"I don't want to hurt you. Not more than this. I'm sorry." For Hanin?
Well, we all know Hanin and Josephine don’t manage to go the distance…
“I don’t want to hurt you. Not more than this. I’m sorry, Josephine.”
Josephine was quiet. Still. So still that Hanin’s words seemed to echo throughout the room before slipping between the cracks in the wall. He knew it would be like this. Crushing. Miserable. Painful. Letting go used to seem so much simpler. Difficult, yes, but it was something he could survive. Recover from. Endure.
But after thirty-five years of putting up with himself, Hanin had begun to fear being alone. It didn’t wash off the way it used to.
“I… see.” Josephine’s voice was soft as a breath, but controlled. Poised. After all, it had been a long time coming. Exhaling slowly, she folded her hands in her lap, and it seemed a conscious effort for her not to pluck at the fabric. Twist it between her fingers. “This war, the Inquisition… it has been trying for us both.”
Trying. Hanin snorted wearily, reaching up to rub his eyes. That was one way to put it. “It has. But some wore that stress better than others.”
They both knew he was not referring to himself. Creators, if he could go back and do it again. If he could just keep himself together in front of the soldiers. His squad. Her.
But there was no changing what was done. He had spent too many restless nights in a futile half-sleep, desperately trying to rewrite history.
“Hanin.” Josie always knew when he was losing himself. Her voice called him back to the present. “The way you were sometimes… it was bad, but you never hurt me.” She reached out, as if to place a comforting hand on his knee. “You worried me.”
“I know.”
“I wanted to help you.”
Hanin closed his eyes. “I know..”
He could hear the shift of fabric as Josephine thought better of the gesture, drawing her hand back towards herself. “That is what I don’t understand. Hanin, if you knew, why wouldn’t you let me?”
“You had enough to deal with, Josephine. More than enough. The last thing you needed were my burdens placed on top of yours.”
“But I was willing, Hanin.”
“And I wasn’t.” Slowly, tiredly, Hanin opened his eyes. Looked over at Josephine, the candlelight flickering across her skin. There was emotion there, somewhere, but neither of them found enough for tears. There was just nothing left. They gave it all to the cause.
And they would do it again. That, Hanin decided, was the hardest part to reconcile. The part that kept him up at night.
They had a shot at something great - something real - and they would throw it away all over again if given the chance. The price of duty was often steep. It could take your life in more ways than one.
Suddenly, Josephine gave a soft laugh. The sound drew Hanin’s attention, a confused look crossing his face as she composed herself. “I’m sorry,” she said, her expression a strange mixture of fond and sad. “It’s just… hard to believe we are finally having this conversation, when we have been having such small pieces of it for so long.” She paused, glancing towards the window. “It’s almost…”
Hanin knew what she wanted to say. He knew because he felt it too, beneath the pain and the fear and the regret. He also knew why she trailed off. To say it aloud meant to admit something neither of them had the courage to before.
But, perhaps, it was finally time to be brave.
“… A relief,” Hanin finished quietly. His hands, once curled into anxious fists, lay unfurled across his knees.
Still gazing out the window, a somber smile tinged Josephine’s lips, the expression so faint it almost seemed a trick of the light.
“Yes,” she agreed softly, and some part of an unseen weight lifted with that single word. “A relief.”
For your most recent writing prompts thing can I request this for Hanin and Josie? 21. “I’m sorry, I can’t get up.” v. Busy training grounds
#21: “I’m sorry, I can’t get up. & V. Busy training grounds.
Taking place just after Adamant. Most areas around Skyhold have been delegated to healers as temporary infirmaries. That leaves a single training field for the remaining soldiers, and accidents often happen in close quarters… (Josephine x Hanin, approx 1000 words) <3
“Excuse me… pardon me… ah, might I just…” Josephine gave a fleeting smile as she slipped past a pair of sparring recruits, who paused as she approached, drenched in sweat and more than happy to step aside for a moment. Clipboard clutched to her chest, Josie scanned the training grounds, not surprised to see so many people filling it to the brim. The secondary field was currently being used as an emergency infirmary after the assault on Adamant, so anyone wishing to spar were forced into a single area. It was a logistical nightmare, but so far the rotation roster set up by herself and the Commander seemed to be stopping tensions from boiling over.
