned and forgotten—he has the weight of Aeron’s body pinning him to the bed. She takes his wrists before he can reach for her again and holds them down on either side of his head, and it…

He likes this, being held down like this; being grounded before he can risk drifting from himself. And oh, how the morning light makes her white hair glow as it spills over her brown shoulders!

“Maker, but I have missed this,” Alistair breathes.

Aeron smiles down at him. “Have you?”

“I have—” He gives up the ghost of a moan as she kisses him. Her fingers move up to slip between his and he clasps her hands tight. “Oh, but I have missed you.”

They make love in a languid fashion, with the gentle rocking of hips and light kisses. Alistair trails lazy spirals over Aeron’s skin as he reacquaints himself with her body. He willfully drowns himself in the sweet taste of her mouth and in her scent; her name is a whispered prayer delivered from the depths.

How could he have forgotten the pleasure of this? To be set whimpering and trembling as if before something so incomprehensibly divine as to be driven mad, yet kept sane enveloped in such love and safety… This, truly, is what Alistair has missed and craved! And as they draw nearer towards that blissful edge, reaffirmations of his love for Aeron rise from his throat like hymnals for his precious goddess. He clutches at her hips and holds steadfast until she’s lost herself first, until she is shaking and calling for him so sweetly that he can only follow—

And in the aftermath?

Silence.

For the first time since coming home, Alistair’s mind is quiet.

He feels…almost at ease.

He tries not to think about how long this might last.

“He said a name, this time.”

They sit across from each other in the bath, the water warm and soothing. Most of Aeron’s hair sits piled on top of her head in some hastily-pinned bun, but pieces of it still sit in front of her ears and frame her face. She looks at him as if startled, though not without reason. It is one of the only things either of them has said since they climbed in about half an hour ago.

“In the dream,” Alistair explains, “Maric said a name.”

“Was it one you knew?” Aeron asks.

“No.” He runs his fingers through his hair, scratches the back of his head. “I think it started with an F or something. Um…‘Fin’ or maybe ‘Farron’ or—”

The vision of Maric in that awful contraption flashes across Alistair’s senses, suddenly and impossibly fast, but he remembers.

“Fiona…”

“Fiona?”

“Fiona.” The more Alistair says it, the truer it seems. He nods slowly. Then he notices that Aeron looks as if he’s just mentioned they share a family member. “Something familiar about it to you?”

“No—not… It’s something I just…” Aeron shakes her head. “It’s just strange coincidences, Alistair. Nothing to worry about. Still, it is a bit strange.”

“‘Strange’ is being polite, I think.” Alistair rests his head against the back of the tub, slightly surprised the metal hasn’t gone cold. “Truth be told, it’s first time that’s ever…happened? Come up. Something like that. But I still can’t figure out if it’s all a dream or part of a memory of what actually happened or if…

“Because I mean, it’s all so real, when I’m in it. When I’m in the moment, I just—it’s so…vivid, Aeron. All of the little details are there. It’s just like it when it happened, almost, but…” He makes a fist of his right hand. “And I can’t shake it off. I want to. Maker knows, I’ve tried—!”

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” Aeron offers. “Alistair, this is— It was your father. Whether you barely knew him or not, it—he’s still your father.”

“And I know it would have been worse to leave him in that state. I know. But the questions start. ‘Could I have done more? Could I have well and truly rescued him?’ They just…linger there, hiding at the back of my mind—”

The tub makes a dull sound as his fist lands heavily against the copper rim. He lets out a short breath and lifts his head.

“Can’t even get five minutes of peace before I start circling ‘round it again. Ever the great bath time companion, aren’t I?”

Aeron reaches forward and takes his hands between hers. “Alistair, look at me; you’ve only been home a month, my love. I don’t know what happened on that journey—”

“And I plan on telling you—”

“—but the details are not my present concern. I trust you to tell me in time, just as I know there will always be secrets we take to our graves. It doesn’t… You are my concern, Alistair. Your well-being as you recover from this…” She gives his hands a gentle squeeze. “We’ll get through this together. Hm? Hey—” She tries to catch his gaze. “Look at me.”

Try as he might, he can’t resist meeting her gaze with his own. He gives in.

“Do you remember us at Weisshaupt?” Aeron asks. “The first time, I mean, just after I finished in Amaranthine. I was a mess.”

Of course, Alistair remembers. “You weren’t—” He takes interest in her loosening bun. “I wouldn’t use the word—”

“Mess, Alistair. I was a right—proper—mess. Crying, sleepless nights, paranoid for no reason—”

“Plenty of reasons, as I recall, actually—”

“—but I had you.” Aeron’s gaze has gone soft. “Every step of the way, I had you. Making sure I ate, holding me tight, soothing me through the nightmares; you waited with me until I could come back to myself—and to you.”

“And I would do it again,” Alistair tells her.

“I know you would. I believe it,” she answers, “and I just…hope that I’ve been giving and can give you the support you gave me in those days. You’ve always been ready to carry everyone else’s burden on your shoulders, without complaint or thought to your own well-being, and I…

“Let me do this for you. Even if it's only the weight of what it means to be a Warden, the way you once did for me…let me begin to repay that favor.”

