My amazing and wonderful friend @bitchesofostwick kicked off Ginny-fest (i.e. the celebration of me on or around my birthday) early by commissioning me a lovely piece of art inspired by my fic Puppy Love (vet!Cullen Cullistair AU, featuring Alistair’s mabari Barkspawn)!
LOOK AT IT 👀👀👀
The art is by the fantastic @bluekaddis, and look at the beautiful detail! Barkspawn is exactly how I pictured her, complete with bandage on her leg! The classic vet's office animal health posters blurry in the background! THE AWKWARDNESS THAT OOZES OFF THE VIRTUAL PAGE!
Barkspawn is so clearly on board with whatever these two stuttering, babbling awkward dorks eventually figure out about their relationship!
Thank you, Isabella, my sweet, dear friend, for such a wonderful birthday gift 🥰🥰🥰💚💚💚 (And thank you, bluekaddis, for delivering such perfection!)
Last but certainly not least in this month’s commission comes a piece near and dear to my heart. @ginnyq requested that I write a College AU fic starring Olivia and Cullen, and I was so happy to do it! Especially considering I know @bitchesofostwick would love to read it as well.
Thank you for commissioning me, Ginny, and giving me a chance to write Cullen’s POV for a change!
--
It is a dark, desolate evening in winter. Even the crows dare not fly. Across campus there is hardly a soul crawling about. The winter storms brewed on the horizon. There are warnings on the evening news for ice and sleet. Even a rural midwestern guy like Cullen knows not to fuck around with that. For most of the night he’s been in the living room of the apartment reading for classes. Cassandra has long since gone to bed, leaving him to hold the proverbial fort. On the TV, there’s headlines about various worldly stressors. Ever-so-often he thinks to shut it off, but falls short of doing so every time. It’s like the way the stories keep him awake, if not increasingly unnerved.
Which is why, when a small hand slams against the nearby window, he jerks out of half-lulled, half-jaded rest. Book, blanket, and legs go up, and he goes down hard onto the floor. First instinct is to go for the bat in the kitchen, one of few in the apartment placed in strategic locations. He can ask questions later. It’s not until he flips over onto his back and sees a familiar, but still horrifying pout in the glass, fogging it up with hot breath.
“Cull’n, oh-pn th-dor!”
It’s Liv, dressed in a dark windbreaker jacket with the hood over her head like she’s some nighttime security guard who also goes jogging after shifts.
“Liv…! What the--”
She quickly sticks her finger over her lips and demands he quiet down. She removes her other hand from the glass and points in the direction of the door. She’s staring at him like he’ll either unlock it or she’ll initiate a curse in revenge. Groaning as he rises -- damn, he landed on his hip in just the most painful spot -- he stands on his tube-socked feet and drags them over to the door. Rustling bushes can be heard from outside but they blend in with the erratic wind gusts.
Whatever could she want at this hour, and why does it involve almost sending him into cardiac arrest?
For the sake of not having to pay the school for apartment carpentry repairs should he refuse to let her in, he unchains the door and flipped the lock. Keen on the sounds of both, Liv’s pressing the door open with gusto that overpowers his wariness. “Ugh, thank you,” she whispers, slipping inside and shutting it for him. She then backed against it and locked it again. “Is Cassandra awake?”
“Cassandra?” he asks with a normal volume, only to have her finger waved in the half-step of space there was between them. So this is all to see her? Why?
“Shh-yes! Fuck.” She then slides to check around the corner.
“No,” he answers, grabbing her flailing hand. “What’s wrong?”
“Good. Dammit.” Without answering him she walks quietly into the kitchen and started pacing. “How could I have slipped up like this?”
“Uh…”
“No, no, there is no excuse.”
“I wasn’t going to say--”
“It is entirely reprehensible on my part, there is no way--”
“Olivia…!”
“Shhhh!” She spins around and shushes him again, her look twice as horrified as before. “For this to be fixed we have to be completely quiet, traceless, underc--”
Her phone goes off and she hops feet into the air, reaching into her jacket pocket and nearly flinging the iPhone across the kitchen, as if it’s a hot potato she grabbed out of the oven with her bare hands.