But, of course, observing how well the roster was working was only one of Josephine’s goals.
Spotting Hanin took longer than she expected, given he was usually surrounded by a gaggle of recruits looking to pick up a tip or two. Or pick a fight. Admittedly, the fight was always a spar and purely for self-improvement purposes, but it still baffled Josephine how so many could be so willing to line up before the warrior. It was as though they felt no shame in their inevitable loss.
Only this time, it appeared Hanin was the one on his back in the dirt.
Her eyes widened as she finally spotted the elven man. He was, indeed, lying down by the side of the training field. A handful of recruits bunched around him like nervous pups as Josephine hurried over, doing her best to keep the concern from her voice. “What happened?” she demanded, straightening and putting on her convincing nobility they are wrong voice. It was rather compelling.
“L-Lady Ambassador,” one young recruit said, snapping into a clumsy salute, his blond hair tousled and sweat-soaked. “W-We were sparring - just doing drills - and someone nearby must’ve had their shield knocked away.”
“Flew out and smacked him right in the head,” one of the other recruits added, grinning wide, white teeth flashing against dark skin as he stood and offered a lazy salute of his own. “Luckily it was just a wooden one. Metal would have really sent him spinning.”
Regardless of the attempted reassurance, Josephine felt her mouth dropping open. Quickly, she snapped it shut, then stepped forward. “I… thank you, but I must speak with the Captain.”
Another recruit snorted, blonde and elven, her expression deeply amused. “Yeah, well… good luck with that. He’s a little foggy.”
“Mild concussion,” added another woman, crouched beside Hanin and inspecting him, her brown hair pulled back in a neat bun. “He will be fine in a few moments.” She glanced up, catching Josephine’s eye. “We will continue training nearby.”
Josephine nodded her thanks and the recruits moved away, the young blond boy seeming reluctant but eventually hurrying after his companions. Dropping the facade, Josephine hurried over and leaned over Hanin, allowing the concern to finally reach her face.
“Hanin? Are you all right?”
The warrior hummed, eyes closed, seeming oddly content lying in the dirt of all places. “Been better,” he mumbled, then cracked an eye open. A faint smile tugged up the corner of his lips. “Wasn’t expecting a visit.”
A blush crept up Josephine’s neck and she cleared her throat quickly, glancing at her clipboard in an effort to conceal it. “Ah, yes. I was simply observing how the roster system was performing.” Hesitating, she let her gaze flick back to Hanin. “It… could be better. Apparently.”
“You’re doing the best you can,” he reassured her, although the fact that he was lying prone after being concussed by a shield did not instill confidence. He made to move, then grunted, lying back down. “I’m sorry. I… can’t get up.”
Josephine abandoned all pretense in that moment, stooping to crouch beside Hanin. “Do you require a healer?” she asked, reaching out to brush his hair from his face, voice laced with worry. “I can arrange for transport to the infirmary, if you–”
A low chuckle surprised her into silence. She swore she had never heard him laugh before. “I’m fine, Lady Josephine. Just…” He reached up to where her hand hovered, fingers tangled in his hair, and took it in his own. “… resting. I’ll be on my feet again in a few minutes.”
“Those recruits will be pleased,” she said with a warm smile. “They seemed worried.”
Hanin closed his eyes again, offering another hum. It was oddly… content. “Yes. My squad.” Opening his eyes, he met Josephine’s gaze. “And they will be devastated.”
Alarm flitted across her face. “What? Why?”
“Because it means afternoon training is still on.”
“Ah.” Josephine gave a soft laugh, then rose gracefully to her feet. After a moment’s consideration, she offered her hand to Hanin. The warrior inspected it for a beat, almost amused… then reached out and accepted it. Admittedly, he did most of the work as he climbed back to his feet.
“Ma serannas,” he said, a faint smirk tinging his lips as he held Josephine’s hand for a moment longer than necessary. She felt her heart quicken and let go, pressing the hand to her skirt as though to keep it from running away from her.
“I… you are welcome, Ser Lavellan. Of course.” She paused, regarding him for a moment as she quickly regained her composure, then added, “Please, do not strain yourself further today.”
