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egginfroggin · 5 months

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Lian and Emmet relationship (wtst).

They're fools, your honor.

Joking aside, I haven't thought too hard about it. Lian is pretty young, so Emmet would probably feel a level of protectiveness just due to how young the kid is. Maybe a little bit baffled at the fact that the Pearl Clan appointed such a young kid to be Warden to such a distant Noble, as Lian is quite, quite far from his home and family.

(Similarly, Emmet just gives Adaman the most disconcerting stare after meeting the tot that is Sabi. Like, bro, why, she is in what is arguably the most merciless part of Hisui and she's even younger than Lian.)

I do think they would get along, and could be considered friends, even though they might not interact too much, what with Lian being mostly in the Heartwood and surrounding forests while Emmet is off literally everywhere else in Hisui doing things for the Pokedex.

I do think that Emmet would enjoy listening to Lian ramble about Kleavor and all the various stones he's studied and found, though -- the kid's cute, oddly familiar, and listening to someone else talk passionately and at length puts Emmet at ease, for some reason.

Lian, similarly, likes having someone to talk to, and although Emmet doesn't say much, he is a very good listener. He's brought the boy stones before, when he's passing through -- ones from the other parts of Hisui, where Lian doesn't get the chance to rock-hunt very much, and rare elemental stones used for evolving Pokemon.

Yeah, I think they're friends. They deserve to be friends.

(There's an odd familiarity about Lian. Something about the hat and the hair, and the overall rather gruff and tough demeanor -- even though Lian is a bit too small to be a properly imposing figure, and he can get riled up easily. He is, after all, still a child)

(Fossils, Emmet thinks one day, entirely out of the blue -- the boy would probably be fascinated by fossil Pokemon)

(And there's a particular Pokemon he thinks would be helpful to Lian and his mining escapades. Small and short-furred, with big claws. It's familiar, and he thinks it gets much bigger when it evolves; regardless of what stage of life it's in, though, it is entirely capable of tunneling through earth and stone alike)

Thank you very much for the ask, Anon! I hope this answers your question, and that you have a very good day.

#asks #anon ask #warden lian #subway boss emmet #submas #wtst #eggin's writings #thank you for the ask!#he's thinking of drilbur and exadrill at the end #frankly they're very cute critters #and lian deserves them #he should have a cute little mining buddy #also emmet probably wonders if Lian will grow to fit the vague memories he has #I really want to write something with them now #I have a few ideas that I'd like to compile into a series of oneshots for wtst #and now I want to write both lian and emmet interacting #and emmet just taking one look at clay and struggling with the fact that while lian clearly did well enough in life to have descendants #lian is also very very dead by now #and some people are simply reminders of that fact #the fact that people emmet knew are dead now #even if he wasn't close to very many of them it hurts #and because he doesn't know what happened to lian #all he remembers him as is a child #so from emmet's perspective. even though he knows lian grew up. it's hard to not think of lian as a child #and therefore lian died far. far too young to him #and sabi died even younger #oh look more angst

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shivunin · 1 year

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A Red, Red Rose

Title: "A Red, Red Rose" by Robert Burns

CW: Needles/tattooing

“Are you quite certain?” Zevran asked, the needle poised in his right hand. Arianwen didn’t need to think about her answer.

“Of course I am,” she said, as she’d said many times already, “Are you?”

It didn’t bother her that he needed to think for a moment; she’d been thinking about this for far longer than he had. Of the two of them, only one had experienced a disastrous first attempt. She knew what it meant to dread the idea of a ring, to dread a lifetime yoked to someone who did not care about her at all. Because she’d already known that panic, she knew now that this day was nothing like that one. The way she felt about Zevran, about this, could not be further away from the way she’d felt then, only twenty-two and convinced that her life was over.

She had no idea what Zevran was thinking. Had she convinced him to do this in a vulnerable moment? Had she forced him into something he didn’t want?

Oh, anything but that; it had felt like she was dying that morning so many years ago, when she’d been meant to wed Nelaros at her father’s behest and—

“Hmm?” Zevran said after a moment, and glanced up at her, “Did you say something?”

