Prompt fest fills
Prompt: Whether we whisper or yell
(this is actually one I've been agonizing over for most of the last week that with a little inspiration from the prompt and a bit of tweaking ended up being exactly what I needed it to be)
It was almost like reliving that moment when he’d helplessly watched his twin sister be flung to the ground in a broken heap by the ogre. He had been unable to do anything to save Bethany, though he would have gladly traded places with her in that instant, given his life for her own. But the Maker hadn’t ever asked him what he wanted, hadn’t ever let him keep anything that he held dear. And as he watched Ser Alrik parade his newest prize into the Gallows’ courtyard, he saw his last treasure stolen away from him.
Carver barely registered the horrified curse behind him or his Knight-Captain’s firm grasp holding him back? Upright? He wasn’t even sure whether he’d whispered or yelled her name, as panic and horror and heartache took hold, everything blurring away but the sight of her.
It was hard to get a good glimpse as she was surrounded by Alrik’s little group of anti-mage fanatics, but the sick feeling in his core confirmed his greatest fear. The brand was freshly burnt onto her pale brow, the blazing sun marring the delicate lines of her vallaslin. And even from where he stood, he could see that Merrill’s impossibly large green eyes were completely devoid of any emotion, as expressionless as the rest of her face.
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Prompt: “Being mean to Merrill is like drowning a puppy and liking it”
Merrill stormed past him scowling, eyes blazing with annoyance and the tips of her ears an angry red. She didn’t even acknowledge him on her way out of the Hanged Man. That almost wounded his pride.
Hawke raised a brow at the chuckling dwarf at the bar, “You wouldn’t happen to know why the most annoyingly cheerful elf I’ve ever met looked ready to shoot lightning up the ass of the first person who doesn’t get out of her way, would you Varric?”
“Maybe I’m a bad man, Hawke, but being mean to Merrill is like drowning a puppy and liking it.”
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Prompt: Merrill contemplates babies
(I let this one run away from me a little...I regret nothing!)
“You know, Junior,” Varric begins, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he looks around their crowded table. Hawke is at one end, whispering illicit things into Fenris’s ear if the elf’s reaction is any indication while the younger brother is just settling in at the other end next to a smiling, if slightly tipsy Merrill. “Your big brother over there doesn’t appear to have any plans to carry on the family name. Neither one of them have the right equipment for it. Looks like it’s going to be up to you and Daisy to get started on that next generation of little Hawkes.”
Carver nearly chokes on his ale, his eyes watering as he tries to sputter out out a response. But Merrill beats him to it, a far off look on her face as she sighs wistfully at the men across the table, “It’s too bad that one of them isn’t a girl, don’t you think? I think they’d make beautiful children! Tiny little brooding Hawkes running around, Elgar’nan, it’d be so cute!”
Varric grins and voices his agreement, giving Carver a look that warns that just because Merrill had missed the most important part of his teasing, he knows damned well that the younger Hawke hadn’t.