That one thin scar that cut through Etienne’s lips from when he got busted up in his first fight was Izzy’s absolute favorite. She found it added some intrigue to his handsome face. Even if he protested that it was the dumbest scar he’d manage to get, she still liked how charmingly roguish it made him look. Besides, it was impossible to miss the way he smiled when she’d press a kiss right over top of it.
His busted lip was far from his only scar. Each time Etienne returned from defending her honorable name, Izzy would lay him down in her bed and make him recount how he got each and every bruise. Most he didn’t remember, or chalked up to bumping into something while climbing, but there were a few dark and deliberate bruises from heavy punches that littered his ribs and made Izzy wince.
She kissed over them soft and slow. Though Etienne teased her for being a sap about it, she knew he didn’t mind. He gave her a small smile and let out a sigh of relaxation. It was nice, to be able to stop for a moment and catch his breath.
“Je t’aime.” He murmured, reaching out to run his fingers through her hair.
“Je t’aime aussi, mon beau faucon.” She replied quietly.
When he pulled his hand from her hair, she reached out to take it in hers. She brought his knuckles to her lips and kissed at the scrapes and bruises. When she finally let him go, he motioned for her to come cuddle up against him. They laid together in the last rays of the evening sun, watching the sky through windows and letting themselves breathe.
They were both still alive. Fuck the bruises, fuck the cuts, fuck all the battle wounds. They were both still alive, and that was all that mattered.
Happy birthday @iseektheholygrail! i did a little izzienne edit and a fic, hope u have an amazing day ♥♥
The dust had settled, the fight had finished, and yet the usual relief was replaced with worry she tried to squash down into her gut.
It wasn’t working. Nothing worked, as she watched his chest rise and fall under the bandages.
A lucky shot—Etienne was too good of an assassin to be taken down any other way. Just chance, just circumstance, just luck.
Just.
It was quiet in the room. Sunlight streamed through the window, cracking through the glass to create a somewhat distorted halo on his face. The curtain that had been drawn to give them privacy ruffled under the light breeze that was customary of Skyhold.
In truth, it was a miracle they got him back at all.
Mud splashes to her left, a cocky bandit too close. Rain falls, wind blows, the arrow meant for her spine is carried over her shoulder due to the weather.
The wannabe assassin throws his dagger—and they both know its going to miss its mark. Too far left, too far wide, lucky if it hits a deer—a rabbit—the snow.
Etienne’s shoved to the side by a warrior. An attempt at one—a masquerade. They barely look old enough to hold a sword.
She finishes his life and gives the other their curtain call. Only then, she notices, Etienne doesn’t get up.
“Inquisitor?”
She snapped out of the memory with a start, her eyes focusing on the scout in front.
“What?”
He swallowed, then scrunched the toe of his boot into the stone floor. Another swallow, akin to a gulp, and yet he still didn’t speak.
“What?” She repeated, raising an eyebrow.
“…Our spymaster requests you see her.”
She rarely gave a shit about Lelianna anyway—it was hardly going to change now. “Tell her I’m busy.”
“Oh.” The scout glanced over at Etienne, and swallowed again. “Doing what…exactly? If you don’t mind me asking.”
She wondered—what he thought she was doing. She was hardly holding an improvised rave in the healing bay. She narrowed her eyes. “Breathing.”
He blinked, then saluted. “Understood, Inquisitor.”
The dagger is buried in his stomach up to the hilt.
Dorian looks just as concerned as she knows she is. His words come out in blurs of magic and temporary solutions.
“Until we get to Skyhold,” He says. “Buy him some time,” He says.
Etienne doesn’t say much on the way back.
No one says much at all.
“Izzy?”
She started again, only this time, her heart almost seized in her chest.
Etienne was awake—his green eyes dulled in comparison to their usual sparkle. His limbs shook as he propped himself on his elbow.
She didn’t touch him—not yet. Her heart was hammering under her rib cage. “You’re a prick.”
He blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“So you should be.”
The frown was very very obvious, and he tried to take her hand—but winced part way through. “I have a feeling you’re not joking, are you?”
“No,” She snapped. “You almost died.”
“It wasn’t my fault!”
He didn’t deserve this. He deserved love—support, someone to comfort him. She felt all that, and her way to react to that? To lash out. She was frightened that she felt that.
It was wrong, and she knew it, it wasn’t his fault.
