It may be a little late but it’s time to kick off the Fill-A-Thon for another year! From Dec 15 - Feb 28 just choose one of 2000+ prompts and write a fill of over 1000 words and you’ll go in the draw to WIN ONE OF THREE GREAT PRIZES!
For the fourth consecutive year, the DAPromptExchange is holding the Summer Winter FILL-A-THON. What’s that, you ask? Basically a time to delve into the archives and fill those prompts!
THERE ARE THREE AWESOME PRIZES YOU COULD WIN JUST BY FILLING A PROMPT.
GRAND PRIZE - A PRIZE PACK INCLUDING:
- a copy of Tevinter Nights by Sylvia Feketekuty & others.
- a Black Kaddis Mabari plush & pin set
- a sticker pack including DA and writing related stickers
SECOND PRIZE - UP TO $20USD TO SPEND AT THE BOOKDEPOSITORY ON YOUR CHOICE OF DRAGON AGE NOVEL OR WRITING GUIDE.
THIRD PRIZE - A 2K WRITTEN PROMPT OF YOUR CHOOSING FROM THE ARCHIVE, COMPLETED BY YOUR CHOICE OF AVAILABLE AUTHOR.
So whether you’re new here or you’re a Fill-A-Thon OG it’s time to pick a prompt and get writing!
RULES AND ADDITIONAL INFO
Entrants may choose any prompt from the exchange including prompts crossposted from the kink meme (but not including prompt lists), those that have already been filled, and prompts that are posted during the competition period. Eligible prompts will be tagged with #prompt
Fills must be over 1000 words to qualify.
Fics must be Dragon Age related but may include OCs and AUs.
Fills may be chaptered or long works and EACH completed 1000 word block constitutes one (1) entry into the draw (up to a total of 25,000 words)
Word counts do not roll-over into new fills.
Chaptered works do not need to be complete by Feb 28 to be eligible but must be posted in part.
Only new works will be eligible for entry and does not include new chapters of previously started works.
Co-authored works will not be eligible for entry.
Fills must not breach the rules of the Exchange and any kind of character bashing or hate speech will not be tolerated.
Plagiarism is not taken lightly and any plagiarized work will be disqualified (this includes the author’s own - don’t take work you’ve already written and change some names. Not cool.)
Other rules may apply and rules may be updated at any point.
Post your work however you like but if you do post exclusively to AO3 then don’t forget to let me know that you’ve filled a prompt! (I’m no mind reader!) Otherwise you can reblog the prompt with your fic attached, or write a new post and tag the Exchange.
Of course, the main idea is to have fun and get creative! All fills will be reblogged to the Exchange so followers can keep up to date on new works.
For more information and clarification, please see the FILL-A-THON FAQ!
The First Prize pack includes items selected by the moderator and cannot be substituted in whole or in part or exchanged for a cash prize. The items included in the pack might change based on availability and a new prize might not be substituted. The pack will be shipped to the winner at the expense of the moderator but all taxes or customs charges will be the responsibility of the winner.
Second Prize is up to $20 USD to be used to purchase one (1) book from the Book Depository. It cannot be substituted for cash or other prizes unless the aforementioned site does not ship to the winner’s country in which case an equivalent prize will be substituted by the moderator. If the total of the selected item is below $20, no change will be given or put towards other items.
The chosen author can choose not to fill a prompt at their discretion and the winner will be required to either a) choose an alternative prompt, or b) choose an alternate author from the list. A minimum of 2000 words will be written for the prompt but the author may choose to write more if desired.
The DA Prompt Exchange is not affiliated with Tumblr, Yahoo!, or other subsidiaries in any way.
If you have any questions about the giveaway or about the Prompt Exchange in general, feel free to ASK us any time!
fandom: dragon age
rating: G
characters: anders/m!hawke
words: 2.8k
additional tags: modern au, fluff, humor, first meetings
description: when hawke’s dog frightens anders’s cat into a tree, hawke insists on rescuing her. unfortunately, this feat is not as easy as he thinks it is.
a/n: i'd been working on this for a little while and then found out today (well technically yesterday where i am) is international cat day and was like I Must Finish This Today. so here it is lol. this is one of the funniest, stupidest (in a good way) things i've ever written. this was done for the @dapromptexchange summer fill-a-thon, for this prompt (found here): "One of Anders' cats gets stuck up a tree. Hawke goes to get her down and -- promptly gets stuck in the tree."
read it on ao3
—
Hawke’s dog, Angus, is the definition of a gentle giant: he’s friendly and loving, but the fact that he weighs over 150 pounds and stands taller than a dwarf tends to intimidate both people and animals. People, Hawke finds, are usually fairly easy to reassure. Animals...not so much.
When Angus sees another living being, his natural inclination is to bark at it and try to approach it, not because he wants to hurt it, but because he wants to be its friend. Apparently, though, this does not translate well to other animals, and now Hawke is standing in someone’s front yard like a dumbass while he tries to figure out how to explain to the owner that his dog chased their cat into a tree.
As if on cue, while Hawke is staring up at the tree branch where the silver tabby cat is perched, the front door of the little one-story house opens, revealing a lanky man who looks to be close to Hawke’s age, with reddish-blond hair pulled up into a small ponytail. He’s kind of hot, actually, in a messy, sleep-deprived sort of way.
“Madame Fluffykins?” the man calls. “Madame Fluffykins, where did you go?”
