This is another series of ficlets revolving around the Dragon Age universe, and will mostly involve carry over characters who appeared in Origins and carried over to Awakenings and DA:2. It's a bit of a look at the darker side of the characters, and what might hypothetically make them tick.
Series: Liquid (from minquette 's prompts "liquid edition" for Tuesday promptfest on 15/11/11)
Title: Ink
Rating: T
Characters/pairing: Merril, Marethari, other Dalish Elves, vague DA:2 spoilers.
Roughly 2300 words.
It was like fire, tiny points of liquid fire. It seared her face, along her brow, down the ridges of her cheekbones, and along her jaw. Just as she thought she could take no more the pain would stop, a cool cloth would soothe the abused skin for a few precious seconds, and then the fire would begin anew. She felt a rivulet of the thick sticky ink running down her face but she ignored it, even as the liquid itself burned a thin trail down her face like a dark purple tear.
The young elf let her eyes flutter closed and concentrated on keeping her face still, breathing through the pain. This was her real rite of passage, more than the rite she went through when she came of age. This was her time to prove once and for all that she was worthy of being First. That one day she would be Keeper.
She thought back to the day that Marethari had named Merrill her apprentice. The day her training began. How proud she was to read the scrolls and learn her first words of the Old Language. She would be the Keeper of knowledge some day, passing on the wisdom of the Elvhen and in turn teaching her people their history and heritage.
She recited the tales of The People under her breath as the needles pierced her skin over and over. She imagined sitting in front of a ritual fire much like this one, her own First sitting beside her. They would drink the sacred herbs, mixed with warmed Halla milk, and enter the trance. She would recite the tale of the path to find the true self, and show her apprentice how to draw their markings out of the dream to be transcribed on their skin. She would help her apprentice to learn the way to make the sacred ink, to forage for the ingredients and grind the pigments. Under a full moon they would mix the herbs and ground mineral into a paste. She would explain how the dark wine colored syrup would meld into her skin, complementing her existing tattoos and change color over time to an almost metalic copper.
When the time was right, on the next new moon, she would then add the special ingredient to permanently engrave the special markings into their skin. Merril chuckled to herself, she would also no doubt have to endure the torrent of questions about what that special ingredient was, and why it was different to the ink that was used for marking every other elf in the clan. She still didn't know herself what that ingredient was, she would find out in time. It was a mystery, she liked mysteries.
She heard a grunt from the Keeper, and a gentle hand on her face, the cool cloth now running a deep purple from the ink mixed with her blood. She looked up at the keeper, who was smiling serenely down at her. The young elf smiled back, feeling a little light headed.
"Hold still child, the worst is yet to come but the marks are nearing completion" Marethari murmured. "The lines are almost filled, and then you will feel a sharp burn as the lines connect to make the pattern whole."
"Yes Keeper" Merril breathed.
Suddenly she was getting hot. Too hot. Her breath sped up and her pulse started to race. She could feel the viscous liquid pulsing under her skin. It almost felt alive. The needle was cold, yet her face burned. She could feel when the line was completed, connections made, both in this world and in some other. It felt like she was half in the fade and half out. With each prick of the needle, she felt the searing heat grow.
Her breath came in huge gulps, and she felt more of the syrupy liquid running down, leaving smoldering trails across her face outside the lines of the tattoo. She could see it out of the corner of her eye, bubbling like black blood from her skin, tiny wisps of smoke started to rise up from her flesh. She felt a moment of panic and looked up at her Keeper.
Somewhere inside the haze of pain and confusion she noticed a flicker of an expression on Marethari's usually serene face.
Pity... Fear... Resignation?
Then the face was gone, replaced by the blinding conflagration beneath Merril's skin, and a pin point of light pulsing under her eyelids. She was crying and even her tears were stained a pale purplish and slightly metallic. She barely had time to notice the almost bloody film over her vision, before reality shattered.
*****
Marethari mopped up another rivulet of the sacred ink from Merril's face. She had always known that Merril was strong willed and tended to be a little headstrong, but the flash of foretelling that she saw as the first pattern on the young elf's forehead was completed combined with the power that surged through the lines was worrying. She would have to keep an eye on the young Keeper-to-be. It was only a flicker of a possibility, but it was truly frightening. Merril was headstrong to be sure but she always had the good of the Elvhen in mind and heart. The keeper simply could not see how this strong yet innocent young woman could possibly bring about that much destruction to her own people.
