#solstice drabbles

[hidneysussex]

@-egyptianmau-

“It’s solstice, Bull,” Krem says, laughing. The sight of the chief, his one eye narrowed suspiciously as snow drips down over his forehead, is not one that lends itself to keeping a straight face, but to be honest, Krem isn’t even trying.

“Are you asking me to beat your ass?” Bull asks, never breaking eye contact as he squats low to the ground and scoops up a handful of wet snow.

Krem says, “You’ll have to catch it first.”

From behind Bull, one of the other Chargers (Grim; it’s got to be Grim) launches a snowball. Bull, whose instincts are excellent, ducks out of its way without even looking, but he isn’t expecting Krem to swing the dragon maul at it like it’s a wallop ball and send it flying… straight back into his face.

With a growl only a true barbarian could muster, Bull charges after Krem’s fleeing silhouette, his lieutenant’s laughter carrying back to him in the frosty air.

[hidneysussex]

@bendingwind

On the morning of the solstice, Tarquin is content to stay in bed. He can hear the nearby fire crackling in the hearth; the padded silk of the coverlet is heavy and comforting over him; there’s a snap in the air that hints at a deeper cold outside, unusual for Minrathous even in midwinter.

He’s never woken up like this before. In his tiny, dingy flat, his thin sheets barely keep out the chill. There’s no one to light a fire for him and no magic for him to light his own without getting up, even if he had a place to light it. His window doesn’t seal, so the cold drifts in alongside the sounds and smells of the docks and there’s no more reason to stay in his bed than there is to get out of it.

Here, though, it’s warm. The bed under him is soft and gives way when he rolls over, no inexplicable lumps he can't beat out of the straw ticking no matter how hard he tries.

And, of course, there’s the company. Ashur’s breathing beside him is soft and even. Later, he’ll have to go and hold services at the chantry. Probably kiss babies or hand out soup or something. He’ll have to be the Divine today and Tarquin will be his Knight-Templar, at least until the day is over. But it will be the shortest day and, when it’s finished, it will be this that they come back to.

He’s had worse days.

[hidneysussex]

@minrathian

“It’s cold,” Hawke complains in a passable imitation of Fenris. “Why would anyone want to live in this?”

Anders quirks a grin. “He’s not entirely wrong, you know,” he points out.

Hawke nods. “I’d swear I can see you turning blue some days.”

“Yes, well,” says Anders, “you know where it’s warm? Tevinter. I think we’ll both take the Kirkwall winters, thank you.”

Hawke says, “At least this way you can pretend the city is clean.”

“Perhaps you can,” says Anders, but he’s still smiling. “Should we check on him? He might have frozen to death.”

A raised eyebrow. “Is that concern I hear in your voice?”

“It is,” says Anders. “If I let him die, he’ll haunt me just to blame my blood magic.”

Hawke smirks, then shivers. “Well, would you mind using a little of that blood magic to warm up this damn place? Call up a Rage demon or two.”

“I’ll get Justice on it,” says Anders. “Will anyone even notice a demon solstice party in Kirkwall?”

Hawke shrugs. “We can invite Meredith,” he says. “Bribe a Rage to spend some private time with her.”

Anders says, “Bribe Fenris. I’ll bet he could really get under her skin.”

Hawke snorts. “Bet she’s got a special place in her heart for him.”

Anders laughs, just a little, but it sends a faint sting through Hawke’s chest. Anders doesn’t laugh as often as he used to these days.

Suddenly, and for no reason he can name, he’s compelled to turn away from the door, take Anders’ face in both hands, and kiss him. Cold fingers warm themselves on flushed cheeks; cold noses brush; Anders makes a soft sound, half pleasure and half protest, and when they part, Hawke stays where he is, feeling Anders’ breath warm against his skin.

“Come on,” says Anders, taking one of Hawke’s hands in his own. “We have a party to plan.”

[hidneysussex]

@fadesense

Perhaps, Ashur thinks, today will be the day.

After all, why not? He hasn’t managed to say anything yet; it’s clear that an ordinary day isn’t enough to overcome the hesitation that holds him back. Tarquin wouldn’t care, he knows. Tarquin doesn’t care about things like the solstice or the season or the hour. He could tell Tarquin at midnight on the docks, in the hot sun on a rooftop, in the freezing chill of an abandoned Shadow Dragons safehouse, and Tarquin wouldn’t care.