Hanin watched her, green eyes keen as ever, no trace of confusion or disorientation left. Mild indeed. “Of course.” He bowed his head to her respectfully. “I will be more careful, Lady Ambassador.”
With that, she gave him a parting nod and he turned, returning to the group of recruits who, indeed, seemed devastated by his swift recovery. Watching him go, Josephine almost failed to hide the fond smile that fought to creep across her lips. There was work to be done. She would need to alter the roster; account more accurately for overcrowding to prevent injury.
Such a shame, that it would require her to visit again tomorrow…
Varlen: Sometimes... I get this idea in my head that whoever I am with is only with me for... some stupid reason. Like they feel sorry for me, or they just like what they see, but not who I am. When it happens, it’s scary, because a part of me knows I am panicking over nothing. Okay, maybe not nothing, but nothing that is exactly in my control, y’know? Freaking out over it won’t change anything, but it is exhausting. Sometimes, Dorian’s caught me in the middle of one of my... moments... and it is so hard to explain what is wrong without him feeling like he’s done something to make me feel that way. That’s why relationships can be messy for me. There’s just so much doubt. Even when I am with someone I trust so much, like Dorian, it’s... hard to shake.
Delton: Well, this might surprise you, but I like being pampered. Just a little - nothing too big or anything. But when someone, say, makes me dinner, or takes me out somewhere, or just... does something for me without me asking... it’s nice. Never really had much of any of that, back in Starkhaven; every man for himself, aye? So yeah, sure, I find myself drawn to people who put me first. Not all the time, but every now and then. Makes me feel... worth something. And that right there? That’s a damn nice feeling.
Hanin: Someone who is aware. Not just of themselves, but of others. I fell into the trap of closing myself off from the world for too long, and I can’t be with someone who is in that place. They need to care, and not superficially. I want to feel like I could trust them with my squad, or my clan, or my duties, even if I would not necessarily give them any such responsibility. Caring is an important step to taking what you do seriously, and taking pride in it. Josephine cares deeply, not just about her duties, but about the people around her, and I trust her as a result. She is aware of the machinations of the world, and while she does not fall prey to them, she does not shy away either. That... is something worth being drawn to.
Now I need to know how he'd react if someone really did brush his hair. Let's say it's a somewhat intimate situation, he's alone with someone he likes and who likes him, in a place he considers safe enough to let his guard down a little, and suddenly they whip out a brush and do the thing.
“Josephine, what are…?”
“Shhh. Just relax.”
Hanin wasn’t really sure what individual thing had led himto that moment. Whether it was the hard day’s training, the time spent pouringover maps, the hours stolen by a seemingly unending tasks that required strong hands. Whether it was the fact that this punishing routine of too much to doand not enough time to do it had been going on for weeks. Whether it was the fact that it felt like it wouldnever end. But then again, perhaps there simply was no single thing that led him to Josephine’squarters once the sun had set. Perhaps sometimes, whether he liked to admit itor not, he just needed someone else to take control for a while.
The moment he’d walked in, Josephine had taken one look athim and ushered him over to the futon against the far wall. Her hands aiding his had made fastwork of his plate, and before he knew what was happening he was lying down on his back, hishead in her lap, her fingers working their way through his hair. They spoke of small things; simple thingsthat didn’t truly matter, for once. She told him about a letter from her sister. About what summer in Antiva was like. Hehad been so absorbed; so grateful for distraction; that he hadn’t even noticedwhen she unbound his hair.
Breathing out a gusty sigh, Hanin began thecounter-intuitive process of forcing himself to relax. He focused on hisbreathing. His limbs. The warmth of his hands and feet. The feel of Josephine’sleg beneath his head, cool silks brushing against his neck. Slowly, somethingdragged through his hair, pulling ever so gently as it passed where the tangleshad once been before expert fingers had worked them free. The second sigh that left Hanin’s lipswas far more subtle; more genuine; and he felt himself practically melt beforethe ministrations of the brush.
“You do this often?” Josephine asked, more to fill thesilence than out of genuine curiosity. A thoughtful frown crossed Hanin’s brow,before he gave a subtle shake of his head.
“No. I use my hands, mostly. It is… simpler.”
A gentle laugh rose from Josephine’s chest. Creators, she had a wonderful laugh. “Ah,of course. A brush would look quite out of place beside Atisha, I imagine.”