The older woman sighed and shook her head continuing her gentle dabbing at the freshly weeping markings on Merril's face. In the flickering firelight the dribbling ink looked like black blood. She shivered. What ever the future held for her young protege, she knew from that moment that the young woman would have a difficult and painful path ahead of her. A path that would eventually take her away from her people.
*****
The blazing searing pain continued, narrowing to a sickening throb that sang through her body in time with the Halla horn needle piercing her skin. Time slowed to a single pin point.
Stab.
She was standing in a cavern in front of a mirror. It looked vaguely Elven in design, yet it was in a cave deep underground. She wasn't sure how she knew that it was important but it was. She reached out to touch the mirror and a terrible roaring started in her head, like a thousand monsters all shrieking and clawing for her attention at the same time. Suddenly the scene washed out to black, as if bloody purple rivers were running in front of her eyes. She blinked and tried not to panic and just before her vision was completely covered, she saw a washed out reflection in the mirror. An elderly woman looked back at her, she was obviously one of The People, but her clothes were strange, she was wearing mage robes of a similar style to the ones in some of Marethari's ancient books. They had not been worn for more than an Age. She reached out to Merril, her eyes pleading.
The world disappeared and she was blind, deaf and numb. Then the pain flared white hot again.
Stab.
Merril gasped, trying to get her barings in the suddenly painfully bright open air. She was in the Dalish camp, but people were running everywhere. The clan was on the move, packing belongings, and loading tents and provisions onto wagons and carts. She looked across to the Keepers tent and saw Marethari and... herself... in a heated discussion. Trance-like, she walked over to the pair, stopping just a few feet away. The Keeper looked frustrated, worried... Angry? Marethari was never angry. She had never said a heated word in all the time she had known the woman. She had been stern, yes, but the older woman's voice now verged on yelling.
"Child, you know that this thing is not safe! It killed Tamlen, and it almost killed Narla. We lost her to the Grey because of that Wolf ridden mirror, and I would ask you to consider the good of your people before you bring such an object into our midst." Marethari frowned at the other Merril, who wore a look of deep frustration and sorrow on her face.
"Keeper, how can you ask me to leave it behind? Is it not the job of the keeper to preserve the history and heritage of Elvenahn? This is the most important relic of our people to be discovered in an Age! It is our legacy from the time BEFORE the Dalish! A time when we were free..." the young woman sighed and chewed her bottom lip, trying to figure out how to make her mentor see reason.
"Merril, you cared for Tamlen. I know you did. How can you risk subjecting more of our people to his fate? The loss of so many of our clan will be felt for generations, all because of this, this thing. We do not even know for a certainty that it was crafted by Elven hands. I cannot let you do this. Let it go, child." Marethari started to turn towards her tent.
"You are making a mistake. Keeper!" Merril's voice shook with anger, as she glared at her mentor.
Marethari turned back to Merril and shook her head, with a sad look on her face.
"I can see that I can not change your mind, child. Do as you will." She pinned the younger elf with an unfathomable look. "But heed my words Merril. Legacy of The People or not, no good will come of this. If you truly wish to go down this path I cannot stop you, but neither will I help you. Bring it if you must, but do not bring it inside the camp."
Merril missed the look of fear and pity on her mentor's face as she watched her other self clap her hands in glee and skip out of Keepers camp to her own tent.
Agony washed over her again and thick bloody rivulets ran across her vision.
Stab.
She blinked, and looked around. She was standing in a circle of stones with an alter at the far side. A small path led away behind her disappearing into a cave in the rock face. She turned back to the alter, feeling strangely disconnected and weightless. There was a group of people in front of her, one of whom was herself. She was talking to a woman with hair the color of clouds on a sunny day and eyes like the sea during a storm. There were others with her. A blonde man who looked to be a mage with a world of sorrow in his honey colored eyes, and a hansom dwarf with a beautiful crossbow cradled in his arms like a babe.
