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kauriart · 1 year

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How Alistair Fell in Love with Bethany Hawke

Chapter 1: A Drink in the Dark A Dragon Age fic | Alistair x Bethany Hawke | Read it on A03

Alastair jolts awake in total darkness, hand sliding unerringly to the hilt of his sword even as he realizes—

There are no darkspawn.

Someone is shouting, and there are no darkspawn.

It is the middle of the night, and someone is shouting, and there are no darkspawn.

Stroud will have their head.

Alistair shakes off the last bit of fogginess from sleep and begins to stuff himself into his boots and armor by force of habit, attention entirely fixed on the sharply rising voices on the far edge of the camp. It isn’t one of the other Warden’s, he’s sure. But whoever they are, they’ll draw every darkspawn within a league if they keep up with that noise.

He grimaces at the thought. It’s too bloody early for a fight, but adrenaline zings through him anyways. He slings his shield over his shoulder, but keeps his sword in hand, secure in its scabbard — just in case — and strides to the far side of the camp where the commotion is growing.

Stroud is there, surprisingly still in just breeches and shirt sleeves and bare feet. Directly in front of him is a man with coal black hair and a beard to match, armed and armored and nearly vibrating with violence. His voice ratchets up and down like the swelling of the seas. Tucked behind the bearded man is a ruddy-haired Dwarf, face bare, and serious. He flinches a little at the noise, but remains quiet himself. And standing beside them is—

“Anders?” Alistair blurts, mouth dropping open.

The Warden-Mage turns towards him briefly, the ghost of a smile on his lips, though much of his attention stays fixed on his noisy companion. “Hullo, Alistair.”

Four years have changed Anders dramatically. He was always tall and thin, but now there's a gauntness to his face that is more than the toll paid to the deep roads. The shadows beneath his eyes are dark as bruises, and the easy humor has been all but wiped away, replaced by something grim and… resigned.

“What’s going on?” Alistair asks.

“Foolishness,” Stroud answers curtly.

The bearded man makes a sound that’s akin to a growl, and though he doesn’t move, everything in his demeanor looks even more menacing.

Anders glances at him warily. “Hawke and I have come seeking help, and have found the Wardens... less forthcoming than I remembered.”

Stroud waves away the observation. "We've no way to help, Anders, and you know it. What were you even thinking coming here? If you can find us then you’re still enough of a Warden to sense that you’ve been dragging half-a-legion of darkspawn naught but a days march behind you. What do you think will happen when they catch up? I cannot see how a corpse can be worth such a risk.”

“Corpse?” Alistair blinks, startled, noticing for the first time the figure laid out on the floor, wrapped in a heavily stained blanket nearly head to toe. A pair of ugly, worn boots poke out of the bottom, but that’s all.

Hawke — Alistair assumes — makes a loud, angry noise, but he keeps his eyes on Stroud. "She's alive. Or what the fuck do you think we're doing here?”

Alistair kneels, and carefully pulls a hood-like fold of the blanket away from the figure’s face.

A woman.

And she's—

Alistair has been stunned utterly speechless three times in his life.

The first time was vertigo. A stunning sense of falling through the floor the first time he’d seen his father from afar. Seen his own features mirrored and muted; wrapped in spun gold and topped with a crown.

The second time was shock. Morrigan, mouth twisted in a line like she’d bitten a sour lemon, offering something absolutely ridiculous. What do witches know of Warden matters anyway?

The third time was horror. He’d seen an archdemon before of course, in his dreams. But it was different in the flesh. Ten thousand pounds of malice and terror, with wings broad enough to blot out the sun. Death lingering on the horizon.

But this… This time it is something else entirely. Something indescribable stirring deep in his belly.

She's—

He blinks.

Maker, she’s lovely.

And clearly dying.

She’s pale and cold as marble, with black spidery veins of the taint winding up her limbs. She's conscious, but barely, breathing ragged, and shallow, and strained. She’s young. Perhaps even a few years younger than himself, and finely featured. Dark hair falls in tangled curls around her face. Her eyes flicker open, a surprisingly bright, coppery sort of brown, but they’re unfocused, drifting over him in listless patterns.

“Hullo,” Alistair says quietly, fingers drifting towards the curls on her brow.

She doesn’t respond.

"You’d let her take the Joining like this?" Stroud's voice rises for the first time, cold and brittle. "Are you mad? A knife would be a quicker death, and a kinder one."

Hawke takes a slow step forward until he's nearly nose to nose with Stroud. "I wasn’t asking.” He isn’t shouting any more. His voice is low and mild. Almost pleasant. Conversational. “You’ll do it. Or I'll kill you.” His hand raises with that same, slow deliberateness, and fits itself around the collar of Stroud’s shirt. " You. Specifically. And I promise it won't be quick, or kind."

“Threatening a Warden with death is not particularly effective,” Stroud says with a raised brow. “And you are outnumbered. Badly.”

Hawke chuckles darkly through his teeth. "Am. I?”

Stroud’s eyes narrow, and Alistair can feel his heart rate pick up in response to that look from his Warden-Commander. Every time he’s seen it, death has swiftly followed.

Oh fuck.

Hawke must pick up on the subtle shift of the atmosphere. The chuckle drops nearly an octave, into something more like a growl, all rumble and danger and every hair stands up on the back of Alistair’s neck.

Double fuck.

He shifts his body so the bulk of him is directly above the girl. If it comes to a fight he’ll keep her safe. Stroud will be careful enough, but Hawke seems the type of man whose violence gets messy. This way at least, he can have his shield over them both in a heartbeat.

The silence drags, a solid wall of tension stretched between one man and the other. A strange sort of stalemate. Hawke doesn’t give an inch, and neither does Stroud.

But Anders is the bridge between both worlds. “She’s a mage, Stroud,” he offers to the silence. “You know what that would mean to the Order.”

Mages are rare. Warden mages, rarer still.

Stroud takes a half-step back, head inclining slightly. Even Hawke turns away, though in his case it is to shift his glare to Anders.

Alistair holds his breath, waiting, heart still hammering away.

He has served under three Warden Commanders. Duncan was all instinct. Emmory was blind courage. But Stroud is tradition; well-rooted in discipline and pragmatism. He might be… He should be…

But—

“No,” Stroud shakes his head. “If I was that interested in a mage, Anders, I’d just insist that you stay where you belong.”

Hawke reacts instantly, folding his hand into a fist and punching Stroud square in the gut. The Warden Commander doubles over with a strangled rush of air. A handful of Wardens rush forward armed and angry, but Stroud manages to wave them back, glaring.

"Last chance,” Hawke warns quietly.

“The joining is not a cure, Anders,” Stroud says. He ignores Hawke, though his voice is noticeably strained. One hand casually spans his middle. “I would have expected you of all people to know that.”

“It’s a chance,” Anders insists, stubborn as ever.

"Not for her,” the Warden Commander says.

There’s a sudden flurry of motion as Hawke launches himself at Stroud, the flash of a blade in his hand. Magic flares, and a barrier springs up between them, before settling around them both. Hawke spits out a series of curses — first at Anders, then at Stroud, and then at Anders again. He jams his dagger back into its sheath, rogue-quick, and grabs Stroud’s shirtfront, shaking vigorously. Stroud grabs him back and the stand-off quickly devolves into a shoving match.