Hawke tries his best to suppress a laugh at the ridiculous name, but it doesn’t really work, so he ends up making a sound kind of like he’s about to throw up, but with more snorting. Real attractive. Predictably, Angus barks at the man and pulls at the leash in an attempt to get closer. This was all it took to frighten Madame Fluffykins into the aforementioned tree, but hopefully her owner isn’t as fearful of large dogs as she is.
The man nearly has a heart attack at the sight of Hawke and Angus standing in his front yard, Angus’s tail wagging a mile a minute and smacking Hawke repeatedly in the leg. “What—?”
Hawke laughs sheepishly. Pointing up at the tree, he says, “I take it Madame Fluffykins isn’t a fan of large dogs?”
The man groans exasperatedly and strides across the lawn until he’s standing next to Hawke under the tree. Up close, Hawke can see his stubble, his freckles, his prominent nose bridge, the crinkle of his eyes, and suddenly this situation is significantly less terrible.
“Great,” the man says, breaking Hawke out of his gay trance. “It took two hours to get her down last time.” With a sigh, he pulls out his phone. “Better get ahold of the fire department.”
“Wait!” Hawke blurts. “You don’t need to do that. I can get her down.”
The man raises a skeptical eyebrow, reluctantly slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Really?”
“Of course,” Hawke says eagerly. He’s totally bullshitting, he knows it, but he has to make it up to this guy somehow. The least he can do is fix the problem he caused. “I’m great with animals.” Beside him, Angus barks happily, as if to back him up.
“If you say so,” the man replies, but if Hawke isn’t mistaken, there’s a hint of a smile on his face now.
Hawke sets the leash on the ground. “Stay,” he tells Angus, though he doubts the dog would stray from him, especially when there’s still a cat to befriend. Angus lies down in the grass and gazes up into the branches expectantly. Madame Fluffykins makes a mrrrow sound from her place among the leaves.
Hawke eyeballs the trunk of the large tree. He doesn’t think he’s climbed one since he was a child. Luckily, this tree has a few low-hanging branches to give him a decent start. Besides, he works out fairly regularly anyway and has a considerable amount of upper body strength. This is his chance to impress Anders and get back into his good graces at the same time.
With one hand on one branch and one on another, Hawke hefts himself up onto the tree, scrabbling for a foothold for a few seconds before remembering that this isn’t the same as rock climbing and that there isn’t anything underneath him to put his feet on. Instead, he hastily grabs for the next branch, and then the next one, pulling himself up and up until he can rest his feet on the branches he started with. When he glances over his shoulder, he sees the man staring at him, less with amusement now and more with awe. Awkwardly, Hawke says, “I, uh, I work out.”
The man crosses his arms over his chest. He looks like he’s just barely holding back a smirk. “I can see that.”
While Hawke is contemplating his next move, it occurs to him that he never actually introduced himself. “Oh. Uh. I’m Hawke. By the way.”
“Anders,” the man replies, a twinkle in his eyes.
Hawke forces himself to return his attention to the tree and the cat. He can gawk at Anders later.
Some of the branches are oddly placed, because trees don’t grow according to whether or not a human is going to climb them, but for the most part, climbing gets easier once Hawke gets a bit higher up and the branches get closer together. Surprisingly, Madame Fluffykins stays put, as if she’s realized now that she’s gotten herself into a bit of a conundrum. Hawke tries not to think about anything but the task at hand, and after a short while, he finds himself sweating but finally eye-level with the cat, who eyes him suspiciously.
“Hello, kitty,” he says. “Mind if I get on your branch for a second?”
Predictably, Madame Fluffykins does not respond.
Hawke grabs the base of the branch with both hands and hoists his whole body up, steadying himself enough to be able to sit on it, though it bends ominously under his weight. It’s then that he finally gets the chance to look down.
Hawke fancies himself a man of few fears. Spiders? No big deal. Clowns? Not a problem. The dark? He revels in it. Bears? He is one. The height of the tree barely even crossed his mind when he offered to get Anders’s cat back. Now, though, as he notes how small everything looks from up here, hyperaware of the way the branches creak and sway in the summer breeze, he suddenly finds himself feeling extremely vulnerable.
Shit.
Hawke turns his attention to the cat, mentally shutting down any thoughts about how high up he is and how at any moment the branch could break and he could fall to his untimely death at the age of twenty-four. “Here, kitty, kitty,” he says in a high-pitched voice, making little kissy noises and reaching a hand out while using the other to cling to the branch for dear life. The cat takes a few tentative steps forward, never taking her eyes off of him. Hawke laughs nervously, racking his brain to try to remember what Merrill does to get her cats to come to her, when suddenly he has an epiphany.
“Madame Fluffykins,” he croons, making a pss-pss-pss sound and gesturing for her to come toward him. The cat takes another few steps forward and leans back. For a moment they both just stay like that, frozen in time, eyes locked. Then Madame Fluffykins launches herself into his arms.
Hawke catches her with his free arm and holds her protectively to his chest, then dares to glance back down at the ground. Now he’s the one in a conundrum. He only has one free hand, it’s too far for him to jump without seriously injuring himself, and he’s scared to death of moving from this spot in case he slips and falls—but the longer he stays here, the higher the risk of the branch snapping from his weight.
“Impressive,” Anders calls, hands on his hips. “What now?”
“Um,” Hawke says brilliantly. “You...might end up having to call the fire department anyway.”
Anders snorts and shakes his head. “Now you’re stuck up there, too? Maker’s breath.”
“Hey, I only have one free hand!” Hawke says defensively. “Unless you want me to, I don’t know, toss your cat down for you to catch—”
“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Anders replies, though he still sounds vaguely amused. “She’d hate us forever.”
“I didn’t think so,” Hawke says with a chuckle. He can imagine that being thrown from this height would be extremely distressing to most pets, and he’s not one to judge—he’d never do anything to traumatize Angus like that, either.
The branch makes a small cracking noise that causes Hawke to immediately envision himself falling to the ground, his body scraped up by branches before he crashes down on top of Anders and crushes his noodly, gangly figure. That would be bad. “Uh,” he says anxiously, “might wanna get around to calling that fire department. I don’t think this branch is going to hold out for much longer.”
“Oh. Right.” At that, Anders breaks out of whatever trance he was just in that caused him to stare at Hawke so intently for those last few moments. At least, he thinks Anders was staring at him, but he was probably just keeping an eye on Madame Fluffykins. Yeah, that would make more sense.
Anders calls the Kirkwall fire department and sheepishly explains the situation, though he leaves out a few details about how, exactly, the cat got stuck in the tree in the first place. “They said they’ll be over as soon as they can,” he says when he gets off the phone, and then all that’s left to do is wait.
That probably isn’t too much of a problem for Anders, but Hawke isn’t having a whole lot of fun balancing precariously on a branch while Madame Fluffykins squirms in his grasp. In an attempt to distract himself and mask his apprehension, he says, “So. I’ve never seen you around here before.”
“I just moved into the neighborhood a few weeks ago,” Anders replies, sitting down on the ground next to Angus, who is now lying in the shade with his head in his paws.
Despite himself, Hawke snorts. “And you’ve already had to call the fire department to rescue your cat more than once now?”
Anders laughs a little. “Madame Fluffykins is...a bit skittish, especially in new surroundings. I have a cat door installed out back for her to go in and out. Don’t know why she doesn’t just run inside instead of climbing up a tree when something scares her.”
Hawke still can’t hold back a stupid grin at the name. “Speaking of,” he says wryly, “where’d ‘Madame Fluffykins’ come from?”
Anders shrugs and smiles a little. “It’s sort of continuing a tradition. My parents let me name our cats when I was younger. I had one named Mister Wiggums, and then another named Ser Pounce-a-Lot. I thought they were fun names. Still do. They have character.” He turns toward Angus and gives him a scratch behind the ears, though he looks a little wary, like he’s not quite sure what to do around such a large dog. “What about you? What’s his name?”
A gust of wind startles Hawke, and he tries not to think about the loud rustling of the leaves or the way some of the thinner branches swing wildly. “Angus,” he says once it dies down, holding on tightly to Madame Fluffykins—for her safety or for his own comfort, he’s not quite sure.
Anders nods. “A strong name,” he says. With a chuckle, he adds, “It kind of sounds like Anders.”
“Sure, it sounds cool, but the story behind it is a bit less so,” Hawke replies, smiling fondly at the memory. “The day we brought him home as a puppy, we had Angus beef burgers for dinner as a treat. When I grabbed mine and went to take a bite, Angus jumped up and snatched it right out of my hands.” At that, Angus lifts his head up off the ground and tilts it to the side. Hawke laughs and calls down, “Yes, you!”
Another crackling sound breaks him out of his brief moment of...not bliss, exactly, but less fear than usual. He glances over at where the branch is connected to the trunk and notices that it’s starting to splinter. It’s still a fairly large, sturdy branch, but a couple more minutes and it’ll probably fall. Hawke holds onto the trunk even tighter than he has been. “Hey, uh,” he says, trying to sound casual, which fails horribly because his voice shakes, “did the fire department give any sort of estimated time of arrival? The branch is...having a bad time. And so am I.”
Anders raises his eyebrows in alarm. “You can’t...move to another one or something?”
Hawke, having been paralyzed by fear into staying put, had assumed that this possibility would be a no-go. It occurs to him now, though, that he doesn’t have to hold Madame Fluffykins, since the fire department is coming to rescue them both anyway. He could set her on one branch, giving him the use of both his hands, and hop over to another nearby branch, as there are a few sturdy-looking ones in his general vicinity. The funny thing is, though, that part of him doesn’t want to let her go. He can tell himself that it’s just because he’s overly concerned for her safety, but the truth is that he feels...better holding her. The feeling of her warm fur against his chest and the sound of her breathing against his neck is almost calming, making him feel a bit less vulnerable.
Before either of them can say anything, though, Hawke spots a large red truck making its way down the street. “Oh, we’re saved!” he crows, automatically breathing a sigh of relief, though he still won’t be anywhere near comfortable until he’s back on solid ground. “Did you hear that, Madame Fluffykins? We’re saved!”
The firetruck parks on the side of the road. As the ladder slowly elevates to Hawke’s level, he realizes, to his chagrin, that his friend Aveline is the one coming to rescue him. Of course. He’ll never hear the end of this one.
“Hawke,” she says as she climbs up the ladder, looking disappointed but not surprised. “I should’ve known it was you.”
“Aveline!” Hawke says cheerfully, though he can feel his face heating up from embarrassment. “What can I say? I tried to do a good deed. It backfired spectacularly. Story of my life.”
“No kidding,” Aveline says as she reaches toward him and takes Madame Fluffykins in her arms. There’s a faint smile on her face, though.
“Well, it was a valiant effort,” Anders says from his place at the base of the tree. Hawke tries not to blush.
With both arms free, Hawke wastes no time in climbing onto the ladder and following Aveline back down. As relieved as he is, it’s not until he’s finally back on the ground that his heart stops pounding in his ears. Angus leaps up at the sight of Madame Fluffykins and wags his tail as he watches Aveline place her in Anders’s arms. “I’ll be taking my leave,” she says curtly, but her eyes crinkle with affection. Anders thanks her awkwardly, and then, as quickly as she came, she drives off, leaving Hawke and Anders standing across from each other.
“I’m really sorry,” Hawke says after a moment. “Angus just gets excited. He would never actually hurt her.”
Anders smiles a little as he sets the cat down. Predictably, she scurries around the back of the house and presumably inside before Angus can get a good look at her. “It’s fine. Really.”
He doesn’t sound like he’s lying, but Hawke still doesn’t feel right just leaving it like this. Then again, maybe that’s less of him being an honorable person who always pays people back and more of him just being very gay.
“Wait,” he says. “I have to make it up to you somehow.”
Anders shakes his head, looking almost astounded by Hawke’s offer. “It’s no trouble, Hawke, I swear. You don’t have to—”
“But I want to,” Hawke insists, pulling out his phone. “Hey. Are you free tonight?”
Anders blinks, clearly stunned. “Um—yes. Why?”
Hawke flashes him an easy smile. He can be awkward and stumbling, yes, but he can also turn on the charm when it really counts. “Dinner’s on me. Your pick.”
For a moment, Anders just looks dumbfounded. Then his face breaks into a full-on grin, the first one Hawke has seen so far. “I knew you were a bear.”
Hawke nearly chokes on his own laughter. Looks like Anders’s gaydar is working just fine. “Well,” he says with a mischievous smirk, “I did say I was good with animals.”
Anders tries not to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all—and fails miserably.
In response to the @dapromptexchange prompt, also found here on AO3:
“With the mark comes increasingly severe chronic pain - pain like the Inquisitor has never experienced. They keep it under wraps, though, not wanting to appear weak or have anyone pity them. But some days are worse than others and their intake of potions made by the healers plus their own herbal remedies and even alcohol are beginning to become noticeable to others. How does their LI find out and help them? If it is Solas, does he feel guilty for causing this?”
Pairing: Cassandra Pentaghast x Female Trevelyan
Words: 3540
Rating: T
---
Elera Trevelyan was woken up to the feeling of fire in her veins and sudden breathlessness, her private quarters—usually dimly lit by the moon’s light—aglow with a sickly green hue. She grabbed the pillow behind her in time to shove her face into it and muffle her agonized scream, body curling into a tight ball and arm convulsing freely as the pulses from the mark on her hand came steadily. She wasn’t sure how long it was until the pulses slowed and finally stopped, but by then Elera was covered in sweat and her throat felt raw. Her entire arm twitched from the after effects of the mark’s spasms, veins still feeling like fire but slowly ebbing into the dull throb she normally felt on good days.
If tonight’s episode was anything to go by, today would not be a good day.
Elera sighed in defeat and reached over to her bedside table, tugging the drawer open and pulling out a small bowl, a cloth, and a half-empty bottle of Tevinter wine Dorian had gotten her for her birthday. With a wave of her hand the bowl was filled with water, and she began the tedious process of wiping the sweat from her brow and checking on her arm, the same as every night. A few weeks back she’d found blood oozing from a battle-earned wound, reopened from the intensity of the mark’s spasms, but tonight she was lucky. Instead of blood, she noticed what looked like several scars creeping their way up her arm, tinted the same shade of green as the mark on her hand.
Elera grabbed the wine bottle, uncorked it, and chugged straight from the bottle.
She’d deal with the panic that would no doubt come in the morning. The moon was still bright in the sky, way too early an hour for her to be up, and at the moment Elera wanted nothing more than to sleep. She set the bottle aside and curled back under her covers, covering her hand with the pillow she’d screamed into to block out the light glow from her palm.
Just another average night for the Inquisitor.
***
Elera had a routine.
It started at Maker-knew-when at night when her mark decided she needed a little more pain in her life, a pain so sharp that when it had first happened her scream was enough to summon some guards who believed she was being murdered. Solas had assured her that once the Breach had been closed, the pulses were sure to stop and she’d finally get a full night’s rest, and--fool that she was—Elera had believed him. She’d suffered the pitying glances from her fellow troops and supposed worshipers each day while at Haven as she made her way from her cabin to the healer for a potion or two, then later to the tavern for a stiff drink. Blackwall had often joined her once he’d been recruited to their cause, the two of them swapping stories about their home and the biggest creatures they’d fought; a real dick-measuring contest. The Iron Bull, of course, beat them all once he figured out her routine, though half the time she wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth. Properly drunk, Elera would stumble back to her cabin, stare at reports that she didn’t know half of the words of, and collapse onto her bed to cycle through the day again. Missions were a little more difficult, but Solas was a competent potions-brewer and Dorian always had a flask on him, either of them helping her through depending on her party for that trip.
The pain didn’t stop with the Breach, though, but Skyhold didn’t need to know that. She was no longer Elera Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste, which was daunting enough on its own. She was Inquisitor Elera Trevelyan, leader of the Inquisition and a figure all of Thedas was to look up to if Corypheus was to be stopped. Showing pain wasn’t an option for her, so she had to hide it.
Her pain-filled nights never stopped, but it was easier to hide that with how secluded her quarters were from the rest of the hold. Elera had given the staff strict orders to only clean when she gave the go-ahead to stop any accidental discovery, and so far they had obeyed. From her room she made her rounds, gritting her teeth against the throbbing that seemed to increase in pace and intensity when she was near Solas for a reason she couldn’t understand. Perhaps it was lucky she always looked stressed or tense, because no one bothered asking why her jaw was clenched enough to hurt, nor why she kept her hands clasped behind her back when she could help it. By the time she got to Cassandra the surgeon would finally be in sight, and Elera told herself that was the only reason her heart leapt in excitement. It was never the way Cassandra swung at her training dummies that made her react that way, with her toned muscles flexing in the rising Orlesian sun under a loose shirt that hung just right (because she didn’t always wear armor, contrary to popular belief). Nor was it the way Cassandra would startle slightly when she noticed Elera approaching, a slight smile touching her lips in acknowledgement.
No, it was because the surgeon had the stronger healing potions that she’d always been awful at making herself. It had nothing to do with her ill-fated crush on Seeker Pentaghast.
That never fooled the surgeon, of course, not after the woman saw Elera run into a wall several times already as Cassandra swung at the practice dummy with well-practiced ease, stopping just short of chopping its head off or puncturing it beyond repair. It was embarrassing, to say the least, and she was proud when it didn’t happen again, the only embarrassing aspect of the morning being that Cassandra caught her staring and smiled at her.
Smiled. Elera could swoon from a smile like that.
She entered the surgeon’s building and quickly shut the door behind her, ignoring the older woman’s chuckle as she took a few breaths to slow her heart rate. When she was certain her flushing had stopped, Elera finally looked to the surgeon, an older woman with a kind smile that reminded her of her mother. She remembered vague details about her family, having been eight when she was brought to the Ostwick Circle, but she was certain her mother had a smile like Surgeon Rein.
“Hiding from your object of affection again, Lady Trevelyan?” Rein teased, and Elera brushes the hair out her face with her good hand to compose herself.
“Please, I haven’t been a lady in twenty-seven years,” she responded, sitting on one of the free cots and smiling warmly at the surgeon. “Do you have the potion ready, Rein?”
Rein’s smile faded, and she grabbed the potion from the top shelf with practiced ease. “I always do, my lady. How was the pain last night?”
A flash of intense pain sparked through the mark at the thought of the previous night, and she stifled her gasp by clenching her jaw tight. “It was worse than previous nights, I admit. Unfortunately, I can say that I’ve had it worse than this.”
The surgeon tutted and knelt before Elera, examining the mark and tracing the branches from it that traveled up her arm, tinted the mark’s unique shade of green even when the mark itself was otherwise dormant. “There’s only so much I can do to help with this matter, my lady. Perhaps Solas would be able to relieve some pain that my potions and tonics cannot.”
“No,” Elera said quickly, almost tanking her hand from the woman but just barely resisting. “It is bearable with what you’re able to provide, I promise.”
“It is spreading, Elera. It cannot be that bearable if it is consuming more of your arm each day.”
Elera swallowed thickly and looked away. She knew the surgeon was correct, that seeing Solas was likely the best solution for whatever was going on, but she didn’t want any of her companions to see her as lesser for being unable to handle the mark. She didn’t want Cassandra to see her as lesser, more truthfully. If it affected her field work, however, and endangered her teammates…
“I’ll consider it,” she finally said, voice trembling slightly. “I owe it to the people I fight beside, don’t I?”
Rein smiled gently and nodded. “They will be more understanding than you believe, my lady. Even your Seeker.”
“She’s not my Seeker, Rein. Nor am I a lady.”
“If either of those become true statements, then I will follow them as such. Until then, you are of House Trevelyan, a noble household, and I shall respect you as such—mage or not. Likewise, if you confess your affection to Seeker Pentaghast and she does not reciprocate, I will stop referring to her as yours. Believe me, though: she holds more affection toward you than you believe.”
Elera gave the surgeon a small smile and nodded. “Thank you. I’ll let you know if I’m right and you’re not.”
Rein smiled cheekily and stood, brushing the dirt off of her knees. “I would expect nothing less of you, my lady.
***
In the end, it was her own stubbornness that revealed her pain to her companions, rather than her approaching Solas for help like Rein had suggested.
Elera had meant to go to Solas, honestly, but soon after meeting with the surgeon her advisors had told her the sooner she got to Crestwood the better. The humidity and general dreariness of the place didn’t do anything for her mood, let alone the pain that seemed to worsen in bad weather. Though the constant rain had ceased after she’d helped get rid of the large Rift in Old Crestwood, it still rained about as much as the Storm Coast, and hunting down the Rifts she’d missed the last time they were there in such bad weather wasn’t the best. Varric and Solas were arguing with one another a few feet ahead over Cole, something that was becoming increasingly common between the two of them, and at her side, Cassandra huffed.
“They’ll never agree,” she said. “I do not know why they bother arguing circles around each other every day.”
“They both care about Cole in their own way,” Elera said, smiling fondly at the two men. “Solas keeps treating him like a spirit, and Varric a human, so they’re bound to disagree.”
“But he is a spirit,” Cassandra said, brows furrowing.
“He’s the most human spirit I’ve met. Unless Cole says something to me, and so long as Cole is treated kindly, then why does it matter?”
“I suppose you have a point. You can be the one to get that in their heads though.” Cassandra nodded at the men, and Elera laughed, bumping her arm against the Seeker’s fondly. For a moment she thought she saw a light flush on her cheeks, but that had to be because of the weather. Armor could get hot, and humidity did nothing to lower the heat of Crestwood. The silence dragged between the two of them for a time, only filled with Varric and Solas’ arguing and the pattering of rain against the cobblestone path they walked along, and it was comfortable in a way that Elera only felt in Cassandra’s company.
Which should’ve been weird, considering when they first met Cassandra was holding her prisoner, but no one was perfect.
A familiar green hue flickered up ahead, and Elera tensed, reaching back and grabbing her staff from its holster on her back. Her companions did the same at once, their eyes to Elera for the okay. They had a routine: she would aim her mark at the Rift to drain its power and weaken the demons that came from it while the others attacked them, join them while the demons were down until the Rift reaches full power again, rinse and repeat. It was only a matter of getting close enough to start the process, and Elera muffled the sound of her footsteps as she inched closer.
The mark flared as it usually did around a Rift, but rather than tingling it felt ready to burst, and she shoved her hand at the Rift to close it. The mark burned as it sucked the power out of the Rift, and Elera let out a scream, clutching her forearm and dropping her staff—a critical mistake. The demons were going after her at once, but her companions made swift work of the majority of them. Cassandra used her shield to block the ice beam a despair demon shot her way, glancing at Elera as she cast a barrier around them both.
“Are you alright?” Cassandra asked, though it was more of a shout so she could be heard above the demons’ shrieks. Elera nodded quickly and brought herself to her feet, grabbing her staff and casting a bolt of lightening toward the despair demon.
“I’ll be okay,” she responded. “Go help the others. I’ll be alright here.”
Cassandra seemed hesitant but conceded a moment later, nodding and running toward the pride demon trying to attack Varric. Sweat was on Elera’s brow, and she wiped at it before continuing with their routine. Fire, attack, weaken the Rift, repeat. It was elementary at this point, but each time she weakened the Rift she nearly collapsed again. Even while fighting her companions kept sending her worried looks, but Elera just downed a health potion and continued her onslaught until the Rift was weakened enough to close. Her knees were weak and her breathing was heavy, but she shoved her hand at the Rift anyway to close it; somehow, it hurt worse than just draining it did. She tried to swallow back a scream but ultimately failed, sounding more strangled because of her effort and feeling as though her arm was about to fall off.
If this was death, she’d gladly take it, though she’d miss seeing Cassandra every morning. A small price to pay for relief from this.
When the Rift closed she fell to her knees, arms wrapping around her to keep her from falling any further. Elera looked up and saw worry in Cassandra’s eyes, said eyes flickering between Elera’s face and her left hand. So much for a secret, she mused internally.
“Are you alright?” Cassandra asked, and Elera laughed painfully.
“No, not really,” she admitted truthfully before passing out, the last thing she heard being Cassandra ordering Solas to look her over for injuries.
***
Elera woke Maker knew how long later in an Inquisition camp, the red tent ceiling instead of her scrappy brown travel tent giving it away. She was in her night clothes and covered by what felt like two blankets, both pulled up to her chin and still managing to cover her short figure. It could’ve been a normal stop at camp, truthfully, but then she remembered the Rift and winced. That was certainly a way to reveal how much pain she’d been in since Haven, and not the way she’d intended by far, but what was done was done. She groaned and tried to sit up, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her.
Cassandra.
Elera winced and lay back down, staring up at the other woman uncertainly. The contemplative look on Cassandra’s face could mean anything, she’d come to learn over the past year, so she had no idea what to expect. It didn’t seem like she was inclined to speak, though, so Elera wet her lips and asked,
“How long have I been asleep?”
“About half a day,” Cassandra responded. Elera’s mind froze.
“Did you say half a day? Seriously?”
The Seeker raised an eyebrow. “Would I lie to you?”
She winced and sighed. The unlike you went unsaid but was certainly understood. “I’m just surprised. I haven’t slept that long in… in a while.”
“Because of your mark?”
“Yes, because of my mark.”
“Why didn’t you tell me it troubles you?” Cassandra asked, looking genuinely hurt. Elera’s heart broke; she hadn’t wanted to hurt Cassandra. “We could have gotten you proper help if we had known you suffered.”
“I didn’t want to worry any of you,” she admitted quietly. “I’ve dealt with pain before. It hurt like this back at Haven, and I couldn’t stand the pitying looks everyone gave me, Cassandra. I don’t want pity. I can’t stand it.”
“I believe you mix pity with concern,” Cassandra said slowly, pulling the blankets back from Elera and lifting up her left hand. Elera tensed, ready for pain to flare up, but was surprised to feel nothing but vague pins and needles along her arm. When she sat up that time Cassandra didn’t stop her, instead using her finger to trace the veiny branches that emerged from the mark to just above her wrist. She watched silently as she did so, uncertain of what to make of the situation. “I too often find myself mistaking concern for pity,” she continued, eyes flickering up to meet Elera’s own. “As a Seeker, we are meant to withstand enormous pain without flinching to do what needs to be done. As a Pentaghast, I am expected of the same for far less noble intentions. During my time with the Inquisition, I have taken a great deal of hits that led me to sustain serious injuries. Did you pity me while I was in pain?”
“No,” Elera said quickly, eyes widening. “I thought about dragging you by the ear to lay down and rest though.”
Cassandra chuckled and nodded. “I suspected as much. Tell me, then, why you would believe we would pity you, when you obviously do not pity us while we are in pain?”
“I—” She hesitated, looking away and rubbing her neck with her free hand. “I don’t know. In the Circle, when someone was ill or in pain we hid it in case a Templar saw and used our weakness as an excuse for punishment: Tranquility, because we couldn’t fight back, isolation under the guise of keeping disease from others, sometimes worse just because they could.”
“That is repulsive.”
“That was reality,” she countered, frowning. “I know you and Cullen wanted me to side with the Templars while closing the Breach, but between what was happening in Redcliffe and my experiences in a Circle personally, how could I not support the mages? Maker, I couldn’t show it, but when I heard Kirkwall’s Chantry went in flames and the Gallows were destroyed by the infighting I was ecstatic. Would Andraste and the Maker want a world like this?”
It was Cassandra’s turn to frown, and they both watched each other for a moment, neither trying to make the first move. Elera could slowly accept that she saw concern, not pity, but if the mark brought enough pain to knock her unconscious, what good was she as Inquisitor? She swallowed thickly and closed her eyes.
“So—”
“Elera—”
They both chuckled a bit awkwardly, and Elera nodded. “You first.”
Cassandra nodded and gripped Elera’s marked hand loosely in both of hers, her eyes intense as she looked at her. “I wish you had told me. I have… I have come to care for you a great deal since we founded the Inquisition, and seeing you collapse on the battlefield not from an enemy, but from this mark, terrified me.” She paused. “I do not want to see you come to harm, and if your pain is more chronic than temporary I wish to help you however I can.”
“Seeing you every morning helps me,” she murmured, blushing when Cassandra grinned. Slowly, as if she could scare Elera away with any sudden moves (which was possible, given her history), the Seeker brought the hand she held up to her lips and brushed them across her knuckles, her cheeks a deep crimson red.
“Is that why I’ve seen you run into walls while looking my way?” Cassandra teased, and Elera giggled to hide (or show) her embarrassment, nodding and leaning closer to the other woman.
“Perhaps.” Elera steeled her resolve and took a deep breath as she said, “Cassandra, I’ve come to care for you deeply as well. If I may, could I take you to lunch or dinner sometime? Just the two of us? There’s this little restaurant in Val Royeaux I’d love to try with you.”
“I would like that.”
The tent flap opened to the two of them grinning like idiots at one another, and Elera didn’t even mind when she heard Varric laugh at them. “You two finally got over yourselves, huh? Good for you. Hey Chuckles, she’s awake.”
She vaguely heard Solas explain how he’d cut off the majority of the pain she felt through the Fade and agreed to seeing him every few days to keep the mark from spreading any more than it already had, her mind more focused on the fact that she had a date with Cassandra.
Surgeon Rein would be delighted to be able to say ‘I told you so’. Elera couldn’t find it in herself to mind.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Title: Renovation Words: 10646 Summary: Written for @dapromptexchange’s Dragon Age Summer Fill-a-thon! Prompt: almost entirely out of spite, Lavellan paints over Solas’ fresco in the rotunda. What does she paint instead? If you liked it, check out the other things I’ve written here! XD
Paige Brosca & Leliana. Dragon Age [Hero of Ferelden Paige]. 774 words. More under the cut. AO3. | @dapromptexchange
Prompt: The Warden has spent months on the road, sleeping rough, and generally living covered in dirt and darkspawn blood. Leliana helps her primp for the Landsmeet with nice clothes and a new hairstyle. It's quite the shock to her companions. [x]
I love my asexual/aromantic dwarf commoner. (´ ▽｀).。ｏ♡
There was an odd sensation this gave her, watching herself in the mirror as Leliana ran a brush through her hair. She’d barely recognized herself in the gown her friend had picked out for her - a brilliant royal blue with sleeves that fell off her shoulders and silver jewelry. A necklace hung from her neck with a gold jewel. Earrings dangled, brushing the sides of her jaw when she moved her head. She wondered if this was how the Orzammar royal family felt.
It didn’t make her feel like she was above anyone else. There was still some semblance of herself in that mirror.
Leliana was humming as she brushed and clipped the dwarf’s hair up. This part… This was genuinely nice. Paige found herself closing her eyes, imagining she was back in Orzammar, Rica was braiding her hair and they were fantasizing about the life they would one day lead, the casts they would one day belong to. They had always been just that, fantasies. But now Bhelen owed her for keeping his ass on the throne, and she’d made him swear to give her sister a proper cast. And she was a warden now. She and Rica were no longer castless. They had gone their separate ways, but they were both freer than they ever had been before.
Now she had a new sister of sorts. Leliana had been a dear friend since they’d met in Lothering. They shared different religious views, that much was obvious, but it wasn’t hard to respect each others’ faith. She didn’t have to like the Chantry in order to respect Leliana’s faith.
When she opened her eyes, Paige still found a sister styling her hair, smiling fondly at her. Except it was Leliana, not Rica. But still, wherever she went, her ancestors had given her a sister to have by her side. She didn’t think she could have done this without Leliana and Morrigan. Yes, the men were important to her too, but there was something about a sisterhood. Leliana and Morrigan made her feel stronger than the others did. There was something special about women supporting other women.
