As we discussed before, this will be for Mors x Yvonne. Man, I do so love writing this couple. Thanks for the ask, @rayelian ! :D
Neither of them could explain how it transpired, especially when they had not been expecting it. The words had taken both Mors and Yvonne by surprise and while Mors was inwardly delighted, Yvonne seemed stunned, almost concerned even, at what she had just uttered.
Earlier, it was a lovely day in Kirkwall and Mors wanted to bring his lover to the newly established farmers’ market that spread all over the city–to the alienage to Lowtown and even Hightown. The experience would be good and adventurous for them both and they enjoyed having excuses to walk around in public together, putting all the rumors and speculation to rest as Yvonne’s arm was entwined with his. When Mors told her about the market, she was ecstatic and insisted they depart as soon as the market opened tomorrow so they wouldn’t fall victim to having all the good merchandise picked clean by the early birds.
“What, no chance for sleeping in, even a little bit?” Mors had protested in jest, smiling when she kissed him briefly, fingers playing with his collar before she pulled back to gather her effects and return back to her guest lodgings for some quick business for her homeland.
“We can do plenty of that later, after we have had our share of the market.” She cut him a teasing, winsome glance and he longed to draw this bronze, strawberry blonde haired beauty back into his arms and delay her departure. The manor became lonely without her vivacious presence. Instead, he returned the smile, knowing he would have her all to himself tomorrow.
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early, at your place,” he said, content to watch her shapely, hourglass form retreat towards the front door, her puckish beam and violet eyes shining bright, even as she looked back.
“Considerate as ever. No need to wonder why I love you so much, Mors,” she replied over her shoulder, not realizing what she exactly told him until the words already left her lips and echoed through both of their perfectly acute ears.The mirth completely vanished from Yvonne’s tan visage and any response he had died on his tongue. Never had Mors witnessed her look so vulnerable, so worried before and her hapless expression nearly broke his heart. Back in her home, court life was dangerous (but thrilling, at times, according to Yvonne) and everyone was seeking out each other’s weaknesses, hoping to uncover ways to drag their opponents down and take their place. Loving someone could be deadly, especially if it was the wrong person or your hold on power was feeble. Yvonne wasn’t just frightened of her feelings for him, she also was scared someone would use him to strike out against her and all would be lost.
Mors still recalled her reaction when he turned up to the Hawke manor, bloody and sore from a bandit fight, and Yvonne was there, waiting for him. Albeit she concealed it well, he was able to espy from her swift, caring movements as well as the anxious, frantic gleam in those striking purple eyes of hers that she had concerned, terrified even, that he might not come home.
Yvonne cheriesh, no loved him so much that she locked her feelings and heart away so no one would be able to use them against her or the people she wanted to protect.
Fathoming what he had to do, Mors simply opened up his arms and said softly, “Come, Yvonne. It’s all right.”
Wordlessly, she complied, encircling her arms around his lean, muscled torso, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Strands of her strawberry blonde hair tickled his nose, her scent of lilies and amber wafted all over and ensnaring his senses. He began to relax a little and the tension he felt from Yvonne’s now taut body started to lessen.
“You don’t have to be afraid, Yvonne.” Mors told her. “You know that I love you too, right?”
A small nod was her answer prior to lifting her head and slowly facing him. “But what if you get hurt--or worse--because of me? I love you so much and can’t bear the thought of you gone from this world too soon?” After all, she knew not everyone who came with her to discuss trade and friendship with the remaining leaders of Kirkwall were allies of her and would have no qualms to find methods that would place Mors in danger, just as long as it would inflict enough agony onto her.
“I worry the same about you, Yvonne. I too have countless enemies that will love to utilize any means to stop me or put me in my place. Yet I won’t let them stop me from loving you or showing it to the world.” His thumb grazed her cheek, tender and affectionate. Yvonne tilted her head so her mouth could brush itself against that thumb, kissing it gently.
“You’re right and I desire that too, more than anything. But if I lost you because of my actions, I’d never forgive myself, Mors.”
“When it comes to love, there is always a risk,” he added, continuing to stroke her tan face. “I am ready to take it. If I don’t, I know I shall regret it.” The Champion of Kirkwall longed to say more yet did not want to push Yvonne. She had to be comfortable and prepared to overcome those fears rooted inside her derived from her life in court.
