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Chapter Text

Atarah wore a long nightrail to bed, but it wound up into a bunch at her hips when she twisted and turned in her sleep. She always had socks on, even when she wasn’t supposed to-- Josephine still wouldn’t let her forget about her shoe choice disaster in Halamshiral-- and she really liked the colour purple-- it accented her lilac eyes and long, black hair. She wore earrings, but only silver ones because she didn’t like the look of gold. She had glossy lips that Sera traced countless times and soft wrists that she kissed thousands of times more.

Atarah was fun-- goofy in stature with her big, broad shoulders and wide feet; she smiled and joked constantly, prodded and poked like a big sister with nothing but sunshine for intentions. She and Josephine got along incredibly well-- they teased each other with such fierceness that Sera swore for weeks that they were dating. But they weren’t. Josephine and Atarah just didn’t see each other that way, she was told. Atarah was too goofy, too relaxed to care about what Josie stressed over constantly. She liked wearing those funny Orlesian masks only to prod fun at the pretentious tits, not for a political leg-up. Such intricacies didn’t make sense to Atarah, and she frankly couldn’t find it in herself to care overmuch. “If it doesn’t make me laugh or think critically, why should I care?”

Sera liked her attitude-- maybe less so about how respectful she was about all religions, but she liked her outlook-- have fun, save the people, flirt with Scout Harding every chance you get. Sera started to crush, and when Atarah would cutely flirt right back, a little blush twinging her ears a soft magenta instead of grey, Sera found confidence deep in her bones that only experience brings.

When she asked about a kiss once at the tavern late at night, Atarah swirled her water in her cup-- she was so fun she didn’t need to drink to loosen up-- then turned a pinky-plum and ducked her head.

“Never really done that before,” she chuckled nervously. Sera tapped at one of her curved horns, getting her to look up-- and she kissed her right there, at the bar. The patrons gave great whistles, and Sera grinned wide when Atarah turned fuschia.

The next day, Atarah was solemn. Sombre. A kind of mood Sera had never seen before.

“What’s wrong, Inky?” She asked, kicking her legs out from her chair at the tavern.

Atarah pulled her around a corner, her big frame squished in the tiny alcove. She wrung her hands, her eyes nervous.

“Don’t kiss me in public,” she whispered out, her eyes wet with tears. “I don’t want them to see us; they don’t deserve to see us. This,” she inhaled thinly, “this means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

Sera kissed her hard in that alcove-- “Be like Red Jennies in the night, Tadwinks? Kinky.” She teased, and Atarah gave a big smile and gave her a smacking kiss right on her forehead, laughing quietly under her breath.

Thus began their secret love affair-- Atarah meeting her behind the barns to hold her in her arms as Sera schemed and schemed, Sera climbing onto the roof over the tiny cathedral so Atarah could hop over the ledge and kiss her right on the mouth until they both blushed red. A ghost of her little cackle would sound as she ran the ramparts; a little snort would sound in the opposite direction. Atarah pretended to be single and Sera pretended not to care. Visiting big wigs would flirt and offer courtship and Atarah would decline with an air of nonchalance, yet kindness. She was earthly, humble in her achievements and proud of her advisors. She and Vivienne got along very well, despite a difference on a few opinions. She freed the mages but trusted Vivienne with everything about mages. Sera didn’t quite get that.

“It’s about listening to those who have more experience,” she said as she swept Sera’s choppy bangs from her face. “I wouldn’t ask Solas about what it’s like being a city elf, born and raised.”

Sera laughed, screwing her face up into a foul expression, “ Magic, the Fade; oi, you tit, don’t steal my smallclothes! ”

But it still bothered Sera. Not the Solas thing, although he was an arrogant little shit, but the courting thing. And the lack of sex thing. That was supremely frustrating. Atarah made no attempts to get into bed, and whenever Sera tried, Atarah would just turn a mottled plum-pink and go to bed, cuddling Sera close to her chest. 

She once was toeing around the merchants when she saw a hat-- it was ugly. Atarah loved ugly hats, more than she liked those humans in Val Royeaux that would stand up on stage and make terrible, long-winded jokes. She couldn’t wear hats, because her horns got in the way, so she’d hang them from her horns and throw her head around until they flew off and landed somewhere funny. She once threw one so far in the tavern that it landed on Bull-- he laughed so hard that beer came out of his nose.

Anyways-- ugly hats. Sera actually bought it, then thought about it-- it was black, and layered with a bunch of flimsy fabric that reminded her of a cabbage-- there were ugly little red carnations that smelled like Lady Emmauld’s hands when she rushed her from court when she slapped a visiting dignitary from Kirkwall; he demanded a hug, but hugs that were polite and soft made Sera’s skin crawl.

She thought of Corniffysnips and laughed-- she loaded the ugly hat up with a bunch of bruised apples and left it outside the tavern with an arrow in its painted-on forehead. A few people started to hit it in passing but began to attack it when Sera stood at the roof and fired arrows at it. She laughed as a tiny little elf girl kicked it so far it beat off the walls. Once Inky was done with meetings, she told her all about her gift. She got a funny look on her face, but still kissed her and smiled with those glossy lips that tasted like honeywine and green grapes because she hated the soft purple ones.

