#hawkian

Please feast your eyes on the work of my very good and talented friend @boltlightning, who surprised me by turning my Dorian in DA2 long-fic into a real live physical book!

Because bolt is a bookbinding genius, it includes so many cool details... It's stamped with the Kirkwall seal! Stitched with a peacock-blue headband! And peacock-inspired endpaper! And subtle Hawke-red accents in the design!

...And a stupid title I sure didn't picture in elegant print when I chose it for a laugh! But look how beautiful it looks now. (bolt even legitimized my stupidity by adding the canon banter as a lovely epigraph! How perfect is that?)

Also: My overthought new translations and food lore incorporated as footnotes and appendices! Now that's a true friend who listens to my brainrot. (please don't encourage me, bolt)

And finally: This beautiful art I commissioned from @the-upper-shelf with Hawke and Dorian in Kirkwall-non-mage disguise, placed as the endpiece to the epilogue ♥♥♥ IT LOOKS SO GOOD.

(feat. me awkwardly obscuring spoilers for the 2 remaining people out there who might still be interested in many thousands of words about Andraste's most niche ship)

Rating: M Fandom: Dragon Age 2 Pairing: Dorian Pavus/Male Hawke Chapters: 18/18 Words: 227,792

Summary:

“You really need to work on—this,” Hawke says, circling a wide gesture about Dorian’s entire self. “Beg pardon?” Dorian says. “The man who’s covered in blood from head to toe is going to criticize my aesthetic?” At a breaking point with his expected path in life, a young Dorian Pavus embarks on a rebellious journey to escape his family’s disappointment by drinking his way across Thedas. But when things go awry, Dorian finds himself stranded in the grimy streets of Kirkwall—a place where his magical talent, far from the advantage it’s always been, is suddenly a glaring liability. Things are looking pretty bleak. Until Dorian runs into a charming apostate named Garrett Hawke.

You can read this on AO3 here!

I've spent the last three years pouring everything I adore about Dragon Age into this fic, and now it's finished! I hardly know what to do with myself.

On the lefthand side, the painted Halward Pavus looks decidedly younger, sharper of jaw, and more handsome than Hawke remembers him. He gazes off to the left with a smoldering, self-important squint. On the righthand side is Aquinea, looking equally as beautiful as she does today—the painting may not even do her radiance justice. She looks off to the right, as though she is actively longing to be elsewhere. And between the two…

Hawke gasps, covering his mouth.

The child who sits between them is so very young, but he is clearly Dorian. He has the same brilliant eyes, sparkling with promise—yet they appear unusually large in his soft and innocent little face. He is the only one in the painting who looks toward the viewer, and while he too is wearing a serious expression like the rest of his painted ancestors, it’s as though his very Dorian smile is fighting to burst out of him, just barely held back. As if he knows the secret that he is exceptional, and is judging whether or not he can share it.

“Oh, my sweet Maker,” Hawke says.

“Yes?” Dorian asks wearily. “Go on, get it out of your system.”

Hawke turns to the adult Dorian, his hands clasped to his chest. “I’m going to cry.”

“You what?”

“Look at how cute you are. Look how small! You were so…” Hawke shakes his head, turning back to the portrait with a sad little pout. “I need to protect this boy.”

“This boy is quite talented, might I remind you!” Dorian says. “Not to mention furnished with preposterous wealth. No need to spare your tears for him. Our energy would be better spent protecting that little apostate boy down in South Reach.”

“We can do both,” Hawke says. “I just… I can’t stand the idea that this precious child could ever think that he wouldn’t be loved.”

“Oh, darling,” Dorian sighs. The words are laden with exasperation, but his affection comes through in the way he drapes his arm across Hawke’s shoulders. “Not to worry. On that front, the record has been thoroughly corrected.”

“I’d do it sooner,” Hawke says. “I’d tell you so much sooner, if I only could.”

“I know you would,” Dorian says. “It’s all right, beloved. The time I spent not knowing will be trivial, once compared to all the years I have ahead at your side.”

Hawke turns his emotional gaze on Dorian, his eyes outright welling with earnest affection, and comes out with: “Does that mean I shouldn’t die an untimely death at the hands of the Venatori?”

Dorian splutters for a moment. “No! You very much should not.”

“This is going to be an issue, isn’t it?” Dorian asks.

“Hmm?” Hawke asks. Dorian only seems to have a sliver of Hawke’s attention for this inquiry; the rest of Hawke’s focus is on Dorian’s hand, as Hawke lazily kisses his way down from Dorian’s knuckles.