Taking a deep breath, Yvonne digested his words with care, all the while his touch soothed and cherished as she pondered. Mors was right. Even if she concealed her love for him, her heart would ache and rail against herself for such a cruel decision. She took risks before with such uncertain outcomes but at least, with Mors, he’ll still be at her side even if the Corval court admonished her for her decisions or her foes attempted to manipulate their love to further their schemes.
Well, I won’t allow them. Not today, not ever.
“Then tomorrow morning, let us make our relationship official,” she finally answered placing a hand around his cheek, the corners of her lips steadily turning upwards while her heart became lighter by her intentions and declaration. “We shall be more than allies with a few bedroom perks. We’ll be lovers--and so much more.”
Mors’s wide grin was almost identical to hers now. “I like the sound of that. I cannot wait for tomorrow, to see and love you openly.”
“Same here.” She kissed him, first his beard, then his fingers, and lastly, his waiting lips before the Corval lady reluctantly disengaged herself from his embrace. “Until then, I must depart and finish some my duties for today. I shall see you tomorrow morning in front of my lodgings.” As she left, the smile never melted away from her bronze, beautiful features. Who knew she’d find such strong, unconditional love in a foreign land, with someone like Mors Hawke? She was blessed and after sneaking a quick glance at her lover before exiting his house, Yvonne reckoned he felt lucky too.
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7 - I’ve never seen anything like the way you handled that. I’m just so moved. Feels like a perfect Mors/Yvonne prompt! (or just Yvonne really, since shes so suave)
Thank youuuu for the ask, @rayeliann! I love writing these two because the possibilities are endless and they work so well together. So I think I got a little carried away when I wrote this prompt. XD
FYI, for anyone who reads this, things get a little risque near the end of the first break as well as the end of this prompt.
Life was busy, being a diplomat for the Empress in a foreign land. Thus, her free time was often limited. When she had such time to spare, Yvonne absolutely treasured the days or moments she had in the company of Mors Hawke. Mors was a balm for aching her soul, his presence soothing, protective even. She felt completely safe around him, helped by the fact he was one of the very few people in her life she could trust. He had that air of sincerity about him while also possessing the ability to ease the burdens and tensions of others. Perhaps that was why he was so adored by many in Kirkwall presently. His heroic deeds might have won their favor and attention, but it was his character and continual goodwill that won the people’s hearts.
“You seem more tense than usual.” Mors’s gentle, unwavering tone washed over Yvonne, her reverie scattering away akin to dandelion seeds into the wind. His fingers slid up her shoulders and resumed his massage up there, working the knots and alleviating the strained muscles. “Is everything all right?”
“Politics,” she answered, frowning in remembrance of the source of her frustration: a petty feud between two nobles in her company, complaining one guest’s estate was more luxurious than theirs and then accused their peer of bribery and other base crimes. There was that annoyance and the additional pressure of the Empress, who had sent someone over to monitor her progress, someone who was no friend of hers or her mother. It had only been a week and already the Lady Azra’s hawk eyes and overly critical nature was grating Yvonne’s nerves. Lady Azra was the type who would find fault when there was none and take every opportunity to snidely comment on her less than proper relationship with the Champion of Kirkwall. However, she promptly shut the repugnant woman up immediately after beginning to divulge how diligent, attentive, and dexterous Mors Hawke was to her and how much he appreciate her services when they were alone. Next time, when he was in her bed and Azra was nearby, Yvonne would make sure to moan as boisterously as she could.
“Ah, I should have known.” Her lover nuzzled her neck and instinctively, her back arched and toes flexed upward. She purred contently as he continued , his teeth grazing the slender column of her throat and then, her earlobe. “But you can relax now. Politics won’t reach you here.” Mors had a point. The was a certain measure of privacy in the Hawke manor, one Yvonne cherished readily. Her residence had too many curious eyes and ears as well as wagging tongues of late.
“And I don’t know who I have to thank more: you or your adorable dog.” The said mabari was sound asleep, snoozing a few feet away from the bed. Mors chuckled, his fingertips digging deep into some knots around her shoulder blades and she hissed, reveling in the pleasurable pain. “I’ll accept your thanks for the both of us.”