“Shitshitshit.” She scrambles and turns off the ringer while Cullen covers his mouth which is sure to be cracked in a half-smile. It’s just too much.
“Liv, what is going on?” he gets in as she makes for the small round dining table, sitting down and putting her head in her hands. “Are you in trouble or something?”
“I am. Or, I’m going to be. With Ellinor.”
He frowns. “Ellinor? Why…?”
“Um. Look, Rutherfudger,” she stares at him as he sits down across from her. She presses her hands onto the table flat. “I have a mission, and unfortunately for me, it requires the accompaniment of a capable man.”
“How...how disturbing, for you.”
“I know. But more specifically it requires you. At the present moment Ellinor is at a late night group project meeting, but when she gets back to the dorm she’s going to want a late night snack before knocking out.”
“...Yes?”
“A late night snack of the cheesy and carb variety.”
“...Yes, like those easy macs she…she...”
Olivia’s already pale face goes nearly paper white as she sinks back in her chair, slowly and with folding arms. Suddenly Cullen remembers a conversation -- a certain casual chat with Ellinor before class started, in which she mentioned a very specific qualm: Olivia had eaten all her easy mac bowls. Little blonde punk, she said as she pulled out her pens from her bag.
The urge to start laughing rears its ugly head again as Cullen folds his own arms against his chest. “Not again, Liv.”
“Again? What has she told--” she is almost yelling again, but shuts herself up. After craning her neck out behind her to check down the hall, she gets back to business. “Look--”
“What’s stopping you from driving down to Walmart and picking up some? You have your car.”
Almost perfectly timed, a rolling current of thunder goes off outside. The rain clapping against the window makes it barely audible. Olivia sighs, mulling her teeth a little as her gaze falls.
“I haven’t been able to go in and get my new tires put on, yet, and the forecast called for freezing rain. I am a good driver, better than any of you cowboys, but I’m not stupid. I’m not going to trust a mini built for speed out there.”
Still amused, Cullen leans his elbows onto the table. “So. You don’t really need a man, you need 4-wheel drive.”
“I thought the “man” thing would appeal to your...weakness to be chivalrous, or whatever. Masculinity.”
“You think me that easily manipulated?”
She presses her palms together with conviction. “Look, Cullen, I have not the time nor the supplemental resources to have this disk horse now. We have but one hour -- nay, 45 minutes -- to keep me alive and keep you from danger.”
“Danger? Pff, what danger am I in if I don’t help…”
Liv lifts a brow. “Two words: hangry Ellinor.”
The silence that fills the room is comparable to the kind that happens right before a giant shark busts in and devours one of them like a tootsie pop. He holds his breath, their eyes locked, before he’s up and reaching for the keys hanging on the door next to his equally necessary raincoat.
“Let’s go,” he says, but she doesn’t need the command. She’s already right there with him prying the door open.
Approximately 24 minutes later they are standing before a disastrous scene in the Kroger section with every kind of boxed and pre-made pasta dish. Every kind, that is, save for the Kraft easy mac. Maybe it is a sign of the apocalypse -- it is based on the look on Olivia’s face -- but to the onlooker it probably looks like two college students in the midst of a midterm breakdown that is being exacerbated by a 14 inch gap of nothing on the shelf.
“What...w-what, w-why are they out of it?” Olivia finally says. A silence that came only after she had spent way too much time pacing the aisle looking for where it could be, while Cullen stood in front of where they had always been.
“Would she like--”
“No,” Olivia answers fast. “No, it has to be easy mac.”
“...because she will no--”
“Notice. Yes.”
Cullen goes from wanting to “mistakenly” not see her banging on the window to wanting to almost hug her. For a 6-pack of Kraft?
“I could text Rylen and see if he has any in h--”
“Ellinor is going to kill me.”
He turns to the side and looks at her. Her posture and expression of defeat further warms him. “Hey, it’s just easy mac.”
