#kirkw4ll

❝     having   met   some   of   the   gods,   i   get   why.     ❞ 

of   course,   stories,   like   they   always   do,   tend   to   wax   poetic   about   the   more   romantic   aspects,   of   long   lifespans   &   short   loves.   the   kind   of   themes   that   might   make   lavellan   recoil.   none,   to   her   knowledge,   have   ever   portrayed   the   gods   as   arrogant   assholes,   or   blighted   –   the   divine   is   somehow   never   soaked   in   blood. 

valeria   drums   her   knuckles   against   the   uneven   grain   of   the   table; it's not what she wants to talk about during a rare moment she's not trying to fight said gods, but all the same, she asks,    ❝     did   you   have   a   favourite?     ❞ 

❝     wellll…   i   can   name   one.     ❞ 

nevermind   the   fact   that   -   he?   she?   -   doesn't   have   a   name   yet,   but   valeria   knows   for   a   fact   that   they   do   exist.   when   not   tinkering   with   the   nadas   dirthalen,   bellara's   hunched   over   a   sheaf   of   parchment   crafting   her   serial,   one   that   she   insists   will   have   a   happy   ending.   she   smiles   to   herself,   &   hopes   to   someday   read   the   story   in   full,   in   print.

she   also   hopes   it's   a   little   more   subtle   in   its   borrowings   than   varric's   writings   about   the   woman   beside   her   now.

❝     –   but   they're   fictional.    &   it's   unpublished.     ❞

THE LAUGHTER THAT TUMBLES FROM HIS LIPS is childish and nervous in its innocence. SUCH A LONG WAY FROM HIS EXPERIENCES, YET... still a man made excited by the prospect of his new brotherhood, and of the young love and affection festering within his heart. NONE OF IT SEEMED WRONG. despite knowing it to be true. for he felt as though he were helping the everyday people, and the mages in his care. SUCH BEING EVERYTHING HE'S EVER WANTED. even if he was well aware of how their relationship was . . . well, at least on his end, teetering on the inappropriate. INSUBORDINATION WARNED OF, BUT KEPT SECRET FROM THE KNIGHT COMMANDER BY HIS FRIENDS. "what? o-of course not!" he sounded like he found the idea incredulous in itself. HOW COULD HE? when everything in him screamed of longing when he looked at her.

BARELY EVEN ADULTS, they brush the line of such an age where these things naturally become a consideration... YET HE STILL NEVER COULD HAVE DREAMED OF IT. but why did it have to be her? he doesn't think about it, not really. BUT WHEN HE DOES IT TURNS HIS STOMACH. protests stirring of such things which were irrelevant, as he'd never admitted it. ONLY DAYDREAMS. AND COULD HE, EVEN? they could never have a life. not here.

HE'S CERTAINLY A KINDER, MORE SOFT PRESENCE IN THIS STAGE OF HIS CAREER. sympathetic, to the slight detriment of his reputation. BUT HE HAD GOOD FRIENDS, HERE. friends who kept his secret, and left his . . . charge alone. the two of them are tucked away in a corner of the apprentice libraries, sitting with her studies open before her. A WEAKLY VEILED INTENT SHOULD SOMEONE VIEW THEM LIKE THIS.

he's smiling, watching her . . . stricken, as usual. brown eyes fond. "h-how could you -- i mean, i know --" he exhales, looking away with eyebrows raising. THE LABOR OF IT IS WEIGHTY. he feels like there's a brick sitting in the center of his chest. "i-i know some templars, they . . . well, t-to put it bluntly, they -- like hunting down apostate mages. or, sometimes doing things that downright shame the order." he looks down at the table, his armor clanking a bit. SMILE OUT OF PLACE, YET BORN OF HIS NERVOUSNESS. "but i- well i'm only here to help. a-and despite my duty to the maker," he peers back upward. "i will do so for everyone, i-if i am allowed." his lips twitch, threatening further ascent despite aforementioned eyebrows pulling inward, apologetically. "i could never hate you."

HE HADN'T EXPECTED THEM TO SEND HER HERE. not in his wildest dreams had he ever considered . . . why? why would she ask about him, of all people? WITH THE WAY HE'D ACTED, THE PERSON HE'D BECOME? the one even now that he's trying to reason with. was it too late to tear down the preconceptions and the doubts that had otherwise ruled his existence? ALL HE'D EVER WANTED TO DO IN THIS LIFE WAS HELP PEOPLE. and since he was a boy, the templars had been his heroes. misguided, childishness glittering against the swords of larger, armored men. and soon enough, he was their betters. BUT SOMEWHERE ALONG THE WAY HIS REASONS, HIS MORALS CHANGED. morals which only facilitated his rise within the order.