Smiling, it was Hanin’s turn to chuckle. “After this…perhaps a welcome addition.”
“It feels nice, does it not?”
“Mmm.”
He raised his head slightly, obediently, as Josephine’s handnudged the back of his neck. With a graceful move, she swept the remainder of his hair out frombeneath him, draping it over her leg. It was not overly long – a bit pastshoulder length – but it was long enough for the drag of the brush to form asoft, soothing rhythm.
“… Hanin?”
“Hmm?”
His eyes were closed, but the shape of her words gave awayher smile. “Ah, my apologies. I thought you had fallen asleep.”
A low rumble of laughter. Hanin cracked open one eye,catching a glimpse of that smile he knew was there. “I make no promises.”
To his surprise, she just softened even further, reachingout to brush her thumb along the side of his cheek. “Good. Please, do not takeoffense, but… you do look like you could use the rest.”
Reaching up, Hanin placed his hand over hers for a moment,breathing out a long, slow breath. “Ma serannas,” he murmured, before he hismind had a chance to catch up to his lips. He tried not to speak elvhen aroundher, given how little of it she knew. The brush continued to sweep gentlythrough his hair, so soothing that her voice barely stirred him from the pullof sleep.
Hi! I've read all of your Hanin x Josie fics, and I'm in love! If you're ever taking prompts, how about this: A really angsty fic where Hanin gets injured protecting Josie, and Josie panicking and worrying (and eventually visiting him at the healer's tent)? (I'm trash for good angst)
Angst and ye shall receive, dear nonny! (Apologies if this is riddled with typos - I kind of slammed it out all at once because I felt the itch to write and have almost no time to do it lately)
Hanin Lavellan x Josephine Montilyet, approx 2400 words, most under the cut.
CW: graphic depictions of violence, major character injury.
Sometimes, things just happen. Things break. Things fallapart. Things don’t go according to plan.
Sometimes, people who seem innocent enough turn out to beassassins.
Hanin was surprised, to say the least, when the blade sankhilt-deep into the back of his shoulder. He grunted, too shocked to react more fittingly, staggeringforward and groping on reflex as though touching the blade could somehow undothe damage. Instincts kicking in, he spun, good arm swinging, slappingaway a second strike aimed at his chest. Aimed to end his life. Theassassin reeled, thrown to the side, leaving Hanin to stagger away, panting, furious at himself, hands shaking, skin burning—
Pain.
Agony blossomed from the deep wound, heat pulsing beneathhis tunic. There was no armour to protect him. Stupid.They had been so close to Skyhold, it hadn’t seemed necessary. Not for a shortwalk in the early afternoon.
If only he’d known. If only he’d been less of a fool.
“Hanin!” Josephine’s voice was pitched with fear, blue eyeswide, hands pulled tight to the centre of her chest. He turned her gaze to the assassin. “Stop this, please!” Shestared between the pair until her eyes locked on the red spreadingacross Hanin’s back. Horrified, she took a faltering step backwards, shaking herhead in silent petition to the blood flowing from the wound. Begging it to stop. Growling, Hanindrew his shortsword, hand trembling. It was the only weapon he had. He knew he wasnot prepared for a proper fight. That he might have made the gravest mistake of hislife. But sometimes…
“Run,” Hanin urged, teeth gritted as he swapped the blade from onehand to the other, hefting it with his uninjured arm. Though the movement wasonly slight, a stab of pain shot through him and he hissed inwardly, tryingeverything to keep it at bay. To focus. “Get back to Skyhold. Tell—”
The assassin charged. Hanin bit off his words and leapt back,giving himself just enough room to raise his blade and block the strike,viper-fast, stabbing for his chest. Steel met steel, razor edges sliding offone another as Hanin turned the blow to the side, stepping hastily out of thekiller’s path. Of course, he could not go far. He had to stay between thisdeadly woman and Josephine. He had to.
“Run!” he roared again, not bothering to look back, throwinghimself at the assassin before she could properly recover her footing. He swungdown but she dipped, weaving beneath his blade, coming up on the other side soclose he could feel the brush of her copper hair against his skin. Her daggerwas in her off-hand, her positioning all wrong, but that hardly slowed her. Raisingher free hand, she slammed her fist right into the wound on Hanin’s back,driving it home with the twist of a knuckle. She drew a roar of pain from Hanin and sent him stumbling forward, knees weak, vision blurring, mouth flooding withsour spit.