Merrill walked forward and watched the scene unfold in a series of flashes as if the sky was being streaked by lightning, even though there was not a cloud in sight. A pendant was put on the alter. A blinding flash of light erupted from the bauble. A great gust of wind hit her. A glimpse of a huge dragon. Snatches of conversation. The other Merril on her knees, offering obeisance to a grey haired woman with horns made of hair.
Pain flared in her head again, and red oozed over her eyes burning and itching as it trailed it's way down her face. She heard a woman's' voice echoing in the back of her mind.
"...watch for that moment, and when it comes... Do not hesitate to leap."
Stab.
The pain ebbed faster this time, and Merrill felt herself kneel down. She looked up and saw a large mirror in front of her, adorned in beautiful molding and scrollwork. The mirror was dark, barely reflecting anything. She held the Arulin'holm in one hand and a shard of dark polished metal in the other. She looked back at the mirror and saw that a small piece was missing from the top. She placed the missing piece into the gap and used the tool to fix it in and remove the cracks. The strange dark material finally melded into place and she felt strangely serene.
The pain was gone from her face and she was at peace. She closed her eyes filled with the knowledge that she had saved a piece of her peoples heritage. What was once lost to the dusts of time was now whole again and in the hands of it's rightful guardian. She had shed blood for this, defied the Keeper for this, but it was worth it. The history of her people was worth any pain she would endure. This was her duty, to guard the history of the Elvhen at all costs. She closed her eyes, taking a great lungfull of air. She was at peace.
She smiled, breathing in the clean air of the forest. As she slowly opened her eyes she smiled. Looking up at Marethari her smile stretched into an elated grin. She had had a vision. She was truly meant to be Keeper some day. She couldn't remember most of it, but she remembered the way it felt to guard the sacred knowledge and history of her clan. She made a silent vow as she took her mentors hand in hers.
She would do all in her power to ensure that no lore or artifact or knowledge would ever again be lost to her people. She was the First, and some day she would be the Keeper.
*****
In a small corner of the Fade, Pride smiled. He flitted around the manifestation of the strange object that sat at the back of a forgotten cavern near the camp of The People. The little dark haired one wasn't quite a Dreamer, but she would do. Her power was strong for him to reach her from here, bound as he was to this strange device. The ritual of the Ink had given her the boost of power from the fade that let him touch her mind. She was more than herself now, and how sweet she tasted. It had been an age since he was able to taste the heady buzz of power that heralded a magic wielder from the other side, but once he had bathed in it. Oh it was a delicious feeling. He was alive again, and this little creature would free him. He just needed to... nudge... mold... What was the phrase he had heard from the other side so long ago? "Nurture the seed".
Pride was old. He had waited here an age. Pride may enjoy instant gratification, but he could be patient. Oh yes, for this one, he would wait.
A/N: I've made a few assumptions about the strength of the link between the Demon in the artifact on Sunder Mount and it's connection to the Eluvian. I don't think I'm too far off the mark, but I did use artistic liscence.
As always, enjoy and remember... Constructive comments are like a lyruim potion to a depleted mage. Well, they may not let me thrown fire balls, but they will make me dance like a mad thing :D
Griffins and Chantry Miceby *asheraaTitle: Sing Collection: Of Dragons Griffins and Chantry Mice Characters: Leliana, Alistair, Fem!Warden Warnings/rating: T for Character death Word Count: 249 Sweat beaded on her brow and the lump in her throat threatened to choke the life from her. She took a deep breath to try again. Her voice NEVER failed her... The note rang pure for a second then cut off with a sob. Heat rose to her face, but her skin remained pale, almost ghostly white in the flickering light of the pyre. "Maker, I am so sorry" she whispered, trying to steady her racing heart and her gasping breath. Taking a deep breath for a third time, she found herself feeling dizzy. The air was filled with smoke, with incense, with fear, with sorrow, with death. Death. She tried not to think about that underlying sweet sickening smell. Another sob escaped and she weaved on her feet. It was too much. She could not do this. Suddenly a strong arm caught around her waist and held her steady, a splint covered chest held her up, halting her fall. The bard looked up at the man who had given up the throne for the woman in front of them, turning to ashes. His once bright face, crumpled in despair, his strong shoulders hunched, his cheeks wet. She had to do it. She took another breath, and he whispered in her ear. "Leli, we'll sing it together." Starting softly their voices gradually rose above the roaring fire, one rough and deep, one clear yet broken, singing for the love they had both lost this void cursed day. "hahren na melana sahlin..." |
