“Bethany? I thought that was you I saw earlier,” Professor Orsino said, smiling warmly as he rose from his seat in the lounge.
Bethany had no choice but to stop and talk to him. Not that she minded having a chance to talk to Professor Orsino, but she could see a familiar bright-red leather briefcase on the chair beside his, and knew Meredith Stannard must be somewhere in the vicinity. Probably complaining loudly to some poor unfortunate about the delay, Bethany guessed. “Professor Orsino,” she said, smiling back at him with equal warmth.
“I was surprised to see you on board, until I remembered you’d once mentioned that you’d started school so late because of helping with the family business. I take it Hawke Airways is that business?”
I think you could convince me to ship just about anything - even just a throwaway comment makes me think so much about a pairing! And there is just something about Orsino/Feynriel that would be so… decadent, almost, and sensual, and, well, forbidden. In the game, at least. Is that part of the lure..?
A/N: For combination-nc on her birthday.
This could, if you wished it to, go along with the other Bethany/Isabela stuff I’ve written (not that there’s a ton of it, but it’s out there).
Title: The Whole Story
Rating: Not exactly what I’d call M, but let’s say NSFW?
Summary: Bethany asks Isabela to write a story about them, but Isabela suffers a bit of writer’s block.
Isabela sat her table in the Hanged Man with quill set to parchment and an a bottle of ink in just the right spot ready for when she needed it. Only she hadn’t needed it at all yet, and it was distressing her. At least once Varric had come over and pushed a tankard into her shoulder wondering if she had anything written yet. She hated that she only had a single line on the parchment to show him. Not that it was a race or anything of course, but there was always gold or drinks on the line when one of them finished a story, and Isabela didn’t like to lose.
She tapped the quill against the table, ink dropping in dark dots against the wood. It filled in divots from knives and mugs and she had to move her parchment more than once to keep from staining it.
Under some perfectly delicious amount of duress she had agreed to write Bethany a story. Writing fiction about one’s friends when it was understood that they might read it once it was published, where she could claim some ignorance over the matter? Well, that was one thing. Writing a story for Bethany - beautiful and despite her recent best efforts, still desperately naive Bethany - was another thing altogether. Especially if she was to keep their names intact.
Oh my goodness, as I say over and over, but this is so delightfully wonderful. And not only because it is both sweet and sexy as stories with Bethany and Isabela (the most va-va-voom of all the pairings!) are, but the very idea of writing someone you love a story, for and about them, and the meaning and weight and difficulty of names, and then letters. Ooh, letters! Thank you, thank you so much!
[Still on hiatus, but Combo needed a pick-me-up. :)
Q is for Quay
The harbor leaps and trembles with another blast, waves crashing against the piers and embankments in fire-reflecting arcs. The stone and wood is slick with blood and oil, and above the sky is filled with soot and ash.
Kirkwall is in flames, and Athenril keeps low.
Tomwise has Hilgrud down in Darktown; the qunari haven’t been sighted there, not yet, and it’s the safest place she can think of when the city gates are being mobbed by half the city. They were shut half an hour ago, she knows- oxmen man the winches, and none are being sparred. It’s a massacre the likes of which she’s never seen, and she does her best to stay apart from it.
But there is work to be done, even now, and she’s never felt safe sitting in one place while fires rage. So she prowls along the docks that the qunari have already left behind, marking ships and cargo that will be easily liberated in the silence once the fighting is over. She can only hope that somehow these northern beasts are driven out, or else she’ll have no one to sell to.
There’s a shout out on the water, and she ducks behind a stack of crates, crouched with one foot braced on coiled rope. The texture of it keeps her grounded, and she listens beyond the distant explosions, the screaming, the crackling of fire and the crashing of buildings as the fires gut them. The shouting is human, and it comes closer, closer- and then she hears the thud of booted feet landing on the quay, hears the patter of falling rope.
A boat? A small one, from how it doesn’t groan in the shifting waves. She straightens just enough to peer over the top of her makeshift wall.
Robes and armor.
Mages and templars.
There are other boats on the water, smaller than the ferries that usually run but with higher walls, less likely to capsize. Somewhere in them is the Knight-Commander, without a doubt. And in the one that’s landed already, stepping out onto the quay on wobbling legs but with a familiar hard set of determination to her mouth-
The only thing that Tomwise was able to turn up about her was that she was still alive, but that doesn’t begin to encompass it. It’s been three years, and she’s lost only a little of the youthful roundness of her face. What has changed is the light in her eyes, the way she squares her shoulders, the way she waits for orders. There’s a confidence there that Athenril doesn’t remember. A certitude.
Athenril swallows thickly. Bethany Hawke, with no sibling there to protect her, on her own against the oxmen ravaging the city.
Suddenly, Athenril cares a great deal about the fighting.
Combo is picked up!
This is really one of the best one in the series yet. You capture the mood of these moments so well, and I got chills down my spine again and again and again. The interactions between Bethany and Athenril, and Athenril’s feelings for and memories of her are just so beautifully written, the words carrying such longing with them. I keep rereading this one because it is so very splendid, and I am in awe of you as a writer. Please never, ever stop writing, it would be a horrible loss.
One more for this afternoon!
(… I promise, Bethany’s entire Warden life won’t be tragic!)
C is for CallingBethany has been in Ansburg for nearly two years when Faren starts to fade.
Somewhere in her mind, she’s known his time was limited. He joined the Wardens when he was eighteen; Bethany doesn’t know his age, but he’s old enough to have more gray hair than black, and the lines and circles around his eyes tell the story of too many years listening to darkspawn murmur in his ear. But his energy and humor makes him seem far younger than he is most days, so she’s not prepared when he sits down at an informal meeting and says, “It’s time.”
I am filled with such adoration for this alphabet, and especially this part. Your writing is so very wonderful, making me care so much about a character in such a short time, care enough to shed tears for him, and then ache for her sake. And all of Bethany’s thoughts and feelings just feels so right, so very and perfectly her. I really am in awe of how you portray her in this. Even if you were to make her entire life as a Warden this tragic… well, if done like this, I would not mind, though I do wish for her to find some happiness. And I am so so curious about, how she would react to other things, better things, as well!