“Yeah, but it’s also the third time I’ve eaten out of her pantry and forgot to replace it. I said I’d be better, and now I’m going to be. Or, I was. Now I’m just going to go back to the dorm and lay myself out on the guillotine.”
She starts to leave and he follows a few steps. “Liv, he--”
“No, Rutherfetta, you don’t get it--”
“Rutherf--”
“--Ellinor puts up with so much of my shit every day, and the least I can do is make sure she doesn’t go without her own damn mac.”
The comedy of the night has all-but-vanished and they are left at an impasse. Cullen is no Dr. Phil, or whoever is respected publicly for therapeutic insight these days, but he can tell there’s something else going on. Something that would give Olivia extra reason for wanting to follow through with this. It’s kind of odd being the person to witness it. Odd, but not awful. Not anymore.
He grabs his keys and shuffles in his socks and Nike sandals over to her. She folds her arms, and for some reason he sees fit to stick his arm around her and get her to walk with him.
“Come on, Liv, let’s go.”
“But...b-b-”
“I have a back-up plan in mind. Let’s just get back before the storm gets any worse.”
He drives them back to her and Ellinor’s dorm. Astoundingly, they do not take all night to do so, and avoid being swept away by the storm. Instead of staying in the car and saying God speed, though, he follows her inside. She eyes him with suspicion as he does. The two of them look a bit washed up coming down the hallway. When they arrive, Ellinor’s door is pitched open. She then comes out almost perfectly on cue.
Her eyes go big with immediate concern. “What on earth are you two doing?” she asks. She crosses her arms over herself, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. Her hair is tousled up in a ponytail. She’s beautiful.
“I, uh--”
Olivia interrupts. “Ellinor, I have to confess something, I...I-I...”
Hearing the guilt in Liv’s tone snaps him out of it. He shakes his head and grabs onto his keys in his pocket. “Liv was at our place, and gave me the idea to come over and surprise you.”
Ellinor’s eyes switch with suspicion between them both. She’s not entirely convinced, but there’s a light in her eyes. Hope.
“What? In this weather?”
“I didn’t plan on it being so shitty outside. I was going to fetch you and cook you a late-night dinner since you’ve been working hard all night.”
“W-hat? But I haven’t heard from you in…”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want my phone to drown in the rain.”
Ellinor relaxes and her arms fall. She looks tired and fed up with having to deal with big assignments and bigger egos all day. He knows that face and that dread. It wears on her. Olivia was right, in her own way, to be so frantically concerned -- but neither of them deserve to spend the rest of the night squabbling.
She looks at Olivia. “Is he telling the truth, or did you just conscript him to bury a body for you?”
“I...what?”
They share a half-second glance. For a moment Cullen wonders if she’ll go along, or if the pang of shame will make her confess no matter what. There’s awkward suspense, and then: “Pff, I wouldn’t call him to bury a body,” Olivia finally responds. She rolls her eyes, even. “He’s telling the truth. I just went along to make sure he didn’t mess up. Go on, now, go have your candlelit Rutherfeast.”
It isn’t until Ellinor has rushed in and out with warmer clothes, and they walk all the way down the stairs and into the fire lane where he’s temporarily parked, that Cullen feels his phone vibrate. He waits until they are in the car to check.
Liv: Thank you, Rutherfriend. Take care of her, okay? She deserves it.
Ellinor asks what’s got him grinning, and he just shakes his head and says one of the boys from the team sent a joke. Just enough time to respond:
Cullen: No problem, Sinclown.
Now, to text Cassandra and wake her up to check what’s in the pantry while he pretends to drive really slow for “the storm’s sake.” Sorry, Cass.
“What are you doing?” he asks, noticing Ellinor also texting.
Ellinor smirks and slumps comfortably in the passengers seat. Her thumb hits send on a message. “Telling Liv she better not eat my easy macs while I’m gone.”
(bitchesofostwick) one work prompt “daybreak” for hawke/merrill?
m!Hawke/Merrill with past m!Hawke/Athenril, “Polite, for a Rude Awakening” (AO3)
Hawke woke up in his bed, with an empty spot on his mattress whereMerrill would normally be. He instinctively reached out to check it, noting thatthe bed was still warm, and sat up, taking a few deep breaths to slow his pulsedown after it’d briefly skyrocketed.
Swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress, he startedpondering the next question that came to mind, namely where Merrill was. Idlygazing at the rectangle of light on the floor by the window growing brighter asthe sun rose above the horizon, he was trying to recall if she’d mentionedwhether she had something to do early in the morning.
He was sadly coming up short, his fingernails running along hisscalp not helping to jog his memory either. Hopefully he hadn’t said somethingto offend her last night, or yesterday for that matter. No, not that he couldrecall.
In fact, they hadn’t really had much in the way of privateconversation whilst they were clearing the Coterie out from Darktown—again—giventhat they’d been in the company of Aveline and Isabela the whole time, andmoreover anything been said was probably giving each other heads-ups on yetmore assassins, or an apostate throwing fireballs at them from around thecorner. They hadn’t said much when they came back and washed up, either.
Well, maybe it was best to ask her in person…wherever she was. Hawkethrew on his robe and found his slippers, sensing the scent of breakfast as heheaded downstairs, finally seeing Merrill fussing between the kitchen and themain hall, wearing an apron probably appropriated from Orana and finallycarrying out a large pot contained something full of spices and flavours.
Noticing that Hawke was coming downstairs, she deposited it on thetable, greeting him, “Oh, good morning, Hawke! You’re finally up.”
“Good morning, Merrill,” Hawke said, reaching the bottom of thestairs. “What’s all this about, then?”
“I’d been planning this for a while, actually,” Merrill said,untying the apron and tossing it over a chair. “I’d noticed some herbs wesometimes use for our furmenty on the Storm Coast so in between slicing upTal-Vashoth I thought I’d make something traditional.”
“Well, this is fantastic, Merrill, but you really didn’t have to—”
“Oh, I won’t hear that,” she said, “We’ve cooked for each other awhole lot, so consider this a favour returned, with nice ingredients thistime.”
Hawke considered the gruel in his bowl, holding a spoonful up. “Areyou saying the stew I cook on the road doesn’t have nice ingredients init?”
Merrill pondered the question for the briefest of moments. “Well,no.”
“Oh.”
“Not that you’re choosing not to, I meant! It’s just that werarely have the chance to cook with fresh herbs, so…oh just try it already,Hawke,” Merrill ordered tenderly.
“Very well,” Hawke said, taking a sip. The taste blossomed in hismouth, savoury on the tip of his tongue, then peppery as it danced on hispalate, leaving behind a pleasant aftertaste as he swallowed it down. Looking overto Merrill, he mouthed through the remainder of the frumenty, “This isdelicious! You know, when I woke up this morning and didn’t see you there, Iwas concerned I’d something wrong, but this is—”
“About that,” Merrill said seriously, putting her own spoon down.
One could hear a pin, or a spoon, drop.
Hawke slowly turned his gaze to her as he slowly relaxed his armenough to put his spoon in his bowl, saying, “Well, seeing as you’ve managed tosuccessfully entrap me with breakfast—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she huffed, “I wanted to eat this anyway.That’s totally unrelated.”
“In that case, what is this about, Merrill?”, Hawke askedhesitantly, fiddling with his fingers.
Merrill tilted her head coyly, asking, “Did you know you talk inyour sleep? It’s actually quite cute, you know.”
“I…have been told, yes,” Hawke said. “What was it that Isaid?”
“Oh, nothing. Just her name.”
Hawke froze. Of all the women that Hawke knew, only one had such alooming presence over him that even a pronoun referring to her could be saidwith such acridity. Namely, his former employer and sexual partner (Lover? Thatword wasn’t in her lexicon.)
Drawing a breath, he tried to explain, “Merrill—”
“And it wasn’t even in full. You muttered ‘Thenni’ a couple of timesearly in the morning. Hawke, I just need to know: how much do you still thinkabout her?”
He shook his head. “Never. Not consciously. Maybe something aboutcarving up Coterie thugs must have brought some memories of working in hercrew. That’s all.”
Merrill sighed, staring into her cereal. “I suppose you’re right,Hawke. It’s just that for someone who was such a large part of your life…”
Hawke said, reaching out for her hand. “No, you weren’t wrong inbringing this up. We had an arrangement on top of my contract, and while Ithought I was getting everything I wanted, she was just using that while shewas using me. It took a long time, and meeting you, to figure out that itwasn’t healthy. Not our relationship, not our contract…none of it. I know I’drather crawl in a bottle than talk about it previously, but I think you’reright.”
Merrill curled her fingers, gently holding Hawke’s palm, and noddedin comprehension. “You don’t have to, not right now. But…thank you, Hawke.”
“Thank you, Merrill,” Hawke said. “I think it’s about time Iaired it out, and if I can’t with you, there’s nobody else I can. I don’t knowif I can ever truly get past what she did to me, but I know I have to try.”
“That’s all I wanted to hear,” she said with a smile. “Now come on,finish your breakfast. It’s getting cold, and I’d hate to see all my hard workthis morning go to waste.”
“Understood, messere,” Hawke said, releasing her hand and getting towork on it. “Shall we go back down to the Wounded Coast today?”
“Well, if you’re dealing with those Tal-Vashoth again, I couldcertainly help you whilst getting more of these. Let me know if you find thosetrees with the sharp pointy flowers. They’re red. It’s the bark which is givingthe frumenty that particular kick.”
Hawke gulped down another mouthful, smiling as he said, “I’ll besure to do so.”
As it so passed, it was a peaceful day on the Wounded Coast, andthey were able to pick out their ingredients relatively undisturbed, enjoyingit the next morning—and Hawke even helped out this time.
text overlaid atop the dragon age logo that reads "@bitchesofostwick is the coolest. She’s so supportive and kind, while also being a great writer herself."
Warning, bit of a downer ahead! I’ve had this scene in my head for so long, and have wanted to actually confront Trea’s grief in full for so long, that I kinda got a bit intimidated. Glad I finally got to it, though. There’s something so satisfying about writing angst that’s been brewing in the background for so long. So, thanks very much for the prompts! Trea Adaar x Josephine Montilyet for @dadrunkwriting & @hell5bell5 / @bitchesofostwick & @tevivinter.
The fireflies are glittering all around her, dipping and dancing at the direction of her fingertips. She circles with them, relishing the feeling of grass between her bare feet. She laughs when she manages to catch one, peeking through her fingertips to watch the flicker, before opening her hands in an arc to watch it fly away again. She glances at her mother a few feet away, sitting against the tree with her eyes closed and hands folded in her lap. The image is jarring, she knows it is, but can’t quite figure out why.
Bringing a hand to wipe away the sweat beading on her forehead, she rushes forward. “Can we swim for a bit? Please?” She takes her mother’s hands in hers and tugs a few times.
Her mother looks up, smiles in a way that makes the edges of her vision blur, and squeezes her hands gently. “It’s getting dark, imekari. We should be heading back soon.”
“Oh, but please? Just for a little while?” Her insistent tugs bring her mother to her feet and she grins despite her determination to be pouty and convincing. “It’s just so hot and I wanted to show you my strokes! I’m so good at them! Please?”
Her mother laughs and scoops her up to sit on her shoulders. “Fine, fine, you win. But just for a little while. Are you ready?” Her mother asks as she approaches the nearby lake’s shoreline. She just claps in response and giggles.
“Yes, yes!” Warm hands grab her from under her arms before she’s being tossed into the lake, flying through the air before hitting the surface with a splash.
***
Trea wakes up with a start, the feeling of falling washing over her for the quick second it takes to jerk upright. The dream is still flooding her senses. She swears she can still smell the lake, the summer wind, the grass of the meadow. She looks down at her hands, struggling to catch her breath, blinking furiously to rid herself of the flickering that lingers across her vision. Her skin is calloused, rough and dry, but it’s the shaking she focuses on, the way her fingers look so empty, the way they feel so...
Her throat is tight and the room is starting to spin. Trying to keep her wet gasps quiet is not doing her breathing any favors. She swallows thickly and carefully pulls back the covers, moving to stand and escape out to the balcony when a hand brushes against her wrist.
“Trea?” Josephine’s sleepy voice sounds and it only tightens Trea’s chest further. “Is something wrong?”
Her feet touch the floor as she sits on the edge of the bed, leaning forward and dropping her head in her hands. She doesn’t trust herself to speak, just closes her eyes and tries to focus on evening out her breathing. The sheets rustle behind her and then Josephine’s hand presses to her shoulder, trails its way down, rubs gentle circles against her lower back. Trea’s breath catches and she hates herself for it, trying to cover it up with a cough rather than let the sob escape her scratchy throat.
“Please let me...I wish you would...I wish I...” Josephine struggles for words and Trea glares at the floor. She doesn’t know what to say. For once, she’s the one who can’t find the words. And it’s because of you. She deserves better. Josephine lets out a breath. “I want to fix this for you, I want to help. Even if it is only to listen, I would rather you—”
“It was just a dream,” Trea shakes her head. “I’m fine.”
Josephine presses a kiss to the top of her spine and she shivers. “A nightmare. Maybe if you tell me—”
“No, a dream.” Trea pushes off the bed. “Or...or a memory. But it couldn’t have been. It couldn’t. She would never be so...so...”
“Who?” Josephine’s voice is barely above a whisper and Trea’s fists clench.
“My mother.” Her voice wavers at the admission and she clears her throat. She starts pacing alongside the bed. “But it felt so real. It felt like it happened before, or it could have. If things hadn’t...it was just a dream. I know that. But I’ve never wanted to fall back asleep so badly. Just to...just so that we could...I just needed more time.”
Josephine presses against her in a hug from behind, pausing her pacing and holding her close. “Cálmate, cariña. Breathe.”
Trea isn’t sure when she finally lost the battle, but she can feel the tears run down her cheeks now and her every breath catch in her throat. “I woke up and it hurt. It hurt and I actually...missed her.” Trea’s voice broke into a short laugh, a scoff at the very thought. “Isn’t that funny? I missed her. Her, the woman who drove me away, the woman I could never hope to please. The first person I ever knew, the only person I had for years.
“And I don’t even know if I’m missing a real person, or fragments of a person that could have been, a collection of childish fantasies. Just stupid hopes and dreams.” Trea crosses her arms over her chest, holding tight and pressing hard. Josephine’s hands around her middle feel like feathers in comparison. “I don’t know what to think anymore, I don’t know how to make it make sense. I mean fuck, it’s been weeks since the funeral and this is the first time I’ve cried, I’m...” She lets out a breath and every nerve ending inside her buzzes at the sudden feeling of calm that washes over her senses. “She was right. I’m just a shitty excuse for a person.”
Josephine’s embrace drops away as she suddenly spins Trea around. Her gaze is hard, even as her hands brush up to gently wipe Trea’s cheeks dry. “Stop this. Don’t go there. You know that’s not true.” Trea can’t meet her gaze and her chin drops to her chest. “I know that’s not true.”
Her voice is feather-light and it makes Trea wince. All she can do is shake her head.
Slowly, as if not to startle her, Josephine takes large hands in her own smaller ones and guides them both back to bed. With gentle nudges and gestures, she gets Trea to lay down and curled into her chest, bringing the blankets up around them again.
Trea can’t help but feel ridiculous, all coiled in like a child. Her knees bent up and her hands folded in close, she barely fits in the embrace of Josephine’s much smaller form. She can’t imagine what it looks like — a big, burly qunari, the Inquisitor herself, on the verge of tears once more because of a simple embrace. She squeezes her eyes shut.
“All of this is just... This will pass, my love.” Josephine says in a whisper before pressing a kiss to Trea’s forehead. “Everything will look better in the morning. Just sleep now.” She doesn’t sound convinced by her own words and Trea bites her lip. She can’t blame her.
But she opens her eyes and resolves to stay awake. She can’t afford the risk of dreaming again.
(1) Excellent, top tier memes, just so good, excellent, A+ content
(2) Bad-ass lady OCs that will stab you – I love them all, but Aurelia does have a special place in my heart, because she was the first of your rogues I read about.
(3) Awesome eye make-up, like so jealous of your skills. All the pictures always look so good!
And bonus, cause this is me and I break rules (sometimes), lovely, takes-no-shit mutual with a cute cat and unique perspective!
mutuals send me a 🌠 and i’ll tell you three things i associate you with
Thank you so much dearie <3 Alistair and Leohta, pre-relationship, just being cute and fluffy. It’s more or less a follow up to this previous fill, but you don’t have to have read that to understand this. (Ofc I’d appreciate it if you did but.) Good for all audiences, ~1650 words, for @dadrunkwriting!!
Leohta sighed and rubbed at her eyes, then sat up in her tent. “Can I bring my blanket?”
“You can bring whatever you like, just don’t bring me late for dinner.” Leohta narrowed her eyes at the face between her tent flaps, trying to figure out if she was still asleep or if that just made that little sense. She wasn’t sure if Alistair could see, but the way he scratched at his hair told her her took the meaning of her silence even if he couldn’t make out her expression. “That sounded a lot better in my head. Anyway, c’mon. Your watch.”
Alistair disappeared and Leohta sighed again then kicked off all the layers she’d buried herself under and reached for her boots. The Frostback Mountains were living up to their name tonight but at least the snow had held off. In fact, that was probably part of why it was so cold; Leohta hadn’t learned a lot about surface weather but she had learned nights like the one she saw when she finally stood and left her tent were bound to be the coldest. Flawlessly clear skies let what meager heat the stone under them had gathered during the day escape, making everything colder. She tugged her blanket around her shoulders and trudged toward the fire.
Alistair gave her a little wave as she sat, then edged around the fire to hand her a mug. It didn’t really matter what was in it, only that it was warm in her hands, but that also wasn’t her main focus. “I’m awake enough now, Alistair, you don’t have to stay up.”
“I know, but I want to and I don’t think you’re awake enough to stop me. Besides which, if you’ll indulge me,” and here she narrowed her eyes again, equal parts curious and defensive, “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
She lifted the mug closer to her face to breathe in the steam then grimaced. Tea. Ugh, but still, hot, and thoughtfully made, so she evened her expression back out. “I’m listening.”
“Well, it’s less talk to you about something and more talk while showing you something.” He stood again, this time moving closer to her. “May I?” Leohta tilted her head to the side, indicating where he could sit, and Alistair joined her. The change in temperature between them was immediate and she was grateful for that at least, if still dubious about what he was planning to show her.
“If you wanted to show me it’s warmer when we sit together, I knew that already.” She leaned over, bumping him with her shoulder.
“It is nice, isn’t it? You’re welcome. But no,” he barreled on, “that’s not it. I don’t know if you remember much about the night after we left Kinloch Hold but you talked about something that night and I thought of something that might help.”
In truth she didn’t remember a great deal about that night beyond spending far too much on mead that was far too sweet (she still had a bottle in her bag) and making a catastrophic fool out of herself in front of Alistair, but surely he remembered more than she did. Her nod was a little tentative, careful of what was hazy in her memory, but if there was anyone she trusted not to take advantage of that, it was Alistair.
“You were talking about the sky. The moons and the stars, asking how they stayed up where they are but still changed all the time. Now, I’ll be the first to tell you I’m not smart enough to tell you how they stay up there other than it’s where the Maker’s hand put them, but I can tell you they don’t change as much as you might think they do.”
As he spoke, Leohta lifted her head to look up at the sky again. There they were, glittering like well-lit diamonds laid out on rich velvet. Beautiful, sure, but if that were done with diamonds and velvet, the diamonds would tumble down. The stars, not so much. “They’re like the sun, they rise and set, they’re literally always changing.”
“Not really. See, the stars are so constant, people treat them like a map. You can navigate by them, if you know how.” Leohta chanced a glance over at Alistair but he was looking up, the same as she was.
“And do you know how?”
Alistair laughed, thin white puffs in the dark. “Not even a little. I think it’s mostly for sailors. I do know about some of the constellations, though.”
“Constellations?” Something to do with the stars, but the word itself was just unfamiliar enough that she had to ask.
“Groupings of stars that represent things. Like, well, look. Do you see those four bright stars there that sort of form a curved line?” Leohta looked over again, then looked up and followed where Alistair was pointing. They all looked bright to her but after a moment she thought she saw it.
“Sure...”
“So perceptive, I knew you’d see it. Now, just up from the center of the line, there’s another star? It’s not as bright but it still stands out.”
“Yeah.”
“We’re up to five. Now, one more, it’s pretty far down but it’s in a straight line from that top one.” He sounded genuinely excited to be sharing, and it was contagious. It felt like solving a puzzle together, except of course he already knew the solution.
“Right, and that makes six?”
“Yes, and that makes the Sword of Mercy. That’s the sword used to signify the Templar Order, so we all got taught where to find that one. See, the line is the crossguard, then the handle and the blade.”
“And somehow that becomes a map?” She couldn’t help but be a little skeptical. One little star picture didn’t seem like much.
“Well, part of one, but think of it this way. Even if the stars rise and set, those six stars will always be in the same position relative to each other, so you’ll always be able to find those stars, and then...” Alistair was quiet for a second before laughing again, but differently this time. Softer. This time when Leohta looked at him (why couldn’t she just make herself keep looking at him, she wondered then quickly dismissed), he was looking down at his own hands. “Then it all falls apart because I don’t actually know how to use the stars to figure out much of anything. I just thought if you knew that they weren’t up there whirling around madly, you might not be so suspicious of them. Not sure I managed that, though.”
“You did.” Her answer was immediate and, to her relief, it got Alistair to lift his head. “It helps to know that if you know enough about them, it all makes more sense. Like how dwarves can find their way through the Deep Roads thanks to our stone sense even if it looks like an anthill to most surfacers. Once you’re familiar, once you know something, it’s easier to make your way through it. Even if you don’t personally know how,” she added quickly in case he thought she meant the only value was in the navigation. It wasn’t. It was in the knowing.
Her meaning seemed to get through to him, if the soft, boyish smile on his face was any indication. It warmed her more thoroughly than any tea would have, and Leohta realized that she’d probably have to figure out what to do about that sooner rather than later. Not right this second, though, because Alistair was speaking again.
“Since there is a whole sky, that’s not the only constellation, but the rest of them are more complicated. Over here, there are eight stars that form a ship if you know how to look at them.”
“If you know how to look at them?” She laughed and craned her neck to see where he was pointing now. “Is this like when you taught me to find animals in the clouds and you and Sten spent half the day fighting over whether you saw a rabbit or a nug?”
“Nooooo, these are ancient and venerable designs dating all the way back to the height of the Tevinter Imperium. That being said, over here,” and Leohta was proud she only went still for a second when Alistair looped an arm around her shoulders to pull her in closer and give her a better view of the portion of the sky he was indicating, “there is a nug constellation. It’s very complicated, a couple dozen stars to get all the toes on their weird little feet.”
“You’re full of shit, Alistair.” The fit of his side against her felt tailor made, even the angle of his arm set perfectly to accommodate their differing heights. How many times had he considered this, she wondered, to be able to do it so effortlessly in one try?
“Excuse me, which one of us has lived under these stars his entire life? And besides, would I ever mislead you about something as critically important as finding a nug in the sky? Leliana would never forgive me. If you’re really not ready yet, though, the ship is easier. The sail is a little lopsided, so you have to use your imagination.”
Leohta did spend the rest of her watch using her imagination, but in the crook of Alistair’s arm, it was evenly divided between the stars above them and the ones she felt twinkling inside her as he spoke. She wasn’t sure he really knew more than a small handful of real constellations, but around the time he tried to convince her that one of them was a Mabari, she decided it didn’t really matter. Alistair was the thing she was really learning about, after all, and she had to get to know where she was better before she could determine where she was going, didn’t she?