It wasn’t his fault that she almost died there with him. Not his fault at all.
The eyes were full of hurt, and she couldn’t bear to look at them. It was almost as if she’d kicked a puppy.
The long breath she released out of her mouth pushed her apprehension with it. She took his hand, and squeezed it tightly.
“We’ve had multiple dances with death, you and me.” She told him, whilst staring at their hands. “It never gets easier.”
He didn’t say anything. The guilt became stronger.
“I’m sorry, alright?” Again, nothing. “That was…bitchy of me. I know it wasn’t your fault.”
Etienne ran his thumb over her hand, and she finally glanced up to see a smile on his face. It took on a somewhat mischevious edge, and she raised an eyebrow in return. “All well and good—but when’s the part where you stop talking and kiss me?”
Her eyebrows shot up, and his response was to tap his lip with his index finger. “Don’t keep an injured man waiting, Inquisitor.”
She kept his hand in hers and leant over him—careful not to put her weight on him—and kissed him softly. One hand played with her braids, toying them around his fingers, whilst his lips moved against hers.
It was relaxed and slow. She nipped at his bottom lip, and felt his hand squeeze hers tighter than before. She did it again. His hand went tighter.
“You’re going to be the death of me.” He hissed.
“No—Misplaced daggers will be.”
He withdrew, and she caught the glare. It made her lips split into a grin.
If you asked Étienne, he’d happily tell you that the relief of finally being home paled in comparison to the joy he felt when he locked eyes with Izzy for the first time in months.
As soon as he met her gaze, he let his bags fall to his feet and brought his arms up to catch her. True to his prediction, she had launched herself into his tight embrace, wrapping her legs around his hips and laughing all the while. All Étienne could do to maintain his balance was to twirl them around. He clutched Izzy tight to his chest and buried his face in the crook of her neck, taking in the sweet scent of her favorite perfume.
“Hello, mon cœur.” He murmured against her skin, once they’d finally stopped spinning.
“I’ve missed you.” She whispered back.
“Really? I could hardly tell.”
“Étienne, my love, my heart, my darling, stop being a smartass and let me enjoy this.”
I ran into Lord Montefort the other day. Gave him your regards. Tragic what happened to him afterwards. I’ve no clue how that poison got into his wine at all, such a mystery!
In completely unrelated news, your shipment of herbs came in right on time. I can’t be more grateful for your contribution.
… as it is, I wish I could’ve gotten the herbs from you personally. It’s been much too long since I’ve held you in my arms and felt your pulse against my lips. The nights are long and dark and I wake shivering and missing you so desperately that I’m half tempted to take Ajax and run.
I’m stuck here until all the jobs have been completed. I’ve been trying to rush the process, but good work takes time. One month and I should be done.
One month ‘till I can come home to you. I’ll dream of you every night until I get there. I know you’ll dream sweetly of me too (in between your dreams of punching me in the face and your dreams of sitting on my face.)
In all seriousness, I miss you with all of my heart. Some days I’ll lose myself in nothing but thoughts of you. When I get home I intend to kiss you how a drowning man kisses the surface of the sea. I can only hope you feel the same when you think of me.
Soooo set just b4 Damian arrives in Skyhold for talks w/the inquisition (fuk u damian)
The weather reflected the general mood in Skyhold. Damian Faulkes arrival at the fort had everyone on edge, most of all Etienne, considering how quickly he had made himself scarce.
He didn’t have any obligation to be there when the talks with Damian went down, but she thought he might feel better for hearing it, to know just how valued his input actually was.
“Etienne?”
The eyrie was silent, save for the flapping of bird wings.
“Etienne?” She called again, louder this time. She stepped one toe into the eyrie, closing the door behind her.
“I’m upstairs.”
He must have extinguished all the candles in the vain hope that people would leave him alone.
She wasn’t most people.
Etienne was sat on the floor next to a lit fire, not looking at anything in particular. She didn’t know how long he had been there.
“Damian should be here soon.” She said quietly, afraid to permeate the silence.
It was like talking to a wounded animal as she crouched next to him, their shoulders touching.
“I know.”
He sounded tired. Tired and worn out.
“I wondered if you wanted to be there. Just so you’re with us every step.” She wasn’t good at articulating, for reading peoples emotions. She was trying. “I don’t want you to think that we’re going behind your back with this.”