Sera began to read about the Qun-- it didn’t make much sense to her, with all the rules and stuff, but she could see why people liked it. She could see why Bull didn’t fit in it well, and she thanked her lucky stars that her Tadwinks never was in it-- she would have died before she was ever born. Sera thumbed at the rough pages, enjoying the feeling-- the edges were uneven and soft from many thumbs before her feeling the edges. That gave her a sense of peace-- there will always be something.

Atarah was something-- in fact, she felt like everything when Sera really started thinking about it. The way she would forego a breastband and make fun of her almost inverted chest, dancing around in her tight tunics that showed off her toned stomach and broad shoulders that made Sera’s inner thighs tighten. How when she smiled over dinner with the crew; it was a secret, tied up with a pretty wink with her sleepy, sleepy lashes. She didn’t even mind when Inky began to read tome and tome of elfy stuff; she didn’t even mind when she began to talk about Andruil or Sylaise or Ghilan’nain. She once made a joke-- “Imagine you, babe, with a big longbow? You’d be just like Andruil.” then she made a goofy bow motion, making a fart noise when she loosed her invisible arrow. Sera laughed and began to think of it. It almost made the Dalish not seem like a bunch of whiny tits. Maybe .

Chapter Text

Atarah read more than she laughed, and all she did was laugh. She had stacks and stacks of books, scrolls, tomes-- her desk was hardly recognizable from all the forms and maps and ciphers she referred to. She was constantly working, constantly laughing, constantly reading; so it only made sense that she would sleep like a rock. Sera found herself thankful because when she had nightmares, she couldn’t wake Atarah up. No matter how loud she hollered, she couldn’t get her to wake up. Even when Sera wanted attention, which was rather shitty. Until one night, when Sera had a bad dream.

The thrashing wasn’t usually bad, but this night it was. Sera must’ve smacked Atarah to consciousness because she was suddenly being shaken awake. She remembers crying into Atarah’s collar, how her bones ground together as Atarah hugged her tightly. She knew that the pressure made her feel better.

“Want to talk about it?” She asked. The room was cool and dark. The drapes surrounding Atarah’s bed shuttered in the breeze, but Atarah did not shiver. She wormed a hand into Sera’s choppy bangs and patted them away from her sweaty forehead. 

Sera gave a heavy breath and squeezed her eyes tight-- “I wanna just focus on the happy.” Tears squeaked out of her eyes, and Sera wanted to swat at her puffy upper lip and red nose-- her crying face was embarrassing.

“I want to, too, but we have to talk about this before we can be happy,” Atarah whispered into Sera’s crown. “We don’t have to now, but I want to sometime soon.” And she pulled her tighter to her chest and rocked her back and forth. Sera began to lose herself in the rhythm of the motions-- she fell back to sleep against her Tadwinks’ chest, her elfroot salve and lilac hair oil lulling her into comforting dreams of a mother long dead with rough hands that she only remembers because they were dirty from work.

Sneaking around was getting harder to do. Atarah had more meetings now, and more people searching her out in her private hours. They were making out once and then the Jackboot nearly beat down her door to talk about an important mage argument; Sera giggled from under her bed as Atarah told Rutherford to ram his ink jar up his ass and make it a suppository.

“Cullen, I understand you don’t sleep, but I do,” Atarah scolded. Rutherford turned pink, opened his mouth to say something--

“No, shut up,” She pressed her pointer finger to his lips and shook her head. “Mages have earned their keep here. If you want to report every squabble to me, you’ll have to start acting them out.” She raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to object.

“Apologies, Inquisitor.” He griped, “I just wanted to alert you in case of any magical activ--” 

She rested her finger back onto his lips, “Shhhh,” she shook her head, turned him and frog-marched him out. Sera had to clasp both hands over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

As soon as the door closed and latched, she burst out laughing. Atarah leaned against the door and laughed, too, but in her polite way.

“Andraste, he sure hates mages.” She snorted.

“Ignorance and trauma tend to do that; he’s also rather blunt, so if it’s delicate at all, he becomes frustrated,” she grabbed the staircase ledge and hauled herself up. She was wearing a tight tunic without sleeves, her flat chest on display. She didn’t seem to gather what her appearance did to people. Sera was nearly convinced that Commander Cully-Wully only came up to visit because he was thinking with his bits. 

She flopped onto her couch, held her arms out for Sera to climb into her lap. Sera dusted herself off before she jumped into her arms; she straddled her, her breasts in Atarah’s face. Atarah blushed, craned her strong neck to kiss her; Sera obliged, enjoyed the glossy feeling Atarah’s lips gave her. They tasted like berries and brandy, something she was partial to drinking on cold nights. She rarely drank, and she hardly even got drunk-- Sera found her too stiff in her watching-over ways to ever really let herself drink enough to puke the next day.

“I’m sorry you have to hide under the bed when someone comes up,” Atarah whispered. She looked like she needed to cry but didn’t want to.

“I don’t mind, Tadwinks,” Sera placated; she rubbed her thumb over the little scar above Atarah’s top lip, and felt how it dipped her skin just so.

“You are better than a secret, though,” Atarah pulled her tighter to her, laid her forehead on Sera’s chest as she started to cry. “You deserve someone to love you in every room.”