Arianwen’s mouth fell open, but then she caught the smile tucked into the corner of his mouth, the glimmer in his eyes, and knew she’d been had.

“You ass,” she said, and swatted the hand not holding the needle, “I cannot believe—”

“Do you really think,” Zevran interrupted, “That I would have any doubts now? After everything we have seen and done, mi vida, I do not think I can imagine wanting any other person in all of Thedas. There is only one like you, after all.”

“Ah,” Wen said, her hand curling around his, “Oh.”

“And,” he went on, tapping the needle into the little pot of crimson ink, “Whomever we decide to share our bed with, of course.”

“Of course,” Wen said, “About that. I did have a thought—”

“Maker, do you have to do this while I’m standing right here?” Alistair complained loudly to the side, and the two of them looked up at him.

“I don’t need to know that!” he said, spreading his hands, “I don’t need to know any of that! I came to perform the wedding, not—”

“Yes, yes, your majesty,” Zevran said, raising an eyebrow, “Of course we are both very sorry.”

“I’m not,” Wen said, “Alright, then. Get to it.”

It might not show on her face, but she felt a thrill in her heart as soon as the metal touched her skin, as soon as he tapped it into the skin around her ring finger. The thought of an actual ring had made her nauseous, so a tattoo had been the obvious solution. Obvious, because she’d been telling Zevran she wanted him to ink her for years, and obvious because it would be easier to fight without jewelry in the way. They would do only a little while Alistair was in the room, primarily because she had no idea what she was doing and she’d little interest in marring the otherwise lovely arcs of color over his hands. She’d rather take her time—and Zevran had implied he had other reasons for wanting to be alone with her when she did it.

The needle stung; she’d expected that. But Zevran’s hands were warm and gentle on hers, careful when he manipulated her finger, and he wiped off the excess ink with the utmost tenderness.

“Are you not meant to be saying words right now?” Zev asked absently, turning her hand over and beginning on the underside. Alistair, who’d been looming over the table, frowned and straightened.

“Right. I suppose you did kidnap me from my bedroom in the middle of the night for a reason.”

“That,” Wen said, casting him a sardonic look, “Is an exaggeration.”

Alistair scoffed, but briefly rested a hand on her shoulder. Wen pulled her attention away from the sting around her finger and focused on her friend instead.

“I am happy for you,” Alistair said, his face uncharacteristically solemn, “Really.”

Wen patted his hand, then let it rest there for a moment. She looked up at him. He looked down at her.

It was clear that if one of them was going to be emotional over this, it wasn’t going to be her.

“Thank you,” she told him, “Really. You’re…you’re family. It had to be you.”

Alistair made a little noise, which might have been called a squeak, and leaned down to sweep her into his arms in one swift motion. The sting along her finger stopped at once.

“Tscha!” Zevran said, a sharp noise from his tongue against his teeth, “Give some warning.”

“Sorry,” Alistair said, his voice muffled in her hair, “I didn’t think—but you—”

Carefully, Wen wound her free arm around his back and held him in return. Alistair was shockingly good at hugging, despite his lack of experience. He hugged like he meant it, she supposed, not that she spent her time embracing a large number of people herself.

Arianwen had seen him in the Fade with the sister he’d wished for; she’d seen him with the sister he’d actually gotten. She knew all too well what it was to be untethered, to be without a family.

To make one for yourself instead.

After a moment, she cleared her throat and patted his back.

“You’re certainly annoying enough to be my little brother,” she told him, eyes trailing back to Zevran, who was carefully holding the needle away from the exchange. He smiled at her crookedly.

“You would say that,” Alistair said, sniffing once and drawing back again. Wen and Zevran pretended not to see the tears on his cheeks.

“Alright then,” he cleared his throat, “Alright. Um—there’s a proper ceremony. I brought the book along. Do you want the Chantry—”

“No,” Wen and Zevran said in unison, and Arianwen went on:

“I think just the important bits are fine. Doesn’t need to be the whole thing. Not like we invited guests or anything.”

“Oh,” Alistair said, and looked faintly disappointed, “Alright, then. I suppose I probably ought to get back to the castle faster anyway. Probably already sent someone looking for me.”

Zevran pressed her middle finger in and began to work on the more sensitive skin between the two fingers. His hands blocked the pattern of the ink, and Wen craned her neck to look. She liked the way he looked when he was concentrating, a little frown on his brow, his tongue barely visible and pressed against his front teeth. It was…cute. Yes. Cute.

“Zevran,” Alistair said, “Do you intend to be married to this woman today?”

“Mmm? Yes,” Zevran said, tapping the needle into the ink again, “I do.”

“Arianwen,” Alistair said, turning to her again, “Do you intend to be married to this man?”

“I do,” she said, “Zevran, what is that you’re—”

“I’m doing the ceremony,” Alistair said, crossing his arms and straightening, “No interruptions.”

Wen rolled her eyes, but subsided.

“Zevran Arainai,” Alistair said, in his King Voice, “Do you pledge to be loyal—”

“I already have, no?” Zevran murmured, briefly looking up at her through his golden eyelashes before returning his attention to her hand. Alistair ignored this.

“—to the woman before you, to act in her best interest and render aid whenever you can? Do you vow to offer care and comfort when she has the need, to give shelter when she has none, to honor your words and her own?”

Zevran waited, the needle poised in his hand, and met her eyes.

“This I swear,” he said, “Until you release me, or until death divides us both.”

Alistair repeated the words. Arianwen did not interrupt him, but she didn’t look away from Zevran, either. He was bent over her hand again, brow furrowed, and she loved him. It was an inextricable part of her, loving him; she’d known that for a very long time. But to have it put down in words and ink, to have it set inside her skin and made as much a part of her body as it was a part of her heart—something about that was different from simply knowing.

“What?” Alistair said suddenly, interrupting himself, his voice wary.

“Hmm?” Wen said, turning her attention from Zevran.

“You smiled,” Alistair said, frowning, “You aren’t going to kill one of us, are you? I don’t recommend it, if so.”

“Oh,” Wen blinked, then looked back at Zevran, who’d cocked an eyebrow but otherwise remained focused on her hand.

“I…I suppose I was just happy,” she said.

Silence.

“Ah—alright, then. Um,” Alistair cleared his throat, “Then—Do you vow to honor his words and your own?”

“Yes,” she said at once, and Zev lifted his head to watch her, “Yes, I vow it.”

She paused, tilting her chin up.

“I…vow, also, to hold this bond above all others.”

Alistair took a breath.

Wen didn’t look at him. Instead, she looked at Zevran, who’d tightened his grip on her hand.

“Are you quite certain?” Zev said, and she might have been imagining things, but it seemed like the needle shook in his hand for a split second before it steadied.

“You do not have to—” he began to add, but she shook her head.

“I’m sure,” she said, “I mean it. I hold this vow above all others I have taken. Until you release me from my oath, or until death divides us both.”

A moment of silence. Zevran opened his mouth, then closed it again and ducked his head. The hand that held hers tightened, maneuvered her fingers aside to finish the last centimeters of the band.

“Allll right then,” Alistair said after a moment, “Well. By the power vested in me by…me, I state now before the eyes of the Maker and…the legal system of Ferelden, I suppose, that you are husband and wife.”

Wen sighed slightly, her shoulders loosening. Nobody said anything for a moment, then Zevran straightened and held the needle aside.

“It is finished,” he said, and she lifted her hand to look.

It was red; she’d known that much going in. The back, which would be visible when she made a fist, was a simple band perhaps a few centimeters wide. But the inside, which would be hidden in the curl of her palm…

“My mother’s….how did you remember?”

“How could I forget anything about you?” Zevran asked, carefully setting the needle aside and standing, “I remember all of it, mi vida. Of course I do.”

“But,” she swallowed hard, peering down at the pattern. It matched the repeating pattern along either side of her mother’s boots, almost a sharp-petaled flower, almost a twining vine.

“I’m…going to go get the paperwork,” Alistair said, and strode from the room, shutting the door behind him. The inn beyond was loud, but the door was thick; they could almost pretend they were entirely alone.

“It’s beautiful,” she told her husband, and stood to lean back against the table. He took her hand, examining it critically in the brighter light from the window.

“You know this will fade,” Zevran said, his fingers light on her palm.

Arianwen shrugged, looking down at the crimson band.

“Good,” she said, “You’ll give me more, then. Every time you renew it, we’ll remember this day.”

He stepped forward abruptly, wrapping a hand around the base of her skull and kissing her fiercely.

“Come,” she said at last, her breath uneven, “Are you ready for yours?”

“More than you know, my dear Warden,” Zevran said, and set his hand in hers.

(For @14daysdalovers day 12: Crimson. Arianwen ends up with a full sleeve eventually, of course, and Zev has a grand time designing them all. c: )

#14dalovers #14dalovers2023 #day 12 crimson #arianwen tabris #zevran arainai #zevran x tabris #zevran x warden #dao #my writing #da fanfic #cw needles #zevwen #in thedas red ink has no allergy issues bc magic or whatever #i just think it would be cool for them to have secret red wedding tattoos and act like they aren't literal rings #bc they're both liars and it's funny #it's nobody's business that they're married unless they decide it is #shivunin scrivening

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mediumsizedwildcat · 26 days

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inspired by @aisieart's posts (both on tumblr & tiktok) a quick drabble

"Commander! Someone's at the gates!" The guard calls.

The Warden Commander joins them. "Huh? Are we expecting anyone? Is it a darkspawn? I swear if I encounter one more sentient darkspawn-"

"I think that's Anders," Nathaniel says from the Commander's side.

She narrows her eyes and tries to make out the figure. Indeed, it is Anders. The Commander jumps with joy and starts down the rampart.

Coming closer now, Anders lights up when he sees her. Justice does, too. She's been a good friend to both of them.

The Commander leaps into Anders' arms, hugging him as tightly as she can. It hurts a little, makes it hard to breathe, but Anders wraps his arms around her and holds her just as tight.

When they both have enough, they pull apart, and she looks Anders over. "You look bad," she huffs. "Haven't you eaten anything?"

Nathaniel, who had been following the Commander as if this was a pleasant walk, snorts. "Yeah, mage, anything besides templars?"

Anders glanced to the side as he murmured his answer, "You do something once..."

The Commander's eyes widened and she pulls off one of her gloves. She starts hitting Anders' shoulder. "Cannibalism? Really? What's next, blood magic? No, blood magic would've been understandable! Do I have to train sense back into your head?!"

Nathaniel snickered. "Didn't he blow up Kirkwall's chantry?"

The Commander let out a frustrated cry and put her efforts into Anders' other shoulder. "I'll start spraying you with water, Anders, I mean it! Just you wait until we find Justice, he'll right out duel you!"

Anders ducks under the glove assault, cringing. "Yeah, about that..."

#not shown: Haelia writing to her husband the king that they can't give Anders to the authorities because he rejoined the Grey Wardens #also not shown: Haelia crying because she thought she lost both Anders & Justice and now they're back #also also not shown: Ser Pounce-a-lot sleeps on Anders' bed still. Anders gets gloved for that too #dragon age #Warden: Haelia Cousland/Theirin #anders dragon age #justice dragon age #nathaniel howe #mine

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serenpedac · 1 year

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Very late to this, but I was tagged by @wayhavenots, @cleverblackcat, @ejunkiet, @evilbunnyking, @grapecaseschoices, @agentnatesewell (you are all lovely <3) to make my OCs in this picrew. Thank you for thinking about me, I appreciate it!

Here are my main TWC detectives with their LIs: Yael Greene --- Nate Sewell Gabi (Gabriela) Sousa --- Farah Hauville Melike Akyün --- Morgan Laura Kingston --- Ava du Mortain

I have a feeling that most people already did this, but if someone is reading this and wants to do it, please consider yourself tagged ^^ Also tagging: @lykegenia, @heroofpenamstan, @iwanttobecomeavoid, @serial-chillr

#melike is both my newest oc and my oldest #they're loosely based on my dragon age warden neria surana #who would never approve of the piercings because they're impractical lol #oc: yael greene #oc: gabi sousa #oc: melike akyün #oc: laura kingston #(i'm sort of back here ^^)#(tentatively)

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platoniccereal · 2 years

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ah, the path of trust issues being healed step by step. :)

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dao #dragon age fanart #alistair theirin #warden surana #alistair x surana #alistair x warden #platoniccereal art #this one was made when i viewed them only as friends #and now they're lovers for me #and they have friendship with romantic action now as well #but i like this sketch both ways

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feroluce · 1 year

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want you to, want you, too

Blankshipping <1k; getting together featuring a big fat scoop of Ingo's Catholic Guilt and Nii-san Complex uwu

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

When Emmet forces his way to Hisui, fueled by a determination that could override every karmic force in the universe, Ingo thinks nothing of his immediate attempts to get him alone.

His memories are still vague, but they're stronger now than ever, jolted and jogged, jostled about by the reappearance of the one person he'd remembered before anyone else. Ingo understands; all he wants is to stay close, spend every waking moment basking and soaking up his brother's presence. He'd missed him before he even knew him, deeply and intensely missed him, enough to hurt, enough to leave an empty ache.

Ingo had been content with the Pearl Clan in Hisui, but it had never quite felt like home. It does now.

As early as the first day after his fated Fall, Emmet fixes him with an odd look and says he has something he needs to tell him. Something important. Emmet is strangely serious as he says it, deathly so. Ingo finds himself standing straighter.

"While we were apart, I realized something. I-" A pause, something akin to regret in his briefly hollowed eyes and his stitched-on smile. "Well, ok, no. I knew it before then. I've known it for a verrrry long time. I just didn't act on it." Ingo wants to ask; Emmet is rarely hesitant to act- whip-smart and sharp as a tack, once he's decided something needs to be done, he figures out how to do it as efficiently as possible. For him to be so overly cautious, it must be a truly tricky and delicate matter. But he doesn't dare interrupt now.

"But I did not chase you across continents-" Emmet's eyes light up again, blazing now, bonfire-bright "-across centuries-" something rumbles within Ingo, like an early warning, moving as a phantom sensation beneath the balls of his feet, as though the world were about to shift, "-just to not take advantage of a second chance."

Ingo is suddenly painfully aware of his own body, of the curl of his knuckles, the bite of his nails in the flesh of his palms, a twitch in his legs and an itch in his throat. His head has forgotten, memories smeared and leaking out like a bird's egg dropped on a rock, but much still lives on in his heart, some beacon is in his center, at his core, sending out signal after signal, a rapid-fire jumble of SOS and morse code that Ingo can't decipher.

There is something happening here, something only his heart and his brother (between which there is only a small difference, he'll admit) are privy to, Emmet's voice a chorus of trumpets, a declaration of war, and Ingo's brain is scrambling to form some response. There is a niggling feeling somewhere within him, in a secret place cordoned off by chain and padlock, that all of this was a long time coming. That this is a long-at-sea ship finally docking, this is all of his chickens and bad decisions and "I'll reflect on these thoughts later"s come home to roost.

Emmet steps closer. The door is right behind Ingo, tauntingly unlocked and beckoning, he could so easily leave if he wanted to. Emmet never does things accidentally. He's given Ingo an escape route. Emmet takes another step, slow, watching and observing with his quicksilver eyes, giving every opportunity to turn and run. Like he's dealing with a skittish creature.

Ingo should escape.

Ingo does not want to escape.

Emmet is right in front of him now and he leans in so close that Ingo can't see anything else, loses view of the rest of the world around them. When he stops, it's at a lethal, point-blank range.

"Don't just let me do this to you, ok? Don't let me unless you want me to." He shouldn't. There is still that twitch in his limbs, those loud wordless pings of alarm in his heart that urge him to retreat, that tell him staying here is going to damn them both. Because his younger brother is making the worst mistake of his life, and Ingo is doing nothing to stop him. But Emmet's breath mixing with his own between them is a rallying cry, the close warmth of his body a call to action, the press of his lips against Ingo's a battle hymn.

Emmet kisses him, and Ingo horribly, selfishly, wants him to do it again.

The long, bitter civil war is over in a flash, he's won and he's lost. The side of him that had struggled to resist, that had held strong and weathered for years and years as it tried to be the model older brother Emmet deserved, finally succumbs and is trampled in the trenches by the incoming cavalry, stormed and seized by the parts of him that love Emmet in all the ways that he shouldn't.