Griffins and Chantry Miceby *asheraaTitle: Improbable Romance Series: Of Dragons, Griffins and Chantry Mice Rating: T Teagan sat on the bench in the lavish garden rubbing his temples. The tinkle of the fountain helped to soothe his ravaged nerves. His mind drifted to the thought that he might just have to go drown himself in that fountain if the woman next to him did not shut up soon. From the corner of his eye saw a flash of platinum blonde hair and looked up, his breath hitching in his throat. Amell? No, not Amell, Hawk he reminded himself. The resemblance really was uncanny. Same moontouched hair, same pale gray eyes, Maker help him they even had the same incredible pouty lips. He gave her a tight smile as she approached him with her elven friend. Hawk smiled her incredible smile, so like her cousin's, and greeted him warmly. He stood and started to ask her weather she was here for the hunt or if some other task brought the Champion to this far flung locale, when Isolde started to mutter to him and pull on his sleeve. Dulcie? What? He couldn't concentrate on anything Hawk and her companion were saying. He turned to Isolde for a moment and when he turned back the two women had gone. He sat back down on the bench with a resigned sigh. The woman next to him continued to prattle about something or other he just HAD to tell to someone or other. His eyes wandered over the crowd as his mind drifted back to Redcliffe almost a decade earlier. Another silver haired mage. A harder time, a harsher place. A woman who in the midst of the Void on earth managed to bring a little spark of hope, a little smolder of passion to his beleaguered heart. If only he'd had the courage to ignore what was expected of him and persue... "Teaaaaagaaaaan..." The man in question cringed and asked himself for the hundredth time why in the name of the Maker's sweet fluffy pink bedsocks he agreed to bring this shrieking harpy of a woman with him. On second thoughts, sticking his head into the cage of that Wyvern over there... "Yes Isolde, I till tell him. In due time." He sighed again. Why was he always expected to be the responsible one, the one who fixed the problems, righted the wrongs, sacrificed his own desires for the greater good. Just once he wanted to do something purely for himself. Would that truly be so wrong? His eyes drifted back over to the Champion, talking animatedly with the Elf woman, and... were they stealing coins from the guests? He barely stifled a laugh. Maker, she and her cousin really were alike! He wondered what it might be like to have a proper conversation with Hawk, weather she would have the dry wit of Amell, or would she have a more bubbly feminine personality. He knew that either way she laughed readily. She had worn a permanent cocky grin on both occasions that he had the pleasure of speaking with her. He would bet a generous sum that despite the fine clothing she wore, her hands would be strong and calloused. She walked with the grace of a seasoned warrior who was capable of using that staff she carried to defend herself as competently as she used her magic. He wondered what her accent would sound like when she spoke Arcarnum while casting her spells. He wondered how many people here even guessed that an apostate walked among them. She exuded such captivating personality that one completely overlooked what she really was. Watching her long hair stir and flutter in the breeze as she tossed the stolen coins into the fountain, he wondered what that it would feel like for those spun silver strands to slide through his fingers... "TEEEaagaaaan!!" "What? Where? Huh?" He stammered shaking his head to clear his thoughts. "When are you going to tell hiiiim? Oh and you simply MUST tell him about the skeletons Teaaagaaaan!!" Isolde started crying prettily yet noisily as only the very spoiled and the very rich can. Teagan's eyes stopped in their tracks mid roll. Did Amell just wink at him? He stared at her blankly, as the ache in his head pounded even harder. Maker take it, now Isolde was sniffing at him. He reached into his pocket to find a handkerchief. As his hand closed around the fabric, he felt a small piece of folded parchment. Absently handing the square of fabric to the crying woman, he took out the paper and unfolded it. "My dear sweet man, should you find that your poor nerves simply cannot tolerate present company any longer, I will be