“That’s kinky and ambitious,” Sera joked; she hated how her Honeytongue cried.

“You know me,” she sniffled, looking up at Sera. Sera kissed her again; usually, she went for tongue, but she kissed her sweetly because she felt that Atarah needed that more.

“I love you. I do,” Atarah confessed, “more than I think is healthy.” She smiled shyly as she pinked some more, “I just wish I wasn’t so scared to say that to everyone else.”

“Why are you scared, anyway?” Sera asked. She was scared of the Fade, but that made sense; everyone was scared of the Fade, or they were freaky mages like Solas.

“I never thought I would have this,” Atarah responded. She rubbed her big thumbs along Sera’s hips in up-down rhythms that made her think of dancing.

“Why not? Not pointy enough for you?” Sera stuck her fingers into her hair and mimicked Bull’s outline, “Horns up!” She jived. Atarah laughed, tugged Sera’s little hands into her own; she turned them over, palms out, and followed the lines with her thumbs.

“Softer, actually,” Atarah blushed. “I was expected to marry a man, horn-points and external genitals included.”

Sera scrunched her nose, “ Nasty . Never could get into why every girl in the streets was so infatuated. Looks to me like an angry bratwurst.” She stuck her tongue out in disgust.

Atarah laughed; she took Sera’s hands and kissed her knuckles, rolled her eyes at her silly joke. “I felt the same.”

“Well, obviously! I’ve got you so crooked now you’d have to have a rod lodged up your arse to straighten you out,” she bent and straightened her back, wiggled her eyebrows at Atarah.

“Kinky,” Atarah teased back. She still had that sad look on her face, though.

“What did you do, since you didn’t want to marry him?” Sera asked. She rested her arms on Atarah’s shoulders, relaxed her posture some.

“Joined a merc band and left.” Atarah laughed, but it came out wrong. “The letter I received from my mother was not pleasant,” Sera knew that meant fucking shite , “but she and I have talked since and come to the conclusion that I am asha lathasha. ”

“‘Woman love woman’?” Sera answered thoughtlessly; Atarah had been learning elvhen from Solas to talk with Dalish clans. Those lessons had been rubbing off on her, as Atarah made it a point to practice translating all of her correspondence into elfy. Out loud. Especially when Sera was around. 

Atarah gave her a secretive smile and nodded. “My tama got over it eventually. She still wants grandkids, despite my wishes.”

Sera snorted, “Could you imagine? Scary, innit?” 

“What?” Atarah asked.

“Us with a scrawny little tot? Anything like me?” She laughed; Atarah watched her face fall with a memory-- her eyes were getting sad; they turned a darker green when she was about to cry.

“I think it would be perfect if it was exactly like you.” Atarah cupped Sera’s face and kissed her softly. She loved Sera so much that sometimes it made her chest feel like stone.

“You’re wrong, you know,” Sera cried. “Lady Emmauld said I was a bad kid.” Big, rolling tears slid down her freckled cheeks. Atarah pulled Sera in for one of her tight hugs; the pressure felt like a strap on Sera’s mind, holding it down before it floated away.

“Why would she say that?” Atarah whispered. Sera slipped her knees up and wrapped them around Atarah’s hips and buried her face into her chest; she shook her head, rubbed her fingers into her pant legs. They were linen, made for bed or for under dresses.

“‘Cause I’m not like you,” she whispered, tears falling thicker on her cheeks. She slipped into another hug and squeezed so tight she thought her arms might burst. Atarah didn’t let go; she rubbed soothing little circles into her back, keeping enough pressure to keep from Sera’s skin crawling. She picked up on the little things like that.

Atarah broke the silence, “I think you’re one of the best people I’ve ever met.” She looked Sera in the eyes, held her cheek with one hand and supported her back with the other. Sera leaned her face further into her hand and kissed her palm.

“You’re good, Inky,” Sera replied.

“Do you want to talk about why you’re not like me? I mean, besides how much taller you are than me.” She joked.

Sera took a second, then she cackled in her good Sera way, “You’re funny!”

Atarah peeked her eyebrows up at her; Sera sighed. “I don’t like talking about it.”

“I hate talking to every Orlesian noble I’ve ever met, but I still do it. Sometimes I can enjoy it, given the topic and company I have.” Atarah brushed Sera’s bangs out of her eyes.

Sera huffed. “You aren’t going to laugh, are you?”

Atarah shook her head No, waited patiently as Sera worried the inside of her cheek before she began, “When I was little, Lady Emmauld said I was a bad kid because I wasn’t… people-y .” She looked away for a minute, “Like how you are.”

Atarah nodded, “I’m listening.” Sera felt embarrassed but safer than she expected to.

Sera sighed, “I didn’t talk much when I was little, but after I started talking I was bad at shutting up. I wanted everyone to be my friend, and I’d hug just about everybody.” She peeked at Atarah, who only nodded encouragingly. “So much so that I used to hug the runners whenever they brought Lady Emmauld some letter or titfortat, I’d give them a little hug ‘cause I thought she’d say I was just being cute. Most runners were elfy and didn’t mind my cuddles. This one time, though, this human snot from Orlais,” Sera crumpled her face to look as sour as possible, “she kicked me across the room. So, next time she came, she broke her ankle on my building blocks down the steps.” She cackled and Atarah laughed with her, rubbed at the thin skin behind her ear as she kept Sera’s eyes on her own. Sera was extremely good at eye contact. 

