#made a leandra positive tag

[enby-hawke]

Confessions of a Mediocre Mom

Ship: Malcolm/Leandra

Words:1727

Read on A03

 Motherhood fucking sucks.

Leandra thought she would be ready after how much she babysat her nieces and nephews. She knew kids would try your patience. She knew that they were messy. She knew she would be tested harder than she’d ever been. She thought knowing would be enough.

 It was not.

 Looking back she realized that she had spent most of that time playing games and coloring books, rather than feeding and dressing and changing diapers and cleaning mess after mess after mess.

 Leandra didn’t think she could love anyone more than she loved Malcolm. But now her baby consumed her every waking thought and breath. It hurt. She didn’t know love could hurt this much.

 Every moment was spent keeping this child alive and safe, and she was exhausted. More exhausted than she thought was possible. More stressed out than she could even handle. There was so much her mother didn’t prepare her for.

 Like breastfeeding. It was understood Leandra would have a wetnurse, but obviously that wasn’t possible anymore. Leandra had thought, no problem. What was the big deal?

 Well, breastfeeding was painful. And inconvenient. And tiring. Leandra had a special nipple cream to help with the chafing, but still, she cracked and bled. Malcolm healed her wounds as best as he could, but she was so sore all the time.

 Leandra tried pumping after finding a mommy blog that suggested it. It seemed like a good idea. Malcolm could take over some of the night feedings. But Charlie was a fussy baby, as picky of an eater as Leandra was. She refused the bottle and would only take Leandra’s breast.

 When Malcolm was home, it was a blessing. He was an attentive partner, who helped cook and clean and seemed to effortlessly keep Charlie entertained. But Leandra knew Malcolm was pushing past his limit, because she often found him passed out in the middle of whatever he was doing.

 Every day was the same nightmare, played out a little differently, sure, but one thing stayed constant. Malcolm would get up for work and Leandra would get up to dress Charlie so they could say goodbye. And then, as soon as Malcolm left, Charlie would scream her head off until he got home.

 Sometimes Leandra could distract Charlie with playtime or her dragon stuffie or a phone game or some food, but today she just wouldn’t stop.

 Finding work paperless was tough enough, even harder for an elf. The only place that would hire Malcolm was a kitchen, and his shifts easily stretched for twelve hours at a time. By hour one Leandra’s ears were ringing, by hour three her head was pounding. By the tenth hour of nonstop screaming and rocking and teething biscuits and burping and many failed games of peekaboo, Leandra was out of ideas. The neighbors were now yelling and pounding on her walls and she had joined her daughter bawling.

 Charlie cried harder when Leandra put her down, so she rocked her baby helplessly, hoping that Malcolm would somehow get sent home early.

 She prayed for the Maker for strength. The screaming was making her lose her mind. She sang the Chant under her breath, though her voice did not soothe Charlie as Malcolm’s did.

 And just when Leandra thought she might kill herself or smother her baby with a pillow or both Malcolm came through the door.

 It was a miracle. Immediately Charlie’s wails stopped. She started wriggling out of Leandra’s arms.

 “Da! Da!” Her first and only word, but she had it down pat, and was shrieking with all the rage an eight-month-old could manage.

 Malcolm was balancing two white plastic bags in his hands. From the smell, it was leftovers from the Bistro he worked at. He immediately set them down on the kitchen table and scooped his daughter into his arms. “Hey, young lady, did you give your mama a hard time again?” he asked in a stern voice. “We talked about this.”

 Charlie flapped her arms and smacked at him. Her little brown freckled face was furious, her strange roundly pointed ears wiggling. “Da!”

 “I know. I know. You missed me.” Malcolm blew a raspberry into her cheek.

 Charlie squealed in delight, her giggles bouncing off the cramped one bedroom apartment.

 Leandra knew the sight of her husband and child should fill her with joy, and it did, but there was another ugly emotion gnarling in her. Jealousy. She tried to hide her fresh tears in her hands but it was too late. “I’m useless!” she sobbed.

 “Hey, hey don’t say that.” Soon Malcolm wrapped Leandra in a hug, squishing Charlie between them. “That’s not true. I’m nothing without you.”

 Leandra continued to bawl and couldn't stop even as her daughter gurgled happily. “Charlie loves you best. She doesn’t even want me!”

 “That’s not true. You should see when you’re in the bathroom. It’s a scramble to keep her from wailing.”

 Leandra hiccuped at that, momentarily stopping her sobs. “She misses me?”

 Malcolm chuckled before he could stop himself. “Of course she misses you. Look how happy she is that we're all together.”

 Leandra looked down to see Charlie cooing in contentment, her head tucked on Malcolm’s chest as she played with a fistful of Leandra’s black locks, now less silky as they hadn’t been brushed for days.

 Malcolm leaned so his forehead was touching Leandra's, his curls tickling her, and looked directly into her bloodshot doe eyes. “You are the strongest woman I know. You keep Charlie and me alive every single day. Be nicer to yourself.” Then he kissed her, tasting the salt of her tears.

 Kissing Malcolm always made her remember why she was doing this. He made everything worth it.

 Charlie giggled in delight as she was smothered in a hug.

 Malcolm stroked Leandra’s flushed cheek, wiping away some tears. “I need some quality time with Charlie anyway. Why don’t we get dinner ready together and you can soak in the bath for a while? When you come out, we can watch TV and I’ll give you a foot massage.”  

 That sounded wonderful. Leandra did feel grody, with spat up milk still soaking her pink nightgown. She did need a moment to herself just to breathe. “What would I do without you?”

 “Be miserable forever,” Malcolm joked, kissing her cheek. “But you don’t have to worry. I’m sticking around for a long time.”

 She gave Malcolm a thankful peck and then went to give Charlie one, which Charlie hid her face in Malcolm’s chest to avoid.

 Leandra huffed. “Fine! I see I’m not wanted so I’ll leave.”

 Malcolm’s smile dropped. “Oh, babe. Don’t be like that.”

 “You don’t tell me what to do!”

 Leandra stomped away. She knew she was being petty with a baby, but she was so fragile that the rejection broke her. She stormed into her bedroom, certain that, when she was done with her bath, she would find Malcolm and Charlie playing like she always did.

 Her bedroom was still the disaster it had been since Charlie was born. The laundry was piling up on the floor and so were the dishes in the sink. It seemed like the fridge was empty yet again, and her boobs were hurting so she knew it would be time to feed Charlie soon.

 Instead of running the water, Leandra started on the laundry pile on the floor. She grumbled to herself. Malcolm was almost as messy as Charlie was, not that she was any better. Still, the sight of the haphazard disarray of her bedroom had her too distracted to even think of relaxing.

 She wanted to start running the water for her bath, hop in and just soak and forget everything for just a moment. She needed that more than anything. But she was so behind on everything, and she felt like she was just falling further. Bathing seemed like a luxury she couldn’t afford right now.

 She shoved as many clothes into the overflowing hamper as she could and then pulled the laundry basket onto the chair and started folding on the bed. She muttered under her breath as she folded, wishing more than ever she was back at her mansion in Kirkwall where she had servants to do this. A minute into her cleaning frenzy, she stopped when she heard a familiar wail.

 “Mama! Mama!”

 Leandra gasped and dropped Malcolm’s boxers, dashing off the bed and back into the living room to see Malcolm holding a wiggling Charlie, reaching wildly for her. Her odd mismatched blue and brown eyes were filled with tears.

 Leandra’s mouth dropped, “Did she… Did she just say?”

 “Mama!”

 Malcolm grinned triumphantly. “I told you she loved you.”

 Charlie’s face was scrunching up and reaching for her as if Leandra would vanish in thin air. “Mama! Mama!”

 Malcolm chuckled. “I tell you, if I don’t distract her every second you’re gone, she completely falls apart.”

 Leandra knew she shouldn’t feel joy to see her child in pain, but to know Charlie loved her after all this- She needed that.

 She scooped Charlie up from Malcolm’s arms. “I’m here, baby, I’m here.”

 Malcolm raised a thick eyebrow. “What happened to your bath?”

 Leandra shrugged. “It’s family time. I can bathe later.” Then her dark eyes glimmered in mischief. “Maybe you can join me.”

 Malcolm’s smirk was back. “Should I put a sleep spell on Charlie?”

 Leandra smacked him lightly on the arm. “Malcolm! Do not drug our child!”

 Charlie laughed in delight, clapping.

 Malcolm laughed, too. “Magic is the only reason I’m a halfway decent father, babe. Otherwise, I’d be useless.”

 Leandra’s anger softened. “Magic is not why you’re a good father.” She reached out and squeezed his hand. “You are a good father because you try. You try harder than anyone else I know.”

 Malcolm’s lips curled in a smile. “You try, too.” He picked up her hand and kissed it. “We’re going to make mistakes. We just won't stop trying, yeah?”

 Charlie curled into Leandra’s neck and yawned, her little eyes starting to flutter shut. Soon her body turned heavier as she drifted off.

 Malcolm chuckled and caressed his daughter's curls. “See. You’re better than me. You don’t even need magic.”

 Leandra smiled, her dimples deepening, and kissed her husband. She knew as long as she had Malcolm she could do anything.

[starlit-dreaming]

when honestly you can’t recall (Baxter Ward/MC) p3

Rating: M

Romantic Ships: Baxter Ward/Original Character(s); Derek Suárez/Leandra “Lee” Last

Platonic Ships: Main Character | Jamie Last & Leandra “Lee” Last, Main Character | Jamie Last & Original Character(s)

Tags: Unplanned Pregnancy, Single Parent, Angst w/a Happy Ending

TL;DR: A self-indulgent Single Parent AU. Lee has a better relationship with my MC compared to Liz. I wrote this when the Baxter DLC was still in beta, so I opted to avoid writing spoilers (for now) and to avoid rewriting moments of the Jude/Scott wedding.

A/N: Cross-Posted on AO3 under the same title (@ Starlit_Dreaming). Originally this chapter was ~8k words, but I decided to split it when I ended up turning it ~10k when I was editing and kept on adding more and more to some of the scenes. I literally spent several hours just "editing" this chapter so it's a good thing I chopped it in half to save the rest for another day for editing rip

Obligatory Tag: @arcosoffireheart

Links: 1 | 2 | [3] | 4

Summary:

Everyone assumes that Gabby is exactly like her mother, but Rosaline will always see the traces of her daughter’s father. The shape of her eyes, how fussy she gets if there’s even a hint of conflict, every moment her daughter is calm and serene in her arms, the sweet and gentle smiles. 

Her daughter does not have her black hair, either. Wavy hair, yes, but it was not fully black and her father has only ever dyed his hair.

It’s a miracle that nobody notices their similarities.

Including Baxter himself.

// In which Rosaline ends up becoming a single mother in the aftermath of her and Baxter’s summer fling. Some things change. Some things don’t.

——————————————————————

Part 3: just standing by blankly

——————————————————————

~1 Year Ago

Beginning of Summer

In-Between Steps 3 & 4: Age 22

———————————

“It’s just a dance,” she laughs as Cove starts to cry.

They’re in the living room, practicing their dancing — or rather, Rosaline was trying to teach Gabrielle how to dance, and Cove was watching. She was crouched on the carpet flooring, gently holding Gabrielle’s arms up to mimic a simple dance, guiding her daughter into a swaying motion as she giggled with glee.

Cove was sitting on the L-shaped sofa, recording everything with Rosaline’s phone as he observed their dancing. He’s taken to being a very doting uncle, diligently taking videos and pictures and crying over her daughter.

“Yeah, I know,” he sniffed, watching them with watery eyes and a shaky smile. “It’s just that… she’s just so cute! You even made her a cute poofy little dress, and it’ll be the first wedding she attends.”

“Cove, I literally made all of her clothes. This isn’t the first time I made her dress, and I’m sure our friends are going to get married sooner or later,” Rosaline laughed, shaking her head in amusement. “You know this. And she’s also the flower girl for Jude and Scott’s wedding, too.”

“I know, but still,” he sighed wistfully. “Why does she have to grow up so fast?”

She snorted, “Guess we know how our parents felt, huh?”

“It’s also hard since Gabby looks so much like you when we were kids,” Cove sniffed.

Gabrielle perked up at the mention of her name, looking over to Cove before she gasped and started wiggling out of Rosaline’s hold. Once she was freed, she approached Cove with a rather determined look for a toddler as she promptly patted his leg with a bit of a smack, making him twitch with a subtle wince.

Ah yes, the joys of toddlers going the extra mile.

“It’ll be okay, Coco!” Gabrielle exclaimed with determination, looking incredibly pumped up and sounding so much like Lee does when she’s trying to reassure Cove with endless patience and positivity. “Pain, pain, go away!”

“Oh my god!” Cove seemed absolutely delighted by this turn of events and possibly even more teary-eyed. “That’s so cute, Rosa…” he murmured, glancing at her before focusing back to the toddler. “I’m okay, Gabby.”

“But Coco is crying!” she frowned, looking up at him with a pout.

“Don’t worry, Brielle,” Rosaline laughed, walking over to sit down beside Cove and promptly scooping up her toddler. “Cove cries happy tears.”

“Happy crying?” her daughter tilted her head, purple eyes wide and curious. It’s easy most days, seeing her daughter and not seeing bits and pieces of Baxter so blatantly. Cove often says that she looks more like Rosaline anyway, but Rosa thinks that he’s just being biased for not really caring much for Baxter to begin with.

“Mhmm. Cove cries a lot,” she says, and Gabrielle nods in agreement. “People cry when they’re sad, but Cove cries when he’s happy, too.”

“Does mama cry happy?” Brielle tilted her head, eyes wide as if it were a groundbreaking revelation.

“No, mama doesn’t,” she smiled. “Mama only cries when she’s sad.”

“Mmm… it’s okay, mama,” Gabrielle nodded. “I’ll make pain go away!”

“Aw, thank you, Brielle,” Rosaline softly smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you, mommy!” she chirped.

———————————

Two Months Ago

Beginning of Summer

Step 4: Age 23

———————————

“I love you, mommy,” she sleepily chirped.

“I love you, too, Brielle,” Rosaline softly whispered, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s forehead as she pulled the seatbelt for her daughter. “And just like that, she’s already out,” she couldn’t help but feel calmer now, before closing the car door and moving to sit in the passenger seat. “Alright, space cadet, time to go home.”

“…are you sure you want to leave?” Cove asked, his brows knitted in worry as he looked at her. “I don’t mind waiting here for a bit.”

“…why would I want to stay?” Rosaline asked, closing her eyes as she relaxes into the seat. “The wedding’s pretty much done now, and everyone who’s still inside is just eating and drinking at this point. Lee and Derek already left for the honeymoon, and Brielle’s pretty tired.”

“Gabby interrupted you,” Cove murmured, sounding incredibly hesitant and unsure. “I thought that you still needed to talk to Baxter…?”

Of course Cove, out of everyone, noticed what had happened, that she was literally just finishing up a dance with the man in question. Still, the thought of him made her… well, she doesn’t quite know what to think of him right now. Thinking about him was starting to be too much of a common occurrence, but hopefully that all ends now that the wedding’s over.

If he were to need a dress designer for his clients, he wouldn’t need to talk to her again. There were other dressmakers Velvet Design Studios, and their sister buildings, Suitable Lenders and Lacework Lenders, were other viable options for renting dresses.

Rosaline crossed her arms, looking out the window to the sunset skies. For years, she’s been hung up over Baxter, and no matter what, it’s been the same thing over and over again.

She tries, he shuts her out, she gets hurt, and it repeats.

Again. And. Again.

“…”

“Rosa?”

“No. I’m… I’m tired.”

———————————

Several Months Ago

Beginning of Autumn

In-Between Steps 3 & 4: Age 22

———————————

“No, I’m… just tired.”

While it was true, she was actually exhausted for reasons unrelated to work (unless Baxter counted). She doesn’t feel inclined to correct that, though.

“Mmk, well, try to take it easy, Rosa,” Sonya said, peering at her with a concerned look. “I know you have a lot of work on your hands, and that you’re more than capable of handling it yourself, but don’t hesitate to ask for help.”

Sonya Chastain was Carol Amparo’s granddaughter and one of the few full-timers who was Rosaline’s age — most of their co-workers were usually in their mid-twenties at the earliest, thirties at the latest. She was a rather cheerful person with bright brown eyes and short blonde hair, with a bright smile that puts Cove at ease out of all her coworkers. It helps that she has a rather relaxed attitude in her interactions with everyone, which often puts high-strung clients at ease whenever she handles their fittings.

(Truthfully, Rosa was trying to hook her up with Cove in bits and pieces. Cove did think Sonya was cute, after all, and Sonya has had a major crush on him since the day they first met. Granted, she claimed it would pass, but it’s been a few years now.)

Her specialty mostly lay in beadwork than dressmaking, but she could at least do some basics and was much more adept with handling customers. Much better at it than Rosaline was.

Or at least, Rosa and Cass often pushed the customer service duties onto Sonya, since she was the youngest in their building.

The phone rings.

“Velvet Design Studio, otherwise known as Corsage Designs, Sonya Chastain speaking. How may I help you?” Sonya answered the phone with a fake smile, slipping right into character as she pulled up her tablet, bringing up the shared calendar. “Hello, Mr Ward.”

Rosaline froze, purple eyes immediately snapping over to her co-worker.

“Yes, Mrs Carol Amparo informed me that you were hoping to shadow one of our designers to learn more about our studio in hopes to be able to better offer our services to your clients.”

“What?” Rosaline hissed, earning Sonya’s confused glance. “Since when did Carol tell you that?”

“This morning,” Sonya whispered, hand covering the phone briefly before she continued to speak to Baxter and proceeded to blatantly lie because she did not plan on making any phone calls: “Yes, I was just about to call you myself to confirm a day. Will this Friday be convenient for you, Mr Ward? Lovely. You’ll be following one of our lead designers in bridal wear, Rosaline Winters.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry Rosa, you technically have the least workload scheduled this week since you’re focusing on a few personal projects,” Sonya whispered, looking apologetic at Rosa as she covered the phone for a brief moment before assuming her customer service smile as she refocused on the phone call. “Unfortunately, our lead suit designer, Cass Gardner, is busy at this moment in time—”

“—and I’m not?” Rosaline dryly grumbled.

“—but thankfully, Ms Winters will be able to walk you through the process of our work without an issue. Mhmm. Yes, our building is located right behind Lacework and Suitable Lenders, but if you’d like, just give us a call and Rosaline will be out to meet you.”

“I don’t appreciate how ready you are to volunteer me like this,” Rosaline muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“See you on Friday, Mr Ward!” Sonya ended the call and promptly slumped in her seat. “What’s got you so snappy, Rosa? You normally give people a walkthrough of the place,” she raised a brow. “I get that you’ve been tired lately, but it’s not like we’re pulling emergency all-nighters at the moment… plus, you love to show people around.”

“It’s worse than an all-nighter this time because Baxter’s my ex,” Rosaline groaned. “And you’re literally having me spend a day with him.”

“Oh…” she winced, opening up a calendar on her screen, typing in Baxter’s appointment. “Bad breakup, huh?”

“He didn’t think we would work out long-distance, so he dumped me,” Rosaline grimaced. “Suitor for the summer, he said.”

“Yikes,” Sonya cringed, slowly starting to organize the papers on her desk as she tried to smile. “At least you’ll only have to see him for only a day…?”

“Unfortunately no. He’s also Lee’s wedding planner, so I’m practically seeing him at least once a month if not twice a week because I’m her maid of honour and dress designer, so we’ll be in regular contact. Plus, he wanted to keep tabs on the dress progress — first time having a bride custom order a dress, so he wanted to know a little more.”

“For real?” Sonya looked taken aback at that, pausing in her organizing to look incredulously at her. “But Lee outright adores you, Rosa. Why would she deliberately put you into an awkward situation with your ex?”

“Derek was the one to set the meeting up, and Lee is super worried for me, but Baxter’s one of the best planners I know. It made sense that he became a wedding planner, and I knew that he’d go out of his way to make sure things go as perfectly and smoothly as possible. I told her to work with him, but I also didn’t really…”

“You didn’t really… what?” Sonya prompted.

“…I didn’t really think he would stay. When he figured out that it was Lee’s wedding, and that I’d be there, I just… I know him, y’know?”

“Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I… thought he’d leave again.”

———————————

Two Weeks Ago

End of Summer

Step 4: Age 23

———————————

“I thought he would leave again.”