Amused, Yvonne turned around in his arms and planted a linger, warm kiss on his mouth before leaving a trail of butterfly kisses along his jaw, chin, and neck. “Is that so? Then you’ll really enjoy how I plan to thank you personally, Mors.” One hand snaked down his chest and abdomen, resting near his crotch prior to her fingers tenderly grasped their prize. The smoky gleam in his eyes, the aroused expression overtaking his handsome features were enough of an indication that he had the same thought on his mind.
Yvonne did not expect to awake up to the sounds of bickering, especially from two of Mors’s companions, for she recognized their voices and knew besides the Hawke family and servants, only his friends had full access to the manor.
She glanced over at her lover, who remained asleep, his face blissful and tranquil. A small, grateful smile curved itself across her lips and reaching over, her fingers grazed his beard and cheek, her touch light enough not to wake him. His whiskers tickled her skin, broadening her soft grin even more. Moments like these were ones she cherished so fondly, for Mors appeared so serene and happy, untroubled by the weight of world. Whatever quandaries awaited him downstairs, she could handle it. He deserved as many hours of sleep as he could get.
Slipping into an aubergine silk robe embroidered with silver and copper threaded designs, Yvonne descended the stairs and found herself observing a crossed Captain of the Guard, Aveline, and Mors’s regaling storyteller and rather dashing and deeply masculine friend, Varric, arguing. Unlike the tall, ginger haired warrior, Varric seemed more amused than anything else.
“May I help you two?” Yvonne queried thusly, purple eyes roaming first from Aveline, then to Varric. “And please, keep your voices down. Mors is still sleeping.”
“Kept him all night, did you?” guffawed the roguish dwarf, grinning from ear to ear. Aveline scoffed. And yet, Yvonne remained gracefully composed, a hint of a knowing smile dancing on her bronze features, neither confirming or denying his words. Her hair and state of dress of conspicuous enough to answer his bawdy question.
“We didn’t mean to disturb you or Hawke,” Aveline spoke up, shooting a dirty glare at Varric. “I had originally stopped by to drop something off when Varric over here decided to provoke me with his stories.”
“It’s only one book!” he protested, still smirking away like a bobcat. “And I’m not going to use your real name–I’m simply drawing inspiration from you.”
“Given to the fact it’s you who is doing the writing, that gives me scant comfort.”
Prior they could resume their argument and render her more perplexed than before, the strawberry blonde noble sighed heavily and clapped her hands sharply, akin to a mother demanding the attention of two rowdy children. “Please, enough! Let us resolve this situation before your bickering wakes Mors up. He needs all the sleep he can get these days.”
“It’s nothing, Lady Yvonne,” assured Aveline. “It is merely Varric being himself and writing a book about me without telling me until the very last minute.”
“First of all, the main character is based on you, not actually you–there is a difference. Secondly, it was suppose to be a surprise. I thought you liked surprises!”
“I hate them, especially from you.” Icicles dripped from her voice.
As much as Yvonne longed to return to a warm bed with a warmer and bare Mors in it, this conundrum had to dealt with first.
“Have you already finished and published this book or are you still in the process of writing the full story?”
The dwarf shifted his gaze on her, folding his arms as he spoke. “Technically, it’s done and my editor loves the story so far. The writing needs a bit of editing and polishing, that is all.”
Nodding, Yvonne then directed her gaze back on the ginger haired knight captain, who was carefully listening to Varric’s response. A thoughtful impression gleamed in her eyes and Yvonne observed the woman meticulously. Aveline didn’t outright say “no” and now seemed somewhat intrigued so hopefully, there still was a chance at a compromise after all.
“Aveline, would you feel more at ease if you read Varric’s story first before you make your final decision whether or not the book should be published?”
The said woman nodded. “I’ll admit, doing so would help. That way I can know exactly what Varric is writing.”
“I promise, I did the main character justice,” reassured Mors’s boon companion. “But I have the first draft ready for reading back at the Hanged Man, if you’re interested.”
While Aveline was considering his offer, Yvonne quickly added, “That does not sound like an awful idea. The sooner you two resolve this issue, the better for the both of you.” And the sooner I can get back to bed and Mors.