“First, we have a wonderful time sleeping together, and I am so content afterwards that I can do nothing but lie here…”

“Not seeing the problem,” Hawke murmurs against the back of Dorian’s wrist.

“Then, naturally, because we are next to each other, we enter into conversation,” Dorian says. “As I am quite smitten with you and find you so very charming, I can easily speak to you for ages…”

Hawke sits right up to give Dorian his full attention, dropping his chin on his fist with a grin. “Oh, go on! What other nice things do you have to say about me?”

“Given that you are so enjoyable to talk to,” Dorian says, as Hawke cheekily bats his eyelashes, “we then prattle long enough that our appetite for sex returns, and why would we not indulge that while it’s here? When we’re finished with that we must lie about again, and of course at that point I have thought of more things to say to you…”

“Ah, right. I think I understand,” Hawke says. “You’re saying things are too nice. Is that it?”

“I am asking you, how are we ever going to accomplish anything again? We could remain here perpetually at this rate. How does any couple in love ever find the time to tend to their responsibilities?”

“Hmm,” Hawke says. “Well. We might eventually run out of things to say…”

“Ha! Doubtful. You know how I adore the sound of my own voice.”

“Hm, yes, and I also adore the sound of your voice. Relatedly, I’m told it’s difficult to make me shut my mouth…”

“I can confirm that much firsthand,” Dorian says.

“…So perhaps the issue of us being caught in this endless cycle is, uh… particular to our situation.”

Dorian raises a brow. “Our situation, meaning… the two of us being such uniquely fascinating individuals?”

“Right,” Hawke says. “Or, maybe, being so insufferably talkative that no one else but us could stand each other?”

Dorian had started to laugh midway through this theory; his laughter continues beneath his protest: “No, no! That can’t be correct. It’s surely the reason that I said!”

“Oh, no, yes, that’s probably it,” Hawke laughs. He scoops Dorian in closer to kiss him again, firm and sound in spite of the way they’re both shaking with amusement.

At length Hawke breaks away to nestle his head against Dorian’s chest. “Well. Whatever the reason for it, I just thank the Maker that you can put up with me.”

Dorian shakes his head, trailing his fingers through Hawke’s hair. “Hardly a challenge, I assure you.”

I write a lot of Dorian-centric stuff, which has necessitated coming up with meanings for some of our more colourful Tevene phrases. Allow me to share my work for fun.

Disclaimer: I'm not actually educated in Latin. Do I know what I'm talking about? Not especially. But Tevene seems to be based on some vague semi-Latin at best, so I think I'm up to this task.

Fasta vass!

Known background: Both Fenris and Dorian say this phrase in-game. Fenris spits it out amidst a string of curses in a moment of anger; Dorian exclaims it in the Fade upon seeing a pride demon: "Fasta vass, that's a big one!"

Possible Latin root words:

As far as I can tell, "fasta" and "vass" aren't themselves Latin, but Tevene is hardly 1:1 accurate Latin anyway. In the absence of any other context, here are some similar Latin words that we can draw from:

fāstus - (1) arrogance, pride, haughtiness; scornful contempt or disdain of others; OR (2) prudery, primness

vas - likely vessel, as in e.g. "vase." Also potentially a duct releasing bodily fluid? You know, as in "vas deferens."

Definition:

Given that Dorian says the phrase specifically upon seeing a pride demon, it would seem like too much of a coincidence for "pride" not to be involved in the definition. So something like "proud vessel" is where I landed. But what's the implication of that?

I came up with two possible interpretations:

(1) Vessel could be some sort of funny vessel, like a chamber pot. (The bodily duct implication coming into play too...) Therefore, "proud piss-pot."

(2) A proud bodily vessel. Well, then: "Gigantic dick."

(Very mature, I know. Hey, these are the same people who gladly proclaim "you shit on my tongue.")

"Gigantic dick" is pretty funny to me, especially if you consider the prospect of Dorian spluttering that when he sees a massive demon. But then, "big dick, that's a big one!" is perhaps a bit too redundant for our eloquent boy. So when it came time to put one in the story I'm working on, I chose "proud piss-pot."

The full context for what this means:

I'll let Dorian and Hawke explain my rationale and its potential uses under the cut. Plus I'll add the version where I had Dorian define it as "gigantic dick" that I cut out of the fic, just for fun.