Hawke makes a determined and largely ineffectual attempt to knee Stroud in the balls.

The shouting starts again after that — mostly from Hawke, describing in detail his plans for Stroud’s entrails — and Alistair winces. Not at Hawke’s descriptions which seem anatomically improbable, but at the damn noise. Noise draws the attention of darkspawn, as does the scent of blood. And there’s quite a lot of noise right now, and quite a lot of blood.

Despite all that, Alistair’s attention slips back to the girl. Her breathing is still shallow and uneven, but the bright copper of her eyes seems duller now , irises slowly going grey and gummy. Something swoops in the pit of Alistair's stomach. A sick sort of emptiness, all hard-edged, and desperate. Someone has to do something.

Something beyond posturing and bluster.

Maker, someone has to do something. He has to—

"We'll do it," Alistair says all at once, the words so hurried the syllables are all pressed together into a single sound. "We’ll do it,” he says again. “Anders is right. We can help her. We have to.”

Hawke and Stroud both freeze, varying levels of surprise on their faces.

Then Stroud's expression sharpens. “Alistair.”

“We have to,” Alistair insists, gesturing helplessly. “Please. She’s—“

“You had your chance to lead,” Stroud interrupts tersely. “Now you must follow.”

Alistair’s brows shoot up. It’s the truth, but it hits him like a punch to the gut. He hadn’t wanted command. He hadn’t sought leadership. Had refused Weisshaupt on the matter, repeatedly. And when Stroud had been named Warden Commander in his stead, he had sworn both publicly and privately, to follow his lead, without question. And he had never broken that oath.

Never wavered.

Never once.

And yet he can feel his jaw shift stubbornly. (His father’s jaw, square-set like all the old Kings of Ferelden. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard sometimes to bend.) “Perhaps,” he squares his shoulders and takes a breath. “But Warden Commander or no, you’ve not seen half of what I have as a Warden.”

Stroud's expression remains steely.

He raises a single black brow.

“We can help her,” Alistair insists. “We have to at least try.” He scrubs his hand through his hair, feeling panicky. “You don’t understand. We wouldn’t have ended the fifth blight so swiftly without the mages. You don’t— you’ve no idea what it was like to fight the— Well. At Denerim. Or Amaranthine. And we haven’t yet regained even a third of what the Order lost at Ostagar. We need every Warden we can get. Every last one,” he glares up at Stroud. “Especially her,” he says as firmly as he can. “We need her. So we are going to help her.”

There is a stunned sort of silence.

Anders shifts back and forth, expression unreadable.

Stroud pulls himself from Hawke’s grip and steps back, flicking his hands down his chest, smoothing out his crumpled shirtfront; one of the buttons has been torn free and he picks at a loose thread. “Mage or no, I am not in the habit of making people suffer needlessly.” Stroud looks at Alistair pointedly.

“Me neither,” Alistair glances down at the girl. “But we’re the only one's who can save her.”

Stroud looks at Alistair for a moment as though he has never seen him before. He makes an amused sound, and shakes his head, but the gesture is all exasperation. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing," he asks mildly.

Alistair grins reflexively, all nerves no humor. “Not the least little bit.”

Stroud is silent a moment more, then he scrubs a hand across his face as if exhausted. “She’ll not survive it.”

It is no different than what he’s said before, but now there is a gentleness in Stroud’s voice that makes Alistair’s throat close up. He tries to speak, but instead gives a hitching, one shouldered shrug.

Stroud takes a deep, slow breath, air dragging noisily through his lungs. “Fine. I conscript her. It’s done.”

And with that, the girl belongs to the Wardens.

“Thank you,” Anders says after a quiet moment, and sets a hand on Hawke’s shoulder, forearm across his chest as if to offer a protective embrace.

The anger in Hawke’s expression dissolves nearly instantly, and he sags into Anders’ touch. It’s clear now that the rage was all but holding him together. Without it, he looks almost lost; empty, and strangely vulnerable. The hands at his side open and close in slow motion, as if grasping for something no longer there.

“You'll leave immediately,” Stroud says crisply, focusing back on Hawke and his companions.

“I can take them,” Alistair offers. He goes to stand, but his knees sort of lock up. He doesn’t want Stroud and Hawke to have the opportunity to knife each other, but he doesn't want to leave her, more.

“I’ll take them,” Stroud says firmly. “I’ll not leave Hawke alone with any of my people. Besides, the girl is your responsibility now.” He gives Alistair a meaningful look. “Mera,” he calls to another Warden over his shoulder, not looking. “You have command.”

Ever the antagonist, Hawke moves to block Stroud’s path.

“I am not leaving her.”

“We said she’d take the joining, and so she will,” Stroud says, voice cold. “This is Warden business now. And you have no place here.”

Hawke's eyes are hard, and so haunted they are nearly black. For a moment Alistair thinks it may come to violence after all. Instead Hawke nods with a fair bit of bad grace. Anders' head drops briefly, relieved, and the barriers he cast fizzle out of existence.

It is over.

Hawke kneels, and with a fierce and startling tenderness, leans in and kisses the girl’s forehead. He murmurs something against her skin, too faint for Alistair to hear, but his meaning is clear enough.

He is saying goodbye.

Alistair turns his head to give them what privacy he can, but when he turns back Hawke is staring at him with a manic sort of intensity, brown eyes dark with grief.

“Keep. Bethany. safe.” Every word is a command, bitten in half with anguish and lined with despair.

No matter if the Warden’s succeed — or not — Hawke is unlikely to ever see her again. And Alistair is struck anew with the quiet tragedy of it all.

Bethany.

He folds her name in his palm, like a secret, and nods, trying to keep his voice steady and certain. “I will. I promise.”

***

The black draught is a foul concoction. Dark as tar and nearly as thick, the potion smokes faintly and smells like a Darkspawn’s hindquarters. If memory serves, it tastes just as bad, too.

Alistair has overseen dozens of joinings, but it’s only his second time crafting the black draught himself. The first had been for a woodcutter from Jader. The man had been all sunburn and freckles and ginger curls; the least likely person to face the Deep Roads. Maybe that was why the Maker had marked him to die in the joining, choking and gasping with black foam all across his lips.

And Alistair standing above him, helpless and horrified.

Certain it was all his fault.

Certain he should have known better.

And yet here he is again.

Somehow.

Alistair holds his breath, heart hamming halfway through his chest. His hands are slick in his gloves.

Stroud's not wrong. Dying of the joining is no easy death. But neither is dying of the taint. Even now he can see the pain carving itself into Bethany, pronounced even above the exhaustion and the spray of dried blood that stains one cheek. And yet even through the blood and the dust and the sickly cast of her pallor, something clean and bright shines through. A tiny spark. No bigger than a firefly. And for one dizzy moment, Alistair thinks he would do anything to see the girl open her eyes — look at him — and smile.

He raises the chalice, careful not to spill, and takes a breath. “Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant,” he begins. “Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworned. And should you… should you perish,” Alistair clears his throat to mask the tremor in his voice, “know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And know that one day... we shall join you.”