Dizzy, Hanin slipped and fell to one knee, but only for amoment, managing to haul himself back to his feet and turn as the assassinrounded on him, slow and silent. Heart hammering, he met her gaze, expectingthe sharp glare of a killer only to find something flat and tired staring back.Passionless. Another day, another death.
Hanin’s grip tightened on his sword. Not today.
He tried. He truly did. But with each swing he found himselfslowing, his shirt now completely stuck to his back, damp with the smell of iron, his head spinning with each unsteady movement. The assassin was justtoo fast; smaller than he was, but moving to some deadly, unheard music.Strike, parry, riposte; the verse. Slash, parry, lunge; the chorus. Minutesdragged like hours until Hanin was flagging, breath coming short and sharp, bladetrailing behind where his mind knew it needed to be. The woman opened wounds on hisskin like an eager child clawing open a midwinter gift, her expression stone,her steel deadly and dripping. Exhausted, Hanin slashed, managing to catch her in theside, but left himself open, the lunge sloppy, his world swimming in and out offocus. Sensing her opportunity, the assassin tensed, muscles coiling tight. Asthough the blade cutting her side was little more than an inconvenience, shestepped into it, dragging herself along the sword’s edge, eyes dead, hairburning copper, breath slow and steady and—
She slammed her dagger into his chest.
Thu-thump. Thu-thump.Thu-thump.
She was so… close. Hanin’s sword fell from his fingers, loose with shock. His heart laboured and he groped on blind instinct, clumsily clutching at the woman’s shoulders as his legsgave out, knees buckling, numbness spreading from his heart outwards. The beating was in his ears. In his head. It was everywhere but in his chestas he sagged, the last sliver of air in his lungs sighing unnoticed past his lips amid the cacophony.
Thu-thump.. Thu-thump..Thu-thump..
“You fought well,” the assassin said as he lost his grip, hands sliding down her arms,bloody and shaking, dragging twin streaks of red across pale skin. Her ownhands were bracing him calmly as he sank to his knees, still somehow upright, eyes wideand sightless. “A worthy opponent.”
Thu-thump… Thu-thump…Thu-thump…
His head tipped forward and he could see it now. The hilt,blurring and doubling as his vision began to fail. Numb, he tried toreach up and rip it out – it shouldn’t bethere – but he couldn’t seem to move his arms. He blinked slowly; tipped his head back. Searched for her face. Not the assassins. Her face. But all he could see was the womanwho had killed him, cowled and cold, watching with nothing left to give. No sorrow. No regret.No contempt. Just tired.
So… tired.
Thu-thump… Thu-thump…
Hanin tried to speak, but blood bubbled past his lips, spilling from the corner of his mouth. His throat spasmed as if tocough, but nothing happened. Then another pulse of something hot and metallicfilled his mouth, so thick that he choked on it, sputtering up far more thanhis body could afford to give. He needed to stop. To stay calm. To breathe.
Thu-thump……thump…
Still staring, Hanin’s world began to tip on its side. He sagged, the strength flooding out of him in a single, boneless rush, ground racing up to meet him. Theassassin, copper hair blowing about her face, watched him fall with the utmostdisinterest, green eyes empty poison vials. Spent. But, just before Hanin hit theground, he swore he saw something crack that mask. Something that opened thosedead eyes wide and fast, as though a blade had been driven right through herheart. He couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t think.The rushing sound in his ears deafened him to the world as darkness swiftlystole it from him, spilling like ink across his eyes. A curtain drawing tooearly. Too soon.
I’m… sorry…
Thump.
The blade slipped from Josephine’s trembling hands, the bloodpainting her fingers the colour of rust as the assassin crumpled to the groundlike a marionette, the strings tying her to life severed. Woman andweapon thudded to the dust together, but Josephine was already moving,half-stumbling over the woman’s bloody body to reach another. Neverstopping. Barely breathing.Too afraid to waste even a second.
