Weekly roundup! Lots of Carver-fic this time around. I'm really loving these Warden-rogues + Carver drabbles. They are far too much fun!
Why does it always have to be snakes?"Carver, what are you doing up there? We need to go." The Warden Commander plants her hands on her hips and gives him the sort of look that would normally make him jump to attention. However, his attention is rather otherwise occupied.
And he really doesn't want to get off this outcropping of rock. It's safer up here.
"It's not so bad, really," say Sigrun, though she's got her nose wrinkled up and a grimace on her face. "I don't think they're poisonous."
"That's what you think," Carver mumbles.
The Commander sighs. "Nathaniel, could you just pick him up and carry him over the tiny pit of snakes?"
Nathaniel gives her a skeptical look, complete with raised eyebrows and crossed arms. "He's in plate mail. But I'm flattered you think I'm that strong."
Carver is always a bit surprised at just how intimidating the tiny elf is when she glares at someone.
"This is exactly why I wish Sten had never left," she says, and Carver is not sure he wants to know why she's wishing a qunari was here. "Someone find something to put over the snake pit. And someone get Carver off that rock."
"I really hate you, you know," Carver tells the snakes.
Does the rolling help?"It's not going to do anything," Nathaniel tells her even as Kiva Tabris dives out from behind one rock, tumbling neatly across the ground and back onto her feet.
"Yes, it is," Kiva says. "Besides, I know how to roll properly. Unlike some people."
"Does the rolling help?" Carver asks, the ways of rogues still very unfamiliar to him.
Sigrun pats him on the arm. "Oh, yes. Rolling helps ever so much. You should try it! It's even better when you're wearing heavy armor!"
Carver narrows his eyes. "Why do I get the feeling you're lying?" Sigrun grins at him and he lets out an annoyed breath. "Why is it that every dwarf I know is a compulsive liar?"
"Because you attract the best," Sigrun says.
"You two! Rolling time! Let's go!"
Shindig"Guys, I know I'm new, but I don't think the Warden uniform consists of dresses that are festooned with ruffles."
"What are you talking about, Carver?" Sigrun is looking at him with an entirely too innocent look on her face. "Everyone wears the ceremonial Warden ruffle-dresses to their first Warden shindig. It's in the rules."
He eyes her suspiciously. What is it with women trying to get him into dresses? Isabela had tried it too, but she hadn't succeeded. At least, he doesn't think she succeeded. He can't remember much about that night; too much ale. "Commander?"
Kiva looks up at him. "Hey, don't look at me. I don't wear dresses."
"I seem to recall you wearing a rather slinky one on Summerday," Nathaniel says. "You look good in pink."
She whacks him on the shoulder. "I look terrible in pink!"
"You look terrible in ruffles," Nathaniel says. "Besides, that was a compliment."
"I'm not wearing a dress," Carver tells Sigrun. The dwarf crosses her arms and looks at him for a long moment.
"You know," she begins, a grin on her face that Carver does not trust at all, "I think sparklefingers left some Tevinter robes here that would fit you. You'll look great in them! They'll show off your cleavage!"
"What?! I do not have cleavage! And I'm not wearing them!"
I love the smell of magic in the morningIf someone had told her, years ago, that she would one day have the love of two wardens, she would have told them they were crazy. She still doesn't understand exactly how this has come about, but that almost doesn't matter, because she is happy.
Hawke wakes in the morning to the smell of magic, something so intricately tied to Anders that she she cannot smell it and not think of him. He is not next to her and she is caught within Nathaniel's arms and cannot get up, but she is able to look over to where the mage sits by the hearth, gingerly waving his hands about before him. If she had to guess, she would say that he had singed his fingers relighting the fire. It's not the first time it has happened.
"Anders," she calls out, voice thick with sleep, and he looks back at her. "It's cold out. Come back to bed."
"Just relighting the fire to make sure we don't all freeze," he says, walking back towards the bed.
"Mmm, freezing is bad."
At her back, Nathaniel stirs. "You two are far too noisy," he says, voice muffled. "Can you stop being morning people, for once?"
"Nope," she tells him, and he groans and removes his arm from her waist, burying his face underneath a pillow as though that will allow him to go back to sleep.
"You're such a grump, Nathaniel," she tells him, and isn't able to make out his response.
"That's out Nathaniel," Anders says, sliding back into bed beside her. "Always so pleasant in the morning. I could have warned you about that."
Nathaniel throws the pillow at him.
Does it trouble your mind the way you trouble mine?Justice does not care for her. Not at all, Anders thinks, and that makes his own feelings for her so much harder to deal with.
It is like having someone constantly pointing out everything wrong with his emotions, making him feel as though it is wrong to care for someone as he cares for Hawke.
But he thinks only of himself in this, does not spare a thought for the differences between himself and Justice. He does not think - no, even bound to the spirit as he is, he cannot understand - of what his own thoughts and feelings might do to a spirit who has only ever know the memories of them.
And if Anders is to fall in love, Justice will feel that as well, regardless of whether he wants to or not. They are not the same, he and Justice, but they are close enough. So very close as to blur the lines between them.
Why are baby things always so cute?"Malcolm, I -" Leandra pauses at the threshold of the room, staring. "What are you doing?"
Malcolm looks up from where he sits and smiles at her. "I'm making a hat!" he tells her, and his grin is incredibly large and ridiculous.
"In...orange." She looks at it skeptically. "I never knew you could knit."
"I'm full of hidden depths," he says. "It's for our dear little girl. Or boy. Orange works for everyone."
Leandra coughs to hide a laugh, but the way Malcolm looks at her tells her that he knows she's laughing.
"Darling, orange is...perfect," she tells him.
"You, my dear, are a terrible liar."
Qunari Bakeries"We do not have shops such as these," Sten says as Tabris pulls him into the store. Not that he needed much dragging anywhere - he's rather curious about a store devoted to those delicious sweet foods - but the little elf has, for whatever reason, decided that it is terribly good fun to grab hold of whatever part of his arm she can reach and pull him along after her. And he has learned that it is better to simply go along with whatever she wishes, because she is ridiculously determined.
"You don't have bakeries?" she asks him. "That is far too sad. So you don't have sweets and cakes and little tarts with fruit on them?"
"What is a 'tart'?" he asks her. She sighs.
"You'll see," she tells him, and then turns to the shopkeeper, who looks rather terrified.
It might have something to do with the heavily armed qunari and equally heavily armed elf who are perusing his selection of cookies.
Cat NapThe windows in her room are high off the ground, letting in enough light to see, but not enough to fill every corner. But, at the right time of day, light falls down onto the carpet near her desk and remains there for some time.
Now, one of the oddities about Anders, she has found, is that, because he drives himself so hard, the moments that he manages to sleep are few and far between. He might catch a few moments here or there, but there are nights when he does not sleep at all, worrying her by never coming back from the clinic, or sitting in front of the fire working on something or other until the morning comes.
So, when she comes home from an excursion with Isabela to find him curled up on the floor within the little beam of sunlight, fast asleep with his face turned so that light catches on the curve his jaw, his cheek, the harsh line of his nose, she does not wake him. Only lets him sleep there, looking like a cat in a patch of sunlight, until he wakes of his own accord.
How long until your surrender?They run.
There is no place they can go, though, where they are not sought after. Not tracked, not hunted. They are not known everywhere, there is not such means of communication in Thedas that their faces would be known by everyone.
But they are hunted. Templars. The Chantry.
He catches up with them once, years after his issued threat in Kirkwall. Traps them within a village, no escape from his men.
"Stand down, Hawke," the man that was once a friend says. "My quarrel is not with you."
"Bullshit," she says, knowing that if she moves she will leave a path open to Anders, and she is not willing to do that. "I don't believe that."
"This ends with Anders," he says. "Stand down."