The last words are little more than a whisper. Alistair kneels, gathers her up in his arms, and gently tips the rim of the cup against her lips. “Drink?” He asks quietly, watching the column of her throat carefully.

Black leaks from the corner of her mouth, running towards her ear. He wipes at it with his thumb. Thick and almost tarry, it smears.

“Please, drink.”

Maker if she is beyond even this…

“You have to drink. Please.”

Her eyes crack open a little. They’re nearly colorless now, pupils fixed and staring.

“Please, Bethany…”

She swallows.

Once.

Twice.

“Very good.” Tears prickle at his eyes, and he wipes at her mouth with the hem of his tunic. He tries to smile, but can’t manage it. His eyes dart to the pulse point beneath her jaw. “That’s very well done.”

He lays her back down as gently as he can, hand against black curl of her hair for the barest of moments.

And then he prays to the Maker.

He has not prayed to the Maker since — well, long enough that the words are stilted and slow, rusty as an old hinge.

Alistair has no illusions as to the danger of the joining. He’s seen grown men healthy and hale, die mere moments after taking the black draught, choking on foulness and dark magic alike. And suddenly it all feels like hubris, to tear her away from people who knew her — loved her — and to let her die, alone in the dark amongst strangers.

And he did that. He did that to her.

The breath rattles noisily in her chest, black spilling from the corners of her mouth, and Alistair nearly chokes on his own fear.

He presses a trembling fist to his lips and prays harder.

***

It is a terrible night.

Death is a part of a Warden’s life. It is not a thing to be feared or avoided. It is what they do. The Maker grants the Wardens a singular sort of immortality — they survive the taint so they may kill darkspawn.

(In war, victory.)

That is all the Order is, at its core. Death. Death. And more death. And one day it will come for all of them, with a sweet song of madness in their ear. And the Maker will grant them peace.

(In peace, vigilance.)

Death is nothing to a Warden if not a familiar.

Alistair himself has survived a blight, an archdemon, and the needless slaughter of half of all living Wardens.

(In death, sacrifice.)

Witnessing this tiny battle waged in the bleakness of the Deep Roads, should be a small thing. Insignificant at scale. No armies are at stake. No kingdoms hang in the balance. Her death will be of no true consequence. And yet…

It doesn’t feel small at all.

It feels… heavy. There is no other word for it. A weight pressing down on his chest so every breath he takes is short, and sharp, and strained. A twisting in his gut, an uneasiness that sits awaiting the strike of a blade. And a terrible helplessness that hangs across his senses like a veil.

After the joining, once it was clear she wouldn’t instantly expire from the draught, the remaining Wardens had moved as swiftly as they could, hoping time and distance would mask Bethany’s scent from the darkspawn.

Alistair had carried her. Slung across his back like a rucksack. Still, and feverish, and unsettlingly light. Sometimes he couldn’t hear her breathing over the sound of his own heartbeat. So he’d run his thumb over the pulse points of her wrists, searching. Searching. Able to breathe again when he found her heartbeat — light and erratic, but there.

It’s still there.

The Wardens make camp for the night. Cold food and no fire. They can’t risk it until they’ve put more distance between themselves and the horde. The darkspawn are nearly out of range now, but not quite. He can still feel them lurking faintly at the edges of his consciousness. He would have preferred if they’d pressed on for a few more miles, but Mera had ordered him to rest — foolish to wear himself out entirely.

And he knows she’s right. If it came to it now, he’d be slow and sloppy in a fight. Maybe get Bethany killed. Maybe get them all killed.

Maker, he hadn’t even thought about the risk to the others.

He crouches beside Bethany, trembling with nerves, guilt, and exhaustion, until Mera lays a gentle hand on the his head, fingers digging into his scalp, urging him to rest.

They’ve no spare bedding — no spare anything, really — so Alistair rolls Bethany up in his own blankets, with his surcoat pillowed beneath her head, and lies on the bare rock beside her. It isn’t the first time he’s slept on naked stone and it won’t be the last, though this time he gets little in the way of sleep. He can’t. He’s too wound up.

Bethany… She is—

Not dying. Not dying.

—fragile as spun silk.

Her pulse is as faint as a butterfly's wings, and seems to stutter to a halt with a terrifying regularity. Alistair barely removes his hand from her wrist now. Counting the seconds between each heartbeat and the next. There’s so much time between them. So much empty space for him to fall face-first into cold terror. And then he finds the little bump of her pulse again, irregular and light, and his head blooms with an irrational sense of relief.

Twice he thinks she slips away, and quiet agony coils around his heart until she takes a noisy sort of breath that sounds like she may be drowning, and the faint bump bump of her pulse starts again.

He pulls the blankets down to her waist, afraid that their meager pressure will be too much strain for her to overcome. Then he frets that she’s too cold, and pulls them up again. But mostly he just tries to will her heartbeat into alignment with his, and struggles to stay afloat of his own growing despair.

***

In the morning there is no dawn to greet them. No gentle sunrise to reward her fight. The camp simply begins to stir, coming alive with the soft, familiar sounds of Warden’s waking.

Alistair is a wreck. He’d sweated straight through his tunic from anxiety, and can probably count on one hand the minutes he'd actually managed to fall asleep. His back aches and he’s got pins and needles all down his arse and the backs of his legs. And the muscles of his jaw are stiff and sore from grinding his teeth all night. Still. He cracks the biggest smile at every Warden who comes to check on them.

Because she is still alive.

***

“She’s not dying,” Alistair says firmly, but can’t help but wring his hands as he says it.

“Aye,” Warden Runsk sighs heavily and pats Alistair’s back mechanically. “You’ve said it a hundred times. Not sure you have anymore say in the matter now, as before. She’s had two days like this. She’ll not last a third.”

She can’t take any real food –– the risk of choking is too high –– but they stop every hour, like now, and Alistair drips a water-thin gruel into her mouth, a tiny bit at a time, stroking her throat to encourage her to swallow. She’s visibly lost weight, the bones of her wrist are sharp and sparrow-light. But the blackness of the taint has slowed it’s advance through her veins, and the pulse beneath his thumb is stronger, he thinks, but still irregular.

He takes comfort from that when he can.

“I’ve heard of someone lasting five,” Alistair mutters stubbornly.

Runsk shakes his head, unconvinced. “The Order is nothing if not half make-believe.”

“But it’s working. She’s not dying.”

“Aye, I know.” Runsk pats him on the back again.

***

In the blink of an eye, your whole life can change.

Alistair has learned that lesson so many times over, you’d think he’d never forget.

Once, he’d thought all life had to offer him was a drafty stable and the smell of Mabari all around. Caring for the hounds as well as the horses, with dirt on his breeches and bits of straw in his hair. It had been hard work — lonely work — but that was life, wasn’t it? And at least the animals were never cruel to him. And he’d always slept with the runts and hand-fed them so they’d never be culled. He’d been… resigned. Happy enough, he’d supposed.

But then he’d gone to the Templars, and it was all different. No dirt, or straw, or horse manure. Just metal, and magic, and that awful silence of the Circle’s Chantry.

Then came the Wardens. And Ostagar. And the Landsmeet — he’d been so terrified then. So aware of everything that would shift should things go poorly.