more than happy to rescue you. Yours in sympathy, H." How in Andraste's name did Hawk get that into his pocket? He looked at the mage, who was now giggling with the elf and looking at him from under her lashes. Oh maker, she was biting her lip. Teagan suddenly felt a little dizzy. "TEEEEEAAAGAAAAAN" Teagan blinked. The world stopped as Isoldes indignant shriek echoed across the courtyard. Slowly he turned to the woman beside him and his mouth split into a serene smile. "Isolde, you inconsiderate, exasperating, annoying, nug humping, void spewing, shrill little... HARRIDAN!! For the love of the Golden City, will you please SHUT UP!" Nodding curtly to his sister in law he stood, and with a spring in his step he walked up to Hawk, spun her around and swept her into a kiss that would have made even Senechal Bran's 'date' blush. Teagan was vaguely aware in the back of his mind that both he and Hawk were making soft undignified little noises and he felt himself flush like a teenager. They must be making quite the spectacle of themselves. When their lips finally parted Teagan couldn't help but grin like a fool. He leaned in to murmur against Hawks ear. "My dear Champion, I am in your debt." His voice wavered slightly as he whispered "I would greatly enjoy the opportunity to get to know you better. My ship is at your disposal for your return trip should you desire company... or safe passage on your way home." Hawk smiled up at him, cheeks a charming shade of red. She shook her head as if to object. "I have a hunch" Teagan smiled, brushing a thumb along Hawk's cheek "If you and your companions are anything like your cousin and her friends, you could use a fast ship back to Kirkwall, yes? And besides, if there is any trouble we can throw my dear sister at them as a diversion!" He waggled his eyebrows making Hawk quash a moderately unladylike snort. Throwing a devilish wink to Hawk, he turned and sauntered over to the cheese platter, happier than he had felt in over ten years. |
Griffins and Chantry Miceby *asheraaTitle: What A View For Tuesday Promptfest on LJ Could be considered nsfw-ish I guess... It was mid afternoon on a particularly hot Kirkwall day when Hawk rounded the bend of a trail off the wounded coast. Humming to herself, she ducked down a well hidden game trail and entered a small grove near the edge of a cliff. Below was a small pond of ice cold, crystal clear water, little more than a rock pool. What interested Hawk though, was the miniature waterfall above it. Water from a spring filtered through the sandy soil and emerged just below the lip of the cliff that jutted out over the pool. It was the coolest, cleanest water you could find in a dozen square miles. Just the thing for a band of thirsty do gooders out on yet another quest to save the known world from certain destruction, or in this case a lack of herbs. While hawk waited for the rest of her party to catch up, she took off her boots and sat on the ledge. She lay back on the rocky ground and dangled her feet over the side, letting the water from the spring trickle over her calves and the heels of her bare feet. She closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of her face and the cool water on her feet until she started to doze off. It took her a few minutes to realize that she was being lulled to sleep by an achingly beautiful male voice that was softly singing the Chant somewhere in the small cove below her. She quietly lifted her legs up from the edge of the cliff and swung around until she was laying with her head and chest dangling over the edge, craning her neck to see who that hypnotic voice belonged to. Carefully she shuffled over until she had a good view of the pond below, past the scraggly brush that was growing out of the side of the cliff face. It wasn't a long drop to the ground below, only about 40ft, but if she fell and missed the pond, she would land on jagged rocks that had fallen from the ledge that she was currently dangling over. Bracing a shoulder on the trunk of a particularly stocky shrub, she leaned out a little further, and nearly lost her balance from shock when she finally saw the body that went with that voice. She stuck a leg out behind her for balance and lay there speechless. The beautiful deep melody halted momentarily as the singer ducked under the water and swam a few leisurely laps of the small pond, long muscular arms making short work of the task. Hawk's mouth dropped open as she watched the play of sunlight and water over lean muscle. A soft thud next to her alerted Hawk to the arrival of one of her companions, and someone grabbed her hip pulling her balance back to the safe side of the ledge. "Makers blue balls Hawk, what are you doooo..." Isabela griped followed by a reverent whisper, "Andraste's frozen nipple clamps, that is a goooorgeous view!" The pirate sighed and slid down onto the ground next to Hawk so she too could get a better look at the living work of art that was splashing around below. Said work of art was now standing up in the pool, once again singing quietly. Short cropped strawberry blond hair sprayed a rainbow of water droplets as it shook back and forth. Fine chiseled cheeks and full lips graced a lightly bronzed face that was tipped back to bask in the afternoon sun. A sliver of pink slipped between those lips to catch a droplet of water. "Aaaabout those holy nipple clamps... Is that...?" whispered Isabela quietly in an uncharacteristic display of forethought. "Oh yes, it's him... and yes they are pierced..." muttered Hawk with an audible gulp. "Who'd have thought it." "Issy, where are you? Did you find Hawk? What are you two doing?" "Shhhhh!" Both women whispered in unison, not looking up. Isabela waved Merril over absentmindedly with the hand that wasn't holding Hawk back from falling off the edge. "Ooh is this a game?" Whispered Merril sliding in next to the other women on the ledge. "what are you doing, did I miss something... ooooh isn't he preeetty..." In the pond below, large strong hands were sliding down the back of the blond head, forcing water to run in rivulets down a long corded neck, across broad well muscled shoulders, and down a lightly tanned back that was so well defined with muscle that it could have been sculpted by some Orlesian master artisan. A fourth body shuffled up beside the three women. A crossbow nosed out over the edge of the cliff. "What's going on ladies? Are we about to launch a daring attack on another band of Qunari? A pack of slavers perhaps?" Varric looked at Hawk over Merril's shoulder and poked her arm when she didn't reply. Hawk's response was to gently reach across and turn Varric's head to face the scene below. "And I thought the sight of three shapely asses sticking up in the air was quite the view!" chuckled the dwarf under his breath. "Makers cross dressing uncle, is that...?" "uh huh" Was the soft chorus of replies. Eventually the man below dried off and donned his armor once more, Sword strapped to back, skirts and armor neatly and firmly in place. A wistful look crossed his handsome face before he turned and strode off towards the trail back to Kirkwall. After he was safely out of earshot, Varric and Isabella leaped to their feet, chattering excitedly. "So Rivaini, Friend Fiction?" "Of Course! Title?" "Oh it has to be something catchy, something that really grabs the eye!" "Sunkissed in Kirkwall?" The pirate shook her head. "Worked Up on the Wounded Coast?" Varric laughed shaking his head as well. "Gold in the Gallows? Oh how about The Pierced Priest?" added Merril. "You better watch out Rivaini, Daisy here is starting to give you a run for your money!" laughed Varric "I was thinking Tasty Templars!" Chimed in Hawk, chuckling uncontrollably. Laughing they headed back to the Hanged man, quest to find herbs forgotten. They would give Sol what they had and pick up the rest later on. Sometimes there were simply more important things to do. Besides, thought Hawk, she would need a good stiff drink before she would be able to venture into the gallows without seeing those little golden rings and water drenched muscles in the back of her mind. Or maybe a LOT of drinks... ***************** As always, Bioware owns all, I just play with it in strange and disturbing ways. |
Prompt/title: Unexpected 2 (Of Dragons, Griffins and Chantry Mice)
Rating: T (some rough language)
Word count:633
Characters: Carver, M!Hawk, Anders, Isabela, Sebastion, mentions of others.
A/N Wow this is late, but meh, at least the block finally broke lol. I have a couple more coming, but this is all I have atm.
*********************
Anders' back slumped in resignation as he heard Hawk's words. He had known that this might happen. Hawk and that Chantry Prince were thick as thieves, and Sebastion was never going to understand the plight of Mages. The Chant was too ingrained into his psyche and the man was far too much of a "momma's boy" to think for himself. If he called for blood to avenge the Grand Cleric, Hawk would supply it.
Hawk accepted Sebastian's dagger and walked up behind Anders.
The mage took a deep breath and held it, waiting for the blade to pierce him. Typical that his closest friend, who was a mage himself, would opt for a rogues weapon to do the deed. Or perhaps he would give the bratty archer the honors after all, and an arrow would do the piercing instead. Didn't THAT thought make his head swim.
Or maybe it was lack of oxygen. He expelled the breath in a rush, wondering what was taking so long. He heard Isabella make a tutting sound, and finally turned around to face the angry group behind him. He steeled himself and turned to see...
A gigantic sword drawing just the slightest trickle of blood as it rested gently at Hawk's throat.
Huh?
