Happy happy Fridayyy~ For DADWC (from the Fic title + Setting prompts) how about "Devil you once knew" + "Garden" for Rose/Hawke OR whoever you think works best with this :3
OH THIS IS AN OLD ONE. Hi Gin! Pretty sure this ask is from mid 2024!
Repurposing for @thedasweekend
This is a Garrett Hawke POV scene for In the Shattering of Things, set not long after he arrives at Skyhold. He's got it bad for Inquisitor Rose Trevelyan already for a number of reasons 😏
Pairing: Rose Trevelyan x Garrett Hawke
WC: 1782
No content warnings
Garrett found the garden by accident. By incident. He’d been poking around Skyhold’s corners for a place he could halfway disappear, away from curious eyes and curious questions, from the temptation of booze and cards, from the taunting stare of his stalled out leads. He’s been hiding for years now. What’s another afternoon?
Perhaps he’ll find Lady Violet here doing the same.
His lips turn at the name, born on her own lips and then reared by his own impertinence. But she smiled at each application of it, a minute thing brightening her eyes, and how could he not chase after that?
He finds a lonely bench under the colonnade that wraps the courtyard, where ragged overgrowth provides cover and captured breezes stir in waxy leaves. Garrett sits at first, but then lies down across it, one foot planted on the terrace, the other stretched long. His back complains until he wiggles into a halfway comfortable position and then he pulls out his copy of The Assassination of Queen Madrigal, holds it high over his face, and reads.
The book knocks into his nose, waking him. He curls up slightly, searching for witnesses, then he shakes his sleeves out and hides his face beneath the book altogether. Nobody could begrudge him a nap in this busy blazing place.
“While I don’t relish delivering a critique, my Lord, the King’s Highway is compromised, your security forces remain insufficient and I would like to offer to help. I would— like to extend our services. I would like—to— extend—”
Garrett peeks from under his book.
Rose Trevelyan paces, scratching at a page of notes against her palm. She must be rehearsing a pitch she’s meant to make. She turns, fully facing him and drops her stub of pencil in horror, gaping in mortification.
“Oh Hawke. Shit. Sorry. Sorry.” She bolts in the opposite direction.
Garrett’s never risen to his feet so quickly. He picks up her pencil gives chase.
“Inquisitor.” No, it could never sound right. “Lady Trevelyan—” Wrong. “Violet.” She potters to a reluctant stop and looks over her shoulder, smiling minutely beneath a nonplussed look. “Rose.”
“I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just— wasn’t looking.”
Her cheeks are blotched with savage patches of pink beneath her freckles. He should soothe them.
“Don’t be silly. I shouldn’t be napping in public thoroughfares.”
“You’re allowed,” she says. “Skyhold’s big enough.”
Continued below the cut! 👇
“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.”
“My friends?” His brow lifts in interest.
“Fenris. Isabela. Merrill. They were there too.”
A sudden pallor washes over her expression. “You were all real. You lived that year. And I erased you.”
“If it was so bad, surely we understood.”
She lifts a doubtful eye beneath all the sudden misery. “Not all of you. Not at first. It’s different when you’re there and it’s your choice. You all believed I had come back to help save the world. And I did. Only not the way you thought.”
The notion lodges behind his ribs like a pike. It aches. Garrett apologizes.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he says softly.
“I haven’t told anyone. Dorian knows, of course. But telling another? There’s a relief to it.”
Garrett feels the tether tighten once more. He leans on his elbows and entreats her for the rest of the story, not entirely sure what he hopes to hear, only that he wants it, whatever it is.
“You all gave your lives to help Dorian and I get back. One by one, in one way or another. In the end, even if he wanted to keep me there there was no one left to do so. And still somehow it feels like I erased you— him, I mean.”
“I’m not sorry that version of me is gone, though I don’t envy you the quandary.”
“You’re different and somehow the same. It’s hard to explain,” she says as if staring right into that murky pit of him. “You were real. You were worth something, completely broken down but for this single thread of hope. And you gave it up to get me home. I’ll always regret it.”
Something builds behind his eyes. He rubs at his nose. This does nothing to help his predicament.
“Well, I’m glad you came back.”
The rush of blood to her cheeks is so sudden she tugs her braid over them. He nearly apologizes. Forever too bold, doomed to make a prat of himself wherever he goes.
“I should probably get going.”
“Of course. Speeches to speech. Inquisiting to quiz.” Maker could he stop? But she bites at an unruly smile.
“Exactly,” she says, sparing him. “See you around?”
“I’m always around.”
When she leaves, Garrett slumps back in his chair as if he’d been smashed by a runaway cart. A runaway cart full of her. Shit. Fuck.
Fuck.
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For all five of my Rose Trevelyan x Garrett Hawke stans out there...
I got the most incredible gift from @effelants for a recent OC Swap Exchange and I am just being crushed and tumbled in all the feels. It's a companion fic that fits right in with my long fic In the Shattering of Things, a beautiful peek into Garrett Hawke's mind as he recognizes the deepening of his feelings for Rose after the events of Wicked Eyes, Wicked Hearts.
Fox Blood Over White Petals
Effe captures this major turning point in feeling for Rose and Garrett, this missing POV from my whole WEWH/aftermath sequence SO perfectly and gorgeously, delving into how recent events stir up Garrett's most traumatic memories, the way he struggles with being the one who needs care, the delicate politics of names.
He, too, closes his eyes and tucks her closer against his heart; its beat echoes, hollow, haunted by the name he wishes he could hear spoken in such a caring cadence. Her breathing evens, and she grows heavy and still.
I am unwell about this and you should be TOO
He turns a little to catch her eye. “Tonight shouldn’t be about me—you’ve been through so much.”
“None of which will be made better by your suffering.” There’s steel beneath the velvet of her tone—as there so often is, with her. “Let me help, Hawke. Please.”
ahhhhhhh Effe wrote them so welllll
It's so gorgeously done, and every time I read it knocks me deep into my feelings about this star crossed pairing.
If you are an In the Shattering of Things reader and adore this ship or just adore gorgeous writing and prose (it stands alone!), I can't recommend it enough. (And I have linked it in my fic as a proper companion fic!)
Here it is on AO3 so you can read it leave it some love 🥰
Thank you Effeeeee! To have your talent pointed directly at my blorbos means the world!
I got this absolutely gorgeous gift from @librivore42 after chatting about blorbos and I have never seen a better, more heart wrenching pitch for Hawke x Inquisitor (with my Garrett Hawke and Rose Trevelyan being my pet oc x oc ship that I am extremely feral about).
Honestly I have never seen a better, more succinct argument for these two. They absolutely slay me AND I HOPE THEY SLAY YOU TOO! 🤩
Please enjoy this beautiful spot of poetry!
Hi hello! I would love to know more about Starkhaven (of course) and about Before Sunrise!!
oooo okaY thank you! (from this WIP tag game!)
I'll start with Before Sunrise because it's just an idea at the moment.
Alistair and Flora are my pairing from Instead Came Your Arms (where he's in exile in Kirkwall and she's lost everyone at the start of Act 3) but this is an alternate alternate universe for them!
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)
Pour One Out for Zazikel is a fascinating title, please tell me more about it 👀
Thank you for asking about my ridiculousness!
The whole fic is a romantic comedy matchmaking endeavor between Leandra Hawke and Alsatia Trevelyan. It takes place over a week during Satinalia in Kirkwall, DA:2, Act 2. The two protagonists in question aren't the least bit interested in getting hitched nor do they think they're likely to be attracted to the other. 😏
In this scene we have budding paramours Garrett Hawke and Rose Trevelyan sneaking out of the Hawke Estate on Satinalia to go climb to the top of Kirkwall's chantry and toast to Zazikel like a couple of naughty teenagers. For Rose who had a rather conservative Andrastian upbringing this feels especially exciting: just some casual heretical nonsense. Just for funsies! For Hawke this is high romance. There's the mischief and absurdity, but he's such a romantic and he's pumped to think of a 'legitimate' excuse to climb to Kirkwall's highest point and make out with this woman he's rapidly falling for.
There's breaking and entering, toasting to an old god, sitting on top of a VERY TALL building (TERRIFYING), soul baring conversation and delicious make outs. All with the Satinalia vibes. I hope I can pull it off 😅
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WONDER: From my fic Into Her Hands, a companion fic to my long fic In the Shattering of Things written from Hawke's POV as he decides to woo Inquisitor Rose:
Dream aside, there’s something about her— unwittingly charming, deliciously guileless. Wrapped up in the possibility of the world. Fueled by it.
She could change everything.
Stealing another look, Hawke wonders if she might be a bit lonely, still suffering perhaps from whatever disaster transpired between her and that damnably handsome commander of hers, the one who figures into his own history more than he cares for. The impulse is too strong to resist any longer, and without taking his leave of Dorian or Bull and oblivious to their knowing looks, he approaches her.
CARRY: From my DA:I long fic In the Shattering of Things, here's a conversation between Rose and Hawke in Crestwood regarding their interactions with Flemeth:
“What do you think Flemeth wants with us?” I ask him.
“A laugh,” he answers in a scoff.
“Seriously.”
“A couple of unlucky sods to carry out her bidding, damn whatever comes their way?”
“But what would we have done without her?”
“Oh we’d be dead of course. Without question. But neither of us asked to be put in the middle of all this madness.”
SIGHT: From my long fic In the Shattering of Things, here's Rose and Cullen in Haven the night the Red Iron came to pick Rose up and take her forcibly home to Ostwick (hired by her mother). He's stubbornly standing watch outside her cabin and she's nothing but amused.
“Are you going to fight all twelve of them if they decide to come?” I ask with a raise of my brow as he scowls at me lightly. “You can come in, you know. For five minutes. So your ears don’t drop off,” I tell him and it’s a practical suggestion but he looks visibly uncomfortable.
“I— that— would be improper,” he fumbles and I can tell it was agonizing to even have to say it. I fail to suppress my smile.
“But a sight better than frostbite,” I poke. “Who’s going to reprimand you? The Chantry? Your superior officer?” I tuck my smile behind my hand but he just blushes and looks agitated that I’m bothering him.
Tagging @nirikeehan, @warpedlegacy, @delicatefade and @crackinglamb with the words CRACK, GRAZE, and HARSH
Chapter Summary: Rose contends with the aftermath and consequences of her night with Hawke while forging ahead trying to access the rift underneath the lake.
Fic Summary: Lady Rose Trevelyan's idle, aristocratic life blinks out in a haze of irrelevance when the breach destroys the Conclave. She may be soft and coddled when she joins the Inquisition, but there's a fierceness inside her she's yet to fully recognize. Armed with only a few relevant skills and the mark that makes her a legend, she is thrust onto a path delivering hope where it’s long been scorched away and finds comfort in the grumpy, handsome stick in the mud charged with her protection and training. As she stumbles her way across southern Thedas, she begins to realize she's tangled at the center of machinations she barely understands, and she's not alone in that. Enter Hawke.
Excerpt below cut ⏬
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.