“But, one day, when Lady Emmauld had a visitor, he tried to give me a hug. I don’t care much for boys, they were awful at hugs, but I hugged him because the Lady would be proud of me. Then, the greased oinker decided to kiss both my cheeks and I pushed him off. I remember his whiskers,” she wiggled her fingers on her cheeks in discomfort, “ tickling me. I hated it, so I pushed him off. Lady Emmauld apologized for me and shoved me to the stairs and told me to wait in my room. So I did,” Sera sniffed. Atarah moved her hand from Sera’s face, rested it on the back of her neck and played with her short at her nape.

“She called me a mean name. I hate it because I’m not it--” She started crying again.

“You don’t have to tell me anymore.” Atarah interrupted. Sera started crying more, hid her face behind her hands and leaned onto Atarah’s chest. She dragged her strong callused fingers up-down Sera’s back in a gliding rhythm that relaxed her; she started to fall asleep and when Atarah started to hum a song, Sera slumped with finality. 

When she woke up, she was tucked under Atarah’s arm on the bed. Her legs were laid over Atarah’s thighs; she was laid flat on her back, shirtless and serene in the moonlight. Sera pulled a throw from under her butt and spread it over Atarah’s torso-- she always got embarrassed when the servants caught her shirtless.

Sera looked at Atarah’s strong nose, how proud her lips and cheekbones were. She had a broad face, sleeping lashes and a heavy brow. Sera ran her fingers over her ribs, slid her hand to rest on the divot between her breasts and her upper belly muscles. Atarah moved her hand from her lower stomach to Sera’s hand; her arm squeezed harder around her shoulders, pulled her in closer, but she did not wake. Sera supposed she found solace in that.

When she woke up the next morning, Atarah’s head was on her stomach and she was hugging Sera’s middle. Sera smiled at her, ran her fingers through her pin-straight black hair and glided her fingers over her horns; they grew up-and-around, like ram horns but far more menacing.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Atarah smiled into her belly. She kissed above her belly button, longer than what was considered innocent. She looked up at Sera shyly, tongued at a scar on her hip.

“Oh, finally,” She groaned, slipped from her pants. Adele kissed everywhere with curiosity, nibbled Sera’s inner thighs at a honey-slow pace.

Atarah was as good with her tongue in bed as she was primping money from nobles; she was honest and true and fucking good . Sera loved this about Atarah, and she loved how her callused fingers felt when they gripped Sera’s soft inner thighs. But, best of all, she loved how she’d kiss up her belly, between her breasts and land on her mouth clumsily, laugh throatily at all of Sera’s post-coital blabbing. I love you , she’d whisper. That was Sera's favourite part.

Chapter Text

Atarah was talking Qun stuff-- she was excited to make an alliance with the Qunari peoples. She spent hours with Bull down at the tavern learning Qunlat greetings and basic words and practicing her accent. She was nervous, too-- Sera could see how hard she studied her notes every night, how the whites of her eyes flashed far too fast over the vellum. She would be so immersed in her note-taking that she’d hardly even notice Sera talking to her.

She was also starting to quiz Blackwall on more Warden stuff-- the things she saw in the future pointed to the Wardens and she needed as much information as she could get. Sera liked those meetings, though-- Blackwall knew about them and didn’t mind if Sera sat on her Inky’s lap and felt her voice vibrate through her chest. Blackwall would tease her when they were alone, too, which was refreshing.

Atarah was getting nervous about the meetup, though, which would happen in due time. How she could survive an Orlesian ball before a simple mission confounded Sera. She started asking Bull more and more questions about his childhood and how the Qun worked. She and he were a lot like brother and sister, in ways; they played titty twister as siblings did and when they smiled, their eyes looked the same. Atarah asked him his number and penned a letter to her mother that night; she did not share her suspicions with Sera, but Sera knew. She wondered if Bull could be her blood .

As time passed, Atarah let more and more things slide. She started holding Sera’s hand when they were walking, started openly flirting with her. She started to shoot down all of the slimy Orlesian cuckolds with a more refined No, thank you; I have my eye on someone else. She started to love her more openly, too. She let Sera use the door now; Sera teased her endlessly about this. More importantly, Atarah would carry her to bed and hold her down just right. She hit the back better than any other woman Sera had ever been with-- she was well-fit, vigorous and thorough. And she loved Sera, so it made everything dependable and concrete; neverending.

Atarah was nice to everyone, mostly. She wasn’t always kind to the Jackboot, and sometimes she got growly with Solas when he got too condescending; she once told Cassandra to fuck off when she got too preachy about the divine intervention of the Maker brought you to us, blah, blah, blah . But besides that, she was nice. Not Sera so sweet her hips ached nice, but nice.

One such person she was nice to was the Empress’ arcane advisor, post-Vivvi; she was olive-brown with creepy gold eyes and an affinity for having her titties out. Atarah called her Morrigan, but Sera called her Cat-Eyes because she was freaky . And her son was worse, somehow.

