“weiter, weiter ins verderben; wir mussen leben bis wir sterben.” - rammstein
And the second half of my massive ficpost of doom!
For The Trees
Prompt: Forest
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 272
Characters/Pairing: F!Hawke, F!Hawke/Anders
Summary: He terrified her. And Hawke was not a woman easily frightened.
He terrified her. Anders, that is. She loved him - Maker, how she loved him - but some days he scared the ever-loving shit out of her. And Hawke was not a woman easily frightened.
It wasn't that she thought he would hurt her. Not physically, at least (emotionally... well, she would be the first to acknowledge that he would always, always choose his cause over her and one of these days that was going to tear her heart in two). No, what worried her was his blasted crusade. She supported mage freedom - after seven years of living with Anders, she suspected that even the most stalwart templar-sympathizers would have doubts - but the way he went about it... there was no way that could end well.
The Hawkes had had a neighbor back in Lothering, a neurotic little man named Marcus who Mother had always accused of “missing the forest for the trees.” With Anders, Hawke suspected that it was the exact opposite: he was so busy staring down the forest that he missed the trees. “Mage freedom” wasn't about freeing individual mages for him, not anymore. Now it was about the concept, the ideals of “justice,” “freedom.” Nothing else mattered; not him, not her, not the unfortunate mages who happened to get caught in the crossfires of his vendetta. He couldn't see the people whose lives he affected and one day that fact would be the ruin of them all. And it would be Hawke who was left to pick up the pieces, just like always. She prayed she was up to the task.
Sins of the Father
Prompt: Ten Years
Rating: PG
Word Count: 587
Characters/Pairing: F!Hawke, Irving (past F!Hawke/Anders)
Warnings: (sorta) canon character death, Dragon Age II spoilers
Summary: “Her father was much the same.” “You knew?”
“Amelia Bethany Hawke, get back here!”
A high pitched giggle and flash of blonde curls were the only answer Hawke received before the ten year old disappeared around a corner. She tugged a hand through her own hair - once brown, now prematurely greyed - and turned to face the First Enchanter.
“Has she been like this all semester?” she asked, her voice tinged with exasperation. “Or is it only because I'm here?”
Irving smiled at her through his wrinkles. Time had taken its toll on him, though his mind was as sharp as ever. “She does seem to have acquired a... boundless enthusiasm recently, though I can't say I'm surprised. Her father was much the same.”
A chill swept through Hawke's veins, so strong she had to check the urge to look around for someone casting a frost spell on her. She never had truly lost the battle instincts drilled into her by her years in Kirkwall.
“You knew?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. Irving chuckled.
“My dear, I taught the boy for the better part of a decade - I'd recognize his child anywhere. The question, rather, is does she know?”
“Maker, I hope not,” Hawke breathed, glancing down the hallway where her daughter had just disappeared. “I mean, Lia's a doll and I love her to distraction, but she can't keep a secret to save her life. And if people knew...”
“You fear their reactions.”
Which... talk about an understatement. “Damned right I do. You know as well as I do how people view him. If Lia's outed as the daughter of a... a murderer, a terrorist, how do you think they'll react. She'll never be able to have a normal life. She'll be hunted, hated, all because people can't see past the name of her father. I can't do that to her.”
Irving slid a gnarled hand over both of hers, stilling their nervous motions. “I think you do not give people enough credit. They might surprise you.”
She wished she could believe that. Truly, she did. But she saw the glares, the silences she received because of her name, because of her ties to what they called the “Kirkwall Incident.” To be a Hawke in this world was not easy. To be a Hawke and a mage even less so. Add in anything else - daughter of a traitor, daughter of an abomination - and she might as well sign her daughter's death warrant herself.
Irving seemed to misinterpret her silence for agreement, because he gave her a comforting smile and gestured around them. “After all, in the end he did win.”
Hawke followed the line of his arm to the throngs of people crowding the entrance hall of the Circle Tower, parents picking up their mage children, taking them home for the summer. She took in the complete lack of templars, the huge windows that had been knocked into the Tower's walls, reformations paid for in blood and death and war. She laughed, bitter and hollow.
“Yeah, he won,” she muttered, not meeting Irving's eyes. She did not add, and look where that got him.
Lying in a pool of his own blood, my knife buried in his spine, she did not say.
His name a curse on the lips of devout Andrastians everywhere.
A specter in the life of a daughter he will never know exists.
“He won.”
Glitz
Prompt: Appearance
Rating: PG
Word Count: 394
Characters/Pairing: Anders
Summary: It was all because of a girl.
It was all because of a girl.
Every once in a while it occurred to Anders to be a bit chagrined at the number of his stories that started that way. It was all because of a girl... Well, there was this girl... You'd think he would have learned now to say no to a pretty face by now. But no, the cheerful little elven apprentice had fluttered her lashes and swayed her hips and he had all but fallen over himself in his haste to agree.
He suspected enchantment.
Whatever he methods, it culminated in the two of them sequestered in an empty classroom hours after curfew, him pale and nervous, her approaching him with a needle in one hand and a frost spell ready in the other.
“Oh, stop being such an infant, would you?” she snapped as he shied away from her outstretched hand. “It's not like it's going to hurt.”
“Not going to hurt? You're trying to stick a needle through my flesh!”
She scoffed at him and knocked his flailing arm out of the way so that she could make a grab for his ear with fingers literally as cold as ice. He let out a high pitched yelp at the cold, then an even louder one when she slid the needle neatly through his earlobe.
“Maker's breath, woman! What was the point of the ice if it didn't numb the damned ear?”
The grin that slipped over her face as she replaced the needle with a thin ring of gold was beyond wicked.
“Because I enjoy making you squeal like a little girl,” she said and with a wave of her hand and a wink she sauntered out of the room. Anders lifted his hand to his sore ear and pouted at the now- empty doorway.
“Sadist.”
When his bunkmate saw his new accessory the next morning, the idiot nearly fell out of his bed laughing until Anders froze him to his sheets in retaliation. With all that pesky pain out of the way, he decided that he quite liked it, actually. And if the collection of appreciative glances he had already received were any indication, he wasn't the only one. He made a mental note to thank the girl next time he ran into her. This was going to be magnificent.
Vivamus, Atque Amemus
Prompt: Song Lyrics
Rating: PG
Word Count: 214
Characters/Pairing: Anders, Anders/F!Hawke
Warnings: Abuse of Latin, silliness, sap.
Summary: A lazy day in. With Latin.
So, this one is actually a direct result of trying to write Dragon Age fic in the middle of my Roman Lit class. I... don't even know. According to the Dragon Age wiki, while Arcanum isn't actually supposed to be Latin, it is supposed to be a distant ancestor of English and Tevinter itself is based on the Roman Empire. Therefore, Latin poetry! Because the world cannot have enough Latin poetry. And my explanation for Anders knowing/recognizing the Arcanum? He totally went and learned it in order to impress girls in the Tower. You know it's true.
In case anyone is curious, this story has helpfully been subtitled “why I am not allowed to write fluff” by a friend of mine...
Despite the title, there is no Catullus in the story itself...
The Latin here is taken from Propertius 2.ii, in case you're curious...
The soft sounds of a lute drifted up the stairs to where Anders lay, a sleeping Hawke sprawled against his chest, his fingers twined through her hair. Orana, he suspected. Sandal had taken a shine to her music and the timid little elven girl for her part had developed a soft spot for the enchanter within minutes of her arrival at the estate. Anders set aside his book and listened, the gentle tune a perfect counterpoint for their lazy day in.
Before long, Orana's voice joined the music of her lute, snatches of ancient Arcanum blending seamlessly with the instrument's melody.
“Liber eram et vacuo meditabar vivere lecto;
at me composita pace fefellit Amor.
Cur haec in terris facies humana moratur?”
Anders recognized the words, an old Tevinter poem that he had never before heard put to music, and he pressed a kiss to Hawke's hair as he translated them, adding his own quiet voice to the muted sounds of Orana's.
“I was free and thought to spend my nights alone;
but though the truce was made Love played me false.
Why abides such mortal beauty upon earth?”
As Orana's voice faded away to Sandal's exuberant applause, Anders tightened his arms around Hawke's sleeping form.
“Nunc scio quid sit amor.”
For The Trees
Prompt: Forest
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 272
Characters/Pairing: F!Hawke, F!Hawke/Anders
Summary: He terrified her. And Hawke was not a woman easily frightened.
He terrified her. Anders, that is. She loved him - Maker, how she loved him - but some days he scared the ever-loving shit out of her. And Hawke was not a woman easily frightened.
It wasn't that she thought he would hurt her. Not physically, at least (emotionally... well, she would be the first to acknowledge that he would always, always choose his cause over her and one of these days that was going to tear her heart in two). No, what worried her was his blasted crusade. She supported mage freedom - after seven years of living with Anders, she suspected that even the most stalwart templar-sympathizers would have doubts - but the way he went about it... there was no way that could end well.
The Hawkes had had a neighbor back in Lothering, a neurotic little man named Marcus who Mother had always accused of “missing the forest for the trees.” With Anders, Hawke suspected that it was the exact opposite: he was so busy staring down the forest that he missed the trees. “Mage freedom” wasn't about freeing individual mages for him, not anymore. Now it was about the concept, the ideals of “justice,” “freedom.” Nothing else mattered; not him, not her, not the unfortunate mages who happened to get caught in the crossfires of his vendetta. He couldn't see the people whose lives he affected and one day that fact would be the ruin of them all. And it would be Hawke who was left to pick up the pieces, just like always. She prayed she was up to the task.
Sins of the Father
Prompt: Ten Years
Rating: PG
Word Count: 587
Characters/Pairing: F!Hawke, Irving (past F!Hawke/Anders)
Warnings: (sorta) canon character death, Dragon Age II spoilers
Summary: “Her father was much the same.” “You knew?”
“Amelia Bethany Hawke, get back here!”
A high pitched giggle and flash of blonde curls were the only answer Hawke received before the ten year old disappeared around a corner. She tugged a hand through her own hair - once brown, now prematurely greyed - and turned to face the First Enchanter.
“Has she been like this all semester?” she asked, her voice tinged with exasperation. “Or is it only because I'm here?”
Irving smiled at her through his wrinkles. Time had taken its toll on him, though his mind was as sharp as ever. “She does seem to have acquired a... boundless enthusiasm recently, though I can't say I'm surprised. Her father was much the same.”
A chill swept through Hawke's veins, so strong she had to check the urge to look around for someone casting a frost spell on her. She never had truly lost the battle instincts drilled into her by her years in Kirkwall.
“You knew?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. Irving chuckled.
“My dear, I taught the boy for the better part of a decade - I'd recognize his child anywhere. The question, rather, is does she know?”
“Maker, I hope not,” Hawke breathed, glancing down the hallway where her daughter had just disappeared. “I mean, Lia's a doll and I love her to distraction, but she can't keep a secret to save her life. And if people knew...”
“You fear their reactions.”
Which... talk about an understatement. “Damned right I do. You know as well as I do how people view him. If Lia's outed as the daughter of a... a murderer, a terrorist, how do you think they'll react. She'll never be able to have a normal life. She'll be hunted, hated, all because people can't see past the name of her father. I can't do that to her.”
Irving slid a gnarled hand over both of hers, stilling their nervous motions. “I think you do not give people enough credit. They might surprise you.”
She wished she could believe that. Truly, she did. But she saw the glares, the silences she received because of her name, because of her ties to what they called the “Kirkwall Incident.” To be a Hawke in this world was not easy. To be a Hawke and a mage even less so. Add in anything else - daughter of a traitor, daughter of an abomination - and she might as well sign her daughter's death warrant herself.
Irving seemed to misinterpret her silence for agreement, because he gave her a comforting smile and gestured around them. “After all, in the end he did win.”
Hawke followed the line of his arm to the throngs of people crowding the entrance hall of the Circle Tower, parents picking up their mage children, taking them home for the summer. She took in the complete lack of templars, the huge windows that had been knocked into the Tower's walls, reformations paid for in blood and death and war. She laughed, bitter and hollow.
“Yeah, he won,” she muttered, not meeting Irving's eyes. She did not add, and look where that got him.
Lying in a pool of his own blood, my knife buried in his spine, she did not say.
His name a curse on the lips of devout Andrastians everywhere.
A specter in the life of a daughter he will never know exists.
“He won.”
Glitz
Prompt: Appearance
Rating: PG
Word Count: 394
Characters/Pairing: Anders
Summary: It was all because of a girl.
It was all because of a girl.
Every once in a while it occurred to Anders to be a bit chagrined at the number of his stories that started that way. It was all because of a girl... Well, there was this girl... You'd think he would have learned now to say no to a pretty face by now. But no, the cheerful little elven apprentice had fluttered her lashes and swayed her hips and he had all but fallen over himself in his haste to agree.
He suspected enchantment.
Whatever he methods, it culminated in the two of them sequestered in an empty classroom hours after curfew, him pale and nervous, her approaching him with a needle in one hand and a frost spell ready in the other.
“Oh, stop being such an infant, would you?” she snapped as he shied away from her outstretched hand. “It's not like it's going to hurt.”
“Not going to hurt? You're trying to stick a needle through my flesh!”
She scoffed at him and knocked his flailing arm out of the way so that she could make a grab for his ear with fingers literally as cold as ice. He let out a high pitched yelp at the cold, then an even louder one when she slid the needle neatly through his earlobe.
“Maker's breath, woman! What was the point of the ice if it didn't numb the damned ear?”
The grin that slipped over her face as she replaced the needle with a thin ring of gold was beyond wicked.
“Because I enjoy making you squeal like a little girl,” she said and with a wave of her hand and a wink she sauntered out of the room. Anders lifted his hand to his sore ear and pouted at the now- empty doorway.
“Sadist.”
When his bunkmate saw his new accessory the next morning, the idiot nearly fell out of his bed laughing until Anders froze him to his sheets in retaliation. With all that pesky pain out of the way, he decided that he quite liked it, actually. And if the collection of appreciative glances he had already received were any indication, he wasn't the only one. He made a mental note to thank the girl next time he ran into her. This was going to be magnificent.
Vivamus, Atque Amemus
Prompt: Song Lyrics
Rating: PG
Word Count: 214
Characters/Pairing: Anders, Anders/F!Hawke
Warnings: Abuse of Latin, silliness, sap.
Summary: A lazy day in. With Latin.
So, this one is actually a direct result of trying to write Dragon Age fic in the middle of my Roman Lit class. I... don't even know. According to the Dragon Age wiki, while Arcanum isn't actually supposed to be Latin, it is supposed to be a distant ancestor of English and Tevinter itself is based on the Roman Empire. Therefore, Latin poetry! Because the world cannot have enough Latin poetry. And my explanation for Anders knowing/recognizing the Arcanum? He totally went and learned it in order to impress girls in the Tower. You know it's true.
In case anyone is curious, this story has helpfully been subtitled “why I am not allowed to write fluff” by a friend of mine...
Despite the title, there is no Catullus in the story itself...
The Latin here is taken from Propertius 2.ii, in case you're curious...
The soft sounds of a lute drifted up the stairs to where Anders lay, a sleeping Hawke sprawled against his chest, his fingers twined through her hair. Orana, he suspected. Sandal had taken a shine to her music and the timid little elven girl for her part had developed a soft spot for the enchanter within minutes of her arrival at the estate. Anders set aside his book and listened, the gentle tune a perfect counterpoint for their lazy day in.
Before long, Orana's voice joined the music of her lute, snatches of ancient Arcanum blending seamlessly with the instrument's melody.
“Liber eram et vacuo meditabar vivere lecto;
at me composita pace fefellit Amor.
Cur haec in terris facies humana moratur?”
Anders recognized the words, an old Tevinter poem that he had never before heard put to music, and he pressed a kiss to Hawke's hair as he translated them, adding his own quiet voice to the muted sounds of Orana's.
“I was free and thought to spend my nights alone;
but though the truce was made Love played me false.
Why abides such mortal beauty upon earth?”
As Orana's voice faded away to Sandal's exuberant applause, Anders tightened his arms around Hawke's sleeping form.
“Nunc scio quid sit amor.”