Hanin lay motionless on the ground, dagger buried in histoo-still chest. Surprisingly, very little blood had managed to seep past thesheathed steel, but as Josephine fell to her knees beside him, she saw athick pool of it beside his mouth, soaking into the dirt. Her hands shook – shehovered them just above his torso, as if afraid to touch him. What would she do?
What could she do?
“No.” She shook her head, as if to deny the sight beforeher. “No. You… you cannot. Hanin? Hanin, openyour eyes.” Her lip trembled, voice breaking. “Open your eyes. Please. You must. Hanin, it is over. We are safe now. Please…”
More footsteps. More assassins, perhaps. Unlikely, butpossible. Josephine couldn’t bring herself to turn, her hands finally pressingto the elven man’s skin. Still warm. Still alive?Yes. Yes, he had to be. He was strong. The strongest man she knew. Of course was alive. She threaded herfingers through his, clutching their pressed palms toher stomach. She curled forward, leaning over limp fingers that refused tosqueeze back. She would not cry. He was still alive. He was.
She would not cry.
Someone was speaking, his voice gentle but urgent. ButJosephine could not make out the words, and it wasn’t until the person placed ahand on her shoulder and tried to draw her away that she snapped, lashing outwith open palm, slapping the offending arm aside. “No!” She took a ragged breath, shookher head, and curled back over Hanin’s body without even looking at the man by herside. She knew who he was. How he and Hanin loathed one another. Now, Hanin layin perfect, unnatural stillness, his hair matted with blood, bruisesblossoming across his handsome face. Lines of red were carved into his skin in too,too many places. A pained sob caught in Josephine’s throat and she cursed it, swallowingit back. He was alive. She. Would. Not. Cry.
“Ambassador, hear me. There may still be time, but I must act now...”
Hanin remembered nothing of the time between hitting theground and waking. Nothing but the darkness of a sleep absent dreams, asthough the void had swallowed him whole. Alone. Silent. Drifting.
Thu-thump. Thu-thump.Thu-thump.
His brow flickered, the sound… eerie. Familiar. It filledhis ears. His head. His chest. Therealisation carried a strange sense of comfort; one Hanin couldn’t quite place.Inhaling, he winced as something stabbed inside him, like a rib curved thewrong way. On instinct, he reached up, only to find his wrist caught bysomeone’s hand, the grasp gentle but firm. It took everything he had to forceopen his eyes and abandon the comforting dark. To open himself to the world.
What he saw made it entirely worth the effort.
Josephine was gazing down at him, the blue of her eyes allthe brighter for the redness that framed them. She sniffed, smiling shakily througha silent stream of tears, clutching his hand as though it was the only thingkeeping them both from falling. “Hanin.” The way she said his name always senta trickle of comfort through his spine. One so pleasant it made him shiver, eventhough he was neither hot or cold. “You are awake. How do you feel?”
Blinking with deliberate slowness, Hanin tried to form thoughts, but their shapes were blurred and muddy. He squeezed his eyes shut for amoment, concentrating, then opened them again, not wanting to be parted fromthe sight of her face for a moment longer than needed. “I…” He swallowed, voicegravel-rough, grinding against his throat. “I’m fine. I—”
Suddenly, his eyes flew wide, darting around the room in afeverish panic. “The assassin. Josephine, she—agh!” Hanin tried to sit up butnearly blacked out again, eyes rolling back as pain ripped through his chest,stabbing all the way to his spine. He dragged in a shattered gasp but Josephine was already moving, pressinggently on his shoulders, pushing him back down and making soothing noises, tense with worry.
“No, Hanin. You mustrest. Regain your strength. I am safe. She…” Josephine hesitated for thebriefest moment, words faltering. Then her expression hardened. “The assassin hasbeen dealt with.”
On any other day, Hanin would have demanded more. More information.More time. More words, spoken by a voice that frequently stole the tension from his body and the breath from his chest. Instead, he just turned his head weakly and looked at her,trying to force his gaze to bring her features into focus. Those bright,worried eyes. That proud nose. Those soft, clever lips. He smiled as the blurshifted to the world behind her, and she smiled softly back, every line of her perfect and clear and beautiful.
“Josephine… a-are you…?”