He was about ten or eleven, but he talked like he was older than time itself; he also had creepy gold eyes and the same olive-toned skin. Atarah sometimes would converse with him in elvhen, which he knew lots in. When he wasn’t with his freaky mother, he was with Creepy. They were both going through puberty (as Varric described it), but it made zero sense to Sera. She avoided going to the garden like it was full of Blight, and it may as well have been.

But, once Varric and Cassandra’s spat was done about Hawke, she started to really avoid the library, and the Commons, and the Stables especially. Because Hawke had a friend .

This friend was about five-foot-two, with fluffy black hair and keen green eyes. She was a mage, Sera knew because she almost could see a glow around her from the corner of her eye--

Her name was Merrill and she was to help with Cat-Eyes’s creepy mirror thingy-- she and Cat-Eyes got into frequent squabbles, though, which Sera did like to hear the retelling of at dinner. It would just be the two of them down in the kitchens, surrounded by rising sourdough and sweet cakes. Atarah started eating in the kitchens because Hawke made her nervous, as if she’d challenge her to a duel for Varric’s best friend seat.

“Andraste’s flaming sword, you should’ve seen the spat--” She raised her well-fit arms over her head and held them out as a bear would, “--Merrill was cursing in elvhen, Morrigan attempting to explain why she thought her reasoning was more concrete,” Atarah sighed, let her hands rest on her lap as she slumped in her bench, “it’s exhausting just being there!” She laughed, tucked herself back into her dinner of lentils, sticky rice and pork chops. A piece of hair was falling in her face; Sera leaned over the rough-hewn table and pushed it behind her ear.

“They’re mages, it makes sense.” She teased. Atarah rolled her eyes.

“I think it was definitely Morrigan acting as if she knew more about the Elvhen than someone of the actual culture. ” She sniffed, took a bite of her meal.

“Wha’ do you mean by that?” Sera asked. Atarah chewed quickly, swallowed her mouthful.

“I don’t pretend to know more about being a mage because I read extensively on the topic,” she held her hands out in a scale; her left hand stood for her, “than an actual mage who has lived their whole life as one.” Her right hand dropped, signifying the mage.

“Who am I to tell someone to experience things in the way I think they should?” Atarah put her hands into her lap.

“I was in Denerim for most of my life; when I ran off from Lady Emmauld, I met a group of elves that were trying to keep things elfy,” Sera sneered, “and when I met them, they said I wasn’t elfy enough because I couldn’t speak elfy or follow the gods ,” she spat, “so what about them?”

Atarah’s heat disappeared from her face within seconds. “Gatekeepers,” she sighed, leaned back into her seat and rubbed her face. She cursed in qunlat because her tones were rigid, then she swore some more in elfy because her tones became lilting.

“Talk normal, Inky,” Sera complained. “What’s a gatekeeper?”

Atarah leaned forward, “I’ve met the same kind of people, but they’re mostly of the Qun.” She held her hand out palm up and waited for Sera to take it.

“They said I was a bad Vashoth because I couldn’t speak Qunlat or know anything about our religion.” Sera slipped her hand into Atarah’s; watched her hand disappear behind her fingers when they closed, watched her thumb traced the back of her hand in little swirls.

“So why do you care? They all threw you away like garbage, why do you want to learn about them?” Sera asked, frustrated. Atarah chewed the inside of her lip for a moment in thought.

“How can I defy my mould when I don’t even know my shape?” She asked. “I don’t know how to be me unless I understand what I am. So I ask questions and read about what my people are like; I get to understand why my tama raised me the way she did and why she kept her history from me.” Atarah took Sera’s other hand and looked into her eyes, “Because if I can’t even process my own trauma, how can I be a good leader?”

Sera squeezed her hands, grated her teeth on her lips; “So you’re telling me it’s metal to learn Qunlat?” She went for a smile.

“It’s metal to do anything the bas do not approve of,” Atarah got that squinty-crying-happy look she had when she was proud of Sera, “and it’s brave to dare to love yourself despite being told to be ashamed of it.” She got up from her seat and kneeled in front of Sera, took her hands into her own and held them at her chest, “Ant’ kadan.”

“Friggin’ sap, you,” Sera giggled, blinked the tears from her eyes and leaned in to kiss her girl.

Sera met Merrill as she was heading up to see Dorian about books; Merrill was making her way back from the library to her rooms. She was crying; Sera stopped still in the hall as she watched Merrill shrink into the floor, her little body shivering in between her sobs. Carefully, Sera slid down the wall beside her.

“All right, you?” Sera asked cautiously.

“Is Solas always such a--?” She made a rude gesture, one that Sera recognized from her time in Alienages. It meant cocksucker .

“Sacksplash? Sure,” Sera giggled; Merrill wiped her tears away as she laughed.

“He is one of the People, yet he does not recognize me as such,” Merrill chewed her lip, “which is odd. He claimed the Dalish are foolhardy and ignorant, but we are not foolhardy and ignorant as much as we are hopeful and full of pride,” she made another rude gesture to the hallway that led to his rotunda. It meant smells like cow shit.