Next came the makeup. She’d always done her own makeup, but no one had ever said she did a good job at that. Like everything else, it was odd, sitting still as Leliana applied her lipstick. Her friend’s face squished in concentration, making it very hard for Paige to resist laughing. When she was done, Leliana stood beside her, beaming with pride as she watched her friend look into the mirror.
Paige wondered if this was the beauty Rica had always seen in her. Looking at her reflection, she didn’t feel fully like herself, but she also didn’t feel completely unlike herself. It was, well, odd.
“That’s me,” she blurted out, eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. “I’m still… Me.”
“Of course you are,” Leliana replied, slinging one arm across the warden’s shoulders. “Nothing can ever change who you are.”
Paige found herself frowning faintly. “But I’m beautiful now.”
When the silence stretched, she looked up to see Leliana watching her with sad eyes.
“You have always been beautiful,” the bard assured her. She knelt down and placed a hand on her arm. “And you will always be beautiful.”
She took Leliana’s hand in her own and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
When they left the room, she had to hike her dress up in order to not step on it and trip. She’d worn dresses before, but never this nice. She’d never draped her body in silk - or was it satin? She’d never worn either of those materials so she had no clue what the difference was. She had nothing to compare this dress to except rags and her warden armor.
Alistair fumbled with his sword and ultimately dropped it when he saw her. Zevran grinned and let out a whistle. Morrigan met her eyes and matched her smile with a small one of her own, an unspoken word of approval between the two women. Oghren looked like he wanted to say something but was afraid of getting an axe tossed into his skull.
Good instincts, Paige thought.
“You look lovely,” Wynne said like the mother she obviously was. A better mother than Paige had ever had.
Shale huffed. “Can it still fight in that?”
Paige held her hands out, and Zevran placed her dagger in one and her axe in another. She tossed them up in the air and caught them by their hilts, grinning wickedly as she came to look at her friends.
First, thank you to everyone who participated! 2020 was a tough year and I knew there would be a drop in participation from the previous year, so I’m extremely grateful to those who did participate and fill a prompt. Also, a big thanks to anyone who reblogged the Fill-a-Thon post, helping it reach others! We had some first time participants this year which is always good to see.
But, without further ado, please congratulate the lucky winners of the Winter Fill-a-Thon!
@imakemywings, you’ve won a prize pack including a copy of Tevinter Nights by Sylvia Feketekuty & others, the official Black Kaddis Mabari plush and pin set, and a sticker pack including DA and writing related stickers.
@laurawritesandgames you've won $20USD to spend on your choice of Dragon Age or writing book from The Book Depository.
@queen-scribbles you’ve won a 2000 word fill from your choice of prompt from the Exchange.
Thank you again to everyone and I wholeheartedly wish you the best for 2021! 🎉 Stay safe, stay healthy, and stay happy & hopeful. ❤️
⁉️ Things You Might Not Know About the Exchange ⁉️
There have been a bunch of new people floating in recently so I thought it would be a good time to put up a few things that vets might know about the Exchange, but newbies might not! Share this post if you would like, or if you have questions, please feel free to ask!
You don’t need to claim prompts. Create for whichever prompt you would like, at any time. There’s no pressure to fill prompts or finish a work.
Prompts can have multiple fills. Saw a prompt you like but it’s already been filled? No problem! You’re free to fill the prompt in your own way, no matter how many times it has been filled before.
All kinds of fan work are accepted! Art, graphics, fanfic, long-form meta, aesthetic boards, music - however you want to fill a prompt is perfectly acceptable.
You can change the characters in the prompt. Like a prompt but would prefer it was with another pairing? Go wild! You can change the characters, or even the setting, on any prompt you like. As long as the core of the prompt is filled, you have license to change it up to suit your needs.
All DA related works will be reblogged or posted, and linked from the original prompt. If you’ve used different characters, they will be listed next to the link to your fill, just so people know what they’re getting into should they click.
Not a DA fan? That’s fine! There are a number of followers who aren’t DA fans but enjoy the prompts and prompt lists. You’re free to use any of the prompts here for whatever fandom you’re in, just maybe give the Exchange a shoutout in your Author Notes 😉
You can submit your own prompts. In fact, please do! About 99% of the prompts here are written by me and that’s hard on the old brain. So if you’ve got a prompt, please send it in via an Ask! Prompts don’t need to be elaborate and can feature anything - day to day life, high school drama, couple’s cuteness, crack, friendships, etc.
All prompts are SFW. I decided to keep the Exchange SFW as the DA Kink Meme already existed at the time. I also wanted to focus more on story and plot related prompts, rather than the majority just being kinky. However, you’re free to include NSFW content in your fills; just leave a note or tag to indicate the work has explicit content.
The Fill-A-Thon happens once a year. Generally it runs in summer but this year I pushed it back to winter due to everything. The Fill-A-Thon is a time to delve into the archives and fill prompts! There are also some awesome prizes up for grabs for those who participate.
The Exchange is a Discrimination Free zone. Racism, classism, sexism, antisemitism, homophobia, transphobia, bi/aphobia, ableism, or bullying, threats, character bashing, and the like is not tolerated. Sometimes a work may feature canon depictions of prejudices and discrimination, so I ask that you please tag anything that may be upsetting or triggering. Be courteous and respectful of others.