"-san. Ingo-niisan." Hands cupping his face bring him out of the gunsmoke and fog. "Tell me if you don't want this, too."

Ingo stands atop a bloody battlefield of corpses, both conqueror and vanquished. He feels like he's won, a thrilling victorious high stronger than any challenger has ever given him. The loss is immeasurable.

"...I'm terrible," Ingo whispers.

His brother begins an attempt to console him because he's too kind, too forgiving, he always is when it's just the two of them. But he's cut short when Ingo grabs him, crushes them together and gorges himself, gluttonous and greedy, swallowing the rest of Emmet's sounds to hoard them for himself.

Emmet's smile widens against his lips, his arms coming up to hold on to Ingo like some sought-after, fought-for prize, as though he were the Spoils of War, kiss tasting like a bloodsoaked victory.

#blankshipping #submas #pokemon emmet #pokemon ingo #pla ingo #well really it features BOTH their Nii-san Complexes #they're just on opposite ends of the spectrum about it #Ingo is like:#'I am Emmet’s big brother and therefore I need to be Proper and a good influence and help him make the right choices'#and meanwhile Emmet is like:#'Ingo is my big brother and therefore I am going to kiss him directly on the mouth' HSMDLJXKSJXKDKSND #This fic somehow came out with. Completely different imagery than planned.#It just kinda happened I started writing Ingo having a Nii-san Guilt crisis and suddenly I was writing like a Thing Possessed #and then this fucking thing was staring back and judging me as an end result haha #oh well I actually like this better though ♡#my fics #want you to want you too #ingo #warden ingo #emmet #hisuian emmet

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stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage · 5 months

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I'm back on my bullshit thinking about the Hawke siblings again and how much I love a "both twins live" AU... but y'know what I love just a little bit more? An AU where all three Hawke siblings are alive, but one of the twins still get attacked by the ogre in Lothering and is presumed dead when they actually survived.

I like to think that since the narrative in DA2 is framed as a story Varric's telling Cassandra, we can play around with the fact that he's an unreliable narrator. Varric wasn't there in Lothering. He only knows what Hawke told him. It makes for a better story if Leandra, Hawke, and the surviving twin get to huddle around the dead twin and say their goodbyes... especially if they didn't actually get to do that. I mean, a lot of us already have that train of thought when it comes to Leandra's death and Hawke getting some closure through her final words telling them how proud she is. Whose to say Varric didn't do that for the lost twin, as well?

All that to ask what if the ogre attack happened, but the group was so overwhelmed by darkspawn they had to flee further and couldn't check the twin who "died?" Flemeth still showed up, but it was too late to go back and say goodbye.... so Hawke made a deal with the Witch of the Wilds and they all pushed forward to Kirkwall.

Imagine Bethany, left behind with broken bones and bleeding in the sand, fading in and out of consciousness as the remaining darkspawn surround her. She knows how to heal, how to fight back, but she's weakened. Her staff lays out of reach. Air shakes in her lungs. She tries to call for help, but only wheezes come out. Where's her mother? Her siblings? Did the ogre get them, too?

At this point, we all know what happens to the women darkspawn take, and Bethany could've met that fate; she doesn't have the strength to fight back as they drag her away. But before they can bring her underground, she's saved by another group of survivors. Perhaps they're more soldiers fleeing Ostagar, or townsfolk who recognize her from Lothering. They do what they can to treat her wounds but she needs a healer, so they bring her with them to seek refuge in Redcliffe... except they eventually realize she's an apostate. Well, she doesn't seem dangerous, but they still contact the templars.

Bethany wakes in a warm but unfamiliar bed with skilled healers tending to her. Templars hover by the doorway. First Enchanter Irving greets her, gentle in explaining she's safe inside of Kinloch Hold and that she's going to survive. When Bethany asks about her family, he gives her a sympathetic smile and says they only found her.

Bethany, who never took to embracing her magic the way her older sibling did and always felt like it burdened her family... has lost that very family. Could they survive the ogre and darkspawn? Or did the ogre tear them apart, too? How did she survive... but not them? Did the Maker really have such a sense of humor? How else would she end up in the Circle, a place her family went to great lengths to keep her safe from?

She doesn't want to think about it. She hopes they made it to Kirkwall, but the prickle of dread that crawls up her spine knows how unlikely it is. Bethany finds comfort in speaking with the mages who rotate in to heal and bring her food. Some feel trapped by their magic just as she does, but others remind her of her older sibling in the way they embrace their magic, a gift from the Maker. The younger apprentices who aid the mages ask her questions about what lies beyond the walls. The templars mostly keep their distance, but one is friendlier than others. A man with curly blonde hair and a sympathetic view of the mages bothers to speak to her more than his fellows do.

She's still in recovery when Uldred and his blood mages attack the tower, but she survives. Bethany heals, even as she's haunted by nightmares of the ogre wrapping its tainted hand around her body to crush her, flinging her aside to lay among the limp bodies of her family... haunted by the horrors the blood mages unleashed on the tower. She aids in restoring the tower the best she can, and accepts her new home, her new life. When she's well enough, she lights a candle for each of them; her father, mother, her eldest sibling, her twin... she even lights a candle for the family mabari, and prays to the Maker to give them her love as they stand at His side.

The Blight ends. Years pass. Bethany settles into her new life, becoming a fine example for the younger apprentices she mentors. She witnesses wrong doings against her fellow mages, loses friends to their harrowings or tranquility. She accepts what she is, even if bitterly. The Chantry's teachings about magic scar more than enlighten; she sees it in some of her fellow mages, feels it in herself. Secret meetings. Whispers of escape, of freedom. More escape attempts. Harsher restrictions.

Around this time, back in Kirkwall, Knight-Captain Cullen stands where he always does in the Gallows courtyard. He notices Hawke appear with some of their companions. It hurts to think back to Kinloch Hold, but something occurs to him: he knew of another Hawke who was brought to the Circle while he served there. They only spoke once before... well, before. He wonders if there's any relation. When Hawke wanders over to speak to him, as they always do, Cullen brings it up.

Hawke pales. A beat of silence. Cullen recognizes heartbreak; he sees it unfold in their eyes and swell in their throat as they realize that all this time, their baby sister was alive.

Then the day comes where new whispers float among the mages in the Circle. A visit by a Grey Warden. Most, including Bethany, assume he's here to recruit... until Irving comes to her. He says this warden's requested, though more like insisted, he see her now. But then Irving smiles; the warden in question said his name is Warden Carver. He received an urgent letter that his sister is here, alive, and he demands to know if that's true.

Bethany nearly collapses when she sees him.

While the reunion can't last; she can't leave the Circle and he has his calling; the twins embrace, sobbing out apologies and exclamations that they thought the other was gone. Carver tells her of Kirkwall, the expedition that led him to the Grey Wardens, and their older sibling's status as Champion. With a gentleness she never knew her brother to have, he tells her what happened to their mother, and more tears flow freely. Their sibling learned about her from a templar, though Carver grumbles that the bastard could've said something sooner.

There's the Maker's humor again.

...Now flip the script: imagine Carver being left behind instead.

For as strong and passionate as he is, that ogre still picks him up and slams him to the ground. Bones crack. Black splotches flood his vision, agony exploding across his skin. His sword flies from his hand. The soulless bastard tosses Carver aside like he's nothing, and he's left to lay there. His mother's cries muffle in his ear as though he's stuck underwater, sinking slowly into the dark.

It figured, honestly... that he'd survive Ostagar while his fellow soldiers were cut down all around him, that he and his eldest sibling would flee the field when all hope was lost... that he'd make it home to get his family out of Lothering... only to die protecting his mother. And why not? He is a protector. A warrior. It's a honor to die saving those he loved... so why didn't it give him peace?

Carver eventually wakes in the night among the bodies of fallen darkspawn. Everything aches painfully hot and his thoughts reject coherency. He knows his family is gone; they're dead, or they've fled... either way, he's alone; left behind. Something's broken inside of him, but he has just enough will to pull himself up at the sound of approaching footsteps. A group of survivors find him- funny enough, the same group who aided Bethany in an alternate timeline. Imagine that.

That's how Carver ended up in Redcliffe's Chantry with an overworked healer tending to him. He doesn't even flinch when the mage works their magic on him, knowing all too well the sensation of healing magic seeping into his skin, mending the flesh. He tries not to think of Bethany, or what might've happened to her.

The Chantry's overwhelmed with townspeople hiding from a danger outside that he can only assume is darkspawn... except it's not. He wonders how hard he hit his head when he hears the undead have come from the castle to slaughter what they can of the town every night. But then he sees it with his own eyes when one breaks in, taken down by a templar, and never before has he ever felt so useless.

Then the last two remaining Grey Wardens arrive. They're crucial in the final fight against the undead, swearing to enter the castle to stop the attacks at the source. While Carver couldn't participate in the final fight, something he complained loudly about, he did what he could in his condition to help like sharpening swords and handing out supplies. Mostly to keep his sanity and quite his thoughts throughout his recovery.

When the time came, he took up his sword again in the name of all those he lost.

An archdemon was said to be on the horizon, and the Grey Wardens needed everyone they could get to fight. Carver fights in the battle of Denerim where the Hero of Fereldan defeated the archdemon. He cuts his way through every darkspawn he sees. Ostagar flashes red behind his eyes. Lothering clutches at his heart. So much anger and sorrow built up inside him, flooding out in his tears and screams. Blood everywhere. Fire and smoke.

Then it's over.

In the aftermath of the Blight, like so many others, Carver has no home to return to. No family. He thinks to go back to Lothering to help rebuild, only to hear the lands were too tainted. These tainted creatures took everything from him... That's what eventually brings him to Vigil's Keep, standing before the Hero of Fereldan themself, asking to be made a Grey Warden. He already dedicated nearly two years of his life to killing darkspawn, and he had nothing else. Even when faced with the Joining, holding the chalice of darkspawn blood and being told to drink, he didn't flinch.

Life as a Grey Warden isn't as simple as he assumed it would be, but Carver finds purpose in his calling. Over the years, he grows to view his fellow wardens as family. He travels all over Thedas, venturing down into the Deep Roads to help clear out hoards of the darkspawn. But then comes the day he finds himself in Kirkwall, and it doesn't take long before he hears the name Hawke on the lips of the townspeople. His eldest sibling was not only alive, but they're quite popular among the people. But what about Mother? Bethany? He doesn't have to snoop too far to learn templars took Bethany away to the Gallows, and that Leandra Hawke was the final victim in a string of murders committed by a blood mage.

Carver finds himself standing outside the estate, glaring at the door. Furious. Heartbroken. Bitter. He wants to scream. This entire time, they lived. He's torn between wanting to reunite with his older sibling again, to get the truth from them, and wanting to barge into the estate, demanding answers to how they could let the Circle take Bethany... after what Carver sacrificed, how could they let Mother die like that? Was it all pointless in the end?

He leaves without knocking. He can't bring himself to see them. Not that it mattered. Before he could leave Kirkwall, the tensions with the qunari finally overflowed, and chaos fell upon the city. He's forced face to face with his older sibling again, but he wasn't prepared to watch the recognition slowly bloom on their face, or for all his anger to turn to mush. Carver's the first to speak.

"Somehow, I knew it would be you."

.............So, yeah. I really like this idea.

#da2 #dragon age 2 #bethany hawke #carver hawke #long post #there are so many routes you can take with this too like hawke finds out bethany's alive in fereldan's circle #and they gather all their companions like 'y'all we're doing a heist' 'great what are we stealing?' 'my sister'#'...isn't your sister dead?' 'APPARENTLY NOT'#or carver and anders could know each other from the wardens and one day anders tells hawke that they remind him of another warden he knew #and hawke is like '.............that little shit survived and he didn't tell me?? i'm telling mother'#OR both bethany and carver end up as wardens and happen to run into each other like '????? I thought you were dead?????'#and tbh bethany doesn't have to end up in the circle or carver with the wardens. that's just the paths i explored #maybe they're found by the warden and alistair who have wynne fix them up and they join the dao party #hell this could be backstory for an inquisitor carver or inquisitor bethany in dai #also yes this post is my way of saying that i love this idea but i'll probably never turn it into a fic so let me gush about it this way

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