“You are one of the People; how do you deal with his foolishness?” Merrill asked politely. She reminded Sera of an owlet; her eyes were wide and searching all the time. She was skinny-scrawny, too, like most elves. She pulled her legs up to hide her ample chest and chubby stomach.

“I usually just leave him little animals in his bag,” she sniffed. Merrill laughed, shrill and bright.

“You’re funny,” she smiled; Sera felt herself blush. “Ar ame’ Merrill,” she pointed to her chest, then held her hand out palm up like she was expecting something.

“Oh, I don’t--” Sera started panicking. Merrill put her hand down.

“I’m sorry! It’s wrong to assume everyone knows elvhen just ‘cause they have pointy ears,” she turned a little pink, brushed some hair behind her very pointy ear.

“I’m pretty bad at ‘reading a room’, Varric calls it,” Merrill gushed.

“Me, too,” Sera offered uncomfortably. “Bad at elfy stuff, too,” she confessed.

“What do you mean? Are you not an elf?” Merrill asked.

“Well, yeah ,” Sera wiggled her ears. Merrill giggled as she wiggled her’s back.

“Well, if you have elvhen blood, you are of the People,” Merrill smiled. “What is your name?”

“Ser Ligmatesticles,” Sera snorted. Merrill stood, wiped her bum free of dust and straightened.

“You would say to me, ‘Ar ame’ Ser Ligmatesticles,’ ,” Merrill said, then Sera fell over onto the floor laughing.

“Oh!” Merrill slapped her forehead, “I missed something dirty, didn’t I?”

Sera cackled, stood up and goofily curtsied, “Ar ame’ Sera,”  

Merrill laughed, clapped her hands together as her eyes gleamed at Sera.

“I’m glad to have met you, Sera, but I do need to get to bed.” Merrill took Sera’s hand and shook it awkwardly like she was little and watching her parents do it.

“We don’t have to shake hands,” Sera snorted, “I’m far too poor to do that.”

Merrill sighed gratefully, “Oh, blessings,” she dropped Sera’s hand. “Your Commander is a fan of handshakes, and he made it a point to shake my hand after every War Table meeting.”

“Well, he is a weird Jackboot,” Sera offered. Merrill gave her a smile.

“Would you like to have breakfast with me tomorrow? Me and my wife?” Merrill asked.

Sera grinned, “Aw, you like girls, too?” 

Merrill blushed, “When they’re like my wife, I do,” she sighed dreamily. Then she started down the hallway, sent a little wave at Sera good-bye.

That night, she practiced what Merrill taught her in front of the looking glass. Watched her mouth form the words, saw how her wrists rolled. She felt like she was doing something bad, but Sera had always been partial to the forbidden. When Atarah snuck up behind her and slid her arms around her waist, Sera jumped.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on an archer! I could’ve punched you in the face!” Sera barked, her ears pinned. Atarah laughed, leaned down to kiss Sera.

“Can you even reach my face?” She teased, moving in to slot their mouths together.

Sera smiled, leaned in as if to kiss her before she bit Atarah’s lip. Atarah threw her head back, held her offended flesh while giving Sera an annoyed look.

“Yes,” she simpered, turned back to the mirror and practiced the weird hand thing Merrill did. She couldn’t get it quite right, but if she practiced enough like she did with her bow, she maybe could--

Atarah snuck up on her, kissed at her neck and slid her arms around Sera’s waist again. She was blushy and a little nervous look; Sera dropped her arms onto Atarah’s clasped hands.

“Is this you being brave?” Sera smiled at her through the mirror; Atarah caught her eyes and chuckled, turned her face to look at her with an index finger.

“As long as that what it looks like to you,” She leaned her head in slow to kiss her; Sera obliged.

“Well, it does, so take your smalls off and let me do you!” She cackled, turned fully and pushed her towards the bed.

“You’re topping tonight?” Atarah blushed darker; she’d never let Sera really go down --

“Don’t I always?” She teased, scissored her fingers teasingly as she wiggled her pointy tongue at Atarah.

Atarah burst out laughing as she fell to her-- their-- bed; she pulled her tunic off, chuckling as she did. Sera wiggled from her leggings, threw her shoes across the room-- they thunked limply against the glass doors-- and she shimmied from her dress. Atarah was down to everything but her smalls, and she stopped Sera short before she could do it.

“I wanted to get you a present, but I couldn’t think of anything,” Atarah confessed.

“Buckles, Maker do I love you, but could you let me just--” Sera slipped her fingers to Atarah’s underwear, but Atarah held her forearm in her hands, her whole breast that maroon-red.

“Listen ,” She begged. Sera stilled her hand above Atarah’s waistline.

Atarah huffed, kissed Sera softly which only deepened the mood, in Sera’s opinion --

“I wanted to get you a gift, but I couldn’t think of anything; so I asked around to see what people thought,” she sighed breathily as Sera’s other hand started trailing down around her ticklish ribs, “and the only one who gave me anything was Vivienne, so,” Atarah’s cheeks got almost lava red as she tugged her smalls off.

Inscribed in her short and curlies stated rather simply, DYKE .

Sera howled with laughter, dove into Atarah’s plush lips tongue-first. Atarah sat up, a lapful of Sera in her arms.