“I suppose I have time to read over the first few chapters.” Aveline answered with a sigh. “And if I like what I see, Varric, then I shall think about letting you and your editor publish the story.”
“Perfect! I promise you won’t regret this.” The dwarf eagerly gestured for the knight captain to follow him as they exited the foyer.
“Why do I feel that I already am?” the captain muttered as she began to trail behind Varric, heading straight for the door. “But we intruded long enough. I’m sure Hawke misses you.” Aveline’s mouth were then curled up softly in good humor. It was only until after they left and Yvonne turned around to witness Mors standing up against the balcony on the second floor, did she comprehend Aveline’s meaning. A small smile resting amicably on his lips, the light of the chandelier above dancing in his warm, dusky eyes and along his sculpted, bare chest, dark hair dusted around his chest, arms, and abdomen. Some marks from their vigorous sexual activities were beginning to show, such as a few of her love bites along his neck and shoulders.
“I’ve never seen anything like the way you handled that. I’m just so moved. And impressed.” Mors remarked, the smile growing as she ascended the stairs to join him. “Usually, an argument between Varric and Aveline never ends that swiftly.”
“Oh, it was nothing. Besides, I was more concerned their bickering would wake you up and wanted to avoid that.” She frowned slightly. “Unfortunately, all my efforts were all for naught.”
He reached over to draw her into a tender embrace, pressing his lips to her temple for a brief kiss. “Don’t blame yourself. I was only half asleep when I noticed your absence and only wandered out when I heard the hushed talking. I thought I recognized Aveline’s disapproved tone.” Yvonne felt the corners of her mouth tilt upward in amusement, knowing all too well how...distinct Aveline’s voice was compared to others. Her fingers trailed down Mors’s chest while he tugged at the sash around her waist. The fabric loosened a little bit from his fiddling and the top of her robe opened, revealing her shoulders and upper chest.
“Looking for another round?” she purred, caressing his abdomen affectionately. Her body arched with pleasure when Mors slipped a hand underneath her robe and tenderly grasped one of her breasts, flicking a thumb over a rosy nipple. He buried his face against her throat, his beard tickling her.
“Maybe,” he said, timbre muffled. “The bed, it’s not the same without you.”
“My sentiments exactly.” She reluctantly pulled herself away from her lover, clutching his hand lovingly to guide him back to his chambers. Even though the sun was up and the day had begun, that did not mean they had to officially get up and resume their duties. There would be enough for those--later.
How about 48. rampage ? For whoever you feel like it fits best :)
Oooh, thank you for this! I decided to go with my Warden Lydia Tabris, because there’s a scene in her origins chapter that would be perfect for this prompt!
When the blade’s hilt reached her palm and her fingers wrapped themselves around the leather and iron handle, the fury she had been saving, storing, and waiting to unleash exploded inside Lydia. Now, all she beheld was red as she cut down guard after guard like stalks of weed, not even registering her cousin Soris was at her side, slaughtering as many humans that stood in their path. She had to get to Shianni and save her, and later, find Nelaros after she escaped this forsaken castle. Once the arl’s putrid son was gutted by her hand, her and the rest of survivors could leave this place of horrors and return home, that is they were allowed. The arl himself might send his own dogs after them to lock those responsible for the castle rampage for good this time.
Her wedding dress, one of the very few heirlooms her mother had left her, was bloodstained all over the hem, ruby flecks woven into her honey brown tresses, sprinkled amongst the once pristine bodice as well as her arms and knuckles. Her mother would have mourned that her own daughter’s wedding day had marred by a human lordling’s rapacious appetite.
The human’s flesh bowed to her sword, the wounds sundering to her will as the bodies collapsed and piled high while Lydia made her way to the great hall. How many more were there? What if she was too late for Shianni? What if this whole battle was a ruse, a sick, twisted game concocted by the noble boy who wanted to give her enough hope to believe in escape until she reached her friend, only to discover this all was a trap and they were simply waiting for her arrival so they could deflower her next.
The door swung open and before her fears could consume her thoughts and spur her rage and worry onward, a crop of blond hair stayed Lydia’s hand. Relief flooded her systems at the sight of Nelaros, alive and well, armed with a stolen sword as well. Like her and Soris, he had survived the battle around them and now, they stood more of a chance in getting out of here with the remaining women. Three swords were always better than two.