Maker, but what did he do to deserve this woman? Why was he so special that Aeron chose him out of all the rest?

“Come on.” Aeron rises from the tub, and Alistair is certainly guilty of letting his gaze linger. “If we’re lucky, there might still be breakfast in the dining hall—or, if you’d prefer, I can ask them to bring something up and we could stay in? Take the day for ourselves—”

“You want to?” He chooses to scale down, worried he sounds a touch too keen on the idea. “I mean…true, things at the Keep have been…rather quiet lately—”

“And things at the Keep will stay quiet, even if I make Oghren acting commander for the day.”

And as he watches Aeron wrap a towel around herself, Alistair wonders just how close, and how often, Vigil’s Keep has been to coming under Oghren’s control. He decides, almost in the same moment, that he would rather not know the answer.

“If you think we will endure, my love, then I’ve no objections—” Alistair resists a shiver as he emerges from the water. “—especially if it means I get to have you to myself.”

“Then it’s settled! A day in, it is.”

“So it is.” Alistair takes a towel Aeron offers and bends to briefly kiss her. “I am still the luckiest of men, having you at my side.”

“And it’s a good man you prove yourself to be,” she says, “that you haven’t forgotten.”

#Dragon Age #Dragon Age Origins #DA Fic #Alistair x Tabris Warden #Tabristair #Alistair Theirin #Aeron Tabris #Warden Alistair #Tabris Warden #City Elf Warden #Female City Elf #Female Tabris #Elf Warden #Aeron x Alistair

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ramblinganthropologist · 7 years

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Inkjournal Day 5 - Power Animal

Summary: There’s a story behind Hawke’s name, and Varric wants to hear it. Avery deflects, and then reflects back on a day long past with her father. Hawks are special to the Hawke family, alright. Though, to call it a power animal is a bit much. Word count: 1889

---

The Hanged Man really was the worst place for conversations.

At least two fights were beginning and one was ending as Avery moved away from the bar, two drinks in hand. Her destination was beyond the din of the daily brawls, up the stairs and somewhere far quieter. Usually, she would have grabbed a table right in the middle to watch, but Varric had insisted on a bit more peace.

Maybe he was getting sick.

“If you're dying, I'd like to know now before I start drinking.”

She poked her head into Varric's room in the bar, indeed a far bit quieter thanks to the location and ability to close the door. The noise was cut by half the moment she shut it behind her, moving towards the table where the dwarf was waiting for her.

He had his paper and pen. Oh shit.

“Thanks for coming by on such short notice, Hawke.” Varric accepted the drink she handed him and set it aside. His companion perched on the seat at the other side of the table, finger circling the rim of her glass. There was tension in the air, though she couldn't tell why.

It felt like she was at a matchmaker, somehow.

Neither said anything for a few moments. The dwarf busied himself with looking over his notes while she took a drink from her mug. It was weak, as it often was, but that meant she could have more without her brother coming to pick her up later. He would appreciate that, no doubt, given it was his day with Anders. She was just full of favors that way.

After what felt like an eternity of Varric looking over his notes, his eyes met hers across the table. He had that look on his face again, the one where he was trying to figure out what question to answer first. Knowing him, he had at least twenty to get through in the first hour alone.

Avery gave him a brief smile as she lowered her mug. “Alright, hit me. What do you want to know about? Let me guess, last night's fight outside the city?”

She still had a black eye from that one. On the list of scuffles she had gotten into over her life, it honestly didn't rank that high. They were punks, drop outs from the Templar recruits who were trying to use what little they had learned in training to bother some girls at the Blooming Rose. It had started as her helping a friend, and ended with the biggest of the aggressors running off with a broken collar bone. The whole thing had wrapped up by the middle of the night, and she had seen herself to bed.

It was a decent story, but it wasn't really something you could sell books on.

Unsurprisingly, Varric shook his head. “No, I heard about that earlier today. I had a different question in mind.”

He leaned forward, pen in hand. “A couple people have been asking me since they know about your mom. Why do you go by Hawke and not Amell?”

Avery paused mid-sip. She glanced over at the dwarf from beyond the rim of her mug, trying her best to read his expression. When he got like this, it was impossible to tell just what angle he was getting at. She was pretty sure she could trust him, but sometimes... the questions he asked were just weird.

So, she gave him a wry grin and tugged at one of her ears. “Doubt anyone's going to believe I'm related to a human noble with ears like this.”

He didn't buy it. She would have been surprised if he had; they had been friends for far too long for him to have believed something like that. Actually, for the briefest of moments he looked hurt she had even tried it. However, Varric was impressive at covering up how he actually felt when he was writing, and he was in fine form as always.

“Very funny, Hawke.” He gave her a long look. “What, is it embarrassing? Is a hawk some sort of power animal for you? It's on your shield and all.”

Indeed, there was a hawk painted on her very favorite shield. She had done it herself one afternoon when Bethany had gotten her the paint. Somehow, maybe blood magic, the damn thing never washed off. So, it would have been logical to say that.

Logical, but not true.

So, Avery shrugged as she leaned back in her chair. “What can I say, Varric? I took my father's name, like a lot of people. Didn't think that was weird.”

