All The Drabbles!

[ouyangdan]

To keep creative juices flowing a lot of people have been giving and writing prompts on Tumblr. After I tallied mine up for the last two days I realized I had over 4,400 words worth of just delicious drabbles, and some of them I really like. Some of them may flesh out into longer things.

I thought I would just drop them here in case anyone wanted to enjoy them. I sure had a blast working on them.

Thank you to everyone who dropped in a prompt for me to write. I still have several more in the box, and am always taking more!

I think the maximum rating here is T.

Deux woos Mama Bear:

(Author note: Deux is the name of Nathaniel's bear compantion as a Ranger, and Mama Bear belongs to Emmett, an OC Warden from FS/Twitter RP)

Snuffling hard with indignant disbelief, he reared up on hind legs and pushed the pretty-smelling bear with all his bear might, even though she turned her face away and shoved him back with a paw. She was having none of his affections. Why not? He was the fiercest bear in Amaranthine, and the first one with smelly blood. Surely she knew this and would be impressed.

She smelled clean. Not like his off-key bard or the girl one that his bard always made angry mouth-noises with. This bear didn't have the smelly blood like he did. She smelled like salmon. Maybe she'd had salmon for breakfast.

She thought she was so great because she was bigger. Bigger wasn't always better and he hefted his weight against her and growled in his best, charming bear-voice. He was charming. His grumpy bard had said so with his mouth noises while making him a sandwich.

Deux like sandwiches. He like this pretty-smelling bear better. Maybe he could show her how strong he was by ripping out the throat of one of the smelly things they fought.

He would make sure to tell her not to eat them. That was the worst thing he'd ever eaten. It even made his superior ursine guts hurt. A pretty-smelling bear like her shouldn't have a gut ache. Only the best garbage for her.

She swat him with a giant paw, and so Deux shoved his maw into her face and sniffed again.
He'd show her the nice hunting places today

2ndGen: Elyssa Theirin, William Vael, Liesel Hawke:

(Author note: Elyssa Theirin is the child of Kahrin Cousland Hawke and King Alistair, born as a result of their extra-marital affair post-Blight. William Vael is the son of Laica Hawke Vael and Sebastian Vael, and Liesel Hawke is the daughter of Anders and Saoirse Hawke.)

Elyssa set her history books aside with a subtle roll of her eyes that would be familiar to anyone who had spent thirty minutes in the presence of the Hero of Ferelden. She was clearly not going to finish the reading her tutor had set her to with these two squabbling the way they did.

"William, what did you think she was going to do when you yanked on her hair?" Elyssa strode across the room with a well-practiced regal grace refined by her warrior training and thawed the boy out with gentle hands, breathing her breath onto his fingers.

"She wouldn't call me 'Prince William'. I'm going to be a prince. She should call me one."

She narrowed her eyes at the blond boy in a way resembling the King's own look of disapproval, but gave him a slight smile that wrinkled her very Theirin nose. "And I'm going to be queen. It doesn't mean you get to bully your friends."

He sulked slightly, his eyes sparkling and blue even in his grumpiness. "Fine." He brightened then, "It was a neat trick, though! Just like mother!"

Turning her attention now to her cousin who looked up at her with wide eyes and an expression of innocence. Every bit of the life of a revolutionary was written on her young face.
"Liesel, tell William you are sorry."

"But I'm not sorry, he's a prig," she said, and the cheeriness behind it rang true of Elyssa's own Auntie.
Of course she wasn't. Liesel Hawke made no more apologies for herself. It was something that would carry her far.

"Well, don't say it if you don't mean, then, but you and William should play nicer. He's your friend."
"OKAY!" they both yelled in unison, the disagreement forgotten.

Elyssa kissed her forehead gently with a light laugh, then pulled the two young ones into her lap, hugging them fiercely before letting them loose again. Liesel conjured a small rabbit of lightning, and they both scampered off to chase it.

Elyssa picked up her book again and found her page, shaking her head laughing.
The children of world-changers, they were, for better or for worse.

Carver discovers the results of a glowing potion:

(Author's note: Ophelia is a Hawke from Twitter RP. Hope is the name of the spirit that has possessed Kahrin Cousland Hawke, making her a Spirit Warrior.)

Holding himself up on his forearms above her, he startled enough to both end the connection and make her eyes widen in alarm and a hint of frustration.