And all of a sudden, under the sunset sky, staring off into the horizon, it felt almost as if they were 18 again in the midst of summer. Lee could remember it easily — the way Rosa shed her mask and displayed her feelings out in the open for Lee, the way Lee reassured her, and the way things ended in the aftermath of it all. It felt so stupid, really, the way things felt as if it were just repeating in different sequences of events.

Before, Lee would’ve reassured her. She would’ve told Rosa that Baxter loves her just as much as she loves him. That he wouldn’t dump her unless he had a good reason to. But he did, he did, and he said he wouldn’t be back.

She wasn’t going to lie to Rosa. It didn’t matter if she sincerely believed in them back then, because Baxter leaving had shattered Rosaline.

And Lee would never forget the guilt she felt when Rosa called her, crying.

“Well… he hasn’t exactly given you a reason to think that he would stay,” Lee murmured, trying to sound casual only to wince at how bitter it came out instead.

Liz, Aunt Pam, and Auntie Lani all thought that Rosa never even dated the guy and were surprised when it was mentioned in passing. And still, they believed that Rosa took the breakup in stride because she never cried to them and never acted differently, so they were fairly accepting when he said he was sticking around after her wedding. Rosaline was hurt, but she understood that he didn’t want a long-term relationship when they ended things back then.

Lee told him to treat Rosa better than he did before, and honestly, she wants to scream countless obscenities at him. She wanted to get angry at him, to shout and scream and tell him off for daring to break her cousin’s heart. Hell, if Rosa hadn’t said anything, she would’ve dropped his ass and hired another planner. Derek had even asked her if she was sure about keeping the guy as their planner! And yet Rosa had smiled so serenely and kindly, and had reassured Lee that Baxter was trustworthy when it came to planning. How could she say no to her cousin, even if Lee was infuriated with the man?

But Lee shouldn’t lose her temper just like that, otherwise she would end up revealing all the painful details that she’s meticulously kept close to heart, everything that Rosaline had wanted to keep quiet about. Her feelings, the nights she spent crying alone, the way her heart shattered. No matter what, Lee refused to hurt Rosaline in such a way.

(And, if she dropped Baxter as a planner, Rosa would’ve been even more worried and stressed about the wedding, and despite her feelings on the matter, Rosa was significantly calmer and happier with Baxter on board.)

And, the worst thing about saying all the thoughts in her head, however, is that hurting him with words or a slap would hurt Rosa, too.

Why does her cousin have to love a guy like that?

“Yeah… that’s true.”

Lee walked over, standing beside Rosaline. She wondered what she was thinking so intently about, standing there on the sand. Naturally, it was about Baxter, a thought that made Lee purse her lips as if she had just tasted something sour.

Loosening her expression, she glanced over to Rosa before scooting over, bumping her shoulder lightly.

“What’s on your mind?”

“I’m absolutely hopeless, Lee.”

It didn’t alarm her — Rosa’s self-esteem did take a hit when she got dumped by the person in question, but it wasn’t a self-deprecating statement like before. In fact, she sounded amused more than anything.

“Hey, that’s my darling cousin you’re talking about here,” Lee said in a teasing tone, impishly poking her shoulder. “You better not badmouth her in front of me like that, or we’ll be having problems here.”

“I think you’re gonna have a problem with what I have to say, anyway,” Rosa snorted.

“You mean you’re finally going to talk about your desk at work? About time. It’s covered in fabrics and lace, Rosa. I think you should stick to dressing up people and not desks.”

Rosaline barked out a laugh. “You sound like Cass,” she shook her head.

“Yeah, and it made you smile,” Lee grinned.

“Thanks, I really needed that,” Rosa bumped her shoulder against Lee’s, a small smile remaining as she turned to look at her. “Thank you for always being there for me.”

“Of course,” Lee softened, reaching to hold her hand. “I’m always here for you… even if I think you’re making a big mistake.”

“I never stopped loving him, and I’ve tried. You know that better than anyone. I tried so hard to stop loving him, but loving him is as easy as breathing,” Rosaline sighed, tearing up as she looked at Lee with unsure eyes. “You said it before. He loves me as much as I love him. And… I know that it’s true, even if he tried so hard to keep me at a distance.”

And clearly, Lee made a mistake when she said that. If Baxter loved Rosa, then he should’ve said something by now. Especially when they have a kid together.

“Will you… forgive me? For getting back together with him?”

“You never have to apologize to me. It’s your decision on what to do,” Lee wryly smiled, reaching up to wipe away Rosa’s tears. “You can’t help who you love, but… I just don’t want you to get hurt again. I don’t want you to cry because of him, you know? I’ll always be here for you, but I won’t hold back if you call me crying in the dead of night again. I really will end up fighting him, even if he helped me plan the perfect wedding.”

“Yeah…” she whispered, crying as she smiled at Lee. “Thank you for accepting it. For being here when I need you, from when we were kids to even now. You’re my best friend and…” she shakes her head, not wanting to voice the thought out loud. Lee was the sister that she wishes she had, but she does love Liz, and Liz has always been her sister.

“I am pretty great,” Lee smiled softly, squeezing Rosa’s hands, understanding. “Promise me you’ll be careful,” she said, knowing that she can’t convince her otherwise. “Don’t let him break your heart again. Promise?”

“I promise.”

———————————

Two Days Ago

End of Summer

Step 4: Age 23

———————————

“I promise.”

“And you’re sure…?” Rosaline softly asked, holding his hands as she looked up into his brown eyes. “I don’t want casual relationships, so I’m fine with us just staying friends if that’s not for you. What I want is a relationship with marriage in mind.”

“I don’t plan on leaving,” Baxter firmly stated, expression serious as he looked at her with soft eyes. “I understand your hesitation, and for that, I don’t blame you. I truly love you, Rosaline. I’ve loved you since the summer we dated, and even when we broke up, I still loved you, and when you entered my life again, I realized that I have never stopped loving you.”

She stared at him, eyes watering before she threw her arms around him, hugging him tight with tears in her eyes.

“I love you, Rosaline,” Baxter softly says, holding her tight. “And… I would want nothing more than to be a part of our daughter’s life. If you’ll have me.”

“Really…?” Rosalina whispered, voice wobbling.

She feels him nod, “I know that it’ll take a long time to earn your trust again, especially after what happened. I’m here to stay. I swear it.”

“Can you… say it again?”

“I’m here to stay.”

———————————

Two Months Ago

Beginning of Summer

Step 4: Age 23

———————————

“I’m… here to stay.”

Rosaline pauses in the middle of her work, hovering over the half-finished dress for her daughter. It was another cute floral dress made for Jude and Scott’s wedding this time. She just needed to add more flowers to it.

“Are you?” her eyes flicker to Baxter for a brief second before refocusing on her work. “Whatever happened to this just being a professional arrangement? A done deal, where we both do our own things?”

“…despite claiming as such, and saying that we would go our separate ways after Lee’s wedding, I… never actually thought of it.”

“…okay.”

“Okay?” he repeats, and Rosaline could so easily picture the way his eyes would brighten up. She hates that she knows him so well, and that she can’t just be happy with this.

“What about Brielle?”

And it’s the silence that makes Rosaline’s heart clench.

Because Baxter is speechless. As if he doesn’t know what to say about their daughter.

She bites the bottom of her lips, feeling him stare at her from behind. What did he think was going to happen? She’s been letting him interact with Gabrielle in bits and pieces, getting him to, at the very least, be open to being in their daughter’s life.

Their interactions at Lee’s wedding were her own selfish wishes, but her daughter will always be her first choice.

“If you’re going to be in my life again,” Rosaline said, as if this were obvious. “Then you’re going to end up having some kind of relation with Brielle beyond just being a grown-up that we interact with as if we’re just an acquaintance. I want to establish what to expect.”

“Ah… I see,” Baxter simply says, more to himself than anything. “Your daughter should naturally come first, so I feel that there shouldn’t be any issues with that. I don’t necessarily think I could be considered family to her, perhaps just a family friend. If something were to happen to her while you’re hanging out with me, I’d fully understand that you would prioritize your daughter’s well-being and safety.”

She lets him stew over the thoughts, but she can’t help but feel heartbroken.

Your daughter, he says.

It was enough of an answer for her.

He doesn’t want to acknowledge Gabrielle as his daughter.

“Okay,” Rosaline shakily sighed, staring at the little half-finished purple dress in front of her sadly. “That’s fine.”

“Hmm?”

“Not everyone wants to be parents, so I understand,” Rosaline murmured, managing to mask her feelings as she turned, smiling at him. “Would you… prefer that I keep it a secret from her? Until she gets older?”

“I beg your pardon?” Baxter blinked, confused.

Rosaline frowned.

Or maybe Baxter just didn’t know?

“Baxter… who do you think is Gabrielle’s father?”

“I… was under the impression that Cove was Gabrielle’s father.”

“You… thought Cove was the father?”

———————————

Then

Mid-Spring

In-Between Steps 3 & 4: Age 19

———————————

“You thought Cove was the father?”

Rosaline, for the most part, looked incredibly unamused as she rubbed her swollen stomach. Cove looked flabbergasted at Derek, as if he had just said the strangest thing he’s ever heard. Lee, being one of the very few who knew the father’s identity and knew that Cove was part of the family, had burst out into a fit of laughter.

“If Cove was the father, he would’ve gone with me to all of my ultrasound appointments, and I would’ve scheduled them for a day when he could actually come with me, even if the thought of it made him nauseous,” Rosaline pointed out, rolling her eyes. “But I guess that’s a fair assumption.”

“What?!” Cove finally exclaimed, his delayed response finally kicking in and looking downright startled and horrified. “Rosa’s my sister!”

“I get that now,” Derek sheepishly laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just that — think about it. Rosa only ever talks about you when it comes to the guys in her life. She’s pregnant, and now you’re moving in with her and helping with the baby whenever they get here.”

“I… I guess?” Cove frowned, brows knitted as he thought it over, paling at the thought. “Oh god… do other people think that I’m the father? Do my parents think I’m the father?!” he whips his head around to look at Rosaline with panicked eyes. “Do your moms think I am?!”

Lee, unhelpfully, is dying with laughter.

“No, none of them think that,” Rosaline explained, trying so hard to retain the semblance of patience she’s developed since childhood. Pregnancy hormones, however, were no joke, with how irritated she was starting to get even if Cove’s concerns were valid. “I told my moms that it was a one-time thing, and that I wanted to keep them when I found out. Also, they asked me if their dad was going to be involved, which, obviously, he’s not.”

Derek rubbed Lee’s back as she slowly started recovering from her giggling, her cheeks red from laughing so much and eyes shining with amusement.

“Dad One was happy for me, and he didn’t ask me about the father, but I’m pretty sure my moms already told him by now. Otherwise, he would’ve asked us about what’s going on with us moving in together with a kid on the way. Mom Three was pretty excited about being a grandma, and she already knew that you couldn’t have been the father, because otherwise you would’ve been there with me when I told her.”

Cove relaxed significantly after hearing that, placing a hand over his chest.

“Dad Two and Mom Four,” she continues, giving Derek a look, raising a brow as he smiled sheepishly. “Didn’t think Cove was the father, and were happy that I wanted to name my daughter after Gregorio. Although Nico asked, because he was just being curious in all honesty and since I was literally naming her after Dad Two, if you or Cove were the donor, which Mama Four was horrified about because it was possible, and she probably would’ve gone into a panicked frenzy even more thinking that she got a grandchild with your blood before you even got married, but I reassured them that no, it was just an ex-boyfriend.”

“Well, at least he’s less of a menace than when we were kids,” Derek snorts, shoulders relaxing from the knowledge that his parents knew the truth.

“I think Terry was the only one who asked if my daughter was yours, Cove,” Rosaline said thoughtfully. “But Terry was also the one to ask me a lot of questions about potential fathers. Liz and Miranda have never asked, but they both have this look like they might know who it is.”

“I’m glad that was cleared up, then,” Cove sighed, rubbing the back of his neck rather awkwardly. “Not that you’re not an amazing person Rosa, but…”

“Yeah, I get it, Cove,” she nodded, sharing an understanding look with the man in question. “It’s weird.”

“So uh… are you…?” Derek trailed off.

“Hmm?” Rosa looked over to him.

“Did you… ever tell the father?”

———————————

Then

Mid-Autumn

In-Between Steps 3 & 4: Age 18

———————————

“Will you ever tell the father…?”

Rosaline shook her head, looking at the vase of flowers on the table than at either of her moms. Lee is sitting beside her, holding her hand. She dreaded the question, she expected it, but the thought of Baxter had left her heart aching.

And… she still never really mentioned much of Baxter to either of her moms. All she ever told them was that he left, and they knew that she had wanted to keep in touch with him.

“Is he out of the picture?” Noelani asked, concern on her face.

She tried to contact him, but it’s rather pointless to when he won’t answer phone calls or text messages. None of it mentioned her pregnancy yet, but once she got the ultrasound, she planned on telling him that she was going to keep the child. If he still didn’t want to be in their child’s life, she’ll take his silence as enough of an answer anyway.

“…Yeah. It was a one-time thing, and he isn’t answering my calls or responding to my texts since we broke up. I’m the one who wants to have this child, and he’s going to be against it, anyway. I… don’t plan on getting him involved if he doesn’t want to be.”

Both of her moms shared a worried look with each other, an unspoken conversation happened between them. Pamela frowned, Noelani still looked concerned.

“It’s… a pretty big responsibility, Rosaline,” Pamela stated, looking at her. “Having a kid is wonderful, but it can be hard at times, especially when you’re still so young. This isn’t like having a pet, and there will be times when you have to put that child’s needs above your own.”

“I know,” Rosaline softly said, nodding. “I know it’ll be hard, but I want to keep them.”

“Well… we do know someone you could talk to,” Noelani said, thinking it over. “Your… your mother — your birth mother,” she clarified. Rosalina blinked, looking at her with clear confusion. “She had a friend before she passed away.”

Rosaline wasn’t ever interested in knowing more about her birth family. Not when she was a teenager and Liz had thrown a fit, and not even now. However, it was more for the sake of medical records that she should know, and when she entered high school and her parents talked to her about her birth family.

Not that there wasn’t really much to know. Her birth mother was an orphan, her birth father wasn’t in the picture, he knew, but wanted no involvement and had even signed away parental rights.

“While Cliff and Kyra would be able to provide insight on what it’s like to raise a child on their own, they did co-parent Cove,” Pamela said in agreement, thinking it over. “Mrs Amparo has regularly helped single parents get back on their feet or assisting single mothers who are on their own with no one to support them.”

“We will love and support you, of course,” Noelani assured, smiling softly as she reached over for Rosaline’s free hand. “But having a child can be difficult, and we want to make sure that you don’t feel alone in this.”

“Of course, we’ll help you whenever we can,” Pamela nodded in agreement. “I just want you to be certain. Are you absolutely sure that this is something you want?”

“I’m sure,” Rosaline murmured, blinking away the tears.

———————————

Then

Mid-Spring

In-Between Steps 3 & 4: Age 19

———————————

“I’m sure,” Rosaline reluctantly stated, trying not to let it get to her.

“And he really hasn’t answered back?” Lee pursed her lips, looking almost as if she had just tasted something sour.

“Yeah. I texted him, saying that I needed to talk to him about something important,” she shifted in her seat uncomfortably. “I did leave a voicemail saying that I was pregnant, but… still he didn’t say anything back.”

“I’m sorry, Rosa,” Cove frowned, wrapping his arm around Rosaline as he rubbed her back in a comforting way. She sighed, shoulders relaxing as she wryly smiled. Lee reached for her hands, holding it tight.

“Don’t be,” Rosaline shook her head, eyes softening as she stared at her phone wistfully. “Not everyone wants to stay together,” she smiles, almost weakly as she holds their intertwined hands up, “And… not everyone’s willing to take care of a kid with someone.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about doing this alone,” Lee softly stated.

Cove nodded, “We’ll both help you out as much as we can.”

“You guys are the best,” Rosaline smiled.

[frankensteined]

31 Days of Dragon Age (Day 13)

Oct 013 - Introduce your Hawke i have a buncha hawkes that i'm fond of (and still no screenshots of them, thanks ps3), so i don't have a "main" hawke, but my main four are:

aelia hawke - mage with the force mage spec. - blue personality

aelia was my first playthrough hawke, which was kind of a new experience for me because i typically play a dual-wielding rogue on my first playthroughs, but i wanted to have carver around because he reminded me of my own brother, so i went with a mage. i'm glad i did, because aelia was frequently out of her element and Trying Her Best, while obviously being as pro-mage as she could be. she romanced anders, because of course she did, and ran away with him after fleeing kirkwall. had a friendship with everyone except for fenris, who actually turned on her at the end of the game for siding with the mages (a game feature i was really impressed by! love character agency!) carver joined the grey wardens on this playthrough, which was my favourite outcome for him, and his relationship with his sister is probably one of my favourite ones in the series. della hawke - archer rogue with the shadow spec- blue-turned-red personality

della was my attempt at making a wholesome, positive character, and then slowly showcasing how kirkwall just beats you down over the years. she started out kind and helpful, but by the end of the game she was aggressive and reactionary, pitting her against anders at the end. she ultimately sided with the mages, despite killing anders, solely because bethany was a part of the circle, and that's something that kind of kept her from becoming the worst version of herself in the end. that, and her beloved merrill, who was absolutely della's blindspot in pretty much every other regard. della didn't always agree with merrill, but she always acted out of the interest of protecting her, even if it resulted in disagreements.

judith hawke - two-handed warrior with the templar spec. - red personality

judith was my most Eldest Daughter of all the hawkes i made. she took her role as the twins' protector seriously, and never forgave herself for losing carver in lothering. this also put her directly at odds with leandra a lot of the time, too, so it was a lot of fun getting to roleplay that element with her. with this in mind, she actually got on well with gamlen eventually, and i like to imagine that she and her uncle developed a close relationship over the years, despite everything that's happened to their family. bethany was a circle mage on this playthrough as a well, and with playing judith as a devout andrastian who was trying to balance her faith with her love for her sister, i ended up rivalling bethany for the first and only time! it was weird! judith also ended up in a friendship romance with sebastian, which sort of added to that whole mess. ultimately, sided with the templars to maintain order and stayed with sebastian to help restore what was lost when anders did the thing (regardless of what varric's narration said lol)

beatrice hawke - DW rogue with the assassin spec. - purple personality

the purplest of purple hawkes, beatrice was playful and sarcastic, and has never met a quip that she didn't want on her tongue right away. she actively ran away from responsibility every chance she got, and it was only by sheer dumb luck that she happened to let anders tag along on the deep roads expedition, thus saving her sister's life. after losing bethany to the wardens, beatrice kind of smartened up a bit, and out of gratitude to anders, she started being more assertive in helping the mages of kirkwall. flirted with him at first, until he did the whole "i'll only hurt you in the end..." thing, upon which she backed off and the two ended up becoming really close friends instead.

something really fun happened with beatrice's actual romance stuff though: she initiated the romance with fenris, but after he left her following their first night together, she eventually moved onto isabela, expecting a casual fling would help her get over the sting of that rejection. she ended up liking isabela a lot more than she'd expected though, and very quickly, at that. however, the romance flags in the game got bugged, and fenris' was never turned off. so, following "all that remains", it was fenris who came to comfort her, which really allowed me to headcanon that he was able to shelve his own complicated feelings for her to be there for her when she needed someone the most. it was very sweet, but i didn't know which romance was actually "active" anymore. fastforward to act 3, and one of the first banters i got was merrill and fenris' "you're in love..." "no i'm not!" banter. thinking that it meant that fenris was the canon romance now, i went to talk to varric, only for him to talk to beatrice about isabela instead. and, indeed, as act 3 progressed, it was isabela's romance scenes that followed, and fenris' were the friendships ones.

except...i also triggered the banter between isabela and fenris, about them hooking up too! because the flags were a mess! so, naturally, i had no choice at all but to assume that they were in a poly relationship at that point, and that's the story i'm sticking with. Canon.

...anyways, beatrice also sided with the mages and sailed away with isabela (and fenris) after the fight at the gallows, despite sebastian offering to marry her at one point too. the flags! they were a mess! but it made for a really compelling story!

[greypetrel]

Orana, Morrigan, and Arwen for the character thing 💗 (and I hope your day is going well!)

Hello, Mo!

Thank you, my day... Well, has gone well, thanks xD I hope yours is going splendidly and you're having a wonderful Sunday and your throat is better!

This the tag game

Orana:

First impression: She made me sad and made all my protec instincts kick instantly.

Impression now: Same as above, i think she got herself in a terrible situation... Which could have been her saving grace, with a good job. I hope she'll have all the therapy she needs and will find all the happiness in the world.

Favorite moment: She has such little moments in the game! I like how she settles down in the Hawke mansions tho, and people making references to her.

Idea for a story: I'd LOVE to read something about her and Fenris interact and bond, honestly. Or with Leandra! Or like... Some story with her as the main character.

Unpopular opinion: I haven't read many opinions about her to know if any of mine would be unpopular? I think that with time and much sureness in herself and her capacities and in how the world isn't scary, she'll make a life for herself... Even outside the Hawkes.

Favorite relationship: I would have loved to see more of her interacting with Leandra, honestly.

Favorite headcanon: Bodahn instantly adopting her as well.

Morrigan:

First impression: Honestly I though that oh no here comes the local hypersexualised lady with boobs out in the air for reasons. Then she started speaking and between the voice, the vocabulary and her personality... Listen, Alyra wasn't as abrasive as she is now in my first plans. She became like so in my attempt to trigger the romance with Morrigan. I don't accept that it couldn't happen, no. We scammed children for her, so in my head she's bi.

Impression now: I think she's one of the most interesting characters in the saga, characterisation and morality-wise. She's rough around the edges and I love how she really had not a redemption arc but stayed as she was. Just milder with age and motherhood, but still strong in her convinctions.

Favorite moment: The reunion in Witch Hunt? MORRIGAN PLZ DON'T GO WE'RE FRIEND. Her whole positive relationship with the Warden honestly is something I love. But also her talking about Skyhold... aaaaaaaaaaaaah plz tell me more about the lore.

Idea for a story: I'd love to see something more about her life in Orlais.. And to have some headcanon about what happen to make Leliana so angry at her. But also her keeping in contact with the Warden in spite of everything. Writing and writing and telling how Kieran's is doing and how she's doing, and them visiting Amaranthine in all secrecy to visit "Aunt/Uncle Warden".

Unpopular opinion: *places a wooden casket in the middle of the square. Hops on it and clears her throat* The Dark Ritual was NOT a betrayal. (particularly because... You can say no and she will be sad because she doesn't want you to die, but she won't force anyone). ALSO: it should have been written WAY better, but I think there was a way to make her drinking from the Well of Sorrow a viable solution for a Lavellan Inquisitor.

Favorite relationship: I love seeing her with Kieran, she's just... A good mom.

Favorite headcanon: I think she's always been motherly. In the way some neglected children are: they know what it means to not be taken care of, and will do it. She's the one who cooks for the group after Ostagar. She stays on the sidelines of the camp, but will guard said sidelines. She just has her way to be unseen when caring about others, because she naturally does it, but doesn't know how to express it without sounding weak to her ears.

Arwen:

First impression: My first approach to Tolkien was seeing the Fellowship of the Ring movie. I was starstruck when she appeared and in the river scene, I remember playing Arwen for LONG after I saw the movie (and until The Two Towers was out in cinemas and Eowyn became my favourite)

Impression now: I love her still, your honour. Eowyn may be closer to my heart, but you can't honestly hate Arwen. Tolkien knew how to write women. It's true that there could be more! But the ones we have? One stronger than the other, even the ones, like Arwen, that doesn't participate in battles. Galadriel in Rings of Power is 10 times a woman from a Tolkien book than Tauriel ever was. Arwen is intelligent and clever and a good Queen in the book, and she deserves more credit. She's strong in her own way, she's just the Healer of the group that stays out of the action.

Favorite moment: As for above, I know it's from the movie but I'm affectionate. "If you want him, come and claim him."

Idea for a story: Boromir lives. Boromir gets absolutely rabid about Eowyn making heart eyes at Aragorn. Boromir yells at Aragorn to tell her to stop, that he's old and has a girlfriend he loves. Aragorn doesn't want to hurt Eowyn's feelings and she doesn't listen ("Age is relative and well your girlfriend isn't here..."). Boromir writes to Arwen (Legolas, the little shit that he is, gives him the address). Arwen travels south and single-handedly fixes EVERYTHING by herself. Because you know. Women in Tolkien are a few because otherwise there wouldn't be a story, they would just fix things without even getting their hair in disarray.

Unpopular opinion: I get rabid every time someone says she's a bad character in the book and that the movie did her more justice. No. Sorry, but no. You can like Movie!Arwen better, that's fine. Book!Arwen is not worse. Take Arwen away from the book and good luck in having Aragorn move his royal butt and stop being your local Bear Grylls.

Favorite relationship: I'd love to see her interact with her brothers, honestly.

Favorite headcanon: She'll be an active part in politics when she'll become Queen. She's an elf, she's educated, she'll be a great Queen and will be listened and loved and cherished. Also, as children she was more destructive than her siblings. She had the worst plans, but she was better at playing the innocent, cute child with Dad Elrond and always got clean and never got punished.

[inquisitorgaywarden]

weird fun facts about you oc(s)

Rules: share some fun facts about your oc(s). They don't have to be relevant to their story, perhaps even better if they aren't. The weirdest ones are the best!

Tagged by @ndostairlyrium - Thank you so, so much!! <3 I love talking about my kids :D

She can't cook for life. Morrigan and Alistair tried their best to teach her the basics... but she just can't,

She steals as a hobby. When she was younger, she stole from her family and staff around the Cousland's castle, only to give it back later and watch their bafflement as they realized something of theirs was missing. It became a bad habit. She gives back the stuff she stole (usually),

She loves being in control and making tough calls, even if they're stressing her out. She was raised as a ruler and she enjoys leading,

She loves politics and scheming. She finds it fascinating and she wants to find out more about people, their motives - it's the game, and she thrives in it,

She loves to draw; her sketchbook is filled with sketches of her friends and gryffins (there's a lot of sketches of gryffins and Alistair with hearts around them).

Her magic abilities showed up when she was around 5 years old, scaring the shit out of pregnant Leandra who went into labor shortly after. Hawke froze Malcolm's hands as he tried to tickle her,

She hates being alone. She needs someone at close proximity at all times; the more the merrier! After all, she need an audience for all the jokes she cracks (lmao),

Often she casually strolls into Anders' clinic to watch him work - healing magic is not her forte, and she finds it mesmerizing how Anders wields it,

She can sing - she loves singing. She used to sing lullabies for the twins when they were younger,

She doesn't really sleep at night, but she often takes naps. She can nap anywhere, there's no position that's uncomfortable for a nap. She especially enjoys those naps when the sun is shining right at her, warming her up. Anders says it reminds him of a cat.

In the Ostwick Circle, she and her friends created a competition of 'who's going to make the funniest prank on the Templars.' It went on for years, but finally, she was declared the winner when, at her Harrowing, she decided to prank them with a bunny pretending to be a demon of greed,

Due to her rebellious nature, she often wasn't allowed to leave the Tower. Thanks to that, she's quite pale. After leading the Inquisition, she got sunburned really bad, lol

Her attitude is surprisingly very un-ladylike - despite being a Trevelyan. This was something Josephine was concerned about when they went to Halamshiral, but Evelyn put on such a good mask - remembering all those talks she had with her mother and all the books she read about Orlesian customs, her behavior was perfect,

She's got a big sweet tooth. She loves tiny Orlesian desserts, cakes, chocolate, sugar, and fruit. Instead of eating meals, she tends to snack throughout the day, taking a little pouch filled with dried fruit, cheese, bread, and nuts.

Her magic abilities presented when she was 13; she made her fingers sparkle with electricity when one of her cousins stole her piece of cake. Her cousin's hair stood up, and the entire family dinner went silent. Then, chaos erupted.

_________________

I'm tagging @rh-ood @plisuu and @thatonedalish

No pressure tho! :]

[lesetoilesfous]

"you obviously can’t be trusted to take care of yourself, so let me do it for you." with fenhawke or hawke/isabela please!

AH I am currently romancing fenris for the first time so, I gotta

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Fenris/Garrett Hawke

Characters: Fenris, Garrett Hawke

Tags: Hawke is an idiot, Fenris survived three years on the run by himself somehow, who let Hawke near a cooking pot, Fenris is exasperated and in love and exasperated by the fact he’s in love, post All That Remains

Rating: Mature

“You obviously can’t be trusted to take care of yourself, so let me do it for you.” 

Garrett scowls, crossing his arms defensively across his chest and not moving away from the charred remains of what was meant to be a honey-roasted bronto haunch. “I can look after myself, Fenris.”

Fenris raises his eyebrow. Hawke unfolds his arms and resolutely does not look at the blackened chunk of what could no longer, even charitably, be called meat. Between them, Dog watches with interest, transparently waiting for an opportunity to salvage the haunch. Fenris steps back, and gestures for her to take it. Then he looks up at Garrett, who is in turn watching somewhat mournfully as Dog smears grease and ash across the red rug spread over his floor.

When Fenris speaks, he does so in a deliberate drawl. “Clearly.” He narrows his eyes as he looks at Hawke, noting the creases around his mouth and eyes and the thinness to his cheeks, the way his tunic hangs lighter than it usually would. His skin is pale, too, even in the bronze light of the fire. “When did you last eat?” Hawke opens his mouth, and Fenris scowls at him. “What passes for ale at The Hanged Man doesn’t count.” Hawke shuts his mouth. 

Fenris tries very hard to resist the urge to sigh. Of all the men in Thedas, why did it have to be this one?

Then he marches briskly out of the main hall and towards Garrett’s kitchen. He doesn’t wait to see if Hawke will follow. After six years, Fenris has come to learn that despite his better judgement and all sensible social norms, Garrett Hawke will follow him without question, anywhere. Fenris tries not to be overwhelmed by the enormity of that. 

“Fenris, you’re not seriously planning to cook for me.” Hawke’s voice is loud, and bounces off the empty stone walls of his family home. Not for the first time, Fenris wonders how well he is truly acclimatising to the sudden emptiness of the Amell Estate. It was clearly not built for solitude. 

Dismissing his concerns for now, Fenris throws his comment back over his shoulder as he swings open the door to the library and steps through it. “That depends, were you seriously planning not to eat?”

He crosses the library quickly - unable to resist throwing a brief, hungry glance at the shelves. (”They’re yours, you know. All of them. Take as long as you need.” Hawke’s chin had rested lightly on his head as he’d said the words, arms wrapping loosely around his belly. Fenris had wanted to call him out on his magnanimity - to point out that he could not possibly mean such a generous promise. But too much of him had been seized by the sudden, powerful hope that he meant it, and the unwillingness to risk the possibility that he didn’t. So instead he’d said nothing - only reached out, reverently, and brushed his fingers along the soft red leather spines of the Amell family library.)

“How do you know where the kitchen is, anyway?” Hawke asks, mildly, taking the door when Fenris holds it open for him, and stepping back to let Dog come bounding through, her claws skittering on the stone. 

Fenris resists the urge to sigh - choosing not to resurrect the old argument of whether Garrett should hire servants as he clears away the dusty surfaces and begins to search the pantry for something edible. Garrett would not have purchased something, but Leandra was a sensible woman. She would have bought stores to last. The connection between Leandra’s death and Garrett’s sudden inability to feed himself is one Fenris is unsure how to examine yet. But he knows he will be there for Hawke, when he is ready to discuss it. It is the best, and the least, that he can do.

Fenris’ hand tightens around the pan in his hand. 

It is, at least, not the only thing he can do.

As he prepares the meal, he looks up to see Hawke watching him, curiously, still waiting for an answer. Fenris carefully begins dicing onions. “You are aware that poisoning is a popular method of assassination.”

“Yes?” Hawke drags out his answer as he props his hip against the counter. Fenris tries not to sigh again, and resists the childish urge to laugh at his lover as he mixes the onion and garlic with olive oil in the pot and lights the stove beneath it.

“Understanding a building’s layout is fairly standard procedure when securing it from possible assassins. The kitchen -” Fenris manages to light the fire and steps back as it rises with a huff, carefully closing the clay door to the oven, “- is crucial.”

When he looks up, Hawke is frowning at him, one hand resting on Dog’s head. “Fenris...” Hawke’s voice holds a note of warning that Fenris has come to appreciate and resent in equal measure. He resists the urge to cross his arms.

“What?”

Hawke’s eyes tighten. “It’s just. All this...The security, cooking for me. You’re not...” Hawke trails off, biting the inside of his cheek, and impatience quickly wins the battle over affection in Fenris’ chest, hastened on by a strange kind of anxiety.

“Not what?”

Hawke meets his eyes then, lifting his chin. “I’m not another Danarius to you, am I?”

Fenris blinks. Then he raises his hands. “Oh no, dread magister, I live in fear of your terrible magics.” He snorts, then, and lowers his arms - feeling a stupid bubble of affection rising through his chest at the fact Hawke had thought of such a thing at all. It drives him in a sudden wave of boldness to kiss the unhappy frown on Hawke’s brow, though his lover doesn’t smile when Fenris comes down from his tiptoes, so he chooses instead to flick his nose lightly with his finger and thumb. That does elicit a small laugh from Garrett, and it’s only when it does that Fenris realises how much he’d missed it, these past weeks.

Having successfully discovered stock, water, white wine and dried peas, Fenris returns to his meal, dumping the ingredients into the pan unceremoniously and shifting it into the centre of the hot plate until the mixture begins to simmer. The smell of cooking onions and oil fills the kitchen, mixing with the light, heady scent of cooking wine and the salty, moreish taste of the stock.

Fenris stirs it a few times before turning back to his lover. “No, Hawke, you are not another Danarius. For one thing, i do not fear you.” It as true now as it had been the first time he’d come to Hawke’s bed, three years ago. It still seems like the most impossible gift.

Fenris is afraid of intimacy, certainly. He is afraid of trust. He is afraid of losing this man who holds so much of his heart to death or worse, and he knows too well the shape of the many fates worse than death the world might hold for a man like Garrett Hawke. But Fenris is not afraid of the man himself, and it is that, he has found, that has made all the difference.

Garrett, for his part, gestures to his broad chest with a look of mock affront. “Not afraid? Of me? I’ll have you know I’m the Champion of Kirkwall, serrah.” Fenris snorts, and Garrett warms to his part, shifting away from the counter whilst the risotto bubbles wetly next to Fenris. Dog begins to bark, excited, tail wagging as she does so. Hawke raises his hands into the air. “I defeated the Arishok himself in single combat. The Arishok. He’s twenty feet tall.”

Fenris smirks at him. “I hear he shoots fire out of his eyes.”

Garrett gasps. “He does! His roar is enough to make a grown man soil himself. But not I! My loins are girded with iron!” Fenris raises his eyebrows and Hawke falters, arms falling from where they’d been raised as he flushes. “Alright, that one got away from me.”

Fenris shakes his head and steps forward, running his fingers over the cool silk of Hawke’s tunic. “No, no. Tell me about your iron loins.” He grins up at his lover then, teasing, and Garrett grins back.

“You’ certainly keep me humble, love.”

Garrett bends and kisses him, then, and his beard scratches against Fenris’ chin, soft and familiar. Fenris sighs and lets him, and resists the urge to answer that he doesn’t. Garrett does that well enough himself. He always has. It’s one of the things Fenris loves about him.

Between them, Dog whines, and they break apart breathless as teenagers. Fenris feels his face flush and returns quickly to the meal, checking on it before searching the cupboard for any kind of hard cheese. 

A little later it’s ready, and Fenris spoons the mixture into a fine silver bowl for Hawke, who takes it gratefully as he leans against the counter. “Where’d you learn to cook?” Hawke pauses to eat a spoonful of risotto before groaning in a way that is positively obscene and, Fenris thinks, only a little exaggerated. “Maker, that’s good.” With sudden, honest gusto Hawke begins to wolf down the rest of the mix. Fenris stops worrying about what he’ll do with the excess.

Instead, he leans against the counter opposite Hawke, stepping back and away from the heat of the oven and poking at his own rice. “I taught myself. After I left Danarius.”

Hawke grunts, and swallows, gesturing with his spoon. “What is this? It’s so good.”

Fenris ducks his head, and tries to stifle the stupidly shy smile pulling at his lips even as heat burns its way up into the tips of his ears. “It’s...nothing. A Tevene peasant recipe.” Hawke watches him, patiently, and Fenris feels his cheeks burn, tossing the words between them like an embarassed kind of offering. “Risi e bisi.”

Fenris quickly shoves a spoonful of the rice into his mouth before he can do anything worse. The mixture is salty and sweet, rounded out by the stock and cheese. He lets it warm him, and takes a moment to appreciate the simple pleasure of having access to hot food as and when he needs it. 

Hawke, meanwhile sets down his empty bowl with a satisfied sigh. “Risi e bisi.” His Fereldan accent butchers the language. Fenris doesn’t care. “I’ll have to remember that.”

There’s a little more colour in Hawke’s cheeks now - brought up by the warmth of food, laughter and flirtation. It paints him ruddy and warm, and there’s a smile lingering around his lips as he bends to scratch Dog’s great sandy head. Fenris feels a small coil of satisfaction curl in his gut as he watches him.

He is safe. He is well. He is happy.

Fenris did that.

Carefully, Fenris sets down his own bowl and steps forward, reaching up to touch Hawke’s cheek. Garrett’s hand catches his gingerly. He always stares at him with such poorly hidden wonder, when Fenris touches him. Fenris smiles at him, and is struck for a moment by the image of a raven chick, fluffy and awkward and fragile, cradled in his hands. Hesitantly, Hawke smiles back.

Fenris gets up on tiptoes, and presses a long, slow, chaste kiss to Hawke’s lips.

“Let me take care of you.” He smiles at Garrett, and runs a thumb over his tanned, weather-beaten cheek. “That is what lovers do, isn’t it?”

[hollyand-writes]

In this chapter, the Sabraes’ cousins’ dinner party commences. 

Title: A Chance Engagement Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Chapters: 32/? Pairings: Eventual Carver/Merrill, background F!Mahariel/Tamlen, other pairings not revealed yet because of spoilers   Other characters: Marian Hawke, Bethany Hawke, Leandra Hawke, Isabela, Tamlen, Fenarel, Female Mahariel, Keeper Marethari, Sabrae Clan, Arishok   Other tags: Alternative Universe - Regency, Pride & Prejudice References, Bethany and Carver Hawke Live, Pride & Prejudice AU, Fluff and Humour  

Summary:

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, Lady Leandra Amell tried to impress upon her three children, that a single man in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife. However she hoped this wisdom would be received by her offspring, Lady Amell was dismayed to find that it had not had the effect she intended.”

Regency AU. When Miss Merrill attends the Kirkwall public assembly ball, the last man she expects to engage in a dance is Carver Hawke – a single man who has just come into possession of a large fortune. This chance meeting, however, sets them both on a path they never expected.

READ FROM THE BEGINNING ON ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN  

The date for the dinner party at their Sabrae cousins was settled for almost a fortnight away, and was met with much excitement and anticipation at Sundermount. During this time, Merrill and Mahariel made a brief visit to the Hawke Estate, as thanks for their stay, and to offer a gift of some Dalish pianoforte sheet music that Bethany had expressed interest in. Upon being informed that the sisters and Captain Isabela were inside, Merrill and Mahariel duly left their calling-cards in the salver by the front door, and were received graciously by their friends. Sir Carver, they were also told, was briefly away on business in Ferelden, for he had to attend to their grand estate in Lothering among other matters; but would be returning on the morrow.

‘I am most sorry to have missed him,’ Mahariel said, ‘but I trust you will convey my – and Merrill’s – good wishes.’

Merrill was not sure she had any good wishes to convey to him, but smiled politely at her cousin’s words anyway. The Hawke sisters let their elven friends know the news that their trusty servant Duncan – who had been so helpful during their stay – had recently been promoted to a position as their brother’s steward; and promised to invite the Sabraes to the ball they were obliged to hold at the Hawke Estate, if only because both Hightown and the Qunari militia expected one. This led Mahariel to suggest that perhaps their Sabrae cousins could be invited too – ‘for I am sure,’ said she, ‘that they will be as interested to see this fine place as I was.’

‘I am hopeful that they shall,’ Miss Bethany said, ‘and they would be most welcome to us.’

Captain Isabela laughed. ‘More welcome than the Qunari would be, at any rate.’  

Miss Hawke pulled a face. 

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[storybookhawke]

okay so i know youre 150% anders but.. will you talk or list or whatever some varric romance things. im starved for content and i love all the things you post (plus i saw in the tags that you wish you could romance him) :D

FUCKIN GLADLY!!!!!!! I actually started creating a Hawke who romanced Varric (clearly not possible to do in-game with mods, but you feel me :D). I actually hc Varric as aro/ace most of the time, but I can’t resist having a few other hcs that include a romance with him. :)

Things I love about Varric:

CARING: One of the most caring characters in all of Dragon Age. He uses his own money to keep Merrill safe when she’s cuts through shady alleyways, he ensures Anders is safe and unbothered by gangs, makes up wonderful and suitable nickname and only uses them in fondness, he often tries cheering up his friends with jokes.

GENEROUS: As a merchant investor and a popular author, Varric thankfully has money to fling around to help his friends and people. He’s such a smart business man but an even more clever writer. The reason he’s able to be such a successful writer is that he also does business on the side. Compared to all of Hawke’s other dirt-poor or squatting friends, it’s kind of refreshing to have a character who can help financially.

VOICE: He’s got such a deep and rough and warm voice. Hearing him talk is like standing next to a crackling fire while it storms outside–so comforting.

BODY: Hottest dwarf to grace Thedas in many generations. He’s so fucking muscular, he’s a solid brick house. I’m sure he gives the BEST HUGS despite only being able to hug Varric over the course of two games when you KILL HAWKE.

CHEST HAIR: Chest hair.

BIANCA: No, not the girl. I love that he refuses to use any other weapon. And since Bianca is the only one of her kind, I’m certain he must do his own modifications because otherwise people would find out the secret of how she’s made and having an army of repeat-firing crossbows would end in a massacre. He’s honestly saving lives by keeping the crossbow a well guarded secret. Also, he wrote a song about the history of Bianca and hums it. How cute!

Lastly, he’s a goddamn romantic. You could even h/c him as aro/ace and he’d still be the biggest goddamn romantic because that’s just how his heart sings. He wants his friends to be happy, to be in love, to find what makes them happiest in life. He strives to help them along, even if they’re idiots about it. He doesn’t just write romances because they sell, he writes them because sometimes you just gotta see people happy together.

Things that would have made a DA2 romance with him GREAT:

He’d write the best love letters and poems. He always says his romance series are garbage, but we see the most fans of those so they must be good. Imagine Varric and Hawke lounging in his nice big bed at the Hanged Man, reading Varric’s newest love poem. Or Varric writing Hawke letters while at Skyhold, when Hawke is out doing Hawkey things.

Varric’s scene after Leandra’s death would include inviting Hawke out, to the Hanged Man, to his rooms (anywhere but the now dreary, empty mansion, Varric thinks to himself). Varric is a social man, if a private person, and sometimes spending time with friends is the best medicine. If Hawke said no, Varric would stay with them for as long as they wished.

Though Varric sides with Hawke no matter what, the devotion would be even more steadfast and romantic.

I like to also imagine a Lady Hawke (or both) wearing Varric’s red shirt, and only his red shirt. You know, in the mornings. (Hawke-Varric Shirt Mod!!!)

He miiiiight just tell the actual, true story about Bianca (the weapon) to Hawke, after sworn secrecy. It would be a magical moment, just to know something about Varric that he hides behind secrets and jokes. How enjoyable would it be for Hawke to watch other people ask Varric about the crossbow and to smile, knowing they’re the only one who knows.

Concept: Not only did Varric see Hawke and be like “Yeah, they’ve got incredible skills and would be useful to have on the expedition,” but also extends the invitation to join the expedition as a partner because Varric has a big ol’ crush on Hawke.

Additional possible concept: Varric would spoil the shit out of Hawke. Not even with expensive things but just like, time together and fine wine and meals. Varric always gives off good sugar-daddy vibes to me, and he’d be a loving doting boyfriend.

Varric perhaps writing an alternate version of The Tale of the Champion, one where their relationship is real and accurate and not made up for the sake of literature. Of course, only he and Hawke would have that version.

Things that would have made a DAI romance with him GREAT:

Varric is such a supportive person in DAI, that to any inquisitor who is uncertain about things, about the position they hold, they would easily just go find Varric and talk with him. He’s got such a good listening ear and would do such a good job making the inquisitor less nervous.

He’s so so upset by Hawke’s death that the Inquisitor would have comforted him, and been sensitive to his feelings. Perhaps even held a memorial for Hawke, for Varric’s sake.

The Inquisitor might not have read his books, so they send out for copies and read them just to understand Varric a little better, and to support him in something he’s so passionate about.

Imagine the awkwardness of meeting the real Bianca while romancing Varric. As an inquisitor, I know I would have asked many questions, but quietly and privately. Not pushing Varric to tell the story, not making him feel like he owes any explanation to his past.

Varric, the (temp) Viscount of Kirkwall, and the goddamn Inquisitor. Power couple.

Also can you imagine: dwarf x Varric or hell, QUNARI X VARRIC. Varric is big spoon no matter the size of his partner. Good, night-long hugs from such a warm and hairy bear man.

[thecommunicationsconnoisseur]

Digital Media and Personal Life

There is something about the phenomenon of selfies that has spurred debate amongst academics and the public alike. From disapproving critics who feel that the selfie highlights a growing narcissism amongst the youth, to its supporters, who argue that the phenomenon represents cyberspace-era aspiration, much attention has been given to these self-produced images. It would seem that everyone has an opinion regarding the images that have the power to transform the personal into the public. This post will note and explain my own opinion of selfies. That is, while they can certainly allow civilians to gain some marginal fame, their success on digital media platforms (as evidenced by ‘likes’ and engagement) is largely dependent on the producer’s existing material and professional circumstances. While selfies, and digital media in general, have repeatedly been viewed as highly democratic platforms that can lead to fame, or even monetary gain for those who make use of them, this idea is slightly over-optimistic. In its response to this idea, the essay will make use of examples of highly successful digital media ‘influencers’, demonstrating how many of them possess physical and material characteristics already deemed attractive without social media. Thereafter, the example of Kim Kardashian will be used. While she is by no means merely “Instafamous”, she is nonetheless a high-profile user of digital media. Moreover, the combination of her digital media skills and her position as a celebrity has led to her having an enormous Instagram following. Finally, the post will give a brief explanation of my own experience with selfies, highlighting how high-profile location tags on Instagram play a crucial role in how successful the image becomes.

Iqani and Schroeder (2016: 406) begin their article on ‘digital self-portraits’ with selfies featuring themselves alongside their cats. This is a playful way of introducing their topic, as it is widely known that cat images are wildly popular on the internet (Iqani and Schroeder, 2016: 405). While Iqani and Schroeder (2016: 413) conclude that the popularity of cat selfies could come from the cyberspace-era desire to document all aspects of life- even commonplace events such as a cats yawning- it should be taken into account that certain ‘types’ of selfies exist for the reason that their prevailing popularity brings greater attention to individual images. Indeed, Marwick (2015: 147) quotes Titlow’s argument that popular image subjects, and the hashtags describing them, serve as a beacon of hope for digital media users aiming to gain a greater following. Thus, one must reconsider whether cat selfies are truly used to document commonplace events (Iqani and Schroeder, 2016: 413), or if they are made public by individuals seeking to benefit from the prevalence of these posts.

Bearing in mind that specific varieties of selfies result in higher engagement, this post will now elaborate on the opinion that existing circumstances dictate who might have a more successful online presence. Marwick’s (2015) arguments in this regard are crucial. In her essay on “Instafame”, Marwick uses the examples of Cayla Friesz, Leandra Goodridge, and Kane Lim (2015: 148-153). The reasons Marwick gives for each of these individuals finding online success are as follows; Friesz depicts “herself as an effortless[ly] cool”…“all-American high school girl” (2015: 150); Goodridge is best friends with pop icon Rihanna, and is thus Instafamous due to her “association” with a ‘real’ celebrity (2015: 153); and Lim has found fame as a result of his expensive possessions (2015: 153). In each case, the Instafamous individual has something deemed favourable in offline life: being “cool”, being associated with famous figures, and being wealthy.

Thus, one must question whether digital media is truly as democratizing a force as it is perceived. While the individuals examined by Marwick may have achieved greater success than they would have without social media profiles, it is undeniable that they would have a following of sorts, regardless (Marwick, 2015: 157). Moreover, if a digital media user possesses none of these traits, it is unlikely that she or he will attain greater following. This is something I have viewed in my own experiences with digital media and selfies. In instances where I have tagged my selfies at a desirable location, I have received many more ‘likes’ than I have for images that I have tagged in less upmarket areas, or where I have neglected to disclose my location altogether.

A different way of exploring the success of Instafamous individuals will now be taken into account. While the above argument highlighted that digital media stars are likely to be somewhat well-known offline for their lifestyles, the fact remains that when compared to offline celebrities, their following remains small. While Friesz may meet the, “physical and aesthetic criteria that are anything but common” (Marwick, 2015: 157), she remains a civilian next to the likes of a star who has professional makeup done every day.

Indeed, while the Instafamous individuals used as examples by Marwick have achieved relatively high numbers of followers (2015: 148-153), it should be noted that the top ten most followed accounts are still filled exclusively by offline, or ‘traditional’ celebrities (Statista, 2017). Thus, while there may be some hope for a more democratized digital media, evidenced by civilians gaining minor fame online, a definite hierarchy threatens the aspiration.

While not an Instagram star, Kim Kardashian is widely revered as something of a social media expert. Her penchant for taking selfies has led to many a caricature, but has ultimately cemented her as a highly successful digital media user. Indeed, she accepted a Webbly Award in 2016 because of her prominence on digital media platforms (Tiidenberg, 2017). Kardashian has a total of 104 million followers on Instagram (Kardashian West, 2017). Indeed, she is one of the top ten most followed people on the platform (Statista, 2017). However, this should come as no surprise. This is because she falls under the category of “traditional celebrities” (Marwick, 2015: 146). As was noted above, this category plays a big role in digital media prominence. Moreover, as an offline celebrity, she is associated with other well-known figures. As such, her selfies feature the likes of her husband, Kanye West, her famous siblings, and celebrity friends such as Chrissy Teigen, among others (Kardashian West, 2017). This links back to the earlier assertion that popular image subjects garner more attention in cyberspace (Marwick, 2015: 147). Thus, Kardashian’s (and indeed anyone within the top ten most followed accounts) association with peers in her industry result in her posts receiving even greater attention than they already had.

The above post has gone into some detail about the myth of digital media democratization. In conclusion, the post has highlighted that attaining cyberspace success is no easy feat. Moreover, and perhaps more importantly, it demonstrated that a definite hierarchy of attention exists within the spaces of digital media platforms like Instagram. However, the above did also mention that popular image subjects can lead to an increased cyberspace following. So, while you may not transform into an offline celebrity overnight, there is no harm in posing for cat selfies just in case.

1171 words

Bibliography

Iqani, M., and Schroeder, J. E. 2016. ‘#selfie: digital self-portraits as commodity form and consumption practice.’ Consumotion Markets & Culture. 19: 5. 405-415.

Kardashian West, K. 2017. Instagram. Online, retrieved 18 October 2017: https://www.instagram.com/kimkardashian/?hl=en

Marwick, A. E. 2015. ‘Instafame: Luxury selfies in the attention economy’. Public Culture. 27: 1. 137-160.

Statista. 2017. Instagram accounts with the most followers worldwide as of October 2017 (in millions). Online, retrieved 31 October 2017: https://www.statista.com/statistics/421169/most-followers-instagram/

Tiidenberg, K. “Nude selfies til I die”-making of ‘sexy’ in selfies.” In Nixon, P. G. and Düsterhöft, I. K. (eds), Sex in the Digital Age. Online, retrieved 25 October 2017: https://books.google.co.za/books?hl=en&lr&id=NR0xDwAAQBAJ&oi=fnd&pg=PT94&dq=kim+kardashian+nude+selfies&ots=qaQdJh-cUn&sig=nsQ5h5waiiwZP8dqlXMDVX_TzfA#v=onepage&q=kim%20kardashian%20nude%20selfies&f=false

[nyessasundries]

For What It’s Worth

(Read on Archive of Our Own)

The pirate sashayed across the crowded tavern—there was no other way to describe the way she moved, all swaying hips and cat-like purpose, bottle of ale swinging from one hand. She approached her target with predatory focus, eyes only on him as she reached the table where the elf sat.

He was certainly conspicuous, even in a place like this where more than half of the patrons bore visible tattoos, and most of the rest had them somewhere under their clothes. His were of a different nature than the rest, however; bluish-white lines swirled across the skin of his arms and neck, disappearing into his sleeveless tunic with the promise of more underneath. They would have attracted attention even if his white hair didn't, and he had already turned away several others seeking his company.

This woman, however, he did not turn away. He said nothing when she came up next to him but looked up with the barest hint of a smile.

“Well, well,” Isabela said. “It has been a long time. What brings you to this corner of the world? Here to join my crew at last?”

She hooked her foot around the leg of a nearby chair and pulled it up closer to his before sitting down and snaking an arm around his shoulder. Leaning in, she murmured something in his ear too low for anyone else to hear.

Fenris pulled back just enough to look her in the eye and spoke in a voice that carried further: “Look behind you.”

Isabela turned her head, more slowly than would have been expected for a rogue of her caliber. Perhaps she guessed from his tone that speed would not be the thing that saved her. Her eyes met and locked onto those of the person who had come silently upon her.

Imogen Hawke smiled, one hand on her hip and the other on the collar of the mabari hound at her side. “Four years, by my reckoning. And I see you're still alive and kicking, not that I ever had any cause to doubt.”

She slipped around them to Fenris's other side and let her hand rest possessively on his shoulder, a hair's breadth away from where Isabela's hand still sat. Hawke bent to lower her face near his, lifted an eyebrow and, when he smiled in assent, kissed him.

When Hawke came up, Isabela was slumped back in her chair, an odd look on her face. It wasn't because of the kiss—anyone who knew her would know better than that. She lifted her bottle, drank, and when the bottle dropped back down, her expression had hardened into a speculative frown.

Hawke brought a chair around, not quite as close to Fenris as Isabela's, and sat at an angle that allowed her to look the pirate in the eyes. Pretty settled at her feet, his bulk fitting only halfway under the table.

“How did you find me?” Isabela asked.

“How do you think?” Hawke shrugged. “Varric's been with us since we left Kirkwall. He got word from you, and we just tagged along.”

Isabela muttered a curse that would have made the dwarf proud of her creative choice of words. Then she said, “Maybe I need to be more careful in how I choose my bloody friends.”

“That's a lesson many of us could stand to learn.” Hawke raised an eyebrow and leaned on the table. “Speaking of friends, I hear you've got some in high places. Seems you're working for the most legitimate employer in Ferelden. An old friend of yours, as I understand it?”

“It's more his mistress who's the friend, actually.” Isabela seemed to relax just a little. “The Warden-Commander cheats at cards. Is that a trait in common with all dwarves?”

“Maybe it's just in common with all of your friends.”

“Or that. Anyway, sweet Brosca's the one who recommended me for the job, and why I contacted our mutual friend.” She took another drink and set the bottle on the table. “Is that why you're here? You want in on it?”

She sounded so hopeful—beneath the layers of cynicism—that Hawke smiled. “I'm afraid I have to decline. I've never suffered from seasickness, but everything's been making me sick lately.”

One hand strayed to her abdomen, and Fenris caught the other between his fingers. Isabela did not fail to notice the motion, for her gaze sharpened on Hawke's midsection just a moment before her mouth formed first a little “o” and then a wide grin.

“Fenris, you dog.” She punched him in the shoulder. “So, are you going to name the little one after me, then? Make me godmother?”

“Maker forbid.” Fenris, finally goaded into saying something, grimaced.

Hawke tossed her head back in a laugh. “Sorry, position's taken. Sebastian will bring all the armies of Starkhaven down upon us if we don't let him have a hand in the nug's religious upbringing, and Bethy's threats are even more deadly. They make a good team. As far as names, we're thinking Lea or Mal, but we're not settled yet.”

“Good enough names. If a bit boring.” Isabela wrapped the fingers of both hands around her bottle. “So if you're not here about the job, and you're not here about the baby, what is it? Revenge, I suppose?”

“You left Kirkwall to burn at Qunari hands,” Fenris reminded her in a growl. “Hawke almost died to stop them.”

She shifted in her chair but made no obvious move to reach for any of the places where Hawke suspected her to store weapons on her person.

“Yes, I left, and I won't apologize for it.” She glared at Fenris. “It wasn't my job to risk my neck for a city that didn't give a fuck about me.”

“It wasn't my job either.” Hawke reached with her left hand for a pouch on her belt, and Isabela stiffened, but she only pulled out two items: a small, square box and a letter. She set both on the table in front of her. “But you're mistaken. If you recall, you've already apologized.”

She tapped the letter with one finger. The paper bore wrinkles from when it had once been crumpled into a ball, but now it was neatly folded and bore the name “Hawke” in Isabela's sloppy handwriting.

“You left Kirkwall to burn,” she said, echoing Fenris. “Maybe you didn't trust me enough to follow through on my promise. Maybe you didn't believe I could. Either way, that was my failing.”

“Your failing.” Isabela gave her a flat, disbelieving look. “Anyone would say I betrayed you. And you're not a forgiving woman.”

“Maybe I didn't use to be. You left Kirkwall to burn,” Hawke repeated. “And innocent people died because of it, died when a different choice could have saved...some of them."

Isabela waited.

“The time for justification has passed—I've heard too much of that for a lifetime. You left Kirkwall to burn,” Hawke said one last time. “But there are worse betrayals than running away to protect yourself.” Fenris squeezed her right hand, and she gave him a little smile before returning her attention to the pirate queen. “Given that you're still alive, I take it you solved your problem with Castillon.”

“I settled the debt.” Isabela gave a little shrug. “And then I settled him, soon as I got the chance.”

“Good. I would have liked to see that in person, but the important thing is that you're in one piece.” Hawke moved her left hand to the top of the box and slid it across the table. “Otherwise, it would have been very hard to give you this.”

Isabela stared at the box for a long time before moving. Eventually, she unwrapped her fingers from her bottle and lifted the lid with the caution of someone disarming a trap. Then she stared again before saying, “These were Leandra's.”

The box contained a pair of small gold earrings set with sapphires.

Hawke nodded. “The real reason I'm here. Mother saw you notice them at one of those Hightown parties you weren't actually invited to, so she hid them away in a very safe place. Took me ages to find them.” She offered the pirate a smile laced with sadness. “You know, after getting the estate back in order, she was diligent about keeping her will up to date. She made a point of writing in most of my friends—just tokens, really. Little things. But I hadn't gotten around to dealing with it before everything went to shit.”

“You came all this way just to bring me these?”

“Denerim seemed as good a place as any to run to after I left Kirkwall to burn.” She gestured to the earrings. “This is your inheritance, Isabela. Mother wanted you to have them, and she would be very displeased if I cheated you out of what's rightfully yours.”

Slowly, Isabela reached to first one ear and then the other and removed the gold medallion earrings she had worn most days for as long as Hawke had known her. Then she picked up Leandra's earrings and slipped them into place.

“I am sorry, Hawke.” She put the medallion earrings into the box and shut the lid. “For what it's worth. If I had it to do all over again...well, I probably wouldn't do a single thing differently. All the same...”

Hawke nodded once. “Me too. We have to be going now, Isabela. And I understand you have an appointment with a certain dwarf.”

Fenris stood and helped Hawke to her feet. She didn't need it, not yet, but her growing pregnancy brought out all of his protective instincts, and she was content to let him cultivate that.

Isabela tipped back her chair and propped her feet up on the table. “Will the two of you be staying in town?”

“Hm. Your current employer did make me a job offer once, and it may still stand.” Hawke gave Fenris an affectionate look. “But for now, we have other considerations, and I suspect the world isn't going to slow down for our sake. Someday, perhaps.”

Isabela saluted them. “Champion. Fenris.”

“Captain.”

When they emerged into the cool evening air, Varric was waiting for them just outside the tavern door. He stood up from where he had been leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “Well? How did it go?”

Pretty sauntered up to him and gave him a friendly sniff and wag of the tail before circling back to stand beside Hawke.

“I don't think she's going to murder you for giving away her location, but I've been wrong before.”

“What a relief.” The dwarf smirked. “I suppose I'd better go find out.”

“Don't worry,” Hawke said with a grin. “No one can resist your charms for long.”

Fenris, in a rare gesture, put his hand on Varric's shoulder. “It has been good traveling with you, dwarf.”

“Don't go getting sappy and sentimental on me now, elf.” But Varric returned the gesture. “You two are really moving on, then?”

“It's time, Varric.” Hawke's smile turned a little wistful. “You've stayed with us longer than anyone else, but you have a life to get back to. And we have a life to get started.”

“I still say you should name the little nug after me.”

Fenris chuckled. “Perhaps we will. Though an elf-blooded child with a dwarven name strains credulity, like most of the heroes in your elaborate tales.”

“Now there's an idea I haven't used yet. I'll have to write that down.” Varric put his hand on the tavern door. “You'll take care of the elf for me, won't you, Hawke?”

“We'll take care of each other. Don't let Bianca get into too much trouble. And Varric...” Hawke's hand strayed to her abdomen again, as it always seemed to these days. “When the time comes, you'll find us?”

“Wouldn't miss it for the world.”

[greypetrel]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @oxygenforthewicked, thank you!

So, I finished the Dark Lady Illustration and work called me, I haven't much new to show that I'm not posting. So, let's go with some written snipped, this week back to some DadWolf AU. (I wrote a short comic over this piece, but jolted it down in prose to to help me figure scenes and dialogues out)

Tagging: @demandthedoodles @zenstrike @ndostairlyrium @whimsyswastry @whirrlinginrags @coloricioso (art works too if there's something you haven't posted) and @dungeons-and-dragon-age . As per usual ignore me if you mind!

Any Time You Feel the Pain (🎶)

It was way past her bedtime. Way, way past it: the room was all dark, she could hear Dorian breathing heavily from the other bed, and yet from the corner of the door, open because the dark was scary and monsters came out from under the wardrobe when it was dark, there was still light.

Light, and the voices of both Varric and Solas, trying to keep quiet but still loud enough to allow Aisling to hear what they were saying on the down floor.

And what she heard scared her even more than the monsters that crept out from under the beds, the wardrobe and every corner of the room if the door was closed and the dark absolute.

“And what are you going to do, Chuckles? Leave?”

“If I must! It’s all… Sometimes they’re not even people to me, and you know what’s at stake.”

“Yes. Two children who are asleep up there are at stake. Against an uncertain experiment that yes, maybe will prevent Circles to reopen, but will unleash monsters you couldn’t face at your full power. If you succeed.”

“I have-”

“-You have responsibilities here, Chuckles. You should have thought about it before taking the girl in, at least. What will become of them if you go? You know social services will never leave two mage children of that exuberance witg a person that’s not a mage. What, then? Will you let them rot in an orphanage because they’re not even people?”

Aisling slipped her head under the pillow, pressing hard with her little hands over her ears. Or well. Maybe it wasn’t really hers, if she was to get back to the orphanage. She felt tears run to her eyes, and tucked herself better in the blankets. But it was sloppy and lax, she never tucked herself well as when Solas did it. Which made her want to cry even more. She didn’t want to listen, but the house wasn’t big, and she couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to get to the orphanage again… It had been horrible the first time, the other children were mean and the Sister who cared for them kept her on a side because she zapped one boy once. Even if he was pulling on her hair and she just wanted him to stop.

“They’ll find a better family, they’re smart kids.”

“And you think anyone will adopt them together again? Come on, you’re more intelligent than this.”

Aisling curled on herself. She was scared: she didn’t want to leave Dorian too.

“Maybe Malcolm-”

“Malcolm has already a big family, and you know his position isn’t stable. You can’t ask that to Leandra, Solas.”

It was never good when Varric called people by proper name. He never did, not once. She was Pikachu and Dorian was Sparkler, Solas was Chuckles and uncle Malcolm was Hawke. He had to be very angry, she mused, and Varric was never, ever angry. Monsters crept in from the corners back again, they had red eyes and too many hands and their nails were red.

“What do you expect me to do, Varric? That’s my whole life’s work. You’re asking me to renounce it? Just like that?”

“I’m not asking you to do anything. I’m just saying that this discussion should have happened before taking the little beans in. Not after. Do what you want, now you know what I think of it.”

Varric stopped, sighing heavily. There was silence for a minute, so much silence that Aisling could hear her heartbeat in her ears. She sniffed loudly to tune a little out the silence, and fought against a whine.

“… Just, don’t expect me to help you ever again if you walk out of that door and the kids get taken away.”

[enby-hawke]

For I Have Sinned-Chapter 7

Chapter 7- Renewal

Word Count: 14,555 (lol shoot me)

Tw: elf fetishization bordering on non-con but not a major theme, homophobia

Ships: Malcolm/Leandra,  Maurevar Carver/Mara Hartling

Follow on AO3

Carver never wanted to be a Templar, but his mother and father had the heir, the spare, and then some, so Carver was dedicated while he was still in the womb. They were proud of their Templar lineage but they didn’t know the sacrifices they forced Carver to make. Carver made them because it was his duty, and he did so with a smile. Even if he hardly saw his family outside of the many duties that filled his days.

 No, he found he didn’t have much in common with his parents, who were not even Templars, or his brothers. In all respects he carried their name, but they were just strangers to him, that tried to control his life, and used his good standing like a trophy in their collection.

 And there was a disquiet in him as he wielded power over mages. Chantry rhetoric claimed mages were not people. They were classified as living weapons, and yet they cried the same tears, bled the same blood, had the same fears, died just as easily. And he resented how many who he worked with used that power to harm. Carver didn’t know a better way than the Circle, but he often wondered if what they were doing was actually effective, as blasphemous as that statement was.

 He found few Templars that agreed with him and counted many mages as friends, even if there were rules that said otherwise.

 The fact was that Carver was given the keys to the prison and was free to leave his position at any time. But only through the Chantry could he get lyrium he needed, and he could only get lyrium if he remained a Templar. He thought of leaving, but his own leash held him place well enough.

 “I hate to bring this up,” Carver said hesitantly as they started pulling into the streets of the docks towards the Templar station where he’d need to park his car. “But you should clean up your face before we get back. We’ll be caught for sure.”

 Carver knew Malcolm better than the family that had given him up, knew him almost as well as he knew himself, even when Malcolm tried to keep secrets from him. And there was no denying that Leandra had changed Malcolm. Malcolm smirked often, but tonight on his face was a true smile, the usual frown lines and sarcasm had gone. He had been humming the songs that they had been singing all night, and had been serving as the radio for Carver as they drove through the streets of Kirkwall. There was no chip on his shoulder, no snarl to his words. Leandra had sanded down the edges until all Carver saw was a happy man in love.

 And Carver was scared for them.

 Malcolm laughed pulling down the mirrors as he inspected the red smears, wiping his face clean with his sleeve and a bit of magic when the lipstick remained stubborn. Malcolm seemed sorry to wipe off the evidence of the night.

 Carver reached into the middle compartment and tossed Malcolm some mints. “Your breath smells like alcohol. Take care of that.”

 Malcolm dutifully popped a handful of mints in his mouth, probably not enough to completely cover the smell but it would help.

 Carver knew mages were dangerous. He had lost a few templar brethren hunting down apostates, but among the heavier death toll, mages were always the higher casualty, not that his brethren saw it that way. Still, he thought long and hard, trying to find ways to prevent the same tragedies.

 “So we should get our story straight,” Carver said, as he pulled into his personal parking space which was marked and always clear for him. Carver could see Malcolm squirm in his peripherals, his lips getting tight as he sucked on his mints but he volunteered nothing. Carver turned off the car, stalling the engine so only ships at sea could be heard. He locked the door before Malcolm could get out and the way Malcolm glared made him look like a cornered wolf. “I know I initially tagged along because I wanted to keep that asshole in line, but I know you’re key to the investigation,” more squirming, some hunching. “Though I still need to interview the other mages at the party, I’ve been reading reports all night and no one seems to know more than you do.”

 “I don’t know what’s going on.” Malcolm’s voice was tense in the admission. He played dumb like he always did.

 Carver sighed. Obviously a lie, but calling him on it would only make him more evasive. He kept his eyes on the Templar station, an intimidating fortress that imposed the Docks, guarding a private train-line that went over the water and into the Circle.

 “So what do you know?”

 Malcolm went quiet. Carver glanced over, seeing a hundred thoughts scattering through his mind.

 “It was nothing I’ve ever seen before,” he finally said.

 “Nor I,” Carver said, worried about that admission.

 Malcolm’s hands twisted as he picked at his nails. “What’s going in your report?”

 Carver knew it was against the rules to tell anyone, let alone a mage under his care, what he told the Knight-Commander, but he could understand why Malcolm was scared. The Knight-Commander wasn’t the most tolerant of mages, and often criticized Carver’s approach in spite of the results Carver brought. “Only what’s necessary,” Carver hoped that would reassure him but his friend remained tense.

 More silence, an internal debate in Malcolm’s head as he decided what to tell.

 Carver waited in patience, his gaze expectant.

 “The Veil was sundered and torn, but not only that, corrupted,” Malcolm finally said. “I don’t know how but it seemed like the Fade was leaking into reality, like they were merging together.”

 That didn’t sound good. He wanted to know how Malcolm knew this but instead he asked, “What could cause that?”

 Malcolm avoided Carver’s gaze. “Something dark and ancient and powerful.”

 Carver cocked his head unsure of what that meant. “Like a Tevinter magister?”

 “Worse than that, dude.” Malcolm laughed uneasily. He actually looked scared. “I don’t think you can arrest this.”

 Carver considered what he meant and then it hit him. “Are you saying a demon did this?” Malcolm flinched, keeping silent but Carver knew he was on the right track. “What kind of demon?”

 “Terror,” Malcolm admitted. “And it’s big and hungry.”

 Carver then realized. “Did you fight it in the Viscount’s Palace?”

 Malcolm’s golden eyes blinked up in surprise and he chewed on his lip. “I did, but it’s strong.”

 Carver wondered how many battles he was fighting alone, and he knew Malcolm was too prideful to ask so he said, “It sounds like you could use help.”

 Malcolm sputtered as if embarrassed. “I don’t think you can help with this, dude.”

 If Carver had ego it might have been wounded, but he simply smiled. “It’s my duty as a Templar, and if this demon can sunder reality it is a danger that must be vanquished.”

 Malcolm looked uneasy, but he didn’t argue. “So, what’s going in your report?”

 Carver knew he shouldn’t but he said, “I think it important the Knight-Commander knows that a dangerous demon is hunting. We need to be prepared.”

 Malcolm turned to Carver, pleading. “Don’t say I jumped into the Fade.”

 “It’s an important detail,” Carver said, “and impressive as well. You could probably teach your own class with the types of spells you seem to always come up with.”

 Was this just because he didn’t want more responsibility? Malcolm’s eyes said otherwise. He recognized someone begging for his life. He had seen it too many times in the countless Harrowings he oversaw.

 “It really isn’t,” Malcolm insisted. “Just say we fought a terror demon that opened a rift into the Fade. That’s enough.”

 Carver was uncertain. He wasn’t comfortable with lying, but this seemed important to Malcolm. “And then we spent the night chasing it,” Carver finally agreed, seeing Malcolm’s shoulders finally relax. Still, Carver knew there was a huge piece missing from the puzzle, and it somehow had to do with Malcolm, but he knew Malcolm, and he could see him closing himself off like a vault. He had hoped the alcohol might be enough to loosen that tongue, but Malcolm was the most stubborn man he knew. He prayed it wouldn’t lead to casualties. “You’ll tell me what I need to know before it hurts anyone else, right?”

 “Of course. Trust me,” Malcolm nodded.

 “I do,” Carver said with a grimace. “I just wished you trusted me.”

 Malcolm looked hurt by the accusation. “Of course I trust you.”

 “But you won’t tell me what I need to know,” Carver said bitterly. He didn’t like how many questions he was still left with.

 “I did tell you what you need to know,” Malcolm’s voice was defensive. “The demon will die, soon, and everything will go back to normal.”

 Carver doubted that with the evidence he had seen that night, but he knew that would only lead to an argument. So, instead he placed a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “You don’t have to fight your battles, alone.”

 Malcolm said nothing to this, but he made a tight nod.

 Carver sighed finally unlocking the door and getting out of the car.

 Carver left his car at Templar station and they boarded the train, watching the water over the ocean in companionable silence as the tower of the Circle approached. Dawn was just starting to rise over the ocean cut off by the ugly tower that jutted into the sky with its red Circle flags waving in the ocean wind as bronze slave statues curled into themselves against the ocean spray, weeping.

 Carver felt sorry that the night was over. He could already see that Malcolm was getting antsy approaching the Circle, his fingers drumming on his legs in a steady beat. He seemed wound up with energy still from the night, which he guessed was good since he probably only got a few minutes of sleep.

 Soon they walked off the train and into the courtyard which was still empty, but it would be filled with Templars doing drills. Dawn had broken and so First Bell wouldn’t be too far. Before Malcolm walked back to his room Carver stopped him by a hand on the shoulder. “Remember your promise to Leandra. No lip, and work on your grades.”

 “Yeah, yeah,” Malcolm rolled his neck, cracking it nonchalantly. He said it like he was brushing it off, but Carver couldn’t help but notice how alert he was, his posture straighter with a confidence that carried him with every step. As Malcolm walked away, Carver thought this might be the first time Malcolm actually might consider taking something seriously, and he couldn’t help but think he’d have to find more ways to thank Leandra, if for no other reason to bump into that rather whimsical cat-eyed woman who had mischief in her smile.

 As Carver made his way down the Templar quarters he found his mind wandering back to Mara. He had met many beautiful women, but Mara had a spunk to her that set her apart and made her shine. He was rather impressed that she stood up to her own man for Malcolm and her loyalty to her lady seemed to go beyond just duty. Admiration. That’s what he told himself was stirring inside him. Any other considerations he had long since buried, but like a stubborn weed, irresponsible thoughts were unearthing.

 Carver knew those were thoughts that would go nowhere. He was Knight-Captain, second only to the Knight-Commander. He had a responsibility to his wards and his comrades to be sharp and undistracted and while Templars were not forbidden to marry very few found the opportunity nor the time. Carver himself barely had time in the day to eat so to fully commit to anything like a romance seemed out of the question. Plus, it was clear she already had a man. Still, he hoped Mara would find someone more worthy of her wild adventurous spirit. And the way she inspected him with that scrutinizing stare as he performed for her left a shiver in his spine. He remembered the sassy way she called him “Officer” that stirred something primal in him and he was left unbalanced when she grabbed his arm.

 He shouldn’t have allowed the picture. It could ruin everything, but Mara smelled so good he was left dizzy and his spine turned to jelly. And when Gamlen yanked her back from him it took everything not to punch him and ruin the night Malcolm worked so hard for.

 It was not his place. Carver was only there to protect Malcolm, nothing else, and he felt a little ashamed that he was even thinking such things. He needed to focus, make sure that Malcolm doesn’t ruin what little standing he has left by taking reckless chances. But he couldn’t help but wish the song he sang Mara was a little longer and that Gamlen had stayed on that curb so he might find an excuse to talk to her again.

 The door  to the   Knight-Commander’s office was intimidating, high reinforced steel bars with a heavy plaque of the red Chantry sun, as if they needed another reminder who ruled over them.  Carver went to knock on the door to find that it was slightly ajar, muffled voices coming through the door.

 “Knight-Commander, we need to consider that this might have been an attack on the Amell’s or the De Lancets. We need to reinforce security, pull from the Guard if necessary to ensure the nobility’s safety.”

 Carver gritted his teeth. It was clearly Meredith’s voice coming from the door. Normally he would commend Meredith for her proactive thinking. She was remarkably fast at getting the men to secure the ballroom, but she made it clear to Carver that she was gunning for his job and he was sure this was just going to be another attempt to undermine his command.

 Carver knocked twice before letting himself in, cutting off the Knight-Commander’s reply. Both the Knight-Commander and Meredith’s head flung in Carver’s direction. Knight-Commander Guylian stayed behind his desk, an antique oak with heavy legs, his pale skin popped against the dark leather. He was an older man with a prominent nose, lips so thin they were barely visible and dull grey eyes. He looked fully rested compared to Meredith whose bags from the all-nighter she pulled darkened her creamy skin.

 “Good, I’ve been expecting your report,” the Knight-Commander nodded.

 “Finally,” Meredith scowled as the Knight-Commander motioned for Carver to come in, but she kept her usual barbs to herself for now.

 Carver glanced at the clock on the wall. It wasn’t even 6am. He was not late. Still, he couldn’t help the anxiety creeping up his neck as his Commander stared him down, waiting for him to spin his tale. Carver had become good at lying though, years of meditation and duty hardening him into a beacon of calm.

 “Before I go into my report I want to recommend an official reprimand be marked on the Knight-Lieutenant's record.”

   Meredith went red, eyes widening in outrage. “What for!?”

 Carver felt himself mold into the role of Knight-Captain and addressed her while keeping his eyes on the Knight-Commander. “Instead of assessing the area for culprits she assaulted Taylor Filene. Such behavior will sow disorder and dissent in the ranks.”

 “But Taylor Filene might be a culprit,” Meredith barked back.

 “Regardless,” Carver continued. “There are procedures if you have suspicions. Threatening your wards in plain sight of the nobility is not.”

 The Knight-Commander waited patiently studying both templars under the comfort of his cushioned chair. “This is true. The public must not see such things, Knight-Lieutenant. Our public image must be maintained.”

 That was not Carver’s point, but he knew that arguing that it should not be allowed at all would get him nowhere. The Knight-Commander could be a harsh man, himself, and Carver needed to toe the line.

 The Knight-Commander tapped his desk with his finger. “But considering the stress of last night I believe an unofficial reprimand will do just fine. Just see that it does not happen again.”

 Meredith nodded, suppressing a triumphant smile. “It won’t, Knight-Commander.”

 The Knight-Commander leaned back inspecting Carver again. “Now, where did you disappear to last night?”

 “I’ve made an unexpected discovery in Malcolm Hawke’s testimony. He was able to identify that it was a terror demon that sundered the veil at the party and he is assisting me as I hunt it down. The hunt took me all over Kirkwall.”

 “You had an unsanctioned mage assist you in an investigation?” Meredith sneered, echoing the concern on the Knight-Commander’s face. “Without backup?”

 “The Fade interference messed with our electronics. There wasn’t time,” Carver lied quickly, “But I witnessed myself as he closed the rift in the Fade with his magic and calmed the spirits enough to go back, a feat no mage in this Circle I know to be capable of. Without his help, we might have had a bloodbath on our hands. Unsanctioned he may be, but his help may prove invaluable.”

 “That oaf? He’ll make a mockery of this investigation,” Meredith  sneered.

 Carver expected that from Meredith but still he couldn’t help but ask a question he knew the answer to from his reports, “Knight-Lieutenant, what is the status of the Veil?”

 Meredith’s lips thinned into a red line. “It appears to be stronger than before.”

 Carver kept the grin off his face. “So should I issue you a ‘thank you’ to Malcolm myself or will you?”  

 The Knight-Commander stared at Carver and he wondered if the uneasiness on his face was suspicion or something else. “Demons do not usually affect the world without outside help. We should not discount Meredith’s theory that this could have been an orchestrated attack on the Amells or De Lancets.”

 Carver grimaced. He wasn’t sure if Meredith was right, but he knew from the smirk on Meredith’s face that she would use this more to swing her iron fist.

 Then the Knight-Commander asked, “How exactly did Malcolm heal the Veil? I thought using magic only weakened it.”

 Carver knew he had to omit a few details but he wanted to keep as close to the truth as possible. Easier to keep track of the lies that way. “He claimed it to be an aura he developed to calm spirits,” he could tell from the look on their faces that they had questions about that and so did he, but instead he distracted them with something else, “I believe he has the potential to be a Spirit Healer. From my observations he seems to be sensitive to their presence.”

 Meredith and the Knight-Commander shared a look. Spirit Healers made contracts with beneficial spirits to draw upon great healing magic, the kind that could bring men back from the brink of death. They were incredibly rare and watched ever closely by the templars because of how similarly they functioned to blood mages, and how easily they fell to temptation, but because of their beneficial nature they were still highly sought and prized by the Circle. He could see the arguments warring both on Meredith and the Knight-Commander’s faces.

 The Knight-Commander seemed conflicted. “It would be a boon for the Circle, but what makes you think the elf would even do it? He seems insistent to sleeping his potential away.”

 Carver put on his most convincing smile. “Give Malcolm a chance. He’s already proved last night he is capable of much more than he’s letting on.”

 Meredith slammed her hand on the table startling both the men. “Absolutely not,” she snarled. “He doesn’t deserve it.”

 The Knight-Commander’s eyebrow twitched and Meredith reddened, retracting her hand.

 “Is that not for me to decide, Knight-Lieutenant?”

 “Yes, ser,” she simply responded, her eyes on his desk.

 The Knight-Commander leaned forward, resting his fingers on his chin as he thought. “I have an opportunity in mind, but I have reservations about his abilities but since Malcolm managed to not offend anyone at the party…” His calculating gaze locked on Carver as he made his decision. “The Amells and De Lancets will be here for their interviews as well as their Cleansing. If Malcolm can perform without offending them, I may consider speaking with the First Enchanter to rework his curriculum.”

 Carver nodded. “I’ll make sure he takes this opportunity seriously.”

   The Knight-Commander’s blue eyes were like a faded cloudy day. “See that he does. The Amells are high patrons of the Circle and if they are not satisfied with his performance, neither will I.” It sounded like the threat it was.

 Carver nodded, gritting his teeth, a sinking feeling in his gut about how far Malcolm’s place was falling in the Circle. He needed to do everything in his power to make sure he didn’t fall further. Still, Malcolm was one of his best friends and he knew him well enough to know that he would not be thanked for this. But, dangling Leandra seemed to work before. Surely, it would work again.

 Mara’s kitchen was a small but cutely decorated space, with duckling wallpaper and colorful appliances and cartoony knickknacks, some that Leandra had gifted over the years. On the fridge was a homemade frame of a picture of a fishing trip with the family when Mara’s parents and grandma were still alive. Leandra, Gamlen and Mara’s grandfather were also in the picture. He was a pale red-headed elf with green eyes and mischief in his smile. The rest of the family shared Mara’s chestnut hair and her dark unhooded cat eyes. Mara and he were both holding large rainbow trouts, Mara’s slightly bigger and she was rubbing it in Leandra’s face since she had only managed to catch a small minnow which she still showed proudly to the camera.

 Everyone in the family was laughing, their faces in half-blurs as the Hartlings were never ones to sit still. Only Gamlen remained looking out of place as he glowered at the camera, hot and uncomfortable and always letting everyone know about it. Still, that day was perfect, and the memory of it kept Mara going on her darkest days.

 Leandra stared at her phone, sipping at her coffee, her belly full of fried rice, bacon and eggs, helping to stave off an oncoming headache. She had spent many nights sitting at this counter, staying up gossiping with Mara and tonight was no different. Though the pain of exhaustion made her question if anything about the night was real, Mara was there to confirm every detail. And there was more evidence, in her picture, Malcolm was pressing against her cheek, looking as dazzling as in her dreams except now she had the memory of his clover musk that she sorely missed. She didn’t recognize the smile on her face, or how Mara let her hair get so messy, and now that she was slowly sobering up, she realized she was dumbstruck by her own actions.

 She realized with profoundness, that she would repeat everything exactly the same. She had never felt so brave except at Malcolm’s side and now that he was gone the whimsy of the night was over. The reality of her   fiancé   and her parents were coming back to her. She’d need to face them, soon.

 “He really fills out that suit, doesn’t he?” Mara hummed, placing her chin on Leandra’s bare shoulder.

 Leandra hummed in agreement, admiring how Malcolm’s suit cut a striking silhouette, until she registered what Mara said and smacked her playfully on the arm. “Eyes to yourself, lady, he’s mine.”

 “Oh, please, your man’s too skinny,” Mara waggled her eyebrows. “I was talking about Ser Herculean Statue.”  

 “Mara,” Leandra guffawed, scandalized. “What if Gamlen heard?”

 Mara pulled away, rolling her eyes as she departed for the sink in a hasty retreat. “I’m just looking. It’s not like I don’t catch Gamlen’s eyes wandering. Neither of us are blind, y’know.”

 Mara seemed tense at the mention of Gamlen, and she immediately began scouring the pots to put in the dishwasher. Leandra bit her lip. She knew that they spent at least fifteen minutes talking in Mara’s room before Gamlen decided to take a nap and Leandra was unsure if Gamlen would bother to show up for the Cleansing. Mara and Gamlen were still together, but for the first time Leandra was unsure about their future and she could see how uneasy this was making Mara.

   Mara washed off her cat eye makeup making her eyes look more almond shaped and they were red from tiredness, but Leandra looked at the irritated rims of her eyes and knew she had been rubbing them. Her lips were paler and a more natural pink and her hair was still damp from the shower she had. She looked much more comfortable in her baggy t-shirt that looked like it belonged to Gamlen at one point and plain plaid sweatpants.

 “How are things with Gamlen?” Leandra asked hesitantly.

 Mara’s shoulders tensed before she opened up the dishwasher and deposited the pan with some force. “Oh, it’s peachy.”

 Leandra abandoned her place at the counter to saddle up beside Mara to help her wash. She picked up a stray plate and started rinsing the grease from it.

 “Your mother will kill me if you ruin your manicure doing servant work,” Mara took the plate away from her to take over but Leandra just picked up another.

 “Who cares about my mother? We’re talking about you right now,” Leandra sniffed as she scrubbed off some stubborn onion that was sticking to the plate. Leandra’s polished white-tipped pointed nails were soon covered in bacon grease. Leandra gritted her teeth. “You know he’s my brother, but you can always be honest with me.” Leandra met Mara’s uncertain gaze as she paused to bite her lip. “About anything.”

 Mara took the plate from Leandra, placing it in the dishwasher. She was silent, but Leandra could tell there was something Mara was keeping from her. “Promise not to tell, Gamlen?”

 “I won’t say a word,” Leandra nodded, abandoning the chores to give Mara her full attention.

 Mara tucked a wet strand behind her ear as she leaned her back against the sink. “I’ve been with Gamlen for as long as I can remember. I know I love him but…”

 “But…?” Leandra echoed as Mara trailed off.

 Mara kept her eyes to the ground. “Seeing the way you are with Malcolm…maybe I’m a little jealous.”

 Leandra dropped her mouth. Mara? Jealous of her and Malcolm? She was blushing at the idea considering the years she spent in envy in the reverse position.

 “I just met Malcolm last night,” Leandra blubbered. “You and Gamlen have had a solid relationship for years. Malcolm and I are too new to even label our relationship. And the fact that I’m about to be married in two months, you have nothing to be envious over.”

 Mara looked at Leandra biting her cheek. “See that’s the thing. Malcolm looks at you like he’s seen the sunrise for the first time. I’ve never seen a man look so devoted,” Mara looked sad, meeting her gaze hesitantly. “And you have never looked so happy beside him. I think you found something real. And I want that…”

 Leandra felt a rush of warmth at the thought, before her rational mind took over and started tearing the fantasy apart. This was too new for her to even name what she was feeling for him. She was still engaged. Very, very engaged, and though she was angry at her parents, she wasn’t so angry that she would throw her whole future away over one wonderful night, no matter how perfect everything felt. Still, as she looked at her friend’s uncertainty she knew she had to reach out for her hand and ask, “You don’t think you have something real with Gamlen?”

 Mara froze, her eyes dropping again. “I...don’t know.” Then she forced a grin, “He gives me a      real    headache.”

 Leandra laughed in spite of herself, but she knew Mara was just joking to avoid talking too seriously. “I won’t lie and say I don’t want you and Gamlen to work, but if you’re unhappy-”

 “I’m not,” Mara said a little too quickly and returned to cleaning the dishes. “I’m probably just still mad about last night. Just ignore me.”

 Leandra could sense the broiling emotions under Mara, but she nudged Mara’s shoulder with her own before returning to the dishes. “You’re hard to ignore, Mara.”

 A pleased smile pulled on Mara’s lips, her cheeks blushing just a shade pinker.

 Suddenly Leandra’s phone rang from her purse, and Leandra wiped her hands on the hand towel and went to retrieve it. She recognized from the chiming wedding bells that it was Guillaume. Sure enough his name with the screen photo showing Leandra and him on one of their dates to their favorite restaurant at la Rose’ de Safran, a ritzy Orlesian place where their portions were smaller than their wine glasses. She couldn’t help but take a moment to compare how fake her smile seemed as she posed with him keeping a professional distance apart even as they held hands.

 She let only one more annoying bell ring before she answered the phone, her voice cloaked with peppy energy even though she felt so exhausted she was sure she’d fall asleep on the kitchen counter. “Guillaume, what a surprise. Why are you calling so early?”

 Guillaume’s slightly Orlesian accent filtered through the speakers, grating her nerves with anxiety even though his voice was calm and soothing. “I heard you had a fight with your parents last night and I wanted to help if I could.”  

 She was touched and suddenly flooded with guilt. Guillaume was still her friend and a true one and she was deceiving him. “I’m not sure how you could help, but thank you for the thought,” she almost mumbled the words as she struggled to keep herself calm and breathing even.

 “I thought I’d offer you a ride to the Cleansing if you would like, to give you more space between your parents. We can get a cup of coffee and talk.”

 It was just like him, incredibly thoughtful, and the confusion about what the right thing to do was made her dizzy and hesitant. Usually talking with Guillaume would unburden her, but she immediately thought of Malcolm and the jealous look in his eye and how badly she just wanted to belong to only him. How she wanted to come clean and tell Guillaume the truth right there. Would he judge her? He never had before?

 But she wouldn’t. She still didn’t even know what was happening to her heart, and all these urges to make irrational decisions scared her.

 She took in a shallow breath. “You’re right that I’d rather not face my parents,” she admitted, not wanting to say yes, but the thought of a car ride lecture all the way to the Circle was less preferable.

 She could hear the smile in his voice. “Merveilleux, I’ll be at your house in less than ten minutes.”

 “Actually come to Mara’s.”

 Leandra tried to get Gamlen out of Mara’s bed plush polkadot duvet but he was snoring so forcefully he was ruffling his bangs. After shaking him firmly once he told her to ‘bugger off’ and she decided she wasn’t going to do what she normally did and fuss over him and drag him to his duties. He was a full grown man. If he wanted to let his aura fester that was his problem.  

 She texted her family’s group chat to not send the car to Mara’s because Guillaume was picking her up and though she expected an argument over that she didn’t get one. Just a firm reminder to not be late. She tried to distract herself with social media, but soon enough all the congratulation messages and worried ‘are you ok?’ messages about her betrothal ball found her sorely missing Malcolm.

 She wished she could post that picture, let everyone know of the wonderful man she found and share her happiness, but she would hurt Guillaume deeply and knew she would get no congratulations. So she traced Malcolm’s lips with her thumb, wishing things were simpler so she could just enjoy this feeling.

 Soon Guillaume’s town car pulled into Mara’s driveway and Guillaume stepped out.

 Leandra stiffened, brushing herself off as she approached him, smiling in greeting. She couldn’t miss the way his eyes raked her from head to toe taking in her look. She told herself she should appreciate it. Mara had worked hard helping her pluck, smooth out her hair, paint on her face and vet her outfit. Still, she wished that Mara had clothes that didn’t always cling so close or reveal so much. It was almost impossible to find something appropriate to meet her future in-laws in.

 “Are those Mara’s?” His tone was appreciative.

 She tucked hair behind her ear as she shyly hid her figure behind her purse. Normally Leandra’s day wear consisted of airy dresses that were modest but fashionable, but today she had on a loose black knit sweater that hung off her shoulders and a bold peacock patterned pencil skirt that hugged every curve. She was still wearing her red heels from last night since her feet were too small for Mara’s shoes. “It looks awkward on me, right?”

 “Not at all,” his smile gleaned as he stared appreciatively at her bare shoulders. “I’d say it’s a fetching look.”

 No blush came to Leandra’s cheeks but instead she made a strangled sound in her throat.

 Guillaume opened the door for her, chuckling. “I’d say I left you speechless, my lady.”

 Leandra chuckled nervously as she ducked into the car.

 He soon joined her on the other side, the cabin cozier than she wished it. He nestled in close and it took all of Leandra’s willpower not to shy away from him as he took her hand. His hand felt wrong, too large, too imposing. It didn’t feel at all like comfort though she wondered if it ever did. His amber eyes burrowed into her in questioning. “So what happened with your parents?”

 She didn’t feel at all like sharing but she did because she thought she should. “They tried to fire Mara.”

 Guillaume made a dramatic gasp into his spare hand. “No, they can’t.”

 “I said they tried. I rehired her,” Leandra found herself looking at the window rather than at Guillaume, if only so she would stop catching him staring at her shoulders.

 “That was quick thinking, ma chérie,” Guillaume squeezed her hand. “Do you need any financial assistance in the matter? I would be happy to lend any assets.”

 Leandra felt herself get hot and quickly said, “No, no, that’s not necessary,” she shook her head so violently her ponytail swayed from side to side. “I’ll have to cut back on a few expenses but Mara is more important than frivolous things like spa days.”

 “Maker,” Guillaume shook his head. “You are a stronger woman than me. I need my spa days.” Guillaume laughed at his own joke and Leandra joined in politely until his laugh trailed off and was replaced with a silent tension. “Ma chérie, I have a confession to make,” his voice was as tense as his shoulders.

 Leandra turned to face Guillaume, her gut plummeting. “Yes?”

 “You know my mother is a very religious woman,” Guillaume looked at Leandra, and then tucked a hair back in place fondly. Leandra withheld a shudder. “The haunting has spooked her. She thinks it’s a curse on your family and she wants to call off the wedding.”

 Leandra blinked, her heart fluttering and she almost caught herself smiling but she knew from Guillaume’s face that this was a huge source of anxiety for him and she felt herself being pulled by two ropes. She knew she should say something and he was expecting her to, but she was trying not to thank the Maker out loud so she did so in her head. She schooled her face into a frown, and said, “How terrible,” as convincingly as possible.

 It worked because Guillaume brought her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. “We have to convince her not to.”

 This time she did shudder. She knew she should agree and try to use this car ride to strategize but Leandra felt her shoulders dropping. “Do you really want to?” she actually asked. She clapped her hand over her mouth as soon as the question escaped. She could see the hurt written on Guillaume’s face and he dropped her hand.

 “Of course I do! Do you?”

 “I…”Leandra tried to make her face unreadable but her voice was caught in her throat and she hesitated and this time he noticed.

 Guillaume immediately straightened his shoulders like a soldier. “What did I do wrong?”

 “Nothing!” Leandra blurted. “Guillaume, you’re wonderful, it’s just…” she gulped, trying to find the words and still feeling the effects of the residual alcohol in her system she found herself being a little more honest than she usually dared. “We were promised as kids. Do you not ever wonder if there is someone else out there? Someone perfect for you?”

 Guillaume’s shoulders dropped, looking defeated, and his eyes actually watered before he turned away. “I thought you were perfect for me.” Then his jaw clenched, his mustache twitching. “Did you find your perfect someone? Is that what you’re telling me?”

 Leandra didn’t realize she was such an open book, and she had forgotten how well Guillaume could read her. “No,” she shook her head and clasped both his hands like she used to try to reassure him even though her words were dripping with lies. “It’s nothing like that, just pre-wedding jitters.”

 “Because I’ll back off,” he continued looking hard at her, inspecting every minute reaction. “Just be honest with me, Leandra.”

 Her heart was suddenly in her throat as she tried not to squeak. She wanted to. She wanted to tell him everything, but there was a hardness in his gaze that made her quiver. Was she really going to ruin her future her parents prepared for her over a man she had only met last night?

 She opened her mouth and said, “Let’s find a way to convince your mother not to call off the wedding. I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

 She had no idea if she made the right decision, but the way Guillaume’s shoulders relaxed made her breathe easier. Did he notice that she did not say no? He had already seen through her the first time. She wasn’t sure how convincing she was being.

 Guillaume patted her hand fondly and said, “That’s why we’re getting coffee. It’s always good to start a negotiation with a bribe.”

 Leandra smiled, feeling it unnatural on her face. She had no idea how to act around Guillaume now that he was suspicious and she was trying her best not to give anything else away. She let him hold his hand as he pitched his ideas of what they would say and she nodded along as she panicked. Little did she know the Maker had twisted fate to test her a little more that day.

 Malcolm had a skip to his step as he walked to breakfast, whistling so merrily that the sound echoed through the stone in an unnatural cheer. Nothing could darken his mood; no ugly sneer from a templar, nor the bars on the windows or the winter chill in the air. His backpack was slung over his  shoulder, actually   filled with what he needed for his  day's   study, though his textbooks were vandalized with doodles and blasphemy.

 He was still flooded with energy from Leandra’s kisses and the wheels in his head were working in overdrive to figure out a way to escape again. Could he manage it, tonight? Two breakouts in a row would be risky. He was so in his head, planning and scheduling details he didn’t notice that people were pointing and gossiping about him as he waited in line for breakfast. He found Taylor and Charlie in the usual spot on the corner table where they were looking at him in confusion and worry.

 “Are you alright?” Taylor’s eyebrows knitted together as she picked at her bowl of porridge mostly untouched.

 Instead of Malcolm’s usual brush-off he just pulled his thick eyebrows together in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

 Charlie and Taylor shared a look before Taylor said, “You disappeared last night after the haunting. I feared the worst.”

 Malcolm shrugged. “Carver brought me along on an investigation. Nothing serious.” He wanted to tell them the truth about Leandra but Charlie was probably the biggest gossip in all the Circle. If Charlie even got a whiff that Malcolm was seeing someone, everyone would know by lunch.

 Charlie broke out in an excited grin. “Nothing serious? Are you kidding? Rumors are you saved everyone last night and now the Knight-Captain is recruiting you personally to help?”

 Malcolm tried to remain nonchalant but he couldn’t help the puff in his chest. He really felt like things were turning around. “Well, when you put it like that, I guess I’m kind of a big deal now.”

 Taylor shook her head, though even she was grinning. “Don’t let that head get too inflated with hot air. If it wasn’t for Carver you’d have gone home with the rest of us.”

 Malcolm harrumphed. That was true but she didn’t need to say it. Malcolm scooped up his porridge, the sludge looking cold and unappetizing, but with a grin, he weaved a subtle spell in his mind and scooped the porridge into his mouth. Instead of a bland mush he felt a bursting array of sweet, tart strawberries and cream and he groaned in ecstasy as his tongue remembered the feel of Leandra’s kisses caressing him. He immediately licked the spoon clean and scooped up another generous helping, groaning again. The texture was off, lumpy and slimy, but that was something easily ignored.

 Taylor and Charlie stared in confusion. “The food here is not that good.”

 Malcolm grinned offering his hand to Taylor. “You got to try this new spell I made. Take my hand.”

 Taylor stared skeptically at the hand, being the butt of too many pranks to trust it. “I don’t think so,” she wrinkled her nose.

 Malcolm rolled his eyes. He could have cast the spell directly on her but if he was caught casting spells outside of class that would be more trouble. So he moved his hand to Charlie. “Take my hand, dude.”

 Charlie grabbed it without hesitating. “Sure.”

 Malcolm changed the spell slightly in his mind channeling it into his friend. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “Now, try a bite.”

 Charlie hesitantly took a bite of his porridge before his eyes bugged out in amazement. Then immediately one handed he started gobbling up his food so fast he was getting it on his face. He was hardly breathing as he inhaled bite after bite.

 Malcolm couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s what I had for dinner last night.”

 “How is it still steamy?” Charlie’s full mouth was dripping with mush.

 Taylor leaned forward, suddenly keen and interested. “Wait, how did you do that?”

 Malcolm tried to hide the pride in his voice but he had to thank Scholar for the idea and all that talk about what taste is. This new deal with him had really gotten Malcolm’s wheels turning. “It’s a simple illusion spell, actually. Even Charlie can manage it.”

 Taylor cocked her head as she started putting it together. “Illusion? You mean you’re substituting visual stimuli for gustatory?”

 Malcolm blinked in confusion. “If that means I tweaked the illusion spell to focus on my memories of good food then yes.”

 Taylor muttered, doing some calculations under her breath. “So if any memory will work then…” She dipped her mostly untouched porridge and took a bite, her violet eyes watering. “I haven’t tasted Mamae’s matzah since I was a girl.” She blinked back the tears before they could fall and she stared at Malcolm with a newfound respect. “Malcolm, this is absolutely brilliant.”

 “Thank you, I feel brilliant,” Malcolm grinned. “Think Enchanter Jakoby will take the spell as extra credit?”

 “I don’t see why not?” Taylor went to take another bite before she stopped blinking back at Malcolm. “Why are you asking about extra credit?”

 Malcolm suddenly felt embarrassed, like he was caught doing something weird. “Dunno…just thought it would be a good idea.”

 Taylor beamed at him with a knowing smile. “I think Enchanter Jakoby would be proud, too.”

 If Malcolm’s skin could go red, it would. “That’s not what it’s about,” he muttered, scooping a lobster infused porridge into his mouth with his free hand to avoid talking more.

 “You said I can manage it?” Charlie asked, still gripping Malcolm’s hand. He looked at the last bite of his bowl like he was sorry that he had eaten it so fast. “I can barely light a candle without sweating. How am I supposed to do something so complicated?”

 Malcolm squeezed, feeling odd that he was holding a man’s hand, or anyone’s hand other than Leandra’s, but the gesture didn’t feel out of place. “It’s not complicated. You just need to practice. I’ll help.”

 Charlie sniffed, rubbing off some of the porridge on his face with a napkin. “Thanks. It’d be nice to eat some nice food before I get tranquilized and can’t appreciate it anymore.”

 The table went silent at the thought as Charlie scooped up the last bite. Malcolm and Taylor both looked at each other in worried silence as Charlie savored it. Finally Taylor leaned in and placed her hand over Charlie’s fist. “You’re not getting tranquilized.”

 “You don’t have to humor me,” Charlie said stiffly. “I overheard the templars talking. There’s no way I’ll survive the Harrowing.”

 “They’re just bastards. You can,” Malcolm said earnestly, though his voice sounded frail in his anger. Carver had managed to put off Charlie’s Harrowing for as long as possible while Malcolm and Taylor tutored Charlie in their spare time and his magic had improved steadily, but he was not built for fighting. Now his Harrowing was any day, and they waited each night wondering if today was the last.

 “Passing the Harrowing is all about believing in your own ability,” Malcolm said. “You can’t let these doubts shake you.”

 “They’re not doubts, dude, they’re facts,” Charlie’s voice was not laced by melancholy but filled with pragmatism, like he had already accepted his fate and that twisted Malcolm’s gut.

 It was times like these when Malcolm wanted to burn everything to the ground.

 “I knew you two were fairies,” a sneering voice said behind them. Malcolm and Charlie dropped hands blushing to find that Matthew, the Templar, had approached their table and from the look in his eyes he was in a cruel mood.

 Malcolm opened his mouth to give lip but he immediately swallowed it remembering his promise to Carver and then turned back to his food with a sigh. “And here I was actually enjoying my morning.”

 “My bad,” Matthew chuckled. “You’re clearly in the honeymoon period. My sincere congratulations.”

 “Sometimes bros hold hands,” Charlie sank down in his seat, his shoulders hunching.

 Malcolm snarled. “Do you really not have anything better to do with your time?”

 Matthew smirked, motioning for Malcolm to follow him. “You dumb? You owe me something.”

 Malcolm’s stomach dropped. In all the commotion with Leandra and the haunting he had forgotten about Matthew’s order and he wouldn’t be the only one looking. Malcolm reluctantly left his seat to take his conversation with Matthew in private. He was lucky he was still in public where someone could get Carver if necessary. There was no way he would leave with Matthew alone.

 Matthew led him to the same barred window overlooking the ocean and Kirkwall’s skyline. His skin was noticeably yellower and his eyes more bloodshot, and darkened with bags.  

 Malcolm nervously shoved his hands in his pockets speaking lowly. “Look, it’s not here, yet. Didn’t you get the memo about me being pulled on some investigation?”

 The man snarled. “I had to work that fiasco last night and got no sleep. But the fact still is I need it today.”

 “Tonight, then,” Malcolm countered. There would be no going around that. He missed the drop-off and it was still waiting where his contact left it.

 Matthew looked like he wanted to argue but the Second Bell rang, signaling it was time for everyone to go to classes.

 “Tonight,” Matthew sneered then stalked off, disappearing into the flood of students moving.

 Malcolm sighed in relief, never having been so grateful to hear that bell. He walked back to Taylor and Charlie who looked as relieved as he was.  

 He set his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Stay tough, man. I’m not giving up on you, so don’t you give up either.”

 Charlie sighed as if he was tired but he smiled back. “Yeah, sure.”

 Malcolm wished that didn’t sound so sarcastic.

 “Guess I’ll see ya’ll later, then,” Malcolm hoisted his bag over his shoulder, leaving his tray abandoned at the table.

 Taylor raised her eyebrows. “I’ve never seen you eager to go to class.”

 “I’m not eager,” Malcolm argued, walking backwards. “I’m resigned. Devastated. Can’t wait to graduate.”

 Taylor actually laughed at his joke along with Charlie as she picked up her bag. “Whatever, Malcolm. See you in class.”

 Charlie looked at Malcolm’s food with puppy eyes as he started shuffling away. Malcolm couldn’t help the little smile on his lips when he heard, “I can’t believe I’m looking forward to lunch.”

 Malcolm wandered through the flow of traffic into the hallways to his first class, Creation Studies, ran by Enchanter Karena, a conservative biddy who didn’t like when Malcolm corrected her on anything, even if she was teaching things wrong.

 She went by the book and by the book only, even though Malcolm found that most of how magic was taught was backwards and counter-intuitive, based on ritual rather than usefulness. She was very religious and that seeped into every lesson. She saw other schools of magic as evil, finding that Creation was the only one deemed blessed by the Maker, even though the whole practice relied on channeling the healing energies of beneficial spirits, which made the whole thing sound like Chantry sanctioned blood magic when you thought of it. Something she did not appreciate hearing from Malcolm.  

 When he saw the silver haired woman, she was arguing with Carver, her wrinkled face so red she looked like an aged tomato but that stopped as soon as Malcolm walked through.

 Carver was here. That wasn’t good. Still Malcolm hadn’t broken any rules that Carver didn’t help him with.

 Enchanter Karena whirled around, her perfectly pinned bun falling slightly out of place. “Messere Hawke,” she sniffed overly politely.

 Malcolm resisted the urge to poke at her and took his seat with an acknowledging nod, but Carver walked over to his desk.

 “Pick your stuff up. You don’t go to this class anymore.”

 Malcolm blinked. “What?”

 “Absolutely not. That blasphemer has no business doing Cleansings or learning the sacred art of Spirit Healing. Those are for only the Maker’s chosen,” Enchanter Karena argued.

 “Pardon, Senior Enchanter, but if Malcolm has the talent, I believe he falls into that category.”

 Malcolm snorted at the way the Senior Enchanter’s mouth puckered in such a scowl it looked like a dog’s asshole. But then he registered what Carver said. “I’m doing what?”

 Carver smirked. “Don’t make me repeat myself. Now c’mon.”

 The other students looked on in wonder as Carver led Malcolm out of the classroom and back out into the hallway. Gossip started flowing from the classroom and Malcolm sighed. He was already sick of the spotlight.

 “So I’m guessing I don’t have a say in this,” Malcolm grumbled as he clenched the strap of his bag.

 “Do you ever have a say in anything?” Carver quipped.

 Malcolm grumbled. “You can be such an ass.”

 “Not denying that,” Carver grinned. “But I’m on your side.” He nudged Malcolm’s shoulder, the metal biting into him. “Trust me, this will be good for you.”

 Malcolm’s shoulders slumped. How many times had he heard that?

 “Would you perk up if I told you we’re going to see Leandra?”

 Malcolm did, his back straightening like an arrow as he jerked in full attention. “It’s her Cleansing?”

 “Her family’s Cleansing and her   fiancé  ’s, so behave. I can’t babysit you with all these interviews.”

 Her fiancé. He had almost forgotten he existed at all in that perfect night together. Still, Malcolm readied himself like he was going into battle. “I can handle that jerk.”

 “He’s actually quite a nice guy,” Carver quipped, already grinning as the scowl rose from Malcolm.

 “Oh, how great is he? He’s Orlesian,” Malcolm shoved his hands into his pockets hunching.

 Carver laughed heartily, knowing he shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he was, but if he could only tell him that he didn’t need to worry, because Leandra always looked at him like she was mesmerized by his existence. But Carver didn’t know how this story would end, and he also knew the Amell’s a little more intimately through Revka. She had once confided in him in a visit about how she’s all but disowned by the family for birthing so many mages. It would be a hard-fought journey, no question.

 Malcolm felt jittery. Would her brother be there? What would happen if he opened his big mouth and ruined everything? He didn’t seem like the type loyal enough to keep a secret. Still, the promise of seeing Leandra so soon after they had parted was too tempting, even paired with less appealing company. Still, he couldn’t help but feel like this was his first impression on her family, and he did want to impress them. Suddenly he found himself a bundle of tight nerves and he found himself needing to emanate his own calming spell to soothe himself.

 The healing quarters were filled with incense and Chantry symbols and candles even though modern lighting was installed. There was something to be said about creating a healing space to perform, but Malcolm felt like the Chantry sisters were just a little too attached to those candles. Malcolm wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or pleased to see that Enchanter Jakoby was there.

 The three other mages were a bit older and looked at him curiously as the Chantry sisters readied the quarters for the nobility’s arrival. He saw a pale elf with black hair and a rather bird-like features whisper to a man who looked like a vampire for his skin was so lucid it looked like it never touched the sun.

 The ghoulish man laughed at the elf’s whisper and Malcolm shivered at the sound for it seemed to belong to a horror film. The vampire was angular with scrutinizing silver eyes that were as cold as steel and he looked at Malcolm in interest while Malcolm tried his best to ignore him. The third mage seemed to fade into the background for how much presence she made. She was a plumpish woman with tan skin and wavy hair that hid her eyes. She avoided everyone else in the room and looked like she’d rather not be there.

 Enchanter Jakoby clasped hands with Carver greeting him. “Ser Carver, thank you again for your intervention last night.”

 Carver nodded humbly. “Only doing my duty.”

 “Well, we’re blessed to have you,” the Enchanter beamed before his smile turned playful at Malcolm, “and we’re blessed to have you, too.”

 Was Malcolm pleased that Enchanter Jakoby wanted him in his classroom? He found any snarky reply that he would have said died in his throat. It was a nice change of pace since he was used to being seen as the local pain in the ass, but part of him felt like he was giving in too easy. “So, you’re just making me a Spirit Healer? Don’t I have to pass some test?”

 “The Cleansing will be your test,” the Enchanter nodded. “If the Amell’s are satisfied with your performance then you’ll graduate into a full Enchanter and into my class as well as take on new duties.”

 “Great,” Malcolm tried not to make that sound sarcastic but it still laced his voice. “So I’m the school nurse now. Any other surprises?”

 “As part of your graduation requirements you will be required to help tutor younger apprentices.”

 Malcolm’s face twisted. Now this was unacceptable. “You really want to put me with kids? The guy that says fuck every other sentence?”

 Enchanter Jakoby looked amused. “Don’t worry. Since you're graduating out of season it’ll be at least a week to arrange the paperwork and find a class for you. You’ll have some time to practice substitutes. Try fudge.”

 “No fucking way,” Malcolm snorted.

 Carver cleared his throat, glaring at Malcolm.

 Malcolm almost blurted out, ‘no fudging way’ just out of habit, but Carver’s stern glare kept the insolence in his throat and he sighed reluctantly. “I mean, I’ll find a way.”

 He didn’t realize it would be so hard to keep this promise.

 Enchanter Jakoby mouthed ‘thank you’ to Carver who only nodded in response.

 Carver then turned to Malcolm with a stern look. “Remember your manners in front of the nobility.”

 Malcolm cracked out the tension building in his neck. “Yeah, yeah, I remember.”

 With that Carver abandoned him to class.

 The next hour was spent in instruction by Enchanter Jakoby not about how to perform Cleansings, as that was a simple thing that most proper Enchanters could manage, but how to address the nobility. There was a lot of protocol about where to stand, how to address a Lord, how not to stare directly in one’s eyes to offend. There were so many ways to offend.  

 Malcolm tried his best to listen like he promised, but he found his mind had gotten in a habit of tuning the Enchanter’s voice out and so he kept catching himself daydreaming about Leandra’s kisses. Malcolm was nervous trying to learn all these new rules but from what he figured the best policy was just to stick to the background and just not bother to talk to anybody unless they needed him. How he was even going to get a word to Leandra he had no idea.

 Then they were each handed a staff to use, just simple metal rods only used for channeling and not fighting. The Enchanter reached through the Veil coating himself with magic, instructing his students to do the same. Malcolm could hear the whispers of the excited spirits answering his summons, flooding their energy into him so he burned the brightest of them all, making the others glance nervously at the difference.

 The Enchanter couldn’t help but beam at the fact that Malcolm was taking instruction so well. No chiding needed. No snark. His eyes were closed in concentration, the colors coming off his flames reflecting rainbows.

 “We start by Cleansing our own auras, because if we ourselves are infected then we will infect our subjects. Now clear your minds and breathe with me.”

 Every mage in the Circle learned how to cleanse their auras from a young age. It was necessary in order to not attract demons in the Fade, so it felt like they were back in Basics as they sat in silence just listening to their own heartbeats as they opened themselves up to the Fade. “If you have doubts or pain or fears open them up now and offer them to the Maker.”

 Malcolm tried not to snort but the sound still echoed through the chamber. In all his walkings of the Fade he had never heard the voice of a God of any kind, just spirits. Still they were eager to pluck up the darker thoughts in his mind until his own thoughts echoed back at him.

     You’re being stupid. She’s a noble. And human. She’ll betray you. Or abandon you. Why are you trusting her? What about your plans to escape? She’s going to ruin everything.  

 The spirits picked at the thoughts in curiosity, like they were baubles in a shop.

 “Don’t give the thoughts power. Just offer them up to the flame and let them be transformed,” the Enchanter instructed.

 Malcolm’s aura lit up in a cloak of flames as the spirits combed through old pain, touching upon his deep-seated anger so he could taste it on his teeth. They poured through his memories so they flowed through him, the good and the bad. His mom, his dad, being kidnapped to the Circle, meeting Carver, Taylor and Charlie, Gamlen’s ugly judgement, Leandra’s righteous anger, burning with jealousy as he watched her on Guillaume’s arm, how she grabbed his tie at the karaoke club and kissed him in front of everyone. The spirits ended up latching onto Leandra’s song, the lyrics filling him with peace as they echoed it in his head and he focused on that until the rest of the doubts floated away until all was left with music.

 “That’s no good. You’ll cleanse no one with that aura.”

 Malcolm opened his eyes but the Enchanter, whose flame burned bright and blue wasn’t speaking to him but to the mousy woman who hid her face. Her flames were dark, purple and smoky and she seemed to be having difficulty with connecting with the Fade.

 The woman stopped the spell breathing heavily. “I’m sorry, Enchanter, I’m just not feeling well today.” Her shoulders looked shaky from the spell.

 The Enchanter frowned sympathetically, closing his connection to the Fade until his bright blue flaming aura died in a smoke. “Well, you won’t be able to participate like that. You may sit out for the noble’s Cleansing but you’ll need to stay and observe.” He then turned to the three men with a pleased smile motioning them to end the spell with a calm wave of his hand.

 “Gentlemen, very well done, especially you Malcolm. I believe you have a talent for this.”

 The other men glanced at Malcolm as he swelled, but their heads quickly snapped back as their names were called.

 “Orsino, Quentin, why don’t you all get acquainted by teaching Malcolm the basics about performing a Cleansing on another person. Be brief though. The nobility arrives any minute now.”

 “Yes, Enchanter,” they spoke in unison like it was rehearsed.

 The Enchanter then turned to the other mage. “Melissa, over here. I’ll have to take care of your aura, later.” He dragged her away to one of the spare cots in the room.

 Then the men both turned on Malcolm, their eyes sparkling in interest and Malcolm suddenly felt like he was on an observation table about to be poked and prodded from every angle.

 “So Malcolm was it?”  The   creepy mage had his arms behind his back as he strolled lazily up to Malcolm. He easily towered over both elves, staring down his pointed nose at each of them.

 “You can call me Hawke,” Malcolm decided suddenly, feeling that his first name in that man’s mouth was just too familiar.

 “Sure Hawke,” the green-eyed elf offered his hand, his black hair slicked back neatly. He also looked far too skinny for his clothes, his hand thin and bony. “I’m Orsino. Nice to see another elf made it into this program.”

 “Sure,” Malcolm took the hand not wanting to start off on the wrong foot though he wasn’t sure that they’d get along just because they were elves.

 The other willowy man offered his thin hand. “I’m Quentin. And you may call me that.”

 Malcolm took the man’s hand too and his nerves locked on edge. Was Enchanter Jakoby certain about this man’s aura? Malcolm felt a coldness in him that seemed unnatural, and Malcolm took back his hand quickly resisting a shiver. He wasn’t sure why but he didn’t like that man but it felt more like instinct than prejudice. He didn’t like the way he smiled, how he moved, how his eyes studied him like a lab rat.

 “So Cleansing someone else’s soul is simple. We guide them through a meditation as we channel their auras into the Fade so their darker actions and thoughts do not get attacked by demons like so,” Quentin then waved his hand pouring Fade magic into Malcolm as he felt his magic coat him, foul with dark energy.

 Malcolm automatically cast a dispel to interrupt the examination. His mind felt a little tingly, like something had tried to pry it open. Did the bastard just try to read him? “Watch it, Q-ball.”

 The man reddened, apparently self-conscious about his thinning hairline. “Just demonstrating,” Quentin squinted his eyes. “You hide it well but I did sense some dark anger in that aura. Dangerous for healers. A friendly warning from your upperclassman.”

 His mind still tingled from the man’s magic making Malcolm’s hands glow in his own spell. “Is it my turn?”              

 Orsino stepped between them hastily. “Perhaps we should focus on examining our patients.” He looked apologetically to Malcolm. “Forgive Quentin. He can be overeager.”

 “Well tell him to watch it. I can, too,” Malcolm huffed, shaking away the spell from his fingers.

 Orsino folded his hands, taking over instruction as he tried to diffuse the situation. “The meditation is usually taken from the Canticle of Trials. You are familiar?” The question was more of a statement and Malcolm found himself stuttering. Was now a good time to say he always slept through Mass?

 “Uh, sure I’m familiar,” Malcolm lied.

 Orsino smiled. “Good then we won’t have to go over that.”

 “Maybe, we should go over it a little,” Malcolm quickly backpedaled.

 But then Meredith and Matthew marched into the room standing straighter than usual. Malcolm noticed that Meredith was glaring at him in particular and he couldn’t help but poke at her with a mock salute.

 Meredith tried to keep the scowl from her face but her lips still twisted in a snarl. “Announcing the arrival of the esteemed Houses Amell and De Lancet,” Meredith’s voice sounded bitter with the false energy she forced into the greeting.

 Malcolm bowed his head with the rest of the mages as the nobles paraded in, two by two, bringing with them the aroma of expensive perfumes and fresh coffee that they still clutched in their hands. Malcolm recognized Leandra’s parents striding in first, in coordinated red outfits. They took the prominent place in front. Guillaume’s parents, a greying red-headed couple in royal purple took the next highest place on the Amells’ right hand, and Leandra and Guillaume came next, completely uncoordinated and settling onto her parent’s left hand side still sipping their cups.

 Malcolm couldn’t help but drag his eyes up Leandra’s legs admiring the newly revealed curves that her other dress hid. Leandra stopped mid-sip, reddening as the coffee dribbling down her chin a bit as she noticed Malcolm in the room staring.

 Malcolm winked, holding back a laugh as she wiped her chin with her hand. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

 Her mother scowled, stepping out of place as she took a red handkerchief and wiped it away properly, making apologetic eyes to the De Lancets. “Leandra, really, I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”

 Guillaume chuckled. “It’s rather adorable actually.”

 Malcolm tried to keep the sneer off his face but his whole jaw clenched as he tried to remember his place. He lowered his head again, remembering he was just supposed to be furniture.

 Her mother sighed as if she was tired. “I’m glad you think so, dear.” Her mother then took her place measuring each mage against the other. “Is this the whole selection, templar?”

 Meredith bristled. “Spirit healing is a very rare art, Lady Amell.”

 “Still, there is the instructor, no?” Lady Amell sniffed, smoothing out an already perfect strand of greying hair. “Bring him before me.”

 Enchanter Jakoby waited for Matthew to bring him from his place in the wall, and he bowed deeply before Lady Amell saying nothing as she inspected him, too.

