#rheldy

Thank you @theriothag for the tag. Their WIP was so dang good, I love me a juicy and delicious AU. (go look at it now now now).

That Nug Don't Hunt (Dragon Age)

Working on my Rhéla and Geldauran "get together" story still. It's chugging along slowly but I have been enjoying it immensely.

(bonus WIPs below the cut)

I am always happy to provide some Rhéla and Geldauran nonsense. :)

@thedasweekend Ostagar Man @ AO3

It was a very rare day in Ostagar: the sun way out but not scorching, the breeze from the plains kept the air temperate, and both Rhéla and Geldauran had the day off.

Another first - Rhéla was driving. His truck, of course.

When they hopped inside, did he have to wait approximately 5 minutes for her to scoot the seat to a spot where her feet could reach the pedals? Absolutely. Did he mind it? Not so much.

Somehow she had managed to look at him both sheepishly and appropriately annoyed as the seat’s motor made that steady brrr while moving forward toward the steering wheel.

And yeah, it was worth every second.

Once those short - and did he mention, very attractive? - legs were able to press down the clutch, they were on their way.

Rhéla’s mood shifted after her annoyance. Geldauran understood her quite well, he liked to think, and he watched as her shoulders relaxed under her t-shirt. A deep breath. With the windows down, the wind kicked up her hair, the soft curls floating around her head as they sped toward the edge of the city.

Geldauran himself had sunk deep into the leather seat. A treat. His hand dangled out the window, hat tilted just enough to keep the sun from blinding him. He did not know their destination, though that wasn’t really the point.

No plan. No work. Just time spent together without the weight of their badges.

A quick glance down between them as he watched her shift gears. His attention drifted slowly to her hand tapping on the steering wheel, in time with whatever low country song that murmured through the radio. A brief thought of how nice something shiny would look on that 4th finger.

Not quite the time to lose himself in those thoughts, he reminded himself. Drumming his fingers where they rested on the open window.

They weren’t too far from the county line as they passed what appeared to be an older patrol car sitting next to a telephone pole. One of those that Hafter had decommissioned over the years - they were built like tanks and had a decent get-up-and-go but became far too expensive to maintain when Orzammar stopped making parts for them.

Geldauran barely gave it a second thought, that is, until the siren wailed behind them.

With a quirked brow, Rhéla met his eyes briefly from behind her glasses. The quiet click of the indicator as she pulled off the road. The trucks wheels kicked up dust as they came to a stop, engine warm and ticking as it settled under the Ostagar sun. The patrol car pulled up close behind them lights flashing but the siren now silent.

Rhéla glanced up in the rear view mirror, “Don’t think that’s one of ours.”

“Why do you say that, Rhey?”

A quiet huff, “Well, pretty sure that ‘Ostagar’ is spelt wrong, for one.” Sure enough, Geldauran dipped his head to look in the side mirror, and in big bold letters was OSTEGAR. When the Deputy stepped out of his car, he adjusted his belt. Male. Human. He wore the out of date beige and brown uniforms that Geldauran had transition the department from last year. They even wore the stupid-looking campaign hat with the tassels.

“And -” she continued, “he’s got the beige and browns we used to wear.” Clearly noticing the same warning signs that Geldauran had. A small tug at the edge of her lips revealed her usual crooked smirk was particularly amusing - or someone was being particularly stupid.

A brief look passed between the Sheriff and Undersheriff with a nod of silent agreement.

“License and registration, ma’am.”

The Deputy stood there with his thumbs in his belt like he watched far too many cop shows in preparation for this role. Rhéla squinted at him through her sunglasses, she could feel Geldauran sink lower into the seat, arms crossed and letting her handle it.

She didn’t recognize the Deputy, and while Hafter County wasn’t exactly small, she had made an effort to at least learn as many names a possible. From the name tag on his shirt, it said ALERION. Unless he married into a clan - unlikely - that was certainly not his name. His badge was missing its badge number to identify himself.

Though, at least Ostagar was spelt correctly this time.

Rhéla’s attention dropped to his belt. Handcuffs in the wrong location, the gun was clearly fake by the bright orange ring poking out from the end of the barrel, and the holster itself was not standard issue. By the Void, was this man even trying?

A sound escaped from the back of her throat - some bizarre mixture of disbelief and utter amusement at how idiotic this man was. With her sweetest voice, she handed him her license and registration. Placing her sunglasses on the top of her head so she could bat those eyes at him.

“What’s the problem, officer?”

Geldauran huffed behind her. She could just about feel the smirk that radiated off the elf. If she weren’t trying to get the fake Deputy to mess up, she might’ve slapped Geldauran’s arm.

“You were speeding a ways back. Mind stepping out of the vehicle?”

Oh, she didn’t like that. A brief glance to Geldauran who merely nodded, she slipped out of the car and heard the faint click of Geldauran’s seatbelt unbuckling. A flash of his phone screen reflecting light as he typed a message.

The Deputy gestured vaguely to the front of the truck. “Place your hands on the hood of the vehicle ma’am.”