"What's the matter? What's wrong, Carver?" his name rolled from her mouth with heavy breath and full of concern.

"I think it's… it's Hope."

She laughed suddenly, using her heels to pull him closer again. "Not possible. She tends to… ignore us, if you know what I mean. She's not here."

"Then, how…" he slid back against her again, but pulled one of her hands from around his neck, regarding the odd and seemingly ethereal light. "if she isn't…"

Chuckling softly as she pulled him closer, "I should know better by now than to drink anything Ophelia gives me." Pressing her mouth to his, she seemed made it clear that the discussion was over, the matter settled.

He wasn't one to argue with the Commander in these matters.

 

Why Nate Doesn't Like Mabari:

He tucked his shirt back into his breeches as she fished around for her stockings. She didn't often dress up, and never wore stockings that he knew of since they were younger, but she'd done it as a favor to make this whole arrangement easier, more palatable if that was possible. He smoothed his hair back so that he might look a bit presentable when they left the room and returned to the dinner table, also so that possibly Rendon and Bryce might not guess what they were about. Thomas, however, always suspicious and accusing in any matter that concerned his elder brother, would.

That was the point of this whole farce, though, was it not?

It was a deal made in the cold manner of nobles that they had been raised to neither appreciate nor avoid. It was just another detail that came with their upbringing, the seedier side of the life of grandeur and privilege the world thought was their lives. They were moved around like pieces on a chess board by parents who worried about bloodlines and alliances and holdings and expected them to be shuffled with smiles on their courtly faces. If you objected to the deals they made concerning your life, you took matters into your own hands, so to speak.

They'd sealed the agreement with a handshake then, and slightly more now.

He knew better than to add any words to the situation now that the task was completed. She certainly wasn't sparing any for him as she re-braided her hair. She smoothed her skirts back down and fixed him with a green and hazel stare, a slight quirk of her damnable tattooed eyebrow.

If they weren't friends he might have made a dry or sarcastic remark. Some things were worth preserving, however, and she'd come to him as a friend and he'd acquiesced as the same. He knew better than to attach any more significance to it than that. He'd known her too long.

As she searched for her shoes, he pulled on one boot, then slid his foot into the other.

His sock-clad foot squished into something warm, and disgustingly stinking. That miserable hound of hers that followed her everywhere. It had sniffed around nosily at them until he'd insisted on having it banished from the room, and she had complied with several well-pointed curses.

In a situation where he found nothing particularly amusing, her Mabari had apparently gotten the last laugh.

 

Kahrin's Mabari Hound:

With her knees drawn up to her chest and hugging them, Kahrin watched as Barkspawn — yes, that was still the stupidest name she'd ever heard for a dog, but it made him happy at the time — danced around his new master, yapping happily in the campfire light. Alistair loved that dog, and why shouldn't he? The affection of a Mabari was nothing casual or anything but deep commitment. Their journey would only be made easier by the presence of the hound, and she was glad for the dog, for the comfort it brought them, and most of all for the look of glee it put on his face — the first she'd seen since Ostagar.

She should know how important the love of a hound was. Spunky had been a true warrior and devoted companion. He'd been with her since the day her father had snuck her into the kennels when everyone else was asleep and let her sit with the new litter. He'd been darker than the other puppies, and smaller by at least a third. Father had said he was a runt, and might not survive because he was so tiny. The way he'd bounded over to Kahrin, though, with a tremendous fierceness left no doubt in either of their minds that he had chosen her, and that he meant to survive, that they would be bound now by the love of master and mabari. Both starting out tiny and dismissed at first, they had grown into a terrifying fighting pair.

When Howe's men had struck, and her door had burst open that night, it was Spunky's sacrifice that initially gave her the precious moments she'd needed to collect herself and fight.
Father had been right. He wouldn't survive after all. But he'd given everything he had so that she might.

Carver gets news of Leandra's death:

Stroud hadn't even tried to soften the blow or spare his feelings. He'd just dropped the news on him as if it were the route for his latest patrol or what he could expect to be served in the mess hall. He hadn't even bothered to pull him aside from the other Wardens so that he wouldn't have to deal with shock or anger or any other feelings in front of other people. That was Commander Stroud's way, though.

So, that was it then. First one parent, and then the other, bookmarking the loss of his twin, and now he knew with absolute certainty that he and his sister were all each other had left. He tried to fix his face stoically, but the watery vision in front of him reassured him that he was failing at this too.
He didn't like that he felt a bit smug, deep down, that he wasn't the only one who failed at protecting the family. It ate at him, and he began shoving that away too. There was a difference between who he was back then and the man he was now, but it was still something he was working on. He was getting better at keeping those childish thoughts to himself.

Carver pushed back from the bench, trudging off to the small room he'd been assigned. Taking out parchment and quill and sitting heavily on the chair that was almost too small for him, he began what was only the second letter he'd ever written to her since she'd bothered to save his life. Generous favor that was.

He tried to remind himself that there had been no way she could have known about all of that. Not that he really cared at the moment.

Everything he tried putting to paper sounded really stupid and meaningless, and even worse it meant he had to dig into parts of himself that he had effectively shut up tight.

Shoving the quill across the desk, he crumpled the parchment and threw it across the room with more force than needed for a paper ball, little more than a salutation scribbled on it. The fact that it made almost no sound as it hit the wall almost made him more angry.

Resting his face on his hands and elbows on armour-clad knees, Carver buried himself in silence.

Anders teaches Varric to swear in Anders:

Anders rubbed his face suppressing a bark of laughter at Varric's horrendous slaughtering of the phrase he'd just spent more than an hour breaking down for him. "No, you're not separating the vowels enough. And if you say it like that people will think you're propositioning them."

He paused and considered the favor the Dwarf has asked of him, again. "Explain to me one more time why you need to know all of this, Varric?"

"I told you," he replied, the words sliding casually from his mouth, and punctuating them with a shrug of his shoulders. "I'm writing a new story, Blondie. The dashing hero is from the Anders, and he woos all of his many lovers with the clever tongue of his native land and a creative use of his forbidden magical talents."

Anders gave him a look. "I am no longer sure I want to help you with this."

"You spoil all of my fun, Blondie."

The Mabari Chooses Hawke over Carver:

Naturally.

 

Of course the dog chose her. Why not? Everyone else did. His sister was perfect, she was the elder, and if Carver hadn't known better, he'd thing that Mabari were biased towards mage-flowers like her.
He'd always treated the dog with scraps and belly rubs when he thought no one was looking, but the damned dog only had eyes for her now. Fantastic. Fine. Whatever.

He stood in the corner, arms crossed and one leg propped behind him against the wall, and scowled at the hound as it bounded around and then jumped on her and licked her face, forgetting that he was even there.

 

Story of his sodding life, right?

Kahrin meets Nelacar Mahariel:

(Author's note: Nel is a Dalish Mage warden from FS/Twitter RP and belongs to HAZuff on dA.)

She sat sharpening her blades in the lovingly way that she tended them. Each one a cherished piece of her past, she maintained them with full attention.

 

The mage wandered into the bar while her attention was occupied, but she knew he was there, the taint in their blood connecting them even as strangers. The training she'd had as a templar pulled gently at her as well. These were merely facts, though, and told her nothing of the new patron.

 

The first thing she did notice when she pulled her head up was that he had a twitch. He seemed nervous, and almost unsettled in his own skin, not a quality she was used to in Wardens, but he'd obviously survived a Joining. It wasn't her place to judge his worth. The absent Maker, if she believed the chantry, had already done that for him, and found him either worry or fit to be damned, like her.

They were the walking dead, both of them.

 

She gave him a polite nod, a slight arch of her Cousland Eyebrow. He returned the gesture with a greeting in Elvish, one she'd heard from Velanna many times, but somehow the woman always put a lift in the end of it that made it feel sarcastic.

 

Kahrin was fairly certain this man had meant nothing of the sort.

 

"I'm Kahrin," she said simply.

 

His voice was cheery, much more so than she'd been expecting, and it tossed her out of her comfort zone abruptly. "I'm Nelacar."

 

His smile was pleasant and returned her to her ease. She didn't like to bristle at people, it was just sometimes her way when she was in this particular mood. He was having none of that, and he either had a particular naivete to him, or he was just a genuinely nice person.

 

Either way, the conversation passed affably enough in the quiet hours of her inability to sleep, and she was grateful for the company.

Nate and Alistair meet at the Crown and Lion:

Nathaniel strode through the door with the usual fluid grace with which he carried himself, completely belying the dark mood that he was in. It was enough that it had driven him here, of all places, to a tavern.

 

What were the odds that he would stumble into the same bar as him, as the King, the man who, at the very core if it were well examined, was the cause of many of his current problems?

 

Alistair noticed him immediately, of course. They still shared that sense in common, whether he was actively a Warden or not. The look they shared across the room reminded Nathaniel that there was no love lost between them whatsoever. He kept his face schooled to perfect calmness — something he was skilled at, being a bard — though he saw the King made no such effort. The deep scowl he wore told the Howe everything he needed to know in only a few brief moments.

 

He hadn't covered that much distance since departing Vigil's Keep this evening, it seemed, leaving a fresh wave of a mess for Nathaniel to clean up. Every visit from the King elicited the same aftermath, and Howe was weary of it complicating his life.

 

Alistair narrowed his eyes at him, raising an eyebrow with that challenging way the man had when addressing him. No amount of convincing would bring him to drop his accusations, and only one mutual -ahem- friend kept them from open hostility.

 

"Join me for a drink, Howe." Alistair's voice had a hint of a warning growl to it. "I believe we have some things to discuss."

 

With a resigned sigh, and his voice filled with obvious sarcasm, he swept into the chair across from the monarch, waving his hand to the barmaid. "I am certain that I have no idea what you could wish to speak to me about, Your Majesty."

 

"Yesss," he drew out the word in that aggravating way he had about him, "I'm sure. At any rate, I think it's time we laid some things out in the open, don't you?"

 

He knew this conversation and how it would play out already.

 

"As Your Majesty wishes, then." It appeared he had little choice otherwise.

Carver is the HoF and is offered the Dark Ritual:

Maker's tainted, sodding, arse.

 

Carver narrowed his eyes. The characteristic scowl that was almost synonymous with him pulled his face down as soon as he recognized her. She shouldn't sodding be here and she knew it.

 

How she got out of the Tower he'd probably never know. Leave it to a Void-damned blood mage to find a way.

 

He was tired, and grumpy, and didn't really give a rat's arse about what her reasons were for coming here. She wasn't welcomed. He didn't trust her.

 

He should have killed her when he'd had the chance, but Carver liked to think that he was better than that.

 

"You made a big mistake coming here," he said with a warning growl in his voice.

 

She didn't even get half of her proposal out of her mouth when he cut her off. "Are you daft?"

 

After all the demons and dragons and blood magic he'd seen, this, this is what she came to him with?

Of course she would think that magic, that blood magic, was the answer.

 

He was really glad that Bethany wasn't here to see him.

 

He didn't rightly care what she was offering. He'd already made his peace with the truth. Already knew what his duty was. Already made his decision.

 

"You shouldn't have come back here," he said again, his greatsword already in his hand as he stalked towards her.

 

"No."

What Peaches Thinks of Carver:

He walked through the center of the square at about the same time every day, and today she was wearing her best dress, because even though he'd been so stand-offish he was still a human being. She knew she looked good, and she knew he would look. It always made her stomach flip just a bit.
She was no slouch, but he was fantastically tall, and as broad as a steer, and every now and then she knew she saw him make a face that had no relation to a scowl whatsoever. She knew someone with eyes that were that kind had to have a little bit of something to smile about inside them. It was just a matter of digging around and finding it.

 

So long as she could dodge those sisters of his. Touchy.

 

"Hey, Carver!" she called and waved, excitedly but trying not to look too eager. Funny that he never seemed to notice that she stood out here at the same time every day just to see him.

 

It was enough to get him to turn and look at her. And he did look.

 

It put a thrill in her belly as she skipped over to walk beside him, wearing what she knew from experience was her prettiest smile.

Carver/Peaches:

He heard her voice from behind him and it sent a flood of goosebumps up his back, and not the good kind. Sodding Saoirse, sodding Riley. Sodding everyone who had made him feel like he'd had to talk to her at all.

 

With a resigned sigh he stopped and turned around, trying for a smile, but her reaction told him he had probably managed a grimace.

 

He was such rubbish with girls, and she didn't make that easier.

 

"You disappeared the other night," she tilted her head at him, cradling something in her arms close to her body. "Did I scare you off?"

 

Yes. "No. It's not that it's just… look, Peaches…" He even felt ridiculous saying her name.

 

"I made you a pie." She thrust the dish forward and pulled back the towel from the top of it. It really smelled pretty good, and it made his stomach growl slightly. "I thought we could go over behind the barn and have some."

 

He was rather fond of pie.

The Moment Leliana Made Kahrin Feel Awkward:

They lounged back on their elbows, staring up at the stars on what was one of the few quiet and calm nights they'd had in months. Her boots kicked off, Kahrin wriggled her toes in the grass and listened as Leliana's clear voice spun stories that she'd already heard. She didn't interrupt her friend, because she liked to hear her tell them in her musical voice, and it gave her something else to do rather than fret and plan and half-starve.

 

Her eyes drifted across the camp as the copper-haired bard told her of Alindra and her Soldier. Her friend, her own blond soldiermoved through the fluid motions of his night time training exercises, and her attention was caught for just a moment before she pulled her mind back to the story, realizing she'd missed the end. This was all right, because Leliana would tell it to her again if she asked.

 

"You two have gotten much closer, I've noticed." The bard crouched behind her and began braiding Kahrin's hair with quick fingers.

 

"What? Oh, that… it's… it's complicated." It was and it wasn't.

 

"You both seem very happy," her voice hesitated over the last word as if it was heavy and filled with all of the uncertainty that Kahrin felt over the whole matter. How happy could a person be with everything that loomed over their futures?

 

"I guess. I think so. Yes." unsure how to respond and even unsure herself, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the tiny bit of pampering that was so rare. "I mean, we're friends, it just… seemed like a natural progression."

 

"We're friends too, yes?" Leliana paused, stilling her hands and looking around at Kahrin, the slightest hint of a smile pulling at her eyes.

 

"Of course. You know that." She was so odd sometimes.

 

"So what's it like?" her voice going up several tones playfully as she unbound the braid she'd just finished and began again after pulling her fingers the full length of her hair.

 

"What's what like?" Kahrin squished her toes around again, enjoying the fact that there was even grass to bury her toes in.

 

She giggled lightly in her nonchalant way with which she said everything. "You know, with Alistair."

 

Sweeping her hair over her shoulder and out of Leliana's fingers, she turned and looked her full in the face, her Cousland Eyebrow arched and well into her tattoo. "You want me to tell you what it's like to…" she waved a hand in a circle, looking slightly mortified.

 

"Well, not in detail. I'm not writing a story about it. It just seems like it would be nice. For both of you."

 

Kahrin hadn't been speechless in a very long time. She could probably count on one hand the number of times her whole life, and at least two of them had been as a result of something Fergus had done to try to get under her tan skin. She hadn't even been aware that anyone knew.

 

She pulled up into a crouch and stood in one fluid motion, looking down at the woman who had an impish smile written across her mouth. "Yes. Well… I… think I'm ready for bed."

 

"I'm sure you are."

Zevran/Kahrin:

She kicked the prone figure over with one booted foot so that he was facing up, a smirk on his face like he'd just swallowed a canary, and glared at him, "I said not to call me that."

 

He gestured to Alistair, never mind the fact that he was heavily wounded, grinning so much she wanted to kick him again, "But I just heard him call you that, and I thought it was your name, tesoro."

 

"Yeah, I don't particularly like it from him either," she kicked him again and turned on her heel, bored with his leering, "get up and follow us or I will take back my promise."

Nathaniel/Anders/Kahrin at the Crown and Lion having dinner:

"See, Anders? I promised you pie, and I delivered," Kahrin smugly plopped her feet up in Nathaniel's lap as was her wont to do while the fresh, warm, pie was laid on the table before them.

 

"But what about the pretty girls and the lightning?" Anders sulked almost mockingly, watching as Howe slapped Kahrin's hand away from his wine glass when she absently reached for it.

 

"If you're a really good boy, perhaps Andraste will drop a girl who can shoot lightning into your lap from the Free Marches, as I suspect everyone in Ferelden knows of your particular charms already," she raised her Cousland Eyebrow at him, sliding Nate's plate in front of her and tucking in.

Comments

[miri1984]

Ooh, I had somehow missed the one of Carver hearing about Leandra - it was perfect. And I love all of these. Such a fun exercise! I'm completely addicted.

[ouyangdan]

That was one of my favorite ones, to be honest, so thank you. So much. I like digging around in Carver!Feelings.

This IS fun, and I'm addicted too!