The irony of his quarters wasn't lost on Hawke. Yes, he'd lived for nearly a decade in one of the finest mansions in Kirkwall's High Town, but empires always fell even easier as they rose, and for the last several years, he'd laid his head wherever he could. And bless the Inquisitor, she'd insisted that he be given 'top tier' quarters here at Skyhold, although he'd assured the Inquisition's ambassador that wasn't necessary; he'd be just as well off in some quiet place on the battlements, or even the stables, if it came to that. Nevertheless, all of them had insisted, and Varric had quietly advised him to just agree, so he had.
It had proven a welcome godsend, surprisingly; while decidedly more opulent that he'd grown accustomed to, his fortress quarters were comfortable, warm, and above all else, private. He really didn't want to have to make a scene here at Skyhold by burning the daylights out of some coin-grubbing idiot determined to collect the bounty still decorating the Champion of Kirkwall's head.
Hawke and Stroud had only just returned from their reconnaissance of Adamant, and after reporting their findings to the Inquisitor's war council, Hawke, at least, had disappeared into his quarters, pouring over each and every correspondence he'd received from the Wardens over the past years. Particularly those from his brother, Carver. He'd begun this insane quest in attempt to find his sibling, having had no word from Carver since the fall of Kirkwall. And now, Corypheus, mage-templar war, and a Maker-damned hole in the sky.
He was afraid to even breathe the words, "What next?"
Tomorrow, the Inquisition marched. Hawke had met with Cullen earlier, pointing out structural weaknesses in the fortress's defenses, and had also spent a good portion of the afternoon with the Lady Seeker, the young Inquisitor, and the Spymaster, he and Stroud assisting with tactical intelligence and outlining battle scenarios. It was going to be a brutal endeavor, of that he was certain.
But sunset saw him back in his quarters, once more reading over Carver's letters, wondering in the back of his mind if he ever would see his brother again. The only family he had left, now. Then a soft knock on his door brought him out of his broody reverie, and the mage straightened, shoved the parchments back in his satchel, and went to open the door, more than a little surprised to see the Inquisitor standing there, seemingly looking...a little lost.
He could relate, truly.
"Lady Trevelyan." He opened the door further, and gestured her inside. "Please, come in." Although he had no idea what she was doing here, at this time of night. "Um...what can I do for you?"
She steps inside, holding up the cards with a sort of sheepish smile that definitely didn't suit the image of the Herald they tell in the stories. Either some golden-ringed saint or bloody-fingered demon, depending on their view of the Inquisition. "You mind humoring me with a hand or two of Wicked Grace?" She says it with a bit of good humor, but the shadows in her eyes are heavier, darker than that. But she still looks a little bit hopeful as she peers up at Hawke. Estella is petite, a slender woman with curves usually hidden under the cloth and leather layers of her gear.
"I can't sleep on nights like these, but there's nothing I can do until we get to Adamant." Yes, she knows that being here so late is a little bit presumptuous. But it had been nice -- talking to him on the battlements, having someone that understood what it was to carry so much weight on her shoulders. The way that the name Herald of Andraste tasted like ashes on the air, like the words might strangle her with so much expectation.
"Well, and I think Cassandra was starting to consider having me restrained again if I didn't get out of her hair." There's a wry curl to her lips, a touch of humor to temper the way that she feels a little lost sometimes. Especially tonight. These nights before the big battle when the world holds its breath and all eyes- and hopes- are pinned on her. But for the moment, she doesn't talk about that part of it.
It feels a little bit indulgent, honestly. The prospect of taking time for herself for a few hours this close to the battle, doing something that isn't about the coming fight, or the fight against Corypheus at all, really. Just- there's something about Hawke that she likes. Something to that presence that he has, and it feels like cool air. Maybe she's a little bit charmed, but she's always been a flirt, so that's maybe less surprising. Maybe the more surprising part is that she had always been more interested in Anders, back in the days before the Conclave.
But she'd been young and angry, then. She's still passionate, but her temper has cooled, buried a little bit deeper. Not the same young woman that had snapped at Cullen about wanting her to be a good little mage in those first days at Haven.
"Varric says you're not bad, which is high praise from what I can tell."
A corner of Hawke's mouth tilted, hearing her reasoning. So he closed the door behind her, and a wave of his hand saw a few more logs settling on the fire, the blaze leaping gratefully. He wasn't averse to a little chill, but there was no reason for the both of them to be cold.
"Sure. Have a seat." His quarters did sport more than a barrel and a few buckets for furniture, so Hawke pulled out one of the chairs near the desk, and took the other for himself. The quip about Varric made him laugh, though, and he shook his head in mirthful amusement.
"High praise, indeed," Hawke agreed, indicating her to shuffle and deal, if she wished. "But then, he's known for embellishment, so perhaps you shouldn't believe everything you hear, Lady Trevelyan." A smile and a wink followed, the mage's large hands comfortably laced together as he leaned his arms on the desk.
She slides into the seat he pulls out for her with a slight murmur of not-quite-voiced thanks, and sets the bottle of wine she'd liberated from the tavern with a touch of something wicked. "I came armed with bribery, just in case," she teases. And she does appreciate the warmth of the fire, even if she's rather accustomed to the fury of the elements by this point. She still preferred a bit of heat to the air on autumn nights like this where it was possible. And it did add a certain coziness, an edge of something inviting to the space, although Hawke did pretty well on that account all by himself.
Not what she'd expected of the Champion of Kirkwall, but that was almost a good thing. He was more approachable, more human than she'd thought he would be. He was someone that she could trust, whose aid she welcomed in a fight.