 “Ah,” she said in a disappointed tone. “Also an elf.”

 Leandra’s eyes widened, as she reddened in embarrassment, looking apologetically at the Enchanter but the remark didn’t even seem to phase him.

 “Permission to speak, Lady Amell?” Enchanter Jakoby asked evenly.

 “Granted,” Lady Amell nodded in a bored tone as she sipped her coffee.

 “While I would be happy to perform your Cleansing, my students are more than capable to attend to you.”

 “Very well,” she snapped her fingers at Quentin. “You’ll do.”

 Quentin bowed deeply. “I am honored to attend you.”

 Lady De Lancet seemed to eagerly be inspecting Orsino against Malcolm, her gaze a leering and predatory. “Well I think elves are rather pretty.”

 Malcolm gritted his teeth as she stepped up to Malcolm and Orsino, her heels echoing against the stone. She looked them up and down her eyes lingering on their backsides in full view of her husband. Malcolm bit his tongue as he hoped she thought Orsino was prettier.

 But she stepped in front of Malcolm. “You…” she lifted his chin with her manicured nail. “You performed beautifully last night.”

 “Thank you?” Was Malcolm supposed to say something else? He didn’t trust anything flattering to come out of his mouth so he just avoided her eyes as she studied his face.

 She leaned down to meet his eye, patting his cheek fondly with her glove. “I think I’d like you to attend to me, mon petit.”

 Malcolm felt like a worm on the end of a hook about to be swallowed. He audibly gulped. “Uuuh…you don’t want me, I barely started class this morning. Don’t even know the Chant, proper.” Orsino’s bright green eyes widened in alarm as Malcolm grabbed his arm and yanked him forward. “Orsino, here, is just as pretty and has been at this a lot longer.”

 Lady de Lancet tittered in amusement. “I don’t mind breaking you in.”

 Orsino kept his professional smile but his eyes were glaring at Malcolm while Malcolm scanned the room looking for anyone to help.

 Leandra was already fuming from Lady de Lancet’s brazen forwardness, which wasn’t out of character for her, but the lady was practically fondling Malcolm in full view of her husband who was just boredly sipping his frappe’ as he played a candy puzzle game on his phone. She stepped out of place and curtsied politely announcing herself with a, “Pardon me, Lady de Lancet, but may I have a moment of your time?”

 Her parents glared at her, and Guillaume subtly waved at Leandra to come back but Leandra stayed, though she had no idea what exactly to say.

 The lady tutted and turned back to her. “Yes, dear?” she said, the patience in her voice wearing thin.

 Leandra glanced at Malcolm who looked at her expectantly and so she said, “If the mage is so new to this, perhaps I should be the one to be his first test. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

 She looked apologetically at Malcolm for throwing him under the bus but he looked relieved.

 The lady didn’t seem to take kindly to this but before she could speak Enchanter Jakoby stepped forward, his head bowed. “Pardon, but her ladyship has a point. Malcolm is talented but…” the Enchanter trailed off looking to the Heavens as he tried to find a suitable word before he landed on, “untested. I will be coaching him every step of the way, but Orsino is very capable in his own right, and can anticipate your needs much better.”

 Lady de Lancet clucked her tongue. “Oh, very well.” She looked rather annoyed but seemed reluctant to wager her health no matter how pretty that face looked. She snapped at Orsino. “You, come with me.”

 Lady Amell took her husband’s arm as she led him to one of the cots. “I guess we’re starting then.”

 Chantry sisters came bringing bowls of water and towels and set them at the foot at each of the beds that were stone and scoured for a bath of flame. As Leandra and Guillaume approached arm in arm, Enchanter Jakoby and Malcolm bowed and stayed that way until they got comfortable on the cot. Then Enchanter Jakoby led Malcolm in a kneel.  

 On one side of the room the Amell matriarch was flagging down a Chantry sister to say, “I don’t want a mage to touch me.”

 Quentin remained silent as the Chantry sister nodded and took his place kneeling on the floor. Malcolm didn’t envy him, but at the same time every comment from Leandra’s parents dropped his stomach. He wasn’t even a consideration.

 However Lady de Lancet was a bullet he was happy to dodge. He could see Orsino squirming as she eagerly kicked off her heels. “Now make sure to get in between the toes, dearie.”

 Malcolm shuddered. He wouldn’t blame Orsino if he hated him for this.

 The first part of the ritual meant bathing the noble's feet. Why the nobles couldn’t be bothered to bathe their own feet he wasn’t sure why. In Enchanter Jakoby’s lesson he spoke about how the ritual that went back to Andraste’s last day, when her disciple and friend Justinia begged Archon Hessarian to prepare her living body for the Maker. It was said in Andraste’s last hours Justinia was allowed into her cell, offering prayers to prepare her soul and cleansed her remaining sins by offering them to the Maker as the filth was washed from her feet. Malcolm could not find reverence in an old dead woman who couldn’t keep her promise of freedom to her elven allies, but he could find it in touching Leandra.

 Malcolm was not a foot guy, not even close, but even he couldn’t deny how soft her skin was, each toe trimmed and polished, with cute little deco designs that seemed a shame to hide in her shoes. He could tell from her ankles that they were swollen from how long she had been standing in heels, and as he gently pinched at the tendon at her ankle releasing tension.

 “Oh!” Leandra made a surprised sound that she bit down on her lip, her eyes glancing to Guillaume who seemed to also perk at the sound.

 Malcolm felt a devilish impulse pull at his gut at the flush that colored her face from his slightest touch and he couldn’t help but dig his thumbs into the flat of her arch, his heart tugging at the sweet sigh he pulled from her. He sent little soothing healing pulses through his fingers as he renewed his determination, trying to see what more sounds he could force her to make.

 Leandra was melting under his touch, holding back the moans in her throat, but still he could hear the tiniest whimpers escape setting Malcolm’s imagination alight. He suddenly wished no one else was there so he could pull her skirt up and bury himself between her legs so he could hear her cry for him. He knew he was winning the battle, her composure seemed to be coming undone, but before he could claim victory another voice reminded him what he was supposed to be doing.

 “Messere Hawke, I believe her feet are clean enough,” the Enchanter cleared his throat.

 Leandra took back her foot forcefully almost falling over, her eyes flinging to Guillaume who was also going slightly red at the sounds and faces Leandra was making.

 “Just being thorough,” Malcolm hid a haughty smirk, wondering if Guillaume ever managed to make Leandra sound like that but he regretted that line of thought immediately.

 “Perhaps I should give you a massage, sometime,” Guillaume offered with a flirtatious tone that made Malcolm clench his fists to keep from clocking him in the jaw.

 Leandra patted her hot cheeks. “Perhaps,” she said evasively, but Malcolm didn’t like the thought of the man trying to put his hands all over Leandra and he couldn’t suppress the ugly scowl that took over his face.

 Enchanter Jakoby grabbed a staff that was handed to him by a Chantry sister. “Now that the physical impurities have been taken care of, we will now purify your souls. My lord. My lady, please concentrate on offering your sins to the Maker as we sing the Chant.”

 Malcolm took the paltry staff from the Chantry sister, trying to ignore his seething jealousy as the staff started channeling with magic Malcolm and Enchanter Jakoby poured from the Fade. Malcolm could hear all the spirits chattering, scouring into their memories so that he saw flashes of Leandra’s younger days. He tried not to glimpse too closely, but he could see the imprint of her loneliness hidden behind a careful smile that she used for everyone. Her soul had been flattened, like a flower that had been stomped on but still stubbornly peeking up the sunshine trying to take in little bits of light.

 He heard Enchanter Jakoby’s voice take in a chanting intonation, Orsino and Quentin’s voice harmonizing with him.

 “I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade

 For there is no darkness, and no death, in the Maker’s light

 And nothing he has wrought has been lost.”

 Then each of the nobles' auras burned brilliantly as they each bared the darkness of their souls to the Fade. Leandra looked magnificent, too beautiful to be real, amber dancing against her skin as her dark hair ruffled lightly in the burning light. Malcolm almost reached out to touch the magic, to see what her burn would feel like on his skin before he remembered that others still watched them. Still, he couldn’t miss how her eyes watched his every move.

 “For she was reborn to us in flame

 And so flame we consume to be reborn

 May, He Who Burns The Brightest

 Purify the sins we hide in our hearts

 So that we may know true peace.”

 Then the flame snuffed out. All of the nobles looked bright and cheerful, like they each had an invigorated spirit-induced power nap, except for Lord de Lancet who looked pale and uneasy. Unlike the other nobles, the Cleansing seemed to have worn him out and his skin was showing a sheen of sweat.

 “My, that was bracing,” the Lord patted his face with a purple handkerchief.

 His wife tucked to his side with a concerned look on her face. “Darling, did the Cleansing not rejuvenate you.”

 “Oh, I’m rejuvenated, absolutely,” but the man sounded absolutely winded. “Just the old war injury flaring, that’s all.”

 Malcolm felt there was something odd about that. Rightfully a Cleansing should ease old pains, and though not every wound could be Cleansed, it shouldn’t be having that effect.

 Enchanter Jakoby bowed his head and approached the de Lancets. “If you’d like I could take a look.”

 Lord de Lancet nodded tightly and said, “it couldn’t hurt.”

 The Enchanter scanned the man’s aura, focusing on his back where the pain seemed to radiate and Malcolm thought he saw it in the flicker of the Enchanter’s magic, but the Enchanter stopped his spell and said, “I’m sorry, my Lord. I thought there might be something else causing it but I see nothing out of the ordinary.”

 Lord de Lancet rubbed his back nodding as if he expected that and said. “Yes, I’ve spent a fortune on chiropractors and masseuse’s and numbing injections but the pain just comes back worse than ever.”

 Another clue for Malcolm and he stepped forward, forgetting all protocol. “Do you get nightmares…of the exact moment you got your wound?”

 The man’s eyes widened in alarm, but he said, “The psychiatrist told me that was normal.”

 “And are you forgetful lately? Having trouble remembering things that used to be easy?” Malcolm prodded more.

 The man’s face reddened to almost the color of his mustache and he straightened his jacket. “How impertinent. You are not privileged to my medical history.”

 But Lady de Lancet placed a slightly wrinkled hand on her husband’s puffed shoulder. “You have been needing an awful lot of reminders, lately, Reynaud.”

 “I’ve just been stressed, Amelia.”

 But Enchanter Jakoby noticed there was a look on Malcolm’s face and he put his finger on his lightly stubbled chin. “Do you have a prognosis?”

 Malcolm looked at the Enchanter rather than the nobles for permission, breaking another rule. “May I have a look?”

 The Enchanter motioned with his head to the noble who didn’t look pleased with Malcolm’s offer. “What makes you think you could make a difference?”

 Malcolm shrugged. “I mean, I might not, but it could prove educational.” If the Lord didn’t want his help, he wouldn’t force it.

 But Lord de Lancet seemed to be in so much pain he was willing to try anything. He nodded, muttering, “Very well.”

 Malcolm poured magic back into him, revealing the tapestry of his energy in an array of light. He could see the war wound that festered into the spine damaging nerves all along his hip, but what he couldn’t figure out was how the others missed the knot of corded energy that seemed to snake in the heart of the wound, gnarling it up. The pain seemed to be feeding, growing more agitated with the feel of his magic. Was Malcolm the only one that could see it?

 He poked at the knot with his finger. “Is it tender here?”

 No sooner did Malcolm brush it did the noble cry out in pain, and Malcolm couldn’t deny he did relish the sound a little.

 “Andraste’s flaming knickerweasels what are you doing back there!”

 “Yep, we got ourselves a pain demon,” Malcolm cracked his neck nonchalantly stretching. “This one’s really burrowed into you. No wonder the Cleansing couldn’t take effect.”

 “What!?” Lord de Lancet cried out his face paling.    

 Lady de Lancet smacked him on the arm which made him whimper more. “I told you that’s why you shouldn’t skip Cleansings, but do you listen to me?”

 Enchanter Jakoby’s smile reached all the way to his eyes. “Malcolm, how did you spot it? It was hiding very well.”

 Malcolm looked puzzled as if it should have been obvious. “Don’t you see how the energy in his aura moves differently around the pain spike?” Malcolm pointed to the knot in the magic as both Orsino and Quentin huddled in for a closer look. He motioned to the red ugly festering energy that stayed twisted up in the lord’s back. “You can see here is where the natural pain is,” Malcolm waved his hand down his thigh as he mimicked the energy’s movement, “but here the energy moves differently on it’s own wavelength. It’s not actually part of him.”

 “Ooooooh,” the men said in unison as if everything was now obvious to them, too.

 “Yes, yes very fascinating. Now will you get it out of me before it kills me!”

 “Have no fear, My Lord. Pain demons are rarely lethal. Just painful,” Malcolm had forgotten all the training the Enchanter coached into him and without a thought put his hand over the knot, and twisted his fingers into the energy. The colors grew red and chaotic, the bright energy growing from the wound.

 “Now just breathe,” Malcolm commanded, as he grasped around the essence of the demon, feeling the wrongness festering. Lord de Lancet cried out as Malcolm pulled. The creature was starting to become visible under Malcolm’s palm, a sickening black bloody vein-like leech with gnashing teeth screeching in a volume so high-pitched it deafened everyone’s hearing. Then it shriveled and burned away into Malcolm’s brilliant flaming magic until it was nothing but ash.

 “Now how does that feel?” Malcolm pulled his hand away.

 The man’s eyes widened as he patted his back which was not locking up in stiffness anymore. “Andraste’s Mercy. I feel twenty years younger,” He looked to Malcolm in disbelief.

 “You look it, Reynaud,” his wife placed a fond hand on his cheek.

 “Just doing my job,” Malcolm bowed his head with a pleased smirk on his lips. Leandra was beaming at him and he couldn’t help but notice even her parents weren’t looking with the same disgust only moments before.

 That smirk quickly dropped when Lady de Lancet started straightening her husband’s tie, “That settles it. We have to have him as a House Mage.”

 Shit.

 Lord de Lancet looked at Malcolm with renewed interest. “I think you’re absolutely, right, mon amie.”

 Enchanter Jakoby looked pleased, but a little hesitant to agree forthwith. “Malcolm is not a full Enchanter, yet, more an Enchanter in training.”

 “Well then we’ll pluck him up as soon as he’s ripened,” Lady de Lancet twisted her fingers into a promise.

 Malcolm froze, the urge to self-sabotage with a rude comment so strong he bit his tongue to keep himself silent. If he had realized that helping that lord would have led to this he would have let the Orlesian suffer.

 But Leandra also seemed to find this unacceptable and stepped forward. “Pardon,” Leandra said in a voice too forceful to be polite, and before she realized she was doing it she curtsied in front of Lady de Lancet and said, “but I find that with the Haunting I feel absolutely terrified,” she added a believable wobble to her lip, “I do fear that, I, too, might be under a curse and am in desperate need of protection from a House Mage.” She met Malcolm’s eyes as she added, “and only the best will do.”

 “Absolutely not!” Meredith’s outraged voice called out cutting through the discussion that was happening. She looked completely frazzled, as if she couldn’t fathom what was happening in front of her eyes. “You might not know this but Malcolm Hawke is a well-known trouble-maker in the Circle. He is not fit to serve the noble houses and will dishonor you all.”

 Leandra audibly huffed. “Was it not Malcolm who saved everyone last night?”

 “And he did spot the demon even the instructor missed,” Lord de Lancet also stretched his back, admiring the new looseness in his body.

 Meredith scowled, seething with so much hatred for Malcolm he was sure she’d pop a gasket. “Believe me that talent makes him more dangerous.”

 He glared back defiantly. That it did. If only she knew.

 “Pardon,” Enchanter Jakoby raised his finger to silence the argument that was about to spring up from everyone. “But I’m afraid until he has proper training he won’t be doing anything than catching up on his graduation requirements.”

There was a finality in his words that told Malcolm no matter his future, he would be in for a lot of work, and for the first time in his life he found himself praying to the Maker to be kind.  

[enby-hawke]

I was tagged by @slothabed for WIP Wednesday but I guess it’s Thursday now XD

So this is an excerpt for a Malcolm/Leandra fic about their love story

Malcolm gulped down nervously, trying to loosen the bow-tie that felt like a clamp on his throat. He could feel himself sweating through the [insert fancy suit here] that Leandra had hand-picked for him, not that it seemed to alleviate the frown that was deeply embedded on Lord Amell’s face.

Aristride Amell was a terrifying man when he was not glaring daggers. He was a rather large man, easily two heads taller than Malcolm and he probably weighed twice as much. He had no toupee to hide his balding head, and his full grey beard only had a few streaks of black left. The only features he seemed to share with the woman he loved was fierce intelligent black eyes. His face was rather pink against his dark grey suit, and Malcolm wondered if that was just his natural complexion or if he was making the man’s blood pressure rise just from sitting across from him.

“Thank you for agreeing to speak with me, Lord Amell,” Malcolm bowed his head politely, but did not avert his gaze as was expected of him. 

Lord Amell didn’t speak but pulled from one of his drawers from his large mahogany work desk a box of vintage Royal Antivan cigars. He took one for himself and did not offer one to Malcolm.

He lit the cigar with a silver jeweled lighter he kept in his breast pocket and snapped the intricate black and gold box close with a snap. His fingers were easily as big as the cigar and as Malcolm adjusted his bow-tie again, he couldn’t help but imagine it was Lord Amell’s hands squeezing the breath out of him.

“I just want to assure you I’m not after your money or a title. We can handle the logistics however you’d like. I just want to marry Leandra.”

“Marry Leandra,” the man spat acidly. “Shall I give the moon as well?”

“Not unless it’s a wedding present,” Malcolm joked, but Lord Amell’s face remained utterly placid. 

After a few moments of tense silence, Lord Amell snorted and pulled out a black wallet from his breastpocket. “Name your price.”

“Excuse me?”

“To walk away. You’ve won, elf. Now name it.”

Malcolm found himself angrily gripping the arms of his chair. “I already told you I don’t want your money.”

“You can drop the act.”

“I assure you I’m not that great of an actor.”

“So you’re a fool then?” Lord Amell snorted smoke from his beaky nose. “What did you think would happen? That you would dress up like some costumed rabbit and earn the hand of my daughter with nothing to offer but your word?”

Malcolm shifted uncomfortably. “I know I’m not a man of great means, but I have a good teaching position lined up in the Gallows-”

“A pittance compared to what my daughter deserves.”

“On that we agree,” Malcolm nodded. “But I know I can make Leandra happy.”

Lord Amell scoffed. “Happiness is a fleeting emotion. When the emptiness follows, Leandra will realize how foolish of a concept it is to build one’s life on.” 

Leandra had warned Malcolm that this would be a tough sell. He just didn’t know why she thought it was possible. Malcolm took in a deep breath and allowed himself to center again before he chose his next words, trying to think of the one thing that could possibly unite them as a family. “I had hoped that we could come to an understanding seeing as I am the father of your grandchild.”

Lord Amell’s face reddened and his mouth twisted in unbridled fury. He clenched his hand and it looked like he would crush his cigar. “She is not having that…thing.”

It was Malcolm’s turn to be furious and he leaned forward defiantly. “With all due respect, Messere,” which he had very little of, “I thought Leandra and I made it clear we are not asking for permission, just your blessing.”

Lord Amell’s nostrils flared. “And you will have neither!”

“Then we have nothing more to talk about,” Malcolm said, rising from his seat which seemed to surprise and infuriate Lord Amell. 

“I have not dismissed you!”

“I’m not your servant, I can dismiss myself,” Malcolm straightened his bow-tie once more. He knew he should be more civil for Leandra’s sake, but Aristride Amell was a man that only a saint had patience for. 

Lord Amell stood now too, pointing at Malcolm with his cigar. “I will make you regret not taking my offer while I was still generous enough to give it.”

“And I’m telling you I will never take it,” Malcolm looked up defiantly. “Love me or hate me we will both be standing at that altar.” He hadn’t realized he was raising his voice and he softly added, “For Leandra.” 

“Everything I do is for Leandra,” Lord Amell narrowed his black eyes at Malcolm, and for a moment it seemed like he would reach across the desk to strike Malcolm but with careful precision he pulled back his emotions into a careful mask just a breath away from breaking. “This isn’t over.”

Malcolm all but slammed the door. On that they agreed. 

Thanks for tagging me. I taaag uh @casijaz @ye-lost-bard @gloomba331 aaand whoever else wants to participate