he hadn't always considered helping people the same way as he had after his mind had been MANGLED, AND TORN APART BY DEMONS. HE'D NOT ONLY WANTED TO KEEP THE CITIZENS OF FERELDEN SAFE, BUT THE MAGES AS WELL. and after what he'd gone through he'd found himself foolish for it. now, he's left to pick up these dual sides of himself and make a new man of it. BUT HE'S NOT SURE HOW. hoping his actions here would overshadow those years he's given to the order.

he'd fled when he'd heard the news . . . held up in his office, face pallid and sweat-lined in his near constant symptoms. SKIN CRAWLING WITH INTERNAL PROTEST AND DEBATE. reasoning with himself in a constant war, made separate from personal bindings the dreams had been bad enough, bridging the present to the past . . . AND THIS WASN'T HELPING. working to bring it all back. HIS HANDS UPON THE DESK, BREATHING RAGGED, BEFORE SHE ENTERS. and he freezes. somehow finding his body unfolding, in a slow rise from his stooped state.

YOU REMEMBER ME?

ONLY TOO WELL. HIS BODY NOW, IS NOT HIS OWN. perhaps he should be ashamed of the way his blood freezes in his veins upon the mere sight. the unconscious curl of leather-clad fingers about the hilt of his sword as shoulders sway in shifting of stance. a look of clear wariness crossing his raised features. for her lips were still akin to a ghost upon his mouth. he can still feel them, but too lightly and fleeting to be enough. WERE HIS MOST RECENT DREAMS TRICKING HIS MIND ALL OVER AGAIN? "yes --" he utters. his voice sounds faraway, shaky.

with flicks of bright eyes over her face, his heart aches . . . physically feeling as if squeezed by a stone fist. such amplified tenfold when he notices the position of his hand, which releases slowly. his face taking to screwing up softly in disgust with himself. and before he can think, he says : "-- forgive me." hand still slightly raised, it wavers as if it were foreign. breathing only having become more ragged as it stays, and he suddenly turns. CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE. BRIDGE OF HIS NOSE PINCHED BETWEEN FINGERS. "i --" head tilts, shaking.

HOW MANY TIMES HAS HE DREAMED OF THIS? ALBEIT, IT HAD HAPPENED DIFFERENTLY. sometimes her shape would change when he'd bid her leave, and in others he would be prepared. SHE WOULD STAY, AND HE WOULD GIVE IN TO THE DREAM. but in those dreams she was never real. even if he had held onto a piece of her all of this time. EVEN IF A PART OF HIM WOULD ALWAYS ... "i'm afraid i'm -- not myself, at the moment. my lady." maybe i never have been, with you. or not since you.

                @kirkw4ll  said,  "shut up and let me help you."

rook's  lips  part to retort with  a  sharp  remark, but they refrain if  only  out  of  respect  for  hawke and varric. it makes sense in their head.  rook  exhales  a  sigh,  throwing  their  hands  up  in  surrender. "andraste's  flaming  knickers,  you  are  insufferable,"  she  mutters,  her  tone  thick  with  an  annoyance  that  isn't  at  all  genuine.  rook  has  long  since  learned  of  theirs  and  hawke's  similarities,  which  is  why  they're  fairly  certain  hawke  will  know  that  rook  speaks  with  humor. "fine,"  they  snap,  their  voice  heavy  with  mocking  exasperation  as  they  turn  and  point  in  the  other's  direction,  “but  if  this  goes  horribly  wrong,  i’m  pinning  the  blame  on  you  and  telling  everyone  you  begged  me  to  let  you  play  hero  one  more  time.”

boost my ego / always accepting

EXPRESSION IS IMMEDIATELY STRUCK WITH WORRY. ears pricked, head tilted as honeyed eyes deepen in the nearing of expressive brows. optics near swimming in their newly bestowed emotion. "are you alright?" HIS VOICE IS SHARPER THAN HE INTENDS, BUT BETRAYS NEARLY ALL OF HIS CONCERN. if not carrying a hint of accusation.

a huff releases from his nostrils in a slight bit of self chastisement.

UNWOUND A NOTCH, HIS STEP BRINGS HIM CLOSER. and in coming up behind her, his wide hands hesitantly remain at his sides. HE ISN'T TRYING TO OVERSTEP, however . . . "i'm worried about you." he admits it, because what's the point? EMOTION FLARING AGAIN. fighting its way from his tongue at last. FOR IT'S OBVIOUS, ISN'T IT?

his chin angled downward, anders applies a soft bit of pressure, though he does not try to lead her before she gives in. looking at her as much as he could from over her shoulder. "maybe you should lie down." he starts. "-- i can help you." WORDS SOUND BLURTED. a plea, perhaps. AND MAKER KNOWS, he's being entirely too much. but he's right, she must know that. SHE MUST. he is a healer, after all. "but you can't keep exerting yourself with no break."