A gentle chuckle greeted the half-question. “I am fine, Hanin. Better, now that youare awake.” She paused, as though considering whether to continue. Hanin’spatient silence made the decision for her. “I crossed paths with Solas on theway back to Skyhold. He was able to keep you alive long enough for us to bringyou to the healers.” She swallowed as her voice quavered. “Your outlook was… uncertain. You had lost so muchblood. I…”
Hanin shook his head weakly, signalling that she need notcontinue. Grateful, Josephine just gave a small nod, eyes glistening once morewith the threat of tears. He frowned at that, wishing he had the strength to reach up. Cup her face. Brush away the water on her cheeks.
“Josephine…”
“I thought I had lost you.”
Hanin said nothing. After all, she spoke the words hehad taken too long to say. Instead, his fingers twitched against the mattress,the movement slight but draining the last of his strength. Luckily, Josephinenoticed and reached down, twining their fingers in answer to his silent request. She raised their linkedhands and pressed his knuckles to her lips, closing her eyes, breathing gently.For the first time since waking, Hanin felt a hint of warmth against his skin. Alive.
“… and I you, when I fell,” he murmured eventually, sick unease twisting likea knife in his chest at the thought of losing her. “I was careless. A fool. It will not happen again, Iswea—”
“No.” Josephine shook her head, voice understanding, but hergaze firm. “Please, swear no such thing, Hanin. What happened was not yourfault. You cannot possibly account for all things. No one can. I know you willtry, but I beg you not to. Just…” That soft, sad smile crept back as she ran her thumb along the back of his hand. “Be kind toyourself. Please. If you cannot do it for your own benefit,then do it for mine.”
Hanin swallowed, exhaustion rising like the tide, draggingat his consciousness, pulling him away from her once more. In the midst of thatdeep, roiling unease, he heard his own voice. Distant, as though his mind and hisbody were in separate rooms. “I… don’t know if I can... Josie...”
Eyes slipping shut, he tried to fight it; to push back thefatigue and keep it at bay. But it rose around him like a flood, dark and insistent, only the warmth of his hand in Josephine’s keeping Hanin from losing himselfto mindless panic. Instead, her touch anchored him. Reminded him of the one thing thatmattered.
They were alive.
As he finallylet himself drift back into a dreamless sleep, Hanin heard her voice onelast time, kind and endlessly patient. More than anyone deserved.
I've noticed that some elves have twitchy ears. What about your elf quizzies? If they do, how does their S/O feel about it?
Varlen and Hanin’s ears do twitch, but not super overtly (i.e. they don’t droop like a sad puppy’s or completely flatten or anything like that). Typically, Varlen’s are more noticeable, and he makes no effort to conceal it, while Hanin’s only twitch on rare occasion.
Dorian finds it utterly endearing, and often goes out of his way to see Varlen’s ears give a little twitch. It can typically be done by saying something flattering, or touching them lightly if they are in the mood for that sort of thing. One of his favourite things is when Varlen is lying with his head in his lap, Dorian running his fingers through his hair. His ears tend to twitch then, too, in contentment.
Varlen’s ears also twitch juuust a little when he is lying or uncomfortable, which is also very useful to Dorian once he works it out.
Josephine takes a kind of quiet pleasure in seeing Hanin’s ears twitch, mostly because it happens so rarely. It usually occurs when he is lost in thought or otherwise distracted, not particularly focusing on maintaining his stoic facade. Her favourite thing was when she noticed his ears twitch for the first time when she called his name.
For the made-up fic title, how about On gossamer strings? Any pairing of you choice of course cause I love all your children. I'm excited to read it!
Characters: Hanin Lavellan x Josephine Montilyet
Summary: There are a lot of things Hanin doesn’t know, but Josephine has always been a patient teacher. On the final stretch to the Winter Palace, they end up sharing a wagon, and Hanin finds himself uncharacteristically nervous about the whole ordeal. He tugs at silken sleeves, wedges a finger beneath his collar, too hot, too restricted. Josephine notices. Sensing Hanin needs some way to visualise what he is about to get himself into, she begins describing the nature of the court. He likens it to a web, threads connecting threads, allies crossing one another, spiraling in and out of favour, walked all over by the Empress - the spider. Josephine finds the metaphor... well, rather apt. Hanin worries that he will find himself caught, unused to navigating deadly traps woven with nothing but words. She reassures him that she will not allow such a thing to occur. To both their surprise, he believes her.