“Lydia!” Nelaros cried out, reaching out to touch her sharp, refined face. Her guard relaxing, Lydia strolled forward, ready to cup his cheek or embrace him, his name departing her tongue when his eyes bulged out, a strangled gasp rended from his throat as the tip of a sword protruded out of his chest. Blood oozed out everywhere–his torso, lips, nose, and down his legs too. Soris roared as he beheaded Nelaros’s killer while she screamed out her betrothed’s name over and over, her weapon fallen and temporarily forgotten. Lydia cradled him close, resting Nelaros’s head against her bosom, as if hearing her heartbeat and feeling her touch could save him. There was no chance for her or Soris’s to staunch the wound in time–it was fatal.
For the first time since the last anniversary of her mother’s death, Lydia openly wept.
Ooooh thank you! That one is pretty perfect for her. It’s in her nature to shimmer and shine.
Today was her debut to court and to meet the Empress for the very first time. According to her mother, everything had to be perfect. Thus, she spared no expense in hiring several seamstresses to create countless of lavished, high quality gowns while commissioned several jewelers to mold glorious pieces of jewelry–down to bracelets, necklaces, headdresses, circlets, and so much more. Her lessons in both general education and court etiquette doubled so by the time she was summoned to court, Yvonne would be an erudite, cunning, and bright young woman woman whose charm and skills of persuasion were peerless and of second nature to her. There were so many expectations, so many burdens already placed on her young shoulders that even making an unsatisfactory or mediocre first impression at court would be a failure in Mother’s eyes. She had to shine like a star–or else risk her mother and herself losing both of their positions, be it of power or influence or both. It was why Mother stressed she must quickly become a favorite of the Empress, as he had once in the days of her youth. The Empress still regarded her mother as a trusted friend and ally yet that seat was coveted by many in court, which provoked them to attempt to drag her down from such level of potency.
Yvonne stared back in the mirror, confident with her choice in accessories and attire. While she was no homely creature, she also recognized she was no conventional beauty. Yet it was her exotic, rather odd coloring, from her strawberry blond tresses to her bronze complexion and then to her violet eyes, the most remarkable facial feature she supposedly possessed. Her eyes were captivating , hypnotic even, and could ensnare the focus of anyone who looked her way and keep them in her thrall. Or so her mother claimed.
For her debut, Yvonne selected a gown of deep burgundy and purple hues, trimmed with gold lacing around the top of the skirt and its hemline as well as along the decolletage of her bodice. Her arms were bare, displaying several loops of matching gold bracelets, dazzling rubies encrusted in some of them. Matching earrings accompanied her style and she opted to go with a shimmering, plain gold chain necklace that only carried a gilded insignia: her house sigil. As for her hair, those long, flowing locks remained down, as she preferred, but allowed a few small braids to be woven from the sides and looped together at the back of her head.
Mother desired for her to be a star but there already were a plethora of them in the night sky. She did not want to twinkle, she craved to shine, to shimmer like the sun’s rays over a blanket of rolling ocean waves, the glaucous water transforming into a tapestry of diamonds. That is the image she schemed to create the minute she waltzed down those steps and made her first arrival at court.
Glancing at the mirror one final time before she had to depart, a small, inscrutable but pleased smile curled up on her rosy, painted lips. After today, she would do more than shimmer and gleam in the Empress’s court, Yvonne would certain of that.
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Awww yes! I miss thinking about my 7kpp OCs, especially my more active ones like Yvonne who simply loves being everywhere. Thank you for the ask, @rayelian! :)
★ Not this will really surprise anyone, but Yvonne is no maid. Technically, lots of horseback riding took care of her maidenhead but when she was older and in her mid-teens, she and this young Corval soldier had a dalliance and kept their tryst a secret. Their relationship ended on amicable terms (they mainly used sex as a de-stressing tool) and he was stationed across the other side of Corval so she ended up never seeing the young soldier ever again.
★ She keeps two albino snakes as pets and calls the male one “Zal” and the female serpent “Gauri”.
★ Yvonne is rather indifferent to flowers (mainly because they make her sneeze often, which she loathes) but she is fond of two flowers: lotus and tiger lily.
