#fereldencommander

[sicilianrcse]

DESMOND

HANDS DELICATELY WRAPS AROUND THE LOOSE BOW TIE, lips lingering over his as he spoke quietly to her in such sweet hushed tones. She had no idea what came of her, but to all of the other fellow first-class passengers, they thought of her as a proper--reserved woman...Well, for the most part. Eyes glanced back at the room before making her eyes fixed back on the man before her. There was a shrug to her shoulders, lips slightly parted. " Because I don't want a man that thinks I must rely on him or need him. I don't want a man that desperately needs me, either. Not for my looks or for my body either. If I shall have a man, it will be a man that I want. Not at all based on his wealth or social status, either. "

STARTER // continued ask meme // @fereldencommander

[merrillvaskirkwall-blog]

Mun -- are there any Dalish traditions that interest you? Muse -- are there any things your mun does that you find fascinating?

Sure there are.  I enjoy the thought of getting a mark on your body that is unique for the coming of age ceremony.  It is like a bright neon sign that says you’ve matured beyond a certain point in your life.  Granted some people would see that as a regression; others would say that we’re still able to do that if we choose; and others would say that it’s more of a symbol like going to college or graduating high school.

I’ve always had some interest in campfire stories and preservation of nature.  The idea of magic is seductive, and a part of me wishes it truly did exist, and that I was capable of using it.  But that isn’t a Dalish tradition, but it would be interesting to be a First or a Keeper or both.  I have always enjoyed educating people and having all the knowledge of the tribe locked away in my head to teach to generations just sounds exhilarating to me.

[Sure there are a few things I find interesting that he does.]

As if you pay attention to anything I do.

[Well, I suppose that’s true.  I don’t really pay much attention to him, in fact the tax office kind of scares me.  Cubicals, strangers, tax…]

See, nothing that fascinates you about me.

[That’s not true.  Your ability to manage your time is astounding to me.  I wish I was able to do the same.  Sometimes I lose all track of time and end up accomplishing very little, but you seem to hammer things out like clockwork within your schedule.]

Yes, but that’s not something I do really.  It’s innate.

[Okay, well.  I am fascinated that you can cook.  And, I don’t understand why you’ve never taught me how.  Everyone seems to enjoy your baking at the very least, so maybe you could give me some lessons.]

Uh, sure?  But, aren’t you one of my muses that can burn water?

[Only because you haven’t taught me how /not/ to burn water.]

I’ll work on it.

[thriveintheashes]

2

My muse and your muse have been married for forty years, now mine lays on their death bed, in their final moments, yours comforts them.

It was a quiet life, with Duncan. It was not one without affection, but it was born more out of friendship and proximity than anything else. The marriage had been a convenience, nothing more. Both benefited from a marriage, for status and to stay in the country, so it just… done. Keita did not care (or didn’t even notice) when he went out with one of his “friends” and he didn’t object when she left for weeks at a time, made anxious by staying in one place for too long. 

Despite all their differences, she cared about him in a strange way. Had begun depending on him, on the stable life they had together. It was part of her roots now… to see him fading away before her eyes was unnerving. 

Keita had returned home from one of her trips to a message that he’d gone to a hospice. She’d barely dropped her things off before heading out again, following the voicemail to find his room. Entering the room, neither of them spoke a word. Only smiled slightly before going to sit next to him, threading her fingers through his. 

[dutyfamilycountry]

23, 29

23. Your muse is a soldier in the war, mine is their lover back home – they exchange letters.

23rd day of Wintermarch

Lover,

That last letter you sent made the entire camp think I was mating with a bear in my tent after hours.  I always enjoy your teasing, but it’s much more appealing when you’re there for me to take what I want from afterwards.  Know that I am eagerly awaiting my next leave trip home because I have a lot of pent up energy to expend.  Hopefully you’ll be able to walk after I leave the next day.

Fergus

17th day of Drakonis

Duncan,

Sorry that it’s been so long between letters.  We went through a rough patch for a while there where letters weren’t being able to be delivered in or out.  Time seems to stretch on without you here, and at night, the nightmares reclaim me on a heightened level that always seemed suppressed with you beside me.  This war will end soon, or so my superiors tell me.  I have a hard time believing that with as much oppression we are receiving, but we cannot let hope die; just as my love for you will not.

Yours always,

Fergus

8th day of Cloudreach

Duncan,

There is a small chance that by Bloomingtide I will get an opportunity to come home for a few days.  I’m excited that bit of news has made me fighter better and yearn for your touch.  Sometimes, when the battle dims to a quiet roar, I am thankful that you are at home and not fighting as I am.  I would be driven to distraction with worry; though, I’ve never felt as secure as when you’re fighting by my side.  I miss you, more than I can express in a hastily scrawled letter. 

The leaf you sent brought back so many memories of home; I can’t wait for my chance to see Ferelden again.  When I lay in my sleeping bag at night staring up at the sky, the stars take on a brandy hue, and my goofy grin shines back.  I miss drinking in your eyes, your scent, your touch.

Forever,

Fergus

24th day of Bloomingtide

Duncan,

The war has taken a turn for the worse.  We’ve lost platoons on three fronts and only ours remains standing firm.  I don’t think they’re going to send me home this month after all.  My heart aches, but I am needed here as much as I am needed there.  I am uncertain you will even receive this message as I was certainly surprised to receive one from you.  Pleasantly though and completely overjoyed; your letters always give me strength and usually a pleasant night’s sleep after releasing all that pent up energy from a page of your teasing words.

If I survive this war, I’m going to ask you to marry me.  I know that’s not really your thing, but do me the honor of being my partner?  Sure there was a more romantic way to ask than in a letter, but I couldn’t wait any longer.

Eagerly awaiting your answer,

Fergus

16th of Justinian, the war has ended, and a black car drives up in front of the house, such a long awaited reunion to be made.  Duncan opens the door with curious but wary eyes as the car door is opened and a man steps out.  He is decorated with medals all along the left side of his jacket and in full uniform; the hat covers and disguises his features well enough from the distance they were apart.

Duncan takes a few steps forward as he dares to hope, but is suddenly overtaken by a deep desire to burst into tears as he sees the Ferelden flag in the officers hands.  A slightly blood stained envelope in the other.  After a small list of condolences on behalf of the Ferelden military for his loss, he turns to leave with the letter remaining in Duncan’s hand.  He rushes into the house locking himself in his room, tearing open the letter to retrieve the note.

Duncan,

If you are reading this, then I am gone.  There is no easy way to say this, but I think you appreciate the bluntness of the opening.  I loved you with all my heart and soul, and still do even though both had departed from this plane of existence by this point.  Enclosed is my ring as requested by me.  I know that I asked you to marry me, and I intend to honor that request.  Wear this ring in remembrance of me.  Should you find another lover or someone else you wish to spend the rest of your life with, take the opportunity.  You have always been better with someone you love at your side.  There are so many things I wish to tell you, but I’ve unfortunately run out of time.  I hope this letter finds you, and I hope that you find some peace from it.

Until we meet again,

Fergus

[sunshinehawke]

11

11. An earthquake has ravaged LA Kirkwall, our muses are trapped in a collapsed building together until rescue comes.

“Go fish” Bethany told the Warden Commander, who proceeded to pick one of the cards from the pile between them. “How long do you think it will take for someone to find us?” she asked, glancing at her own cards as she decided what to ask him for.

“Judging by the severity of the earthquake, it could take a few days. We just need to be patient” Duncan responded, shuffling in the new addition to the cards he already held in his hand.

“I understand, I have been relatively patient. We might have access to some water, but that will run out soon and we do not have any food.”

“We will be fine.”

“I could try to make a way out using magic, but I don’t think the building is all that sound. It could do the opposite of what I intended it to do. However, if worse comes to worse…” her voice trailed off as she glanced around the room to see if there were any spots that might be good to try and loosen. None caught her eye.

“The mabari will sniff us out.”

Bethany sighed before speaking. “Okay, okay. Do you have any tens?”

“I do not, go fish.”

[elissaromildecousland]

Satinalia Gift - [for Duncan]

"It creaks now." 

"Pardon?" The old Warden looked up at the younger Senator from where he sat on the back steps of what had once been her familial estate. She was holding out a glass to him, within it a particular year of whiskey with which they were both familiar. He took it and turned his eyes back out into the forest as she smoothed out her dress and eased herself to sitting beside him. In this dimming light she looked much like her mother, though he would never say it.

"The back door. It’s creaky." She explained, swirling the dark amber liquid in the glass but not yet drinking. 

He smiled at her but didn’t turn, his own glass dangling from an arm draped across his knee. He’d accompanied her back to view the manor one last time before signing it over to her brother and the Wardens, though he doubted the eldest Cousland heir would ever spend more time than he had to within these walls. Too many ghosts lingered here, and looking out into the gathering dark of the Heartwood, even he could feel their eyes.

"He loved you, Duncan."

Dark eyes looked up and locked with emerald and his mouth curled up in a faint smile. “Yes. Your father always made me feel like family.”

"No. You misunderstand. He loved /you/." She watched something register there in those chestnut depths. Something long smothered sprung to life once more, and she knew that she’d been right to say it. "You remember Alistair?" She turned her eyes back to the forest with his nod. "I think it was fairly obvious to everyone back then that I loved him. When he got sent away, it broke my heart. But there was an afternoon before that, right here on this porch, where Father explained to me the difference between love and duty."

She drew the glass to her lips, pressing the cool crystal there for a moment but not drinking. “I’d just been betrothed to Nathaniel and was… less than happy about it. And he told me that sometimes we must sacrifice true love to duty. At the time I didn’t know who he was speaking of, but then I saw you together here, on this porch, years later, and I knew. It was so clear that it hurt to see, because I couldn’t understand why either of you would deny it.” 

She turned to him suddenly, extending her arm, glass in hand, with a slightly watery smile. “So, I offer you this in parting with this place. Take it as you will. Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love… /truly/, /deeply/ love… time is eternity.” She tapped her glass against his. “Father was wrong, Duncan. Love is more important than duty. Love is more important than everything.”

She pressed her lips to his temple briefly, and then drained her glass looking out into the Heartwood as the last rays of sun drained from the sky. Beside her, Duncan drank from his own, dark eyes locking for a moment on the silhouette of a stag in the shadows before it vanished along with the light. 

[motherbryony]

Secret Santa [Bryony to Duncan]

Cold gusts of wind tugged at Bryony’s sash and seemed to be trying almost playfully to sweep her hat from her hair, but the winter sun was bright enough to offset the chill, making for a truly pleasant afternoon.  The paper protecting the gift she carried from the wind rustled quietly as she walked, heading for Kirkwall’s Grey Warden outpost. 

The Mother had met the former Warden Commander by chance in a rather unlikely location – the free clinic in Darktown run by an apostate activist, where she had been occasionally volunteering as an assistant.  The irony there still made her smile to herself, and even moreso the memory of her own nervousness when she had realized who the careworn yet obviously distinguished man was.  It was faintly ridiculous, in hindsight, that she had been afraid that he would report her to her superiors; he obviously had had no intention of exposing Anders, and so it should have been a much easier jump than it actually was to realize that meant her secret was just as safe.  Duncan had read the dregs of that nervousness on her face when she introduced herself as a priest, and his chuckle had been friendly, reassuring. 

She had liked him from the first; he had wisdom of both a depth and quality she had very rarely seen before, a wisdom drawn from an obvious lifetime of making hard calls and living with the results, of having others’ lives depend on his leadership day in and day out.  Wise as the Revered Mothers and Grand Clerics could be, their view was necessarily limited by their isolation.  Bryony knew that, now, to an almost shameful extent.  Duncan was wise in a way that would shy away from being called that, because he did not look for acolytes to sit at his feet and soak in his words.  He just… was. 

She had begun to look forward to the days when her clandestine clinic shifts had a chance of coinciding with one of his visits, so they could talk, though she never asked for stories of life as a Warden, as she had gotten the early impression that that was a topic best left to emerge only on its own, if at all.  Instead, they spoke of the world, and the small and curious things there were to see tucked away in the corners, a thousand details of cities she had never seen, and a few she had.  It had always been an odd friendship for her, but a very easy one. 

Reaching the Warden outpost at last, Bryony took the elevator all the way up to the roof.  The herb garden was sparse, given the season, but the blustery wind still picked up a few verdant scents, and she breathed them in with a small smile before walking past them to a smaller garden area, set off from the rest by a low wall topped with a stark tangle of rose bushes. 

It was more of a rock garden than anything else, but it had a serene beauty to it that changed little with the seasons.  Bryony walked the narrow path, pebbles crunching quietly underfoot, until she came to her destination and finally unwrapped the bundle she carried.  No hothouse flowers, these would dry in the cool wind, eventually to scatter across the garden and become part of it instead of wilting limply across the small monument like frail intruders until someone removed them.  Bryony’s smile took on a note of melancholy as she carefully placed the winter bouquet against the engraved stone, and she stood before it for several minutes before quietly turning back down the path.  

[antivanstormcrow]

1, 25, 28, 30 heh heh.

Are you a “good guy” or a “bad guy?”

Both, of course!  It is the nature of being the dashing, rogueish sort, yes?  I so dislike to limit myself.

What is your favorite inanimate object?

My oldest dagger, El Zorro Tranquila.  It is something of a matter of nostalgia, at this point, but I do love it.

What is the worst thing that has ever happened to you?

That is a strange question, my friend.  There have been a great many things in my life that were highly unpleasant, but… well.  I suppose there was a worst.  *closes eyes briefly and sighs before continuing*  The Crow Masters had what they called a ‘game,’ you see.  No one spoke of it until someone was unfortunate enough to be forced into it, and very little after.  It was what they used to remove the thought of mercy from their apprentices and subordinates – I was a newly-acknowledged journeyman when one of the apprentices a few years behind me, whom I had known and liked, made a mistake grave enough that he was to be executed for it.  I spoke up in his defense, and for my trouble, was made to wield the blade that killed him, lest he die a much slower and more painful death by a less sympathetic hand than mine.  That was the worst.  Let us not speak of it again, hmm?

What is the most important thing in your life?

*smirks*  The freedom to live it – does that count?  Well, no matter; that is the only answer you are getting.