" he's just a kid chuckles . " a weird kid. sure. but a kid none the less. when all else was lost . all you really had was your .. spark . that seed of individuality that formed who you were. the decisions you'd make. good , bad. those choices made you . you. . and with that ? well . with that you could re-write you world . he'd seen it. maker. he'd written those words into existence a hundred times. and solas wanted to take that away from him ? take away the chance to really feel human. that wasn't fair. no one should have that power. " don't ruin this for him , alright ? "
so hermes began to eat and drink; when the meal was over and his spirit refreshed with food, he answered calypso thus: "at my entrance you put a question to me, goddess to god; I will tell you the whole matter frankly, as indeed you wish me to. this visit was not of my own choosing; it was zeus who commanded me to come. who of his own free will would traverse those endless briny waters, with not one town to be seen where human beings make sacrifice to the gods and offer choice hecatombs?” — the odyssey, homer.
SMOOCH PROMPTS. / 52. AN ACCIDENTALLY WITNESSED KISS.
All right, reader. You want to know what it was like between Hawke and Anders before he blew Kirkwall’s chantry to shit? Here’s a story:
After Leandra’s death and funeral, Myranda started hosting gatherings. Said she couldn’t stand the estate being so quiet. She invited the whole merry band. Stocked up on expensive booze, broke out the card and board games—she even cooked! Everyone tried to make it. They knew she needed them there, even if she could never say it directly. Carver included. Though, he and his sister would get into arguments not long into the affair. They were both grieving in their own ways, and neither quite knew how to comfort the other sibling. Carver wanted to just mourn and move on. Myranda needed time to face that Leandra was gone. Eventually, he stopped coming. But that’s not what you came to read, and the repair of their relationship deserves its own chapter.
As summer bled into autumn, and autumn into winter, the gatherings became their own thing. They were held annually, every two weeks. Isabela started showing up with extra drinks. Merrill made hearth cakes. Fenris brought his deck of diamondback cards—and played a mean hand. Aveline kept them all in line and made sure the parties wouldn’t get so loud that Hawke’s neighbours would complain. Anders, as always, helped Myranda with the preparations and nursed any hangovers the morning after. And a certain roguish dwarf by the name of Varric Tethras was there to note everything down.
On the occasion of one of the gatherings, Varric was witness to a... Pretty sweet sight, actually. He wasn’t meant to. He wasn’t even sure Hawke knew he’d caught her and Anders. (Although she definitely will know, once she reads this.) See, the thing about Kirkwall winters is, with the city at the border of the mountains, they can be as brutal as the city itself. He was going to spend the day getting a draft done at his room at the Hanged Man, close to the fire, until the snowfall stopped or he knew Hawke would wonder where he was. Either one. But he’d caught wind that some of the dwarves from the Merchant’s Guild would be at the tavern later that day, and, naturally, he wanted to avoid a meeting. So he put on his hat, scarf, gloves, and coat, prayed to Andraste that his fingers and toes wouldn’t fall off from the chill, and made his way to the Hawke estate.
He didn’t expect to see Myranda and Anders just outside the doorstep, dressed in bundles of clothes. They looked ready to brave bandits and black ice alike, but Myranda was adding one more layer around Anders’ neck; a long red scarf she wound around her hands and tugged on, making him lean closer and closer, so she could give him a lingering kiss on the lips. Even at his distance and through the snow in his eyes, Varric could tell that Anders blushed. Leave it to Hawke to not care that they were out in the open and that nobles could pass them by. The sight could’ve melted his literally-frozen heart.
Obviously pleased that Anders was warm and a deep shade of pink, Myranda let him hook his arm around hers. They had the appearance of any other young couple in Hightown. All smiles and teasing jokes, slight wariness at the corners of their eyes. No one would’ve guessed it was the Champion and the man who would later spark the flames of a rebellion. They noticed Varric walking towards them, and their smiles grew wider.
“Varric!” Myranda called as they neared each other. “You’re early. Did you miss us already?”
Varric pulled his scarf down from his mouth. The toothache from the wind was instant. How did the Fereldens manage to talk like they were immune to it? “You know I can’t stay away from you for too long, Hawke,” he said. “You two headed out? I thought you’d be preparing for tonight.”
“We’re making a quick trip to the market. This one forgot to check if we had the spices for the stew she wanted to try,” said Anders, pointing to Myranda.
“Bodahn said we were stocked up before he left!” She protested.
“That was at the beginning of the month, love. And if you’ve been sneaking downstairs for midnight snacks, you could’ve checked.”
For that, Myranda whacked him on the chest.
“Ow!”
“I didn’t hit that hard.”
“Hard enough!” Anders said, rubbing the supposed injury.
Myranda rolled her eyes. To mollify him, she kissed him softly on the cheek. “There. Feel better?”
“Nope. You applied your treatment to the wrong area.”
Varric cleared his throat. Much as he didn’t mind his friends, it was getting a little uncomfortable. “Uh, hello? In case you’ve forgotten, I’m still here.”
“Sorry, Varric,” Myranda said with a sheepish look, like it wasn’t everyday the dwarf was subject to watching their displays of affection. (It was, almost.) “Do you want to come with us?” she asked.
“And stay out in the cold?” He pointed at a flurry of snow blowing past them, and pulled his scarf back up for emphasis. “No thanks. You lovebirds go on ahead, I’ll get the fire nice and blazing for when you return.”
“Suit yourself.”
Myranda unlocked the door for him. Once she was sure he had made himself at home, she rejoined Anders outside. They waved goodbye to the dwarf, promising that they would be quick. As he shut the door, he overheard some of their conversation. Believe it or not, they complimented, of all things, the weather.
i maintain that solas isn’t the type who gets jealous
but if he MUST be jealous, why is it always of cullen? why is it never of blackwall and josie? or leliana? varric? y’know. the four people a kind lavellan who goes for compassionate folks who respects the elves and older men might like. instead of a templar who may be trying to get there but isn’t there Yet. especially if said lavellan is a mage.
best part about putting varric in a hermes-esque role to solas’ orpheus is that, unlike orpheus, solas does not like being told the Unfortunate Truth that he Loves the Leading Lady, and i get dialogue ideas like this:
Solas: “How is this any of your business?”
Varric: “I consider both of you my friends, and I have a horrible tendency of making the business of my friends my business.”
Solas: “Perhaps you should choose which affairs you poke your nose into more wisely. Your coin purse may thank you.”
Varric: “Oh, I’m sure it would.”
varric is absolutely one of the first, if not the first, to notice that solas and eludysia have a Thing for each other. and i’m not just saying this because he reminds me of hermes.
man is an author. he knows romantic and sexual tension when he sees it, like how he knows tragedies.