“And what did dear Vivvi,” Sera bent her Alienage mouth to mimic Vivienne’s clipped Orlesian tongue, “say about that?”

Atarah laughed, “I’m not obliged to care; Aren’t we being brave in this?”

Sera slipped her hand back to Atarah’s beautiful, beautiful bits, “More like brazen, you bloody ace , you,” Sera kissed her girl hard, worked her to lay down. 

“So you like your gift?” Atarah smiled up at the silky canopy.

She received a physical response, one that only lovers had learned to read. Atarah considered it a win; Sera felt like she was the real winner, though. Two big, strong-girl thighs bracketing your head? Yes, Maker.

Chapter Text

The first breakfast was good-- Sera could see why Atarah was nervous around Hawke, she was a scary-buff girl. Atarah was broad-buff; she smiled too much to be called scary.

They had fluffy scrambled eggs, creamed peas on toast and belly pork that was sliced fat and thick; Sera ate it all in one big glob, and when she looked up from her stuffed gob, Merrill and Hawke were laughing at her.

“You remind me of Ris,” Hawke said with a kind look in her eyes.

Sera swallowed thickly, “Whossat?” She asked.

She looked to Merrill for guidance; Merrill chewed her lip then nodded. Hawke started, “Our daughter.”

“Aw, that’s cute.” Sera cooed, took a hearty drink of apple juice. She hated orange juice, the pulp made her tongue itch.

“She is,” Hawke said wistfully. Merrill sighed, patted her wife’s arm. “We aren’t sure if our kids will be safe here, so we didn’t bring them.”

Sera wiggled her nose, “I’m pretty sure Inky’d rather die than let a kid get a scrape, so much as hurt.”

“And you can verify that?” Hawke asked; her tone was strong. Sera felt like she’d shake out of her boots, but Merrill remained curious, her eyes stuck on Sera’s words.

“Well, yeah, she’s got an elfy Dalish expert that has a baby,” Sera thought of all the nights she babysat Renna at the tavern while Dev and Vivienne had a chew-the-rag while Atarah just tried to keep them from killing each other. They were still good friends, somehow.

“Oh! What’s their name?” Merrill exclaimed. Hawke slipped her arm around her wife’s shoulders. They were always touching somehow.

“Renna,” Sera replied, “elfy little baby. Her ears wiggle when she eats,” she remembered fondly.

“Oh,” Merrill sighed, looked up at Hawke, “Mel, remember how Anni’s ears used to wiggle?”

Hawke smiled fondly, even though her face looked like it belonged to a hateful warlord. “I do,” she whispered. She cleared her throat, made her face hard again as she looked up at Sera.

“I like you, Sera,” Hawke said. “You’re a good kid.”

Sera snorted, “You sound like Blackwall.”

“They must be quite a good person,” Mel chuckled, then her face went back to stoney, “So if we brought our children here, you think the Inquisitor would help us protect them if it came down to it?”

“I don’t think she’d fire ‘em out the window if they sneezed, no,” Sera joked, “Sure, I think she’d help you if Corny-Orifice decided to pop in for a cuppa kid tea.”

Hawke gave her a naked smile; it made her face look beautiful, “Thank you, Sera.”

“Hey, why’re you asking me? ‘Cause I hop sheets with Inky?” Sera quirked a brow, aimed her fork at the pair. Merrill laughed under her breath and Hawke burst out laughing.

“No,” Merrill giggled, “we thought you’d be a good person to ask because you are of the People and because you seem down-to-earth.” She smiled sweetly at her.

Sera blanched, “You think I’m elfy?”

“Well, you aren’t much of a ‘Nari,” Hawke teased. Sera laughed at that because no, not quite.

All of the breakfasts afterwards were fun and light; sometimes, if the kids weren’t with Varric, they’d eat with their mothers and Sera. Hawke and Merrill had a lover, Isabela. She was everything Merrill wasn’t-- she was spontaneous, cocky, thick and curvy-- Sera liked her very much. Hawke could see why she needed both of them in her life, and why they needed each other. It worked . And their five children also were arguably the best-behaved nugs Sera’d ever seen; they were bad, sure, but they were sweet .

Sera and Atarah were out with their relationship; ever since Atarah just came out and told everyone, she was almost obnoxious about it-- See her, over there with the cakes stuffed in her mouth? That’s her. Sera loved it, though. She liked how Atarah kissed her every morning before she got up for War Table meetings, she loved how they’d have lunch together with all of their friends, how Atarah was dead set on loving her in every room . Sera would sit in the rafters of the War Room and gleefully cackle at the Jackboot’s confused look when he swiped away a stain from his chair. Sera loves honey.

So, naturally, the Qun had to fuck it to one hundred.

Atarah was reading a letter at her desk when a runner knocked at their door; Sera answered, expecting it to be Merrill with her kids. When it wasn’t, she hollered for Atarah.

“The Iron Bull says he needs you for an immediate mission,” they responded-- a broad dwarf runner, his moustache finely groomed; Atarah called him Squire ‘cause he always was with a royal air about him.

“Thanks, Squire, tell him I’ll be down as soon as I get my armour on,” she smiled and closed the door. Her expression fell; Sera put her hands on Atarah’s face, squished her cheeks to make her mouth pucker out.

