I have absolutely 100% not been in a good headspace for actually quite a long time but I guess I’ll come out of my hole for these two 😂 this is probably the only piece I’ll end up doing for this years event but we’ll see.
Happy 14 Days guys!!! I’ve thoroughly enjoyed all that I’ve seen! Keep up the fantastic work!
(Referenced the art “la Belle Dame sans Merci” cause I have not had a single original thought in my head 🤣)
“Maker give me strength,” Cassandra hissed as she spurred her horse to go faster. Hot on the tail of Trev, she did her best to catch up, but the Inquisitor looked intent on getting herself killed. “Trev! Slow down!”
“But—” Trev jerked her head, looking as the hart she was chasing neared. “I’m going to jump.”
“What?” Before she could grab the back of Trev’s flapping cloak, the Inquisitor leapt. “Why?” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Why does the Maker test me so?”
With two hands, Trev held onto the hart’s antlers and yanked. Predictably, the hart cried out and tried to buck her off. But it also slowed down. That gave Cassandra a chance to pull up alongside.
“Trev! What are you trying to do?”
Trev hung on by gripping the hart’s flanks with her thighs. “Get the hart to stop. We have to get the arrow out.”
“Arrow?”
“Yes!” That single word got dragged out as the hart tossed Trev violently about. “Help me!” Cassandra couldn’t see how and drew her blade. Trev’s eyes widened. “Not like that!”
Cassandra rolled her eyes, but instead of slashing at the hart, she secured a rope around her pommel. With one swift throw, the sword pierced the tree she aimed for. The rope stretched across the trail. The hart, alarmed by the foreign object, skidded to a halt.
Trev panted heavily as she stroked the hart’s neck. “We’re here to help. Just relax.”
Cassandra dismounted and made a makeshift leash, looping it around its neck. Trev took the chance to twist around on the hart’s back. The arrow protruded from its flank. A trail of blood stained its tawny coat. Carefully, Trev extracted the arrow. The hart moaned but kept still. It now understood they were trying to help.
Arrow extracted, the hart licked the healing potion off Trev’s hand and bolted for the safety of the forest. Trev stretched and winced. “My poor butt…”
Cassandra grunted. “And whose fault is that?”
“I was trying to help!” The Inquisitor protested.
Cassandra expressed no sympathy and went to retrieve her sword. But she couldn’t help the smile that twitched at the corners of her mouth. No doubt the Inquisitor was young and reckless, but she had her heart in the right place.
I'm having a hard time focusing on writing right now, but I wanted to share the piece I had been working on for this years 14 Days of Dragon Age Lovers prompts before the month is out.
After a long day on the road again, Sarovanya settles down with Leliana and asks her to share more of what she knows about the Maker and the Chant of Light. Leliana happily obliges, singing a version of the chant she'd learned as a lay sister.
Setup and rendered in DAZ Studio 4.21. Postwork in Photoshop Elements 8.0.
Happy Friday / DADWC! From the 14 Days DA Lovers 2023 prompts, for your Thalia/Blackwall or Thalia/Cullen, may I submit: Frilly Cakes?
Ha, I love this! I know the "frilly cakes" thing originated with Blackwall but I went with hard mode and wrote something for Thalia/Cullen 😅
Just a lil shippy nonsense for @dadrunkwriting and @14daysdalovers
WC: 781
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The buffet table was piled high with with pastries: elaborate tiered trays that displayed the miniature delights. They came in a variety of shapes and colors. Thalia saw square ones dolloped with creme and drizzled with chocolate, round ones crowded with raspberries and dusted with sugar, heart-shaped ones filled with lemon curd, and more. Her stomach rumbled as she stared at them from across the room, over the shoulder of yet another Orlesian diplomat.
Her smile had been frozen on her face so long her muscles began to hurt. As soon as she bid adieu to one masked noble-person, another took the vacant spot in front of her. She shifted uncomfortably in the pinching shoes she wore under her long gown, but didn’t dare move. Even though she was starving.
“If you’ll excuse us, Comte,” came a honeyed tenor that made her heart soar, “I’ve need of the Inquisitor for a moment.”
Cullen appeared in front of her, looking quite fit in the scarlet and gold of the Inquisition uniform. He offered her an elbow, which she gratefully took. If the the Comte thought this behavior strange, the face behind the mask gave no indication.
Cullen led her into a narrow room adjacent to the ballroom, chillier than the rooms being used for the fete, but quieter and dimmer as well.
“What is it? What’s happened?” Thalia asked.
“Ah— well, nothing, per se.” Cullen threw her a secretive smile. “You just looked like you could use a break.”
Thalia let out a relieved sigh. “I do, thank you.” She sat down on a chaise lounge and propped her feet in the air, rotating one sore ankle. “My hero.”
“It’s the least I could do. Maker knows I’ve felt similarly, in this sea of sharks.” He strode to the ajar door, casting a furtive glance through the crack. “It should be a few minutes before they notices you’ve gone. Is there anything I can get for you?”
“Oh, I’ve been dying for a mille-feuille.” Thalia sighed. “Or perhaps a madeleine.”
A thin line appeared between Cullen’s eyebrows, accompanied by a puzzled silence.
“One of the frilly cakes at the buffet table.” Thalia forgot, sometimes, low little Orlesian he knew.
“Ah. Well, that shouldn’t be too hard. Wish me luck.” His grin was quite brave and dashing; it made her giggle.
“Oh, good luck.”
Cullen arrived back in record time, with a tiny plate with an equally tiny pastry on it. Neither a mille-feuille nor a madeleine, but it had several delicate layers of pastry and was topped with a generous portion of icing.
“Incredible,” Thalia said, sitting up. The stay of her dress had been digging into her ribs and she wished for a pair of trousers so that she could be rid of the ridiculous obstacles known as skirts, but this was a worthy consolation.
She took the plate from him and pressed the cake into her mouth with far less grace than befit a lady, but it was so delicious she did not care. She chewed carefully, letting out a hum of delight. “Mm, amazing. You know, Orlais might be a den of vice and backstabbing, but their food is always…”
She trailed off, noticing the way Cullen gazed at her, with half-lidded hazel eyes and a jaw slack with desire. Thalia’s cheeks grew warm. “What is it?”
“You’ve, er, got a touch of icing, that’s all.” He motioned vaguely toward her face.
“Oh, how unbecoming.” Thalia drew her tongue over her lips, which didn’t seem to do anything.
“No, no, ah— may I?”
Thalia nodded, and Cullen leaned down, drawing his thumb along the corner of her mouth. Thalia stared up at him, a thud shuddering her heart at the way he hovered, close enough for her to see his individual lashes and the stubble that clung stubbornly to his jaw. His eyes caught hers, and they froze.
“Hi,” Thalia breathed.
He swallowed thickly. “Hello.” He cupped her cheek and moved closer. “I didn’t get all of it. I think there’s enough here to… to…”
“Lick?” Thalia supplied, and they both began to laugh.
“Not without your permission!” Cullen exclaimed.
“Well,” she said, still giggling, “consider this your license to lick.”
He closed the space between them and kissed her just above the edge of her mouth. She felt the tip of his tongue touch her from between his teeth and let out a pleased chortle. She turned her face, kissing him full on the lips as the sweetness of the icing melted between them.
“That was pretty good,” Cullen murmured when they parted.
“The cake or the licking?” Thalia teased.
“Please,” Cullen said, turning bright red. “I’m embarrassed enough as it is.”