After all, the first hawk had been Malcolm. She had just followed in his footsteps.

---

“Where are we going, dad?”

“It's a surprise, kiddo.”

A warm spring day stretched in front of them as far as young Avery could see. She was high up on her father's shoulders as he walked down a dirt road, careful to avoid letting her fall. All around them was green, and far to the south was the forest that bordered the town they were staying in.

Malcolm, usually so talkative, was rather quiet as he walked. In fact, he didn't say another word until they had reached a small brook not far from the forest. There, under a tree, he sat down and took her with him.

“What's wrong, Dad?” Avery frowned as she looked at her father's face. He wasn't angry or upset as far as she could tell – his forehead got all bunched up when he was – but there was a strange look that had crossed his face. Indeed, he seemed far away, though what had driven him there was a mystery to her as she climbed into his lap.

It took him a long time to answer, but he pointed up towards the upper boughs of the tree. “Look up there. Tell me what you see, kiddo.”

At first, she wondered if it was some elf thing. The kids in the village were always teasing her about her eyes and ears, even after she punched them. Her mother told her not to, and her father mostly echoed it, but they often started it. She just happened to finish it.

But, he insisted. So, she screwed up her eyes and looked as far as she could. At first, all she saw was brown bark and green leaves. It was just a tree to her. However, movement drew her attention, and she found a pair of eyes meeting her own.

“It's a bird!”

There was a bird there, a fuzzy little thing with a beak and eyes that peered down at her as she looked up at it. At the sound of her voice, its head disappeared back into the nest. Above her, Malcolm chuckled as she pouted.

“Looks like you scared it, huh. It's just a baby, you know.” He ruffled her hair, beaming. “Do you know what kind of bird it is?”

Avery paused as she tried to pick out details. It was definitely bigger than the cute little sparrows her sister loved to feed so much, and it wasn't asleep during the day like the owls in the chantry. In fact, she had never seen anything like it.

So, she shook her head. “What is it, Dad?”

For a second, maybe two, that same strange look passed over her father's face, like clouds on a sunny day. However, as soon as she thought she saw it, it was gone and he was left with that same smile he always gave her.

“It's a hawk, Avery.” he paused, chuckling. “Or at least, it will be. Right now it's more of a fuzzy bean like you.”

Another ruffle of her hair, to demonstrate his point. However, her attention wasn't there. It was back up in the next, where the baby bird had been staring down at her. Her eyes were even wider now, as awe passed over her face.

“It's a Hawke like us!”

Avery turned around to face her father, beaming. “It's your bird, Dad!”

She had heard the story before, when she had been even smaller and fallen face first into her father's secret. Malcolm was a mage, and she knew enough from listen to chantry sisters that he should've been much further away in something called a tower. Why, though, didn't make any sense to her. He wasn't a bad person, like the ones they sent to jail. The only thing he had ever done wrong in her eyes was stealing the last blueberry off her plate a summer ago.

While that was a travesty, it wasn't something you locked a man away for.

At any rate, he had told her once that he had escaped with the help of a high flying hawk. It had guided him away from the tower, to Kirkwall far across the sea where he met her mother. The rest was a foggy story until she came around.

“You're right, Avery. It's my bird.” There was a soft smile on his face as he hugged her close. “and it's yours too. Without it, I wouldn't have you or your siblings.”

Malcolm gave her another squeeze for assurance. “That's why we're Hawkes.”

Maybe it was Avery's imagination, but she swore she saw the baby hawk peering down at her with those beady eyes. But really, it shouldn't have been worried. Hawks, or Hawkes for that matter, stuck together.

Even if they were blueberry thieves like her father.

---

“Everything alright there, Hawke? You spaced out.”

Avery blinked back to the Hanged Man. It had only felt like a few moments, but Varric was staring at her like she had two heads. She gave him her best sheepish grin as she rubbed the back of her neck, chuckling a little absent-mindedly.

“Sorry about that, Varric. Guess I'm a little more tired than I thought.”

The dwarf shook his head, but he was smiling. “Uh-huh. You're not getting out of it that easy. That's all you're going to tell me?”

She shrugged in response. “Really, that's all there is to tell. My dad was Malcolm Hawke, so I'm Hawke too. Didn't think it was that big of a deal.”

It was, but really it felt like something she wanted to keep to herself. Not everything had to wind up in that book of his. If it left his fans a little disappointed, then so be it. They would just have to live with that. Besides, she had heard somewhere readers like a protagonist with a bit of mystery to them.

Varric accepted that with a shake of his head. “Fine, I won't ask any more about that. Though, I still want to hear your take on two weeks ago. You were bullshitting me about taking on a drake by yourself.”

“I was not!”

And that's how it dissolved into another tale, just as wild as any she might have told before. If he minded she didn't give him the full story, Varric didn't say. They had been through enough together to let it slide.

At any rate, he would probably just make something up. Finding out what later was part of the fun.

#ramblinganthropologist's writing #Avery Hawke #Varric Tethras #Man I wish Malcolm hadn't died #He was a cool dude and probably could've reigned in Leandra's bullshit in later parts of Act 1

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