“What’s wrong?” Sera asked, wiggled Atarah’s face some. Atarah rolled her eyes at Sera, freed her cheeks.

“It’s for the Qun meeting.” She replied with an air of finality.

“Do you need me? I could pawn the kids off on Dorian and Vivienne.” She cackled evilly.

“No, I need Dorian,” Atarah looked at the wall, thought for a minute as she chewed her lip, “I’ll get ready, then we’ll collect Dorian and Bull and then we’ll leave.”

“And the Hawke brood?” Sera asked.

“Your goofy little gremlins will have to stay with Cole,” Atarah sighed, gave Sera a weak smile. Sera kissed her girl’s lips, patted her chin.

“Go get ready, I’ll wait for Merrill,” Sera grinned. Atarah kissed Sera as thanks before she went to the armoury-- she hated keeping her armour anywhere but the armoury. Sera went and sat at Atarah’s desk, went searching for the letter that she’d read. Inky never frowned at letters unless it was bad news.

The letter was a paragraph long and signed by Atarah’s mother, Aqun. Sera’s eyes were wide with the information she received. She suited up, as quickly as she could; there were three light knocks at the door.

“Coming! Coming!” Sera hollered as she hopped into her boot.

When she answered the door, Merrill and the kids were there; Anni was in Creepy’s arms.

“Good luck with the mission,” Merrill said, “we met your vhenan on the way down.” She kissed Sera’s cheeks and gave her a hard hug; she could feel Merrill’s bones crush with her own.

“Enansal ma,” Sera whispered, quiet enough so only the pair of them would hear it. Sera was never quiet, sure, but she was still timid in this.

“Don’t sleep in my bed,” Sera threatened Creepy with an index finger as she kissed Anni’s head. She waved goodbye to the children as she hefted her bow across her torso and raced out into the Main Hall, down the steps and into the armoury. The journey leaving Skyhold was quiet, and Sera felt fine. But the nagging anxiety coming off of her Honeytongue was not. 

The Storm Coast had thick air. There’s no other way Sera could explain it. With the slick rocks and waving greenery, her lungs were free to breathe the coastal air. Her Inky does not have a problem with her breathing ever, even up in Skyhold when everyone coughs a little.

They are riding in. Atarah’s got a funny look on her face; like she’s queasy and is holding her shits back or something. Sera wants to smack it off her face.

Dorian’s not talking much, either. He’s made no remarks, no funny jokes, no comments on the terrible weather. His hair is slick in his face and his moustache is drooping, despite his best efforts. She keeps staring at his arm brace, how it glimmers coppery in the hidden sunlight.

Perhaps, most of all, Bull is the quietest. His boys are bringing up the rearguard; they talk amongst themselves, but in hushed tones. Sera’s ready to blow a tree up, if only to hear some noise.

When they make it to the halfway camp, she slides from her Dalish All-Bred pony and tries to quiet her mind. It’s like her head is a compass and keeps twisting itself cruelly into more and more circles. She can’t stop the rhythm and can’t help but get lost. Her eyes go fuzzy around the edges and there’s a lull in her hearing-- she always hears something, buzzing or light fracturing or wisps of magic that she pretends she can’t hear.

“--ra? Sera? We’re gonna keep going,” Atarah was perched on her pawing hart. She held her hand out and rubbed Sera’s head, drew a line on her cheek.

“Love ya,” Sera sighed. Atarah’s face broke out into a surprised grin.

“Love you, too.” 

Once they made it to the forward camp, Bull stepped down from his horse and made his way to his contact. Sera watched the clouds; she could see how the rain poured in sheets. Dorian stood near her, scoffed occasionally at the Qunari pair. He and Bull had been fucking each other for months now; Sera liked to tease him about their similar tastes.

“Pipe down, Twinkles, or daddy’ll give you a whipping,” she giggled into his ear, winked at his blush as he stared at Bull. Atarah’s pants were tight on her ass; Sera stared at the curve until the trio broke with battle plans.

“We’re going to all take care of the camp on the beach and the Chargers are taking the ridge,” Atarah pointed to a place high up; the rain caught in her eyes, and she squinted them in frustration.

“Lovely,” Dorian grumbled. “More humidity.”

“Oh, you love it,” Bull chuckled from behind him, slipped his arm around his shoulders. They’d been fucking for months, Sera knew. But they’d been loving for longer. She knew some things.

“Oh, yes, like a vagrant on my front stoop,” he scoffed. Bull rolled his eyes and Atarah cleared her throat, all business like.

“Let’s continue,” she jerked her chin down to the checkpoint.

Killing Venatori was easy. Atarah made quick work of them with her sword and shield; Bull had a few nasty gashes, but he always did. Dorian had a scorch mark on his foolish magey dress and Sera was covered in blood. She slipped her hand into Atarah’s, felt her bare hands-- she never wore gloves or gauntlets, opted for the nicks before the crinkled crease of gloves or the layered heaviness of gauntlets.

Sera remembers how Atarah inhaled sharply. How she tried to follow her line of sight. How she and Gatt fought.

“Call the retreat. My men will not sacrifice their lives for one shipment.” Atarah barked.

“All these years, Hissrad, and you throw away all that you are. For what? