A Chance Encounter (sorry, I stink at titles)
For Cherith
Bethany/Teagan
MotA spoilers for those that haven’t played it yet.
Alrighty, this is my last gift as a relief elf for the DA Fandom Holiday Gift exchange. I wanted to write Cherith a story with Teagan, because I loves the Bann of Rainesfere. I also liked the idea of creating a world where Circle!Bethany gets some non-templar romancing. I hope you enjoy!
Isolde was going on about something or other, her voice sounded shrill to Teagan’s ears, even though he normally didn’t mind his sister-in-law. She had a big heart, was a kind, pious woman and deeply devoted his brother and their son. But after traveling with her to the remote stretch of the Vimmark Mountains to Chateau Haine, he needed a small break from her.
He missed Rainesfere, the craggy red land, abutted by the mountains with snowy white tops glistening in the distance, the wind whistling through the walls of the modest house he called home. Teagan was the Bann, but Rainesfere was a remote, desolate stretch of land near the Frostbacks, and many people preferred the comforts of nearby Redcliffe. He didn’t mind, the few people that inhabited Rainesfere were a particular sort of hardy and he liked them, while they in turn, adored him, for he treated them as fairly as possible.
During their travels to the Chateau, where they were to, of all things, participate in a wyvern hunt, Isolde had briefed him on everyone that she knew would be in attendance. It was an exhausting list, and he’d listened in silence as she rattled off all the various offenses the Comtess Dulci de Launcet had committed against her over the years. The two women had a legendary rivalry, but he didn’t actually know or care how it had begun.
“Teagan, are you even listening to me?” Isolde’s voice gouged into his thoughts, the accusation too much for him to take.
“I can assure you I am not.” Teagan replied, and Isolde blanched at his frankness, unaccustomed to it, though she’d known Teagan for half her life. “But by all means, keep talking.” He said. “I find it too quiet when you aren’t.”
A Week of Gifts
Fenris/F!Hawke
For Deltastic
Another gift fic! This one is for Deltastic, who actually wanted a drawing, so I’ll have a go at a picture, but I did write this fic for her as well. I’m so sorry, but you didn’t list the name of your custom Hawke that romanced Fenris, so sadly, she’s just Marian in the story.
He didn’t like Satinalia, and she understood why, it reminded Fenris too much of Tevinter, of all the rotten debauchery he’d seen and endured there. The holiday, as Marian gathered from his stories, was nothing like she’d ever celebrated it, but a veritable pot of mayhem managed by the magisters in Tevinter. Fenris had dully described parties where he’d been required to stand guard and watch Danarius doing tricks to amuse fellow senators fueled by blood magic, drunken hired girls sitting and pouting on the laps of the most powerful, party goers in corners, giggling at delusions brought on by aqaue licidius.
His version of the holiday sounded nothing like the celebrations they’d had back in Lothering, with tiny gifts every day for a week, Mother and Bethany baking in the kitchen. Just the scent of fruitcakes made her think of home, though she hated eating the things. The smell always made her nostalgic, the dried fruits and rum mixed with cake, it was just the smell of a Satinalia celebration to Marian. She used to spend all her pocket money buying things for her family, planning months in advance, shopping at the traveling carts that came through Lothering.
Something to That
For wasdplz
Aveline/Donnic
Another fic for a deserving Dragon Age fan, although I think you have other relief pitcher secret elves working on things too. I’m not the anon that sent you a message yesterday, but I did write this for you, as requested by Santa Varric. I hope you get many gifts!
There had been so many of the thugs, dropping from the tops of buildings, coming at them from all sides, specters that formed from the shrouded mists of the night sky. Waves of them attacked and for a moment, he worried that they might be overwhelmed. But then Donnic remembered, a light pierced through his panic as he did, Aveline was with him tonight.
They hadn’t escaped completely unharmed though it could have been much worse. She’d felt something distinctly unpleasant on her back when she moved her shield arm. Aveline deduced that she must have taken a hit that missed the intended target, perhaps with the butt of a sword. Whatever had caused her injury, it left her aching in her armor on the way back barracks when their shift was over. There weren’t enough health potions to go around and Aveline hadn’t been carrying any. Times like these were when she missed Hawke and her pack stuffed with many items including health potions and injury kits.
Feels Like Home
For Serindrana
Bethany/Cullen
I’m a relief pitcher for the Secret Elves, but I’m here to spread so much cheer to Serindrana.
It was always Marian that garnered the bulk of the attention, but it never truly bothered Bethany, not as it had bothered Carver. She was what their mother always called sweet, but really meant something more vague, not jealous or insecure but something that fell short of self-assured. There was no reason to compete with anyone in her eyes, especially not when her life was nothing she’d like to hold up in comparison.
Sitting outside Gamlen’s wretched hovel, Bethany often looked up at the smoggy sky, trying to find one bright star to pierce through the poisoned fog. Alone, outside, she asked for wisdom, guidance, the strength that she needed to get by in Kirkwall. It was just so much harder here, harder for all of them without Carver. Mother seemed to feel it as deeply as she did, and it comforted her, even though she knew they were mourning two different things. Carver was Mother’s precious boy, her baby, younger than Bethany by eleven minutes. She’d always held those minutes over him, but when thought of him now she’d wished he’d been the older one, just to give him a little more life.
