#rawke

“Actually I was hiding,” he says. “The nap ambushed me.” “Hiding? From?” “You name it.” “I do that too sometimes,” she says, glancing across the courtyard. “My secret spot is the upper mezzanine. Don’t tell anyone.” “Never.” Were her blush less becoming he might actually regret the potency of his effect. She steals looks when his attention seems to be fixed elsewhere, generous ones, as if measuring the man against fiction. And each time, something warm and buoyant floods his chest. She’s real. He fumbles around for a reason to keep her, another minute. An hour. Whatever he can scrounge. “You could— rehearse your speech to me. People tell me my—” He leans to glance at her notes. “Arl Teagan impression is top shelf.” “I’m still working out what to say in the first place. Thank you, though.” “Come to the Rest.” The impulse speeds past his lips with all the forethought of a Crested Tit. “What?” “I mean— buy you a drink?” Shit recovery. “I drink for free,” she points out. “You could drink for free across from me. Professionally. And keep working on your work and ignore me entirely if you so desire.” “That would defeat the purpose.” Garrett purses his lips, his gaze locked onto her. She’s tenacious and she knows it. “I’ll tell you what really happened in chapter four.”  Now she purses her lips. He’s got her now. “Chapter six,” she counters. Garrett smiles, scratching at a sideburn. “I don’t remember what’s in chapter six.” “Neither do I.” Now who’s the flirt? “How about the library,” he suggests. “Dagna told me she’d leave me some books with Hel- Helissa, is it?” “Helissma, I believe,” she answers and then capitulates fully. “The library then.” ═════ ✧ ═════

Sitting across from her does nothing to settle the skip of his pulse. He collects it all: the scrunch of her chin as she gnaws at her lip, the elegant dash of her notes across paper, the tap of her pencil against her nose. Anchor glow diffuses along branching scars before disappearing up her sleeve. All the little details that make her real. Just yesterday he’d blithely interrupted her archery practice and flirted himself into oblivion. Today he’s every bit the fool. And now she’s gone and rewarded him for it. “A little bird told me you’ve been to the future,” he says, voice lowered, marking his spot in Dagna’s volume with a finger. Rose leans against her fist, face perfectly smushed. “I’d hardly call Varric a little bird. He’s more like a…” “Weyrs Goose. Won’t shut up, nests above your favorite tavern. Shits all over your yard,” he says. Her smile peeks from behind her hand. “What was it like?” Rose exhales down at the table. “Imagine a world where Corypheus got everything he wanted.” Garrett puffs through his lips. “That good?” Rose speaks into her notes, her brow twitching. “I hate to think of it like it was only a warning. The people I saw there lived it and suffered it. But I was able to pop in for a taste and leave. Hardly seems fair.” “Surely none of them would blame you.” She fidgets, poking absently at the anchor with suddenly tense fingers.  “And if it was you?” “Me?” He fumbles for what she could mean. A hypothetical perhaps? “I met…  a version of you.” Garrett adjusts himself in his seat, a fresh thrill tickling in his chest. He leans forward on his elbows and glances around before leaning close and speaking low. “But you didn’t recognize me in the stable,” he points out. “You— looked different.” Her discomfort piques the hairs in his forearms. “If you’d smiled more I might have.” “Tell me,” he murmurs. Her shoulders sag. “Do you really want to know?” Garrett nods. “I do. If you’re willing to say.”

Rose addresses the candle between them, picking at old wax tailings that had escaped the edge of the brass chamberstick. “You’d been burned at some point. Badly. A rage demon took half your face. Most of your hair. Didn’t seem to slow you down any, but, I don’t know. You were different. Which isn’t so surprising giving the state of the world, but, meeting you is a bit of a shock.” “Was I so awful?” he asks. It shouldn’t surprise him. He’d teetered on the edge of the Void enough times. She holds a bit of wax over the flame, condemning the escapees to the pyre once more. “Awful isn’t the right word. Sober maybe. Abrasive.” “Was I unkind to you?” “Does it matter?” Garrett snuffs. “Well I’d like to believe I’m incapable of that.” “You weren’t,” she says, her eyes lifting to his at last. “Just… broken in a way that you don’t seem to be.” A frisson streaks into the pit of him, something like an electric shock, a sensation he knows he ought not to enjoy. He’d been warned off her by Varric. She’s already nuts about Cullen and he’s already nuts about her. Let it go. Let it be. And he’d seen the proof of it, in the goobery, giddy energy that snapped between them, but that didn’t stop him from asking his old friend whether they’d actually sealed the deal. Varric was unamused. But if she happens to develop a preference for someone else, surely there’s nothing lost. Fate, or maybe a carefully honed sense of inevitability, tightens between them. Rose’s eyes jump to his as if she felt it too. “So what was I doing there?” “You said you’d been waiting for me by the lake. That you had a hunch about my return. You said it was a dream. That I’d find you.” Well there’s no denying the accuracy in that, but he isn’t about to show his hand that quickly. “And then when you saw Corypheus arriving at Redcliffe you and your friends rowed over.”

