#maxwell { thread }

[scriptorxfabularum]

@hurtledchaos || Tycho Hawke

     MAXWELL HAD EXPECTED SOMEONE TALLER. It wasn’t as though Varric had ever explicitly said the Champion of Kirkwall was some towering brute of a man, but the stories certainly leaned that way. Grandiose battles, impossible odds, explosive exits. Even the title carried weight: Champion. It conjured images of broad shoulders and a square jaw, not… this.

     He caught himself staring.

     The man walking through Skyhold’s gates wasn’t what the stories had promised. He was slight, compact, his build more suited to slipping through alleyways than standing his ground in front of a crowd. The prosthetic arm gleamed in the sunlight, intricate, beautiful, and clearly functional, though Maxwell didn’t doubt it could be weaponized if needed. His face was... almost boyish. Sharp eyes, but not the kind that demanded attention. The kind that avoided it.

     Maxwell didn’t move at first. He just watched, lips parting slightly, trying to match what he knew with what he saw. This was the man who’d brought down a Qunari invasion. Who’d survived Meredith, sided with a mage terrorist, and still managed to walk away with a reputation intact.

     This was the Champion of Kirkwall.

     He exhaled slowly through his nose, adjusted the set of his shoulders, and finally stepped forward to meet him. Whatever he’d expected, it didn’t matter. The man was here now, and that made him real.

     And Varric had some explaining to do.

[scriptorxfabularum]

@eternal-pariah continued from here~

     AT FIRST, THE FACT THAT this whole scenario made him feel even tenser than before, made that the heat on his back did nothing. There was some panic settling in his chest. On the one hand, he desperately wanted to enjoy what was happening. Not ONLY because of the fact that Dorian was a VERY attractive man, but also because he knew the warmth would help his aching muscles. But on the other hand, the fact that he WANTED this - specifically DORIAN’S hands on his back - made him nervous. And that might be an understatement.

     Another shiver ran down his spine at the words whispered into his ear. A tiny little voice in the back of his head - a voice he didn’t even know was there - told him to turn around. Turn around, grab the mage, and kiss him. Even the IDEA of acting on those thoughts colored his cheeks an even deeper shade of red, and he could FEEL the heat spreading to his neck and shoulders. And it was definitely not the warmth of Dorian’s hands doing it.

     “I eh…” He tried to form words in his head so as to not sound like a complete and utter idiot. “No, this is eh…” He cleared his throat again. He ABSOLUTELY sounded like a complete and utter idiot. “Fine.” So suave. How did anyone ever doubt he was the Herald of Andraste?

     Clearing his throat again, he gave a quick glance over his shoulder. “S-So… Tell me more about yourself. How did you suddenly eh…” He shrugged, both an attempt at giving himself a little more time to speak, and an attempt to stop his shoulders from tensing so much. “Turn up in our hour of need?”

[multusxcastalides]

@not-born-heroes​

     The moment the snow had come down the mountains, Maxwell had been sure that it had been the end of his career as The Herald of Andraste. He was never going to see his parents again, his siblings, any of the new friends he had made after starting the Inquisition. Yet, he had woken up nonetheless. He had woken up cold, in pain, barely able to move due to his stiff muscles, but he had woken up. That’s more than could be said of some of the people who had lived in Haven before the attack. And he was grateful for it.

     Now, they had been walking for a couple of days, and Solas kept telling them they were almost there. Yet, they had set up camp again and were going to spend the night out in the cold yet again. Luckily, everyone pitched in and their little encampment was done in no time at all. It gave him some time to get to know the latest addition to the Inquisition.

     Still a little wobbly on his feet from the beating they had taken at Haven, he shuffled over to where Dorian was sitting. The mage intrigued him. He acted like any place he was, he owned, and people just seemed to accept it. The man was extremely cocky and incredibly charming and, not knowing that much about him, Maxwell gingerly lowered himself onto the cot next to Dorian.

     “So… you regret joining us yet?” He asked, a half-smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. “You can still run, you know.”