Rhéla wasn’t sure if the man was going to try to cop a feel or was just feeling particularly racist. Maybe it was the power trip. Either way, she was not going to play around.

Before he could even put his hands on her, Geldauran appeared, hat tipped back enough for Rhéla to see those green eyes flashing with something it didn’t do often - anger. He grabbed the Deputy by the wrist and spun him, slamming him onto the hood of the car as he pulled out his own cuffs.

“Well, Katie Mae got back to me and seems as though that patrol car our friend’s got? Was stolen from the salvage yard. And I got a feelin’ that this man’s intentions aren’t so honorable. Is that right?” He asked the man as the handcuffs clicked around their wrists.

The Deputy let out a grunt, face pressed against the hood.

Rhéla snorted, “Looks like real bad luck, pulling over the Sheriff on his day off. Was really lookin’ forward to the beach, Geldy.”

Thank you @ladyofcrowsandcoffee for tagging me, this was very cute! (picrew: here)

First we have Rhéla and Geldauran as kids. Rhéla grew up on a Dalish clan reservation in Brecilian Forest, outside of Gwaren. Her parents died in a car accident when she was 6, and she went into the Dalish foster system after that. When she refused a vallaslin at 16, she ended up leaving and living in Gwaren. (Rhéla should have hazel eyes but finding hazel-like eyes in these picrews tend to be hit or miss! Mostly miss!)

Geldauran was born and raised in Ostagar, a true country boy. Siblings, strong family bond, the works. His scar is from falling out of a treehouse.

Next, we have Isathe. While she never technically was a child in her original iteration, I thought it would be fun to make her one anyway. She was originally a spirit of Curiosity before getting a body.

(bonus below the cut)

Oh noOoOoooo... more cowboys. 🤠💚

@dadrunkwriting

T | Rhéla Ghilain x Geldauran | 639 Words

“Geldy!” Rhéla practically yelled his name with the broadest grin he had ever seen, causing a few of the other patrons to look around wildly. Her nose flushed red, eyes glassy from whatever - and however much - alcohol she had consumed. Vorgoth, as was his way, stood next to her like a statue, his hand (if one could call it that) resting on the bar top.

Rhéla wobbled in place as she tried to slide off the bar stool, Vorgoth’s hand reaching out to steady her. He spoke, voice deep but loud even among the heavy chatter that filled the room as Geldauran wove through the dense throng of people, “LITTLE PYRE IS INTOXICATED.”

Well, that much was obvious.

When Geldauran finally reached the duo, his face was instantly squished by Rhéla’s palms. He could smell a mixture of liquor and elfroot wafting from her, her lips curled up. She gave him a small grin. The one she usually reserved for when they were home, and alone, not in a bar full of people. The blush crept further across her nose and down her cheeks. Rhéla’s voice dropped low and husky, “You’re so fuckin’ handsome, Geldy.”

Yeah, she was real drunk.

His laugh was deep, rumbling as she stumbled into him, her legs shaky like a faun. Vorgoth hovered, though it was difficult to see what sort of expression sat underneath the hood - did Vorgoth even have a face? He had to, right? Geldauran tried not to think too hard about it, or contemplate about how weird it was that his girlfriend’s best friend was an unknown entity that spent most of their time with corpses, “SHE REQUIRES WATER.”

With Rhéla unable to hold herself up properly, Geldauran swept her off her feet into a bridal carry. One arm under her knees, the other supporting her back; he held her close to his chest, giving Vorgoth a small nod, “She’s gonna need a bit more than that, but I got ‘er.” A soft hum from Rhéla in response, who had buried her face in his neck. He could feel the vibration from her lips across his skin.

He pushed away the flare of heat in his stomach, voice rough, "C'mon, drunky. You gonna be a good girl for me?" Geldauran's voice a bit too hoarse - he knew what he was doing.

After he said his goodbyes - and Rhéla , well… attempted some form of goodbye that came out as drunk babbling - he carried her out of the bar.

Once the cold air hit their faces, she announced - loudly, “I am not a BRIDE, Geldy.” His expression turned perplexed as he slowed to a stop, Rhéla wiggling in his arms. Her hooded hazel eyes looked up at him, brow furrowed, looking as defiant as a toddler with a right opinion.

“Gonna need to catch me up, Rhey.” His drawl, thick and low. He stood in the middle of the sidewalk with the intoxicated elf in his arms as other people meandered by.

“You’re carrying me like a bride.” She got the words out through a series of mumbles and single hiccup before trying to adjust her position in his grasp. His hands moved double time to make sure she didn’t fall out of his arms and onto the cement below them.

When she finally settled, her arms draped around his shoulders, the tips of their noses brushed as she let out a soft giggle - it forced a smirk to tug at the edges of his own lips. Rhéla wrapped her legs around his waist, his hands moving instantly to secure her by her thighs.

Geldauran's breath caught in his throat as she ran her nose along his, pressing a gentle kiss on the corner of his lips.

“That’s... much better.” She slurred out. “I want to go home.”