Anders vision swam a little as his mind tried to catch up to his eyes. He vaguely registered the sound of Hawk's staff hitting the ground as he slid his gaze over to Sebastion. The nug loving tosser had a blade pressed to his groin even as a rather bountiful bosom wrapped in white cloth was being pressed to his face. The frigid git looked as if his head may explode.
Wait, what?
Anders let out a slightly hysterical giggle.
He looked to the other person in the group who would likely want to see him dead, to discover Alistair with his boot planted squarely in the elf's tattooed back, and his shield lodged at the base of his neck.
Anders giggled again.
Deciding he was going slightly mad, the mage stood and turned to face the group of people who were currently pointing too many weapons at each other. Just behind the group he spotted... was that Amell?!?. The Warden Commander was happily chatting with Knight Captain Cullen, and gesturing wildly with a huge shit eating grin on her face. Wait, was Cullen... Blushing? And... Smirking?? Was he even capable of smirking?
Anders' poor brain, unable to take any more weirdness, forced his eyes back to the immediate issue at hand, namely the man who was about to kill him.
"Anders, are you alright brother?" Carver asked in a serious voice.
"Carver what the bloody hell!" Hawk sputtered, looking fit to kill the younger man.
"Don't. You. Dare. This man saved my LIFE!!" Bellowed Carver. "What would Father think? Andraste's perky tits, you are A MAGE!. Would you stab Bethany in the back as well if she has survived the blight?"
"But, I..."
"No! You don't get to be surprised, OR pissed off, you amazing shitheel. You get to show some integrity for once and fight for the damned cause that you and father rammed down my throat for the past 27 years." Carver slowly lowered the massive sword from Hawke's throat and sniffed.
"But I..." Hawk was looking nervously at Sebastion for guidance only to realise that his friend was currently suffocating in cleavage, as Isabela laughed and prodded his thigh with her extremely sharp dagger. He looked back to Carver and gulped.
"No buts, you will apologise to my fellow Grey Warden here for threatening his life, and then you will go and discuss strategy with the Knight Captain and the Hero over there. Oh and when this is over, we are going to have a long chat about loyalty."
To the horrified fascination of all present, Hawk swallowed convulsively, nodded and wandered away to do as he was told.
As the tension dissipated, Varric sauntered over to Anders and clapped him on the back.
"You still with us Blondie?"
"Um... Yeah... That was just... unexpected."
"No shit, even I couldn't have planned that..."
08.10.2011
Prompt/title: Tea and Biscuits
Rating: T
Word count: 668
The Knight Captain hated Tea and Biscuits. Especially the Orlesian kind of biscuits with the frosting and jam. So cloying and sweet. They made his teeth hurt just thinking about them. Stupid name for it as well. Tea and Biscuits. Afternoon Tea. He didn't even drink tea. Maker take it, he was a Ferelden after all, not Orlesian. He was a practical man.
Day after day he choked them down listening to the Knight Commander worry and moan about how the mages were all turning to blood magic. How the Templars were being too soft. How they must remain vigilant.
The Knight Captain hated Tea and Biscuits. At least if he got to her office early enough in the afternoon he could salvage the beverage and have coffee instead. He would make it himself, unsweetened to counter the cloying confections that went with it.
Day after day at 3 bells precisely he would have to sit there nodding and taking useless notes as the Knight Commander plotted and planned. Plotted to keep 'the solution' quiet. Planned to promote Alrik because of his exemplary service. Demanded that Cullen remain silent about her plots and plans.
All the while the Knight Captain remembered the beauty that could come from magic, the innocence as well as the evil. He remembered who he wanted to be all those years ago. Remembered another Amell here in Kirkwall who was fighting for safety and freedom from the other side of the chantry.
The Knight Captain hated Tea and Biscuits. He hated how even the blighted food stank of lyruim in the Commanders office of late. He hated how he had taken to eating even more of the Maker damned sweets to make it easier to vomit up the extra lyrium the Commander would insist he take before leaving her office.
Day after day he would grip the edge of his seat and bite his tongue until it bled for fear of being accused of insubordination if he disagreed with her decrees. He would silently recite the good deeds of the five apostates who had done so much good for those around him. Amell, Hawk, Anders, Bethany, Merril. He would hold the names close like a jealously guarded possession. They were his life line, his link to sanity in this prison of lyrium addled insanity. Those names he could hold because contemplating the sheer numbers of the dead and tranquil at his hands would have driven him mad in an instant.