Basically the idea is that King Alistair is in Kirkwall for a diplomatic summit and he meets Flora Hawke at the 'after party'. He's in a political marriage with Anora (who in this AU is wlw, so they're strictly platonic). Alistair and Flora end up spending the night walking around Kirkwall, finding shenanigans, talking about life and loss and love (A la Linklater's Before Sunrise). The night ends with them getting into a scuffle that leads to Alistair being covered in blood, so Flora takes him home to clean him up (since returning a king covered in blood is problematic), sexy times ensue. And like the Before trilogy, I picture writing a series of three for them, the last of which leads to a lasting relationship after DA:I (I figure Anora dies of illness, leaving him available to openly be with Flora). As for Starkhaven, this is a future chapter from my matchmaking AU Kiss Me Moonstruck. Rose Trevelyan and Garrett Hawke have been separated by years, by the fall of Kirkwall. Garrett has disappeared in a bid to protect both his sister and Rose since there's an open warrant for his arrest with the White Spire. Meanwhile, Rose's family has funded Sebastian's rebellion to retake Kirkwall in the hopes that he might consider Rose as a potential bride (unbeknownst to Rose). They're in Starkhaven for his coronation around Satinalia. Sebastian takes Rose out for a stroll in the palace gardens and makes a proposal with a caveat.

“I’ve been instructed to marry. And in the absence of any romantic inclinations, I began to consider who I might get on with best.” This is not helping the situation with her cheeks. “Ah,” she sings. “Are you surprised that I thought of you?” Rose’s heartbeat thunders in her ears. “Only insomuch as your seneschal will remind you of how decidedly unsuitable I am.” “I’m not so sure of that.” “Oh?” “Your father was a substantial source of support in my effort to reclaim the throne.” Maker, what? “Oh.” “Given the state of the city, I’m afforded a fair bit of leeway. And in my opinion, the people deserve a princess they can admire and rally behind.” “And what is that supposed to mean?” “Only that I find you more relatable than the average noblewoman.” “A delicate way of saying I lack in refinement,” she retorts. “Unpretentious, guileless. Charming,” he counters. It’s everything her parents could have hoped for. A tremble flutters in her throat as the unexpected avalanches down atop her. “I might remind you that I can be rather insolent.” “I’m fairly certain they’d love that too.” “You’re talking yourself into this,” says Rose. Sebastian snuffs a laugh and then pierces her with another calculated look. “That’s not quite it,” he says. “Absent other obstacles— your own willingness among them— I am quite taken with the idea.” “Then what is it?” “I seem to remember a time when you were rather fond of someone else,” he says. “A fleeting week over Satinalia. Love letters. An unwritten plan scuttled by a rebellion.” An inconvenient tide of feelings addles her. It was always a risk coming here, of course. Sebastian and Garrett were friends. Naturally he knew of their liaison. That he also knew of its demise surprises her. Had Garrett told him how his letters ended with a terse goodbye, how he’d effectively vanished, ripping away any choice she might have had in the matter? “What’s your point?” she asks. “I only wish to know if you still harbor feelings.” “Does it matter?” “It does.” She follows the upper edge of the labyrinth ahead, chaotic with climbing roses, furiously working out what to say or what not say at this monumental bloody fork in the road. Rose flicks a glassy-eyed look at Sebastian, her shoulders falling and then whispers her answer. “Of course I do.” She could never lie about such a thing. Sebastian drops his head, smiling, toeing at a tenacious tuft of crabgrass that bursts from between two bricks. “That’s what I told him.”

aaaaAAAA (i forgot about this sldfkjsdlfk and i am so genuinely excited about it)

I distract myself momentarily, flipping open the lid of my pen box and retrieve my locket. I pop it open and pinch the little coin between my thumb and forefinger. It feels like it’s been an age since I first held it in my hand. And it feels nearly as long since the meaning it once held was tarnished.

I gather up the pieces of all my ridiculous hopes. The ones I never let go of, the ones Hawke of all people had offered this morning, wishes patched up with his confident, clumsy assurances. Maybe it just wasn’t the right moment for Cullen and I. Maybe I’ll return to Skyhold and get another chance.

“I thought you would be in the tower,” says Cassandra. I nearly spit out my mouthful of tea then slowly turn to look at her. She doesn’t look up, seemingly absorbed in her reading. I put the locket away again.

“I— will be staying in our usual tent,” I tell her.

“Oh, I heard that you stayed there last night,” she remarked, her expression mildly entertained try as she might to hide it.

Maker, does she know? Varric seemed keenly aware.

“I— yes.” 

“When you did not come to turn in, I thought I would check with the scouts about your whereabouts. I was told you had gone to the keep tower with the Champion,” she says in her usual flat tone. “I did not mean to pry.”

I feel the heat of a murderous blush race across my cheeks. Somehow I doubt her lack of interest.

“Didn’t mean to pry?” I ask her, forcing a skeptical smile through my mortification. “You could just ask, Cassandra.”

“I— am sure you had work to discuss,” she says, nodding with a perfectly straight face that moments later dissolves into a ridiculous pink-cheeked smirk. I bury my smile in my hands and then lose myself in a peal of tenacious laughter. The absurdity of it surges forth again.

“Yes. Work,” I laugh. “We were— planning.”

After a prolonged pause she continues. “I— hope it was a good planning session.” She peers up at me from her sixth reread of the last issue of Swords and Shields with a raised brow and then hides her amusement behind the well worn volume. 

Well, I can’t leave her entirely in the dark. 

“It was an exceptional planning session.”

“But you do not need to plan again tonight,” she confirms. 

“I— think just the one night of planning should suffice.”

Cassandra eyes me doubtfully while I sip my tea.

“But you said it was exceptional,” she protests. 

It was . I don’t have an answer for her. Even now I catch myself gazing across the upper bailey from inside our tent, searching for him, his whereabouts interesting me more than I care to admit.

If everyone knows, they certainly aren’t teasing me about it, which leads me to doubt the gossip had spread thoroughly through the ranks. Maker knows that Bull and Sera would have had a smart remark. And Dorian would have cornered me on the matter first thing.

I stand to stretch my back and walk to the tent entrance, gazing across the keep through the drizzle. An orange glow flickers in the tower windows. I squint like it’s a mirage, and then laugh because it’s real.

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