It's nice though, hearing him laugh, and it makes her eyes prick with something playful as she hums thoughtfully for a moment, a slight tilt of her head as she regards him. "You are right about that. So who knows if it's true or not. I suppose I should just find out for myself." And it's on that note that she picks up the deck of cards, shuffling with an ease that definitely hints at familiarity. The Circles might officially frown upon Wicked Grace making its way into the hands of Apprentices, but that just made it more enticing.
She deals the cards easily, that slight glint of her red nails as she deals their cards, setting the deck down and then carefully looking over her cards as she fans them out in her fingers. Not a bad hand, but not great either, but it was the first hand of the night, so she wasn't too worried.
"How are you holding up?" It's a soft question, more earnest, a little raw around the edges.
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Date: 2020-08-07 07:19 pm (UTC)It had proven a welcome godsend, surprisingly; while decidedly more opulent that he'd grown accustomed to, his fortress quarters were comfortable, warm, and above all else, private. He really didn't want to have to make a scene here at Skyhold by burning the daylights out of some coin-grubbing idiot determined to collect the bounty still decorating the Champion of Kirkwall's head.
Hawke and Stroud had only just returned from their reconnaissance of Adamant, and after reporting their findings to the Inquisitor's war council, Hawke, at least, had disappeared into his quarters, pouring over each and every correspondence he'd received from the Wardens over the past years. Particularly those from his brother, Carver. He'd begun this insane quest in attempt to find his sibling, having had no word from Carver since the fall of Kirkwall. And now, Corypheus, mage-templar war, and a Maker-damned hole in the sky.
He was afraid to even breathe the words, "What next?"
Tomorrow, the Inquisition marched. Hawke had met with Cullen earlier, pointing out structural weaknesses in the fortress's defenses, and had also spent a good portion of the afternoon with the Lady Seeker, the young Inquisitor, and the Spymaster, he and Stroud assisting with tactical intelligence and outlining battle scenarios. It was going to be a brutal endeavor, of that he was certain.
But sunset saw him back in his quarters, once more reading over Carver's letters, wondering in the back of his mind if he ever would see his brother again. The only family he had left, now. Then a soft knock on his door brought him out of his broody reverie, and the mage straightened, shoved the parchments back in his satchel, and went to open the door, more than a little surprised to see the Inquisitor standing there, seemingly looking...a little lost.
He could relate, truly.
"Lady Trevelyan." He opened the door further, and gestured her inside. "Please, come in." Although he had no idea what she was doing here, at this time of night. "Um...what can I do for you?"
no subject
Date: 2020-08-10 07:21 pm (UTC)"I can't sleep on nights like these, but there's nothing I can do until we get to Adamant." Yes, she knows that being here so late is a little bit presumptuous. But it had been nice -- talking to him on the battlements, having someone that understood what it was to carry so much weight on her shoulders. The way that the name Herald of Andraste tasted like ashes on the air, like the words might strangle her with so much expectation.
"Well, and I think Cassandra was starting to consider having me restrained again if I didn't get out of her hair." There's a wry curl to her lips, a touch of humor to temper the way that she feels a little lost sometimes. Especially tonight. These nights before the big battle when the world holds its breath and all eyes- and hopes- are pinned on her. But for the moment, she doesn't talk about that part of it.
It feels a little bit indulgent, honestly. The prospect of taking time for herself for a few hours this close to the battle, doing something that isn't about the coming fight, or the fight against Corypheus at all, really. Just- there's something about Hawke that she likes. Something to that presence that he has, and it feels like cool air. Maybe she's a little bit charmed, but she's always been a flirt, so that's maybe less surprising. Maybe the more surprising part is that she had always been more interested in Anders, back in the days before the Conclave.
But she'd been young and angry, then. She's still passionate, but her temper has cooled, buried a little bit deeper. Not the same young woman that had snapped at Cullen about wanting her to be a good little mage in those first days at Haven.
"Varric says you're not bad, which is high praise from what I can tell."
no subject
Date: 2020-08-12 01:04 am (UTC)"Sure. Have a seat." His quarters did sport more than a barrel and a few buckets for furniture, so Hawke pulled out one of the chairs near the desk, and took the other for himself. The quip about Varric made him laugh, though, and he shook his head in mirthful amusement.
"High praise, indeed," Hawke agreed, indicating her to shuffle and deal, if she wished. "But then, he's known for embellishment, so perhaps you shouldn't believe everything you hear, Lady Trevelyan." A smile and a wink followed, the mage's large hands comfortably laced together as he leaned his arms on the desk.
no subject
Date: 2020-08-12 05:27 pm (UTC)Not what she'd expected of the Champion of Kirkwall, but that was almost a good thing. He was more approachable, more human than she'd thought he would be. He was someone that she could trust, whose aid she welcomed in a fight.
It's nice though, hearing him laugh, and it makes her eyes prick with something playful as she hums thoughtfully for a moment, a slight tilt of her head as she regards him. "You are right about that. So who knows if it's true or not. I suppose I should just find out for myself." And it's on that note that she picks up the deck of cards, shuffling with an ease that definitely hints at familiarity. The Circles might officially frown upon Wicked Grace making its way into the hands of Apprentices, but that just made it more enticing.
She deals the cards easily, that slight glint of her red nails as she deals their cards, setting the deck down and then carefully looking over her cards as she fans them out in her fingers. Not a bad hand, but not great either, but it was the first hand of the night, so she wasn't too worried.
"How are you holding up?" It's a soft question, more earnest, a little raw around the edges.