So what’s stopping him?

But perhaps today will be the day. Perhaps he will get up and lead his congregation in the Chant and kiss the heads of small children presented for his blessing and then go to the Pawn Shop and find Tarquin already there, already waiting, like he always is, and perhaps then he’ll say it.

Perhaps Tarquin already knows and he’s just waiting for Ashur to catch up.

Perhaps he’ll be horrified at the very thought.

Perhaps, Ashur tells himself, he’ll never know unless he asks.

He doesn’t want to change anything. He doesn’t want to break anything. But… he doesn’t want things to stay the same anymore, either.

Perhaps today will be the day.

[hidneysussex]

@asyouwes

“Long time no see,” says the dwarf. Who isn’t really a dwarf, not by dwarf rules, but that has never stopped him.

“Hello, Varric,” says the man. Who is really a man, but should have been something else. A king, perhaps; a drunk; a corpse.

But fate has made them this instead: a dwarf who lives like a human; a king who lives like a commoner.

Fate has made them something else, too. Skyhold’s towers loom above them, promising, menacing. Wheels were set in motion here thousands of years ago that are still turning now; both of them have been raised up on the spokes of history and both of them know the time will come when they are cast back down into the depths. All they are doing here is putting off the inevitable.

“Cold today,” the dwarf comments. Kirkwall had little to recommend it, but he has to admit the chill runs deeper in winter at Skyhold.

“Hmm,” the man, who is used to deep winters, agrees. “Well, you know what they say about the solstice. It only gets warmer from here.”

“Do they say that?” Varric asks. “Who’s they?”

Alistair makes a face. “I should have known you’d ask,” he says. “Can we go inside? Skyhold does have fireplaces, right?”

Varric nods. “And kitchens, and even a roof!” he says. “Over some parts, anyway.”

The warmth of the hearthfires will stave off the cold for now, man and dwarf warming their chilled fingers side by side. They both know they are only delaying the inevitable but, for now, it’s enough.

[hidneysussex]

@profmeowmers

“You know,” says Dorian, “we celebrate the solstice in Tevinter, too. The south doesn’t have a monopoly on the sun.” He shivers. “In fact, I’d say it’s rather the opposite.”

“Yes,” says Cole. “Eyes bright like the returning sun, skin glowing like a promise. He made you a promise, then, but he broke it. The sun didn’t care. It came back anyway.”

Dorian sighs. “I should have known you’d have something… helpful to contribute,” he says. “You know, there is such a thing as a time and a place.”

Cole looks confused. “This… is both,” he points out.

“Yes,” Dorian admits after a moment. “I suppose it is.”

Cole says, “But it still makes you…” He frowns, thinking. “Happy. And sad. At the same time. There’s so much.”

“So much what?”

“Hurt,” says Cole. “It’s in everything. It isn’t everything, but it’s always there. Why is it always there?”

Briefly, Dorian considers telling Cole he’ll explain when Cole is older, but he knows it wouldn’t work.

“Life is like that sometimes,” he says instead. “The hurt is there, but it doesn’t have to be the only thing—or even the most important thing.”

Cole nods.

“You’re wrong, by the way,” Dorian says. “The son cared very much. He… almost didn’t come back, that time.”

Cole says, “But you did.”

Again, Dorian sighs. “Tomorrow,” he says, “I’ll teach you about metaphors.”

[hidneysussex]

@aquamonstra

“We didn’t have snow in Orzammar,” Dagna says. “Well. Obviously.”

Harding says, “Do you know when it’s winter? I mean, does it get cold?”

Dagna laughs. “Near the surface it does,” she says. “Some of the miners and merchants go so close they say the snow blows into the tunnels. But in Orzammar…” She shrugs. “There’s not really weather.”

“Lucky,” Harding smiles. “We had plenty of weather where I grew up in Ferelden. Almost too much.”

Dagna says, “I never thought the sky would be so interesting, you know? Sometimes…” She lowers her voice. “Sometimes I just stare at it for hours.”

“You can learn a lot from the sky,” Harding says. “Not just weather, but other things, too. Like when it’s time to plant or when it’s time for the animals to have their babies.”

Dagna says, “Or when it’s snowing.”

Harding grins. “You mean because of all the white stuff falling out of it?”

“See?” says Dagna. “I’m getting good at this surfacer stuff.”