The Knight Captain hated Tea and Biscuits. Fortunately today, he realised, he would never have to endure them again. He watched impassively as the chantry blazed and sent hot ash like pinpricks against his cheeks.
For the first time he stood up to Meredith. For the first time he saw a group of mages running amok and did nothing to stop them.
As he watched the last molten light go out in Meredith's eyes he allowed himself the luxury of a small smile. He may be damned for what he had allowed to day, but how many would be saved by it?
After Hawk and her band of revolutionaries had left and all hell broke loose in the city, the Knight Captain was nowhere to be found.
Cullen, the friend of the Hero of Ferelden, the mage lover, the insubordinate wretch, and the man who would never again feel guilty for being who he truly was, was whistling tunelessly while walking through the woods outside the burning city of chains.
As he walked into the camp of bloodied, weary and frightened people he had come to think of as friends he smiled. When the warriors drew their swords he smiled again and took the lid off the crate of supplies he was carrying. He was smiling a lot more lately.
"Hawk, my sword is yours." was all he said as he handed out the food and drinks.
The Knight Captain, he thought, may have hated Tea and Biscuits, but Cullen loved Ale and Crackers. 
19.10.2011
Prompt/title: What.
Rating: M
Word count: 581
Lyriana Hawk muttered under her breath, watching the mage struggle through several failed attempts at mixing his "potion". She sat perched on one of the rafters of the clinic alternating between chuckling at Anders expletives when he burned his fingers for the tenth time, and wanting to slap him upside his pretty blonde head.
He really had no idea...
She deserved to know what her best friend was doing, and she damned well had a right, no responsibility, to be involved in his revolution.
She was the champion of Kirkwall, yet who had she really been champion to?
Feynriel? The countless mages who had been murdered because the Templars were trying to meet a quota? The lives destroyed by lyrium smuglers? The dozens that had been made tranquil before the "Tranquil Solution" had been quashed? The tens of thousands like Anders who had been beaten, abused, tortured and broken? The countless children who had been stolen from their families because a religious leader enforced their interpretation of the wife of a god? Father who was murdered... mother who was dismembered and defiled because the institution was too busy chasing power to do it's damned job? Bethany who's only crime was being born a healer?
Or how about the Templars who had suffered, had she championed them? Thrask? Wilmod? Keiran? Maker even Cullen, who was sentenced to live in this sewer of a city because he dared to feel compassion?
Face after face flashed across the back of her eyelids, taunting her. The lives that were destroyed because of senseless fear, the lives she had taken playing Merrideth's games... So much blood on her hands, and for what?
Even the rulers were slaves in this city. Bound as tightly by piety and fear as the giant bronze slaves at the gates were bound by their chains.
No more. It was time to BE a champion, and if that meant being hated and hunted, so be it.
Anders let out a squeak as he felt the magic he was trying to infuse into the powder backlash on his fingers for the dozenth. His hand was midway to his mouth when he heard a soft chuckle and a gentle thud behind him.
The mage grabbed his staff and did a quick patrol of the clinic. When he turned back to his work bench he let out another not at all manly squeak.
"Hawk! Where, um, what, err... that is, it's not what it looks like."
Hawk finished her final measurement on the now finished black powder batch, and gently funnelled it into a container she had prepared while sitting in the rafters.
"What." She raised an eyebrow as she watched Anders' mouth open and close like a fresh caught fish. "I'm a rogue, did you really think I didn't know what refined "Drakestone" and "Selapetrae" are used for?"
Anders continued to stammer as Hawke started mixing the next batch of powder.
"Oh I took the liberty of adding a couple of extra ingredients to my version. I'm guessing a modified lightning spell to set the spark? Trust me this will have a bit extra kick."
"Um Hawk... I... um..."
"And Anders..."
"Um, what?"
"You are a brother to me, but if you EVER fucking lie to me like that again, I'll kill you myself. Now, close your mouth and give me a hand. We don't have much time." "What it it with you and helping cute elves with no self preservation instincts?"
He was lookin' right at Fenris when he said it too * maniacal cackle*
Aw why didn't I have it recording *cries*
I need to go write some fic now *does happy dance*
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