He should be ready for such things, always. But somehow he never is.

Bethany makes a sound.

Not the horrifying death-rattle as she struggled to breathe, or the tiny, pain-filled moans she would occasionally utter. This is something soft and sleepy and wonderful.

A sound of wakening.

A sound of his whole world shifting.

Alistair scrambles over to her, heart pounding. “Hello?”

Brown eyes blink open, then promptly close again.

And Alistair feels the little bubble of relief fade abruptly. “You’re not dead,” he says in a rush of breath, jaw tightening in reflex.

That’s true at least. Whatever she is, she isn’t dead.

Her eyes flutter open again, focused, though very bloodshot, and Alistair feels his face split in an enormous grin. He tries to school his features into something reassuring and dignified, but he doesn’t quite manage.

Her eyes alight on him briefly before she turns her head, searching. “Garrett—?” Her hand stretches out, distressed. Flailing in the empty air. Searching.

“Oh,” Alistair blinks, surprised by the jealousy that twinges through him absurdly. It’s faint as an echo behind the relief, but there. So stupid. He swallows it back. “Was that the shouty one with the terrifying… and, ah… rather… ” He stumbles, searching for a word to describe Hawke that isn’t violent or bloodthirsty. Instead he gestures to his own chin. “Um… beard?”

The girl makes a pained noise that lances through him, and a credible attempt to sit up.

“Hey now, none of that,” Alistair presses her back down before she can hurt herself. “You’ve been out for three days. Stroud— that is, the Warden-Commander wasn’t… was sure you wouldn’t— Well. You’re not dead.” He says again firmly, squinting at her as though she might change her mind about it at any moment, though he knows that’s not how the joining works.

“Where is my brother?” The words come out like a shaky rasp, all jagged-edged with dread. She’s so weak she has to breathe after each one.

Oh.

Of course.

“He was your brother then?” Alistair hopes he doesn’t sound as relieved as he feels. He’s not sure if it’s easier to lose a brother than a lover — never having had much in the way of either — but he can’t say he isn’t glad that’s the way of it.

Not that he has any right to be glad that —

“Was?” The word is all heartbreak. All despair and grief. She wrenches herself upright, panic lending her a sudden burst of strength. She gets her legs under her, nearly tries to stand. And Alistair — the world's most monumentally thoughtless arse — only just gets his arms under her as she collapses, trembling, and all broken out in a cold sweat.

Shit.

He backtracks as fast as he possibly can. “No no no, hey. He’s not dead. Stroud took some men to escort them back to the surface.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, and sees her eyes follow the gesture, jittery with adrenaline. “Never should have been this deep. Surprised any of them made it out in one—” She flinches and Alistair wants to bite off his tongue.

Damn.

Maker, he’s doing none of this right.

He wipes sweating palms on the backside of his breeches.

“Well, hmm.” He takes a breath and forces his voice lower. Softer. Steadier. “You were lucky you brought a healer. Luckier still that the healer was a Warden— is a Warden,” he corrects with a frown. “You never really get to leave the Order, after all.”

“Lucky?” She repeats, voice small and lost. For a moment her eyes drift restlessly back and forth as if trying to understand.

The world changes so easily, after all.

Alistair understands. She didn’t choose this. She didn’t join the Wardens, she was taken by them. By him. And now everything she knew in life, everything, even her own being, is fundamentally, permanently altered.

It is worse than being carted off to the Templars; to join their ranks or become their charge.

Worse than being nearly made King.

He hopes it is less worse than dying.

“What do you remember?” Alistair asks as gently as he can.

She shakes her head in mute confusion. Tears spill down her cheeks. His fingers twitch, wanting to wipe them away, but he doesn’t move.

Always start with the easier questions.

“What’s your name,” he asks instead.

She blinks at him through the tears, sticking her hand out automatically, as Alistair tries not to be thoroughly charmed. “Bethany Hawke.”

Bethany.

It sounds prettier the way she says it, like the chime of a tiny bell, bright and clean, and he cannot help but grin.

“Alistair,” he takes her hand, and his thumb brushes across the top of her knuckles, a tiny show of affection he can’t quite stifle. “Welcome to the Ferelden Wardens.”

#Alistair Therin #bethany hawke #alistair x bethany #bethistair #dragon age #my fic #sunshine in the dark #part 2 #how alistair fell in love with bethany hawke

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theluckywizard · 10 months

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Lucky's Writing Masterpost

Hi I'm Lucky! I'm a writer and an artist, 41 years old, living in New England. I started writing Dragon Age fan fic in January after decades of original fiction hell where I never finished a damn thing. My main OCs are Rose Trevelyan and Garrett Hawke and I love them very much.

The Long Fic

In the Shattering of Things,

Explicit, WC: 300K + (WIP), fluff, angst, smut, all of it New chapters every Sunday/Monday

My Dragon Age Inquisition long fic featuring Rose Trevelyan, my "level 1" archer Inquisitor, my playful, optimistic OC who learns to be fierce on the fly and dodges death as she fumbles her way across Thedas but does it with heart. As her journey deepens, she starts to realize she's tangled in the center of machinations she barely understands. She romances both Cullen (slow burn) and my other OC, a very charming, very silly warrior!Hawke (fast burn). (Rose POV)

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Hawke's heard about all these weird bottles of booze the Inquisitor's been picking up in her travels. He particularly wants to try Garbolg's Backwater Reserve because... well, why wouldn't he? He's Hawke. Besides, any excuse to sneak off to a dark and cramped corner with the flame-haired imp he's hopelessly in love with is a good thing. (Rose POV)

Fractures, Explicit, WC 3660, Smut/Whump/Pain

Cullen has been recovering from severe injuries after a catastrophic encounter with Samson in Emprise du Lion in Inquisitor Rose Treveyan's quarters. Rose has been nursing her anger and anguish for weeks. Amid the necessary care and closeness of his convalescence, it all comes spilling out at last. (Rose POV)

Pull Me From the Dark, Mature, WC 2107, Flangst

The Inquisitor arrives in the Western Approach and Hawke's been waiting three infernal weeks to see her again. There are a couple emotions Hawke hasn't felt in a long time and he's about to experience both of them. (Hawke POV)

Contact, Gen, WC 427, Flangst

Bethany Hawke has lovely dreams of her childhood home where she often looks inside Father's little chest for the curiosities that lie within, memories of the entire family she's lost- Malcolm, Leandra, Carver and Garrett. The Fade is nothing if not surprising. But today she gets a little more of a surprise than she bargains for. (Bethany POV)

Some Kind of Witchcraft, Explicit, WC 2213, Fluff Smut

Inquisitor Rose Trevelyan is away clearing rifts along Sulcher's pass but she leaves plenty of reminders behind for Cullen to find while she's gone... and after she returns! (Cullen POV)

Together Alone, Teen, WC 1578, Angst

Knight Captain Cullen Rutherford can't afford to screw up the apprehension of Garrett Hawke's apostate sister. Even as he wrestles with his actions he reminds himself that this is right. Bethany Hawke has been bracing herself for this visit since she first arrived in Kirkwall. In some ways she feels that this is for the best. But she can't help the spark of indignance the slips out as she faces her destiny in the Circle. (Cullen & Bethany POVs)

Proper Provocation, Explicit, WC 2250, Fluff Smut

Rose and Cullen renew a war room debate that quickly devolves into a spirited attempt to spank each other which quickly devolves into smut. (Cullen POV)

Unrelated One Shots

The Boy Who Talked too Much, Explicit, WC 2373, Fluff Smut

Elissa has been coming to Alistair's tent for a week now for cuddles before anyone else is up. But they'd never kissed. Today is different. Alistair is a nervous nelly and can't seem to stop talking (or thinking for that matter!) (Alistair POV)

Unvarnished, Explicit, WC 3636, SMUT

Clinging undergarments and more proximity than they've ever had sparks an unexpected blaze between Rose Trevelyan and Blackwall and unleashes parts of the impostor Warden he thought he'd long buried... (Blackwall POV)

The Firmness of his Resolve, Explicit, WC 2166, Fluff Smut

In which Cullen just wants to finish some vital work and Inquisitor Theresa Trevelyan has other ideas. How an under the desk act turns into a (very) friendly competition. (Cullen POV)

Long Fic Excerpts and Companion Pieces (spoilers!)

Cullen Presents a Training Plan, Gen, WC 1538, Flangst

Rose Trevelyan can hunt and ride and possesses a host of other skills a Lady of Quality might need. But the Herald of Andraste needs combat skills and Cullen has a training plan. (Rose POV)

An Inexplicable Pull, Gen, WC 1504

It's only been a week since Rose Trevelyan stumbled out of a rift in the temple ruins above Haven. She may come from a privileged, sheltered background but she's applying herself to her training admirably. There's something willful and impish hiding under that polite veneer. And something else. He can't stop looking her way, trying to puzzle it out. Perhaps he should try talking to her. (Cullen POV)

Into her Hands, Teen, WC 1334, Fluff

Watching the Inquisitor read the book he'd picked for her across the mess tent in camp in Crestwood, Hawke decides to grab the book she'd picked for him and join her. Sitting beside her on the damp ground he feels an awakened sense of possibility. (Hawke POV)

The Commander, the Tevinter and a Bottle of Lightning, Teen, WC 3,325, Fluff

It starts as a professional favor to Inquisitor Rose Trevelyan, taking the Stick in the Mud out, drawing him away from the work he clings to so desperately. But what she doesn't know is that Dorian has positioned himself to be double wingman extraordinaire and Cullen is about to be utterly boiled in the bag. (Cullen POV)

The Gift, Teen, WC 1,249, Angst & Fluff

Waiting to receive word from the Inquisitor from Crestwood, Cullen's feelings wrestle out of his grasp. And Maker why are there so many entrances to his office? Rylen arrives just in time to help his friend sort his thoughts out. (Cullen POV)

Point, Teen, WC 1,224, Action and Angst

Hawke takes on the bandit leader's second in command at Caer Bronach, a shockingly large bruiser before discovering that Inquisitor Rose Trevelyan isn't anywhere in sight. (Hawke POV)

The Coldest and Warmest Dawn, Teen, WC 3419, WIP, Angsty

The attempt on the Breach approaches with agonizing speed. The amplified magic of three hundred odd mages will channel through Rose Trevelyan and her marked hand. And in all likelihood, it will claim her life. Cullen finds this unacceptable. He recruits a crack team of Dorian, Vivienne and the dangerous Tevinter prisoner in the Chantry's cells to find a way to save her. (Cullen POV)

Bumbling Hearts, Gen, WC 2372, Fluff

Inquisitor Rose Trevelyan is just learning to control the dangerous new feature of the Anchor- discharging accumulating power by opening a rift in Veil- the mark of the rift. She enlists Cullen as back up and as is tradition, much awkwardness ensues. (Rose POV)

Dead Draw, Gen, WC 1574, Angst and Whump

After the catastrophe between him and the Inquisitor earlier in the morning, Cullen expected Dorian's confrontation. He just didn't expect it to arrive so soon. (Cullen POV)

The Map, Teen, WC 1089, Angst and Whump

Rose Trevelyan awakens standing over her desk, quill in hand, a kind of wildly drawn map beneath her. She doesn't know what's happening and she wakes Cullen to help her sort it out. But he doesn't react the way she needs. (Rose POV)

Rumors, Teen, WC 2189, Angst

Returned to Skyhold from Crestwood, Hawke's been dogged the whole way back by rumors about the nature of his relationship with Inquisitor Rose Trevelyan. His old friend Leliana wants to know what his game is. (Hawke POV)

A Sense of Duty, Teen, WC 2220, Angst

As commander of the Inquisition forces, Cullen needs to have a chat about tactics and protocol with his old acquaintance, famed warrior Garrett Hawke after spurious reports come in from Crestwood. The mountain of history between them and the salacious rumors about Hawke and Inquisitor Rose Trevelyan make this conversation more intense than he expected. (Cullen POV)

Thirst, Mature, WC 6450, Angst and Whump

Commander Cullen Rutherford has had a shit few weeks. Headaches, tremors and memories dog him. His romantic hopes have crumbled. His blood feels empty and thin. With so many cares weighing upon him he's been wondering if he's still fit to serve, if he ever was. He should resign, shouldn't he? But perhaps it's not that complicated. Perhaps he's just one bottle of blue away from feeling right after all. (Cullen POV)

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studio-jirell · 1 year

Photo

My guilty pleasure is drawing stuff based off the haunted house photos of groups.

#da #da2 #dragon age #garrett hawke #mage hawke #carver hawke #bethany hawke #alistair theirin #alistair x surana #warden alistair #warden surana #surana #alais surana #my art #let there be art

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wildercrow · 3 months

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Nuri's DAFF Secret Satinalia Fics

A server we're in had a Secret Satinalia exchange over the past couple months, and now that creators have finally been revealed we can show off our creations! I for one went uh... a little wild with the ficlet treats. Listen, I wanted to make sure as many people as possible got two gifts!! Plus, it was a nice excuse to try some new things. All but one of these features a character or relationship I've never written before! And I think I'm getting more confident in my ability to tell a story in under 500 words.

~*~*~

My Friends Think I'm Funny In The Sad Way for @liza011

Rating: Teen Main Relationship: Zevran/Male Mahariel Word Count: 2272 Content Warnings: Hunting/wild animal death Summary:

Zevran doesn't know how to accept gifts. He also doesn't know how to cook over a campfire.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51765304

~*~*~

The Good Kind of Empty for @liza011

Rating: General Main Relationship: Cole/Krem Word Count: 251 Summary:

Cole gives Krem a sentimental gift!

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52914211

~*~*~

Enchanting Fireflies for @kiastirling-fanfic

Rating: General Main Relationship: Kieran & Sandal Word Count: 488 Summary:

Kieran and Sandal have teamed up to create an enchanting little art installation together!

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51882259

~*~*~

Ambush for @theluckywizard

Rating: General Main Relationship: Garrett Hawke & Bethany & Carver Word Count: 302 Summary:

Garrett Hawke is setting up an ambush for Carver and Merrill. Bethany spots some holes in his plan.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52935124

~*~*~

Old Friends for @exalted-dawn

Rating: General Main Relationship: Morrigan & Alistair & Kieran Word Count: 161 Summary:

As she watches Alistair with Kieran, Morrigan realizes perhaps she has more respect -- and fondness -- for him than she once had.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52919164

~*~*~

Wanna see the rest of our system's contributions to the exchange? You can find Haunt and Mulch's art treats here and here, and Boaty wrote a (smut) fic here!

#dragon age #zevwarden #zevran x warden #zevran #warden #mahariel #krem #cole #cole x krem #kieran #sandal #hawke #bethany #morrigan #alistair #da #nuri writes #spiceopod creations

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mabaris · 1 year

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saw some cute ship art that blew my mind wide open bc i’ve never considered the possibility of. warden hawke twin x hero of ferelden

#like i’ve seen plenty of people ship one or the other with alistair but somehow it never occurred to me..#the art in question was carver x surana but #REALLY love the idea of #bethany x brosca #neither of them have seen ANYTHING of the world #carver x cousland could also be. FASCINATING #bethany #carver #mine

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amarmeme · 11 months

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I joined the Templartations Exchange this year and was honored with four incredible gifts. I encourage you to check out the exchange as a whole if you enjoy Dragon Age's resident templars, including Cullen, Alistair, Rylen, and even some smexy Samson. :) Dinner and a Show by @replicatortrash Bethany Hawke/Alistair Theirin, Rated E, 5,400 words MMMMMM this was so delightful. Everything you want in this ship -- two wardens stumbling through feelings and f*cking. A true GEM and exactly what I was hoping for with these idiots.

Your move, Commander by Toshi_Nama Cullen Rutherford/Original Female Character, Rated E, 5,000 words What a freaking sumptuous story — Cullen gets hounded at the Winter Palace and OC cuts him a deal that protects both of them. The OC is an Orlesian noble and I will not spoil it ...

The Whole World by @knuttydraws Cullen Rutherford/Lotte Trevelyan, ART! This gorgeous art by Knutty made my heart melt. The warmth, the colors, the satisfied looks and wholesome touches. Go feast your eyes on Knutty's lovely art style. It is so good.

Save Tonight by @charmcity-jess Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Rated M, 2,500 words So sorry Cullen, we love to torture you with a bad time. But, it all makes good in the end with another lady saving you from the Orlesians — a non-Inquisitor Trevelyan. I was head over heels for this one. Go readdddd.

This was such a delightful exchange with a delightful group of writers and artists. I'll share my contributions separately, as this is already a longer post, but THANK YOU to @knuttydraws for hosting and for everyone else listed above. You are all lovely, talented people.

#dragon age #templartations exchange #fanfiction #dragon age fanfiction #cullen rutherford #cullen rutherford x female trevelyan #cullen rutherford fanfiction #SPOILED ME #alistair x bethany #bethany hawke #alistair theirin #this exchange was the epitome of chill and supportive #what I love to see!

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notebooks-and-laptops · 3 months

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BG3 x Dragon Age Romance Crossover Polls Master post

THE BG3 CREW AND DA2

Who would Wyll Romance?

Who would Minthara Romance?

Who would Halsin Romance?

Who would Karlach Romance?

Who would Lae'zel Romance?

Who would Shadowheart Romance?

Who would Astarion Romance?

Who would Gale Romance?

KIRKWALL GANG

Who would Anders Romance?

Who would Fenris Romance?

Who would Merrill Romance?

Who would Isabela Romance?

Who would Sebastian Romance?

Who would Carver Romance?

Who would Bethany Romance?

ORIGINS CREW

Who would Alistair romance?

Who would Morrigan romance?

Who would Leliana romance?

Who would Zevran romance?

INQUISITION CREW

Who would Josephine Romance?

Who would Cullen Romance?

Who would The Iron Bull romance?

Who would Cassandra Romance?

Who would Blackwall Romance?

Who would Solas Romance?

Who would Dorian Romance?

Who would Sera Romance

#da2 #bg3 #dai #dao

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baejax-the-great · 1 year

Note

Spotify Fic meme, 55!

Caught in the riptide I was searching for the truth There was a reason I collided into you

This is part of my Overboard playlist, with Alistair and Bethany growing soft for each other despite their circumstances.

Bethany stared up at the sky. It had no right to be so very blue, as if nothing had ever troubled it in all of history. One impossibly fluffy cloud lollygagged across it. The minute she had the energy to pull herself up off this sandy beach, she was going to blast that cloud with a fireball, so help her.

“Maker’s breath,” groaned the body next to hers. In a great show of effort, Alistair rolled from his face to his back, not bothering to wipe any of the sand off.

She couldn’t say why she’d fished him out of the ocean. Why she’d helped him at all against the slavers. He didn’t deserve it. It would have been so simple to let all of her problems drown out there. But she didn’t do that. She grabbed him and held on fiercely as she used all the force magic she had to propel them toward the shore, then struggled the rest of the way there against the waves.

Now she was stuck with him, here, wherever here was.

A little crab popped out of the sand next to her and scuttled toward her hand.

She’d seen her prison sinking to the bottom of the ocean and spent her last bit of mana trying to cage herself with him again.

Bethany closed her eyes against the brightness of the sun. The waves were still tickling her feet, as if the water still longed to drag her back in, but it had its chance. Out there, flailing in the ocean, smoke in her lungs and sparks all around, her mage robes suddenly an anchor and a noose, Alistair didn’t look like a templar. He just looked scared, same as her, and she held his hand tighter than she’d ever held anything in her life.

Even now, the fear slowly seeping away into the sand around her, she still wanted to hold him.

She was cursed. She had to be, to be this stupid. Because if she didn’t care about him, truly care about him, she would have let him drown like all the sailors whose names she never learned. And only a mage who was well and truly cursed would fall in love with a templar.

All she could think about was that armor dragging him down, down below, and how she couldn’t bear it if it happened.

Instead, her opportunity for freedom sank with the boat.

#bethistair #bethany x alistair #about to spend the entire day not filling prompts but rereading my own fic lmaooo

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inquisimer · 16 days

Note

HEY BB if you had to pick 5 fics you’ve written to make a “crash course” and sum up your writing personality, which would they be? I must know.

thank you for the uno reverse, MWAH

it's only fair that I have to turn this lens on myself but DANG was it hard to be like "what is my writing personality?" I think it really boiled down to: platonic relationships, grey wardens, a just a hint of Lore™️

Gen'adahl - Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford, Rated G, 1485 words

this was one of the first ever DA fics I wrote; I remember scrawling it out in a notebook at my last job where I wasn't allowed to keep my phone at my desk. And I was so proud when I finished it! For me, it represents the proof that I can finish pieces, no matter how long it takes

to be seen feeling - Male Mahariel/Morrigan, Rated T, 5039 words, a gift for @dreadfutures as part of the 2023 DAFF DIscord's OC Swap

writing this fic was not only an absolute joy, it was a pinnacle for me: if I could write a fic that captured the depths of Blue's OCs, I could probably do anything. And I did! And I can! It was exactly what I needed at the time and also a reminder that however blase my own knowledge or fandom experience feels to me, it will slot into what even the most knowledgeable fandom personalities know in surprising ways.

Shards of Glass - Female Brosca & Rica Brosca, Rated G, 3304 words

One of my first toe dips into the gray area of lore! It was so fun to imagine an alternative for Brosca's origins, to give her a deeper connection to the Stone, to play in the absolute barren wasteland wide open sandbox of Bioware's dwarven lore. Beyond that, this piece highlights my Sibling Bias™️ and how much i love exploring the DAO origins before the Blight, in general.

nothing hits the ground without an echo - Alistair & Bethany Hawke, Rated G, 1045 words

My first Dragon Age canon/canon fic! Absolutely wild to think that before I got into Dragon Age I was vehemently anti-oc in fanfic 😂 I'm so glad I outgrew that and can love and celebrate all of our OCs. At the same time, it was a joy to return to my canon x canon roots and play up the Grey Warden lore and happenings at Vigil's Keep that seemed to die in game after Awakening ;-;

I carried my own ashes to the mountain - Zevran Arainai & Female Brosca, Rated G, 1202 words

Nothing particularly poetic to say about this one, to be perfectly honest, I just like the Vibes™️. I think the humor and sarcasm suits my writing personality, and the lighthearted overtones that are haunted by unnamed pining and angst are Very Me :3 Also Nika not recognizing her face and yet reluctant to let go of it until someone gives her permission is something deeply personal to me, that I didn't even realize until after I'd written this. I look back on it and go, yep, yeah, I see you now, past mer😅

#ask game #about mer #mer speaks #my writing #dragon age #dragon age fanfic #dao #dai #da2 #smoochuals

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v-arbellanaris · 1 year

Note

Re: rarepair Hell. I would like to know how many pits we mutually occupy, so. Could I get a list of like, idk, your top ten (based in enjoyment level) rarepairs? And/or headcanons but I would prefer "and".

okay i'll assume you mean dragon age specifically MFDSKJFSDKJF but okay, i'll list some!!!!

the obvious ones:

fenders (fenris x anders) : i love a good narrative foil

zevistair (zevran x alistair) : idk if this counts as a rarepair but!!! their canon flirting banters always make me go sooo insane. that you can include zevran in the foursome w alistair if alistair is hardened (lol) makes me INSANE. they are basically canon aND YET!!!!!!

warden x loghain : ive written so much abt them already. you get the idea

nanders (nathaniel x anders)

the less obvious ones:

anders/merrill (bonus: anders/merrill/isabela): for all the same reasons i ship fenders (which i would argue is still relatively a popular pair, so not quite rarepair??); they're such good mirrors, they're both encapsulate what the other fears. anders being 100% okay to hurt people despite being a healer vs merrill being a blood mage who has never wanted to hurt anyone is just *chef kiss*. you can take a look at this for more compelling reasons to ship them.

fenris/merrill: for all the same reasons as above. i think if u dont ship each individual LI of the kirkwall polycule w each other, u shouldnt say u ship the kirkwall polycule.

solavelyan / soladaar / soladash / solas x non-lavellan inqs: i still think it should've been a romance option for all inqs tho i suppose they didn't really have the time to develop a non-lavellan route for them, but i love thinking about it, and i love the vibes for it so much. again, i love narrative foils, and i think it's so natural to be drawn to someone who could understand you like that.

alistair x bethany: a not-templar and a not-circle mage, in the wardens together. i think they'd really like each other and have a very interesting kind of energy!!! they've both got these secret bitter/spiteful sides to them, there's a lot of parallels (like alistair thinking warden conscription is a good thing bc it was for him and bethany having v different emotions abt being a warden in general). i've also really enjoyed most of the fics i've read for them.

nathaniel x f!cousland: UNFORTUNATELY THOUGH i dont think i've been able to find the kind of fic i want for them in the tag. i've got too many wips as it is, but maybe one day i'll write the nathaniel/f!cousland fic of my dreams...

nathaniel x anora: this one is admittedly @rosella-writes' fault, but they've got me by the THROAT as a concept

m!hawke/cullen: LIKE ESPECIALLY IF IT'S ONE-SIDED FOR CULLEN it's something that can be SO fascinating to explore (esp in an amell worldstate). [shaking cullen] babygirl what is WRONG with you!!!!!!!

m!hawke/sebastian: sebastian grappling with his admiration for hawke vs his chantry vows but THIS TIME make it mlm..... i think this is probably baby vee coming through w how hard i used to ship d/estiel in the early 00's LMAO. fsr they hit the same beats in my skull.

morrigan/leliana: noooo girlies don't fight haha <3 they should dump the warden and kiss instead <3

josephine/the iron bull: i read a few fics for them that admittedly captured my interest. i think their dynamic is something that could really be interesting to delve into for so many reasons. i've read the evidence and i find it compelling enough to put on this list

#asks #i did not do headcanons but hopefully my lil blurbs make sense for why i ship them #this is not an exhaustive list this is just what i can think of/remember right now #BASICALLY. i'll ship anything if i find it compelling enough tbh

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theluckywizard · 2 months

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Get to Know the Fic Writer

Thank you for the tag @leggywillow 🥰 Gosh I think I did this last year? Things have changed a bit!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 463,350

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

In the Shattering of Things (Cullen x f!Trevelyan, Hawke x f!Trevelyan) 141

The Boy Who Talked Too Much (Alistair x f!Cousland) 67

Some Kind of Witchcraft (Cullen x f!Trevelyan) 59

Unvarnished (Blackwall x f!Trevelyan) 57

The Protestations of the Commander's Bed (Cullen x f!Trevelyan) 46

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Always! Oh man alwayyyys. I am so grateful for anyone who takes that extra moment to share something they liked or a thought that popped into their head. Truly. It's a special kind of reader that leaves comments. They really are the fuel that keep me going! Especially on my long fic I feel like I'm getting to know some of my readers and I love the discussions I've gotten into about my blorbo and her interactions with canon characters. OR just canon characters!

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Probably Fractures. I wrote it especially for Whumptober and in it Cullen's obsession with Samson led to a throwdown in Emprise that nearly left him dead and Rose is understandably at her wits end with him. They have 'make up sex' that does nothing to resolve any of the feelings of betrayal and abandonment and anger that Rose feels.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Probably The Commander, the Tevinter, and a Bottle of Lightning a Cullen & Dorian, Cullen POV fic where Cullen's romance with Rose Trevelyan seems to finally be coming to a head at long last.

7. Do you write crossovers?

Not yet! Probably won't though.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

The closest is maybe vocal dislike of an original character. He's a competing love interest though, so I get it. People have their preferences and want to nudge me a certain way.

9. Do you write smut?

LOLLLL yes. 4 of my top 5 above are explicitly smuts and my long fic has 4 at this point. My friend @nirikeehan says "be the smut you wish to see in the world" so I try to write joyful, consensual, authentic feeling smuts that also capture the awkwardness/silliness/normality of sex. My hope is that someone reading it who isn't quite experienced with this stuff gets to see a really positive, realistic portrayal.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not yet!

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

I can't show my whole ass in the midst of a multiship long fic, so I will keep quiet on this one 🤐

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

A Splinter of Light (my Rose and Dorian get stranded in the future during In Hushed Whispers Nightmare!AU fic)

15. What are your writing strengths?

Believable dialogue and banter, authentically drawn characters readers can root for, lively descriptions

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

PLOT. It's just always been a struggle for me. World building too. LISTEN. There's a reason I'm writing fan fic LOL. Though I recently got Scapple (from the Scrivener makers) and it has been a game changer! I'm using it for my long fic and my other major WIP Kiss Me Moonstruck right now.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I've done it for a few select lines during Wicked Eyes Wicked Hearts, mostly to underscore how bad Hawke is at speaking Orlesian. But generally I will just note when a character is speaking in a new language.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Dragon Age! I stumbled into it a smidge over a year ago (after playing for 9ish years) and love it so much!

19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

Cullen/Bethany Hawke

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Oh man, barring my long fic which is my baby and still in progress it would probably have to be my new Cullen POV fic Thirst that digs into the lead up to his crisis during the Perseverance quest. But Kiss Me Moonstruck is my Hawke x f!Trevelyan MatchmakingMoms!AU WIP set during DA2, Act 2 and mannnn nothing makes me smile and laugh like this fic. I can't wait to publish it!

Tagging @delicatefade, @bluewren, @samseabxrn, @rowanisawriter, @greypetrel, @nirikeehan, @spicywarl0ck, @monocytogenes

#theluckywizard #tag game

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greypetrel · 11 months

Note

Alyra and Anora

Raina and Carver and/or Bethany

Aisling and Raina (technically an NPC in Inquisition, right?)

AND Salshira and any/all of your gals c:

(And back at you, whichever of these you want to write if that's too many! <3)

Oooh thank you!!! These are super interesting! And as usual I had a lot to say x°D So after the first it's all under the cut.

Ask game

Alyra and Anora.

They started very badly. As in: Alyra couldn't see her. Went to save her pretty reluctantly, and her immediate and aloud answer when Anora did what she did was "This BITCH.". She thought that sending her and Alistair to save her was a terrible idea: if they were caught, they would have lost all the credibility they gained and needed for the Landsmeet. So you see, when she woke up at Fort Drakon and she was proven right… She didn't take it well and was too blinded by rage to really think better of it. Arl Eamon played exactly on that and convinced her when she wasn't thinking much straight, that Alistair on the throne was the better idea, Anora proved herself to be a person with no issue in betraying allies, no? :) She realised the mistake when it was too late, the game were set, and all she could do was jumping right in for the duel with Loghain and convincing Alistar that a marriage of convenience was the better option if he couldn't marry her (and she proposed. In front of the Landsmeet. The good thing was that after that she had zero worry at the idea of facing the Archdemon. It couldn't have been worse than that. Dangerous and fatal was better than humiliating.). With more clarity and the knowledge she had been toyed with like a puppet, and the portrait of Arl Eamon well on top of her black list, she slowly changed her mind over Anora. Realised that she had done the only sensible thing for her position, and in the end saved them both. Staying in Denerim most often as Chancellor and mistress cough cough they talked it out and had an agreement she came to know her better and appreciate her, they're very like-minded and politically shrewd, and with time and a lot of easing to each other's presence, they came to rely on the other and form a friendship. Think in years, tho.

Raina and Bethany:

It's complicated. Raina took her role as a bigger sister all too well after Malcolm died. She felt like she had to step in his shoes and provided. Losing Carver, as much as he kept on being his merry oppositive self, didn't help her at all. If Leandra mourned, Raina being Raina swept everything under the carpet and just became hyper-protective towards Bethany. She seldom asked her to come along with her for missions and just for the ones she deemed easier. Bethany didn't quite like it and often complained Raina treated her as a child, and their relationship started to get a little bitter. Raina left for the Deep Roads quarrelling something fiercely with her and basically told her that either she returned home by herself, or she would have dragged her. Bethany left without saying goodbye and marched away. Needless to say that "My sister is in a Circle because of me" became another small tack of guilt to weigh over her, and weighted HARD. They recovered a better relationship after the Mage Rebellion, when Bethany decided to stay in the Circle to help on her own willingness… And could come home to say hi and be spoiled by her new sisters-in-law.

Raina and Aisling: They get along well! As for Aisling… She likes how sure of herself she is, how easy it is to talk to her. Sees that there are cracks in the façade. She likes to laugh and finds Raina funny, asked her to help her with her sword practice in the Western Approach, they got along pretty well. Sometimes, in her darkest moments when she really feels tired, she wishes hard that Hawke was in the Conclave and not her, as Cassandra would have wanted. She realises it's a terribly selfish wish and she wouldn't wish anything on anyone. Usually she brings Raina cookies and cake herself from the kitchen, without explanations. Raina doesn't really understands why she has cake, but she's a raccoon and never refuses food. Raina finds her sweet, if a little bit gloomy and whiny. She doesn't mind her trying to mother her, and if in the first moments she felt she was a watered-down version of Merrill, she changed her mind. No, she's a Merrill with no self-value, must protec at all cost before she hurts herself. She doesn't really understand why she saved her and not Stroud from the Fade… Took her some time to really forgive her for having another person died for her sake. She too realised it was a stupid, selfish thought. Sent her a brossum as an apology.

SALSHIRA. Alyra: She will laugh at her jokes and find her an amusing company to spend an evening with, but would probably be annoyed by her tendency to divert every serious conversation. She'd Reckon that it's a good way to get nobles out of your trail, but for anything else? Double-check everything she says, out of the convinctions that if she masks so much personally… Why not masking for other things? She would enjoy her company and be friendly, seen the context and knowing first hand how daunting being a Dalish in power around humans can be (and she also has the Chantry at her back), but will definitely takes some time in warming up and really trust her, politically in particular.

Raina: They could bond over not wanting to talk anything seriously and would be quick in befriending the other because of that, and become good friends. If they manage not to act on finding the other attractive (causing a shitshow because Raina will say she can do casual... But she can't.), they'll be besties and cause ruckus, the world may not be ready for them to team up. I just think that they'll just spur each other on and... Won't be stoppable anymore. A huge chaotic force that will stand no rivals. Halamshiral covered in "Romani ite domum" written in red paint. The whole of it. How did they manage? Not important.

Aisling: Blabbers because OMG SHE VERY PRETTY AND FUN AND TALENTED OMG SAY SOMETHING CLEVER "Roses are red / Violets are blue-". And then proceeds to walk to the garden, take a spade and dig her own grave in the elfroot patch out of embarrassment. Other than that, I agree with what you said: it would be rocky. Aisling will prod and show worry and ask personal stuff, making Salshira just run away faster. When Aisling will realise she'll just raise her hands, apologise and wait for her to start a conversation again not to upset her again. three years later they're still at the same point, smiling and waving at each other out of politeness from different parts of the room. Good with other people around or if they're working on the same thing and can talk about that, when they're alone suddenly all they can talk about is the weather. (that kind of friendship that can happen if you manage to pick a very precise set of dialogue options, ahahahahah)

#oc ask game #aisling lavellan #raina hawke #alyra mahariel #I said the world wasn't ready for Raina and Wen #The world is even less ready for Raina and Salshira.

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