✨Two dalish boys dancing in Skyhold✨
Finally got around to draw El’uvir and Galathan dancing! El’uvir knows Dalish dances by heart but not the waltzs. Galathan is trying to help him learn the steps but I’m sure they ended up putting their own takes on the dance!
Galathan belongs to @awaari .If you don’t know them, go check them out! they’re one of my favorite artist and they’re just the sweetest💕
Click for more bigger view
@awaari I think Galathan and Hivatou would be really good friends! He's currently teasing her because a certain commander keeps staring in their direction, and it's definitely not for him.
For a trade with @awaari! Check out the original story here on Ao3
Olkin II is a planet I created for my greater SWTOR AU, but previous reading (outside of the original extra scene, as can be read here) is unnecessary.
Olkin II’s sun beat hot and sharp on the back of Galathan’s neck. His fingers were stained green and pink from the flowering vines he was fighting. When a vine started curling around his wrist, he flicked its new leaf. “Stop it. There’s a perfectly good trellis right here if you’d just wrap around that.”
“Talking to the plants again, amatus?”
Gal and the leaf both turned to Dorian. “It helps.” Gal pointed to where the leaf was bobbing up and down in the facsimile of a nod. “The base species is highly sensitive to people’s voices and then this strain was spliced by a Forcer.”
Dorian blinked and leaned forward. He tickled a flower bud. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?” The flower started to open. “Almost as wonderful as me.” It closed again and sunk back against its vine. Dorian laughed.
“Don’t tease the flowers. I want this arch ready for the housewarming party and the governor wants me in the spaceport this afternoon. Hound is bringing in a bunch of new residents. Orphans. Some pretty young.” Gal coaxed the vine onto the trellis with a soft caress. He spritzed it with vitamin-infused water.
“Hound? We still need to thank her. Why didn’t I get a summons?” Dorian walked around the arch and took a seat on the white, painted benched beneath it. He closed his eyes and took a deep, relaxing breath.
“Everyone with Empathy or a calming presence in the Force was summoned. You’re a little loud, Dorian.” Gal chuckled at the way his lover’s mustache twitched. He pulled another vine toward the top of the arch.
Dorian opened his eyes and rubbed his chin. “Not entirely unfair. It’s futile to try to suppress all of this majesty.”
“And who would want to?” The flower next to Gal’s head bloomed in time with his radiant smile.
The sight knocked the wind out of Dorian’s lungs. He reached his hand out. “Come here, amatus. You can’t be this domestic and not grace me with a kiss.”
Against his better judgement, Gal left the vine to reach toward the sun and sat next to his husband. They exchanged soft kisses and Gal rested progressively more of his weight on Dorian until he started laughing.
“You’re getting plant detritus all over me!”
Gal held his stained fingers threateningly close to the white accent on Dorian’s robe. “I thought you wanted kisses.”
They held the stare for only a few seconds before laughing and pressing their faces together, noses and foreheads rubbing. Dorian put his hand on Gal’s face and stroked his cheek with his thumb. “Have I ever told you how eternally grateful I am that the Jedi couldn’t beige the mischief out of you?”
The laugh that bubbled out of Galathan’s chest was so sudden and so strong that he pulled away with a gasp before it escaped. “Did you just use beige as a verb?”
A flush touched Dorian’s dark skin. “I am trying to be both accurate and respectful rather than simply repeating the propaganda I-”
“Yes, and I love you for it, but beige?”
Dorian was not pouting. Definitely not. “And what word would you use?”
Gal opened his mouth, but everything that came to mind paled before the strange perfection ‘beige’ encompassed. He put a finger over Dorian’s lips. “Alright. I’ll give you that one. I’m going to wash the garden off. If you don’t upset the plants before I get back, I’ll bring you to the spaceport with me.”
Dorian kissed the finger and winked.
---
Though he was a year outside of the Jedi Order and living happily on Olkin II, Galathan wore his Jedi robes to the spaceport. Even though most new arrivals were Imperial, some found comfort in the sight of boring, brown robes. Dorian had changed into plain, civilian clothes, a half-size too small because they were from Galathan’s closet, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make to give the Mandalorian that saved them her due thanks. He walked at Galathan’s shoulder and muted his presence in the Force as much as he could without a suppression device.
But internalizing his Force just made Dorian aware of the tightrope of anticipation in the Force. Something was going to happen. Something big. Life-changing. Good. He imagined this is what it would have felt like just before he met Gal if he hadn’t been suppressed.
They shuffled into the receiving area with the other calming presences. Dorian felt himself start to tense. He suddenly wasn’t so sure he could handle a gaggle of screaming, terrified children. He imagined himself, age seven, parentless and carted around the galaxy by armored brutes. Hysterical tears were the best case scenario. A raging tantrum with baby sparks of Force lightning was far more likely.
Gal sensed his anxiety and took his hand, weaving their fingers together. He smiled. “It’ll be alright. The governor just likes to take every possible step to make the transition as easy as possible.”
“I will trust you on that,” Dorian said. To his surprise, even after all their time together, saying the words made him feel it. His heart swelled and the feeling of impending… What was the opposite of doom? Glee? Joyous refrain? He didn’t have words for how wonderful Gal made him feel every day, but it was that, just soon to come. Dorian wasn’t sure his heart could take two helpings of it.
That was ridiculous, of course it could. Dorian could handle anything the galaxy threw at him. With grace. And certainly no happy tears. He had more decorum than that.
A loud hiss of the airlock heralded the Mandalorians and their young charges. ...But no screaming or sobs accompanied it. Each child held onto a warrior like they were trusted guardians. And their other hands were occupied with a stuffed toy or a snack that seemed to require a lot of chewing, but didn’t drop crumbs.
Dorian gestured silently, pointing between the Mandalorians and the children with his eyebrows set close together in offended confusion.
Gal muffled his chuckle with a hand. He leaned in and whispered, “The only thing Mandalorians love more than fighting is children.” He turned his head back to the Mandalorian’s ship. “Oh, I think that’s Hound.”
Dorian was about to agree. He’d recognize armor painted that garishly with his eyes closed: he’d be able to hear it. But he couldn’t. All of the breath had left his lungs. The tense rope in the Force had snapped. Cradled in Hound’s arms was a baby qunari: all blushing grey skin and little nubs of horns. Everything in Dorian screamed at him to rush over to her and take the child.
He took a few breaths to ensure his voice wouldn’t waver when he spoke and even then, all he could say was, “Gal?”