Etienne glanced up finally, his hair parting enough that she could see his face. She didn’t expect him to look so tired. The bags under his eyes highlighted the worry that he wasn’t getting enough sleep, his eyes sunken under the light from the fire.
“I know you aren’t--” He gulped in air, dropping his eyes from hers. “I know you aren’t, I just...I’m trying... he...”
She appreciated when he let her in because she knew just how difficult it was. On paper, their relationship should have been a train wreck; two distrusting emotional jackhammers were never good together, but it worked.
“I don’t think I can do this, mon coeur.” He told her, wringing his hands together. “Him. Anything to do with him.”
“Then don’t.” One hand covered his closed ones. “I just thought--”
“But I need to.”
Isabelle let his statement hang in the air for a moment, mustering up some kind of motivating words to make him feel better. Maker she was bad at this.
“I’ll be there every step of the way.” She told him, finally. “I have faith in you, Etienne.”
The words tasted foreign in her mouth. She rarely said them, but found that this time, she meant it.
Etienne’s lip twitched, and for a moment she believed he would smile. Instead, he closed the gap between them, pressing a firm kiss to her lips as a response. He held it for as long as he could, prolonging for as long as he could.
But the horn of an impending arrival made him tear his lips away from hers, eyes wide at the sound of hooves against turf.
The hands that had made their way to his shoulders squeezed them gently, pulling his attention back to her. Only when she got it did she speak; “You have to choose.”
He sighed through his nose, letting his eyes fall shut. “Alright.”
The first time his name passes across her mind is when she’s tired, horny, and miserable. Closed off in a hut with a green wrist and everyone still slightly convinced she’d murdered the divine. He’s in the same position she is, accused, probably cold, possibly miserable. He was a whore, wasnt he? He might not mind the company now.
The second time, his name comes out of her mouth on the breath of a whisper, the snow is waist high and she cant feel her hands. Her cheeks are slapped with the wind and the corners of her vision are going black. Shes not one to beg for help, but the name repeats in her head like a mantra until her limbs give out to the sounds of shouts and boots near her ears.
The third time he’s away on a job and she’s got her pillows for company. Longing and pining is never her strong suit, but as nimble fingers turn the page of her book, she lets herself indulge in the warmth of the memories she keeps in her head of him, saved just for lonely occasions such as this.
The fourth, she is stained with sweat and blood, some her own, some of a dragon, Corypheus is dead, everyone is saved, yet she’s searching the rocky terrain for the similar scar and disarming smile, panic doesn’t have chance to set into her gut before she spots the rogue, looking as relieved as she is. She doesn’t think much of anything after that.
The final time, her arm spits and crackles electricity, so bright she can barely see. Somehow her feet carry her through the eluvian, muscles strained and lungs burning, tears of pain roll down scarlet cheeks. She’s suffered in her life, but nothing like this. She’s desperate, cant tell if she’s screaming the words or thinking them.
Send “UGH” to pin my muse against the wall from FURY
Izzy’s wrist against his throat is like a first step into a winter night, but oh does the rage in her eyes burn him. She's sharp in her glaring and blurred at the edges, a flaming flicker of fury in front of him.
“Don't you ever question me like that again.” She growls, and Étienne understands what it's like to be a coyote with its leg in a trap.
“No-.” Étienne chokes out as she presses her arm into him, and speeds up. “Ted! Noted! Won't do it!”
Izzy eases up on his windpipe. Étienne thanks the maker. She withdraws, shaking her head and exhaling. “I'm sorry, Lord-Protector. I shouldn't have lashed out like that…”
“But?”
“...but you cannot question me like that again, not while we’re with other people.” Izzy finishes, sighing at her own predictability.
Étienne bites his lip, giving her the nod she wants. “I…”
“You don't understand, sweetling, It's okay. But I need to appear infallible to these… Orlesians-” she spits the word as though it's vile. “-and I can't do that with you challenging my orders openly. Take me aside, or call a recess, or give me a signal, but don't you dare call on me like that again.”
Nodding, Étienne bows his head. “I’m sorry, Madame Herald. It won't happen again.”
Izzy sighs, cupping his jaw in her hands and stroking her thumb over his stubbled cheeks. “And I won't lash out at you like that again, I swear. This damned Inquisition wants to parade me around like Andraste and I'm expected to play the role.”
“I don't know much about Andraste, but I spose I don't need that to accept your apology.” Étienne smiles softly.
The two nod in unison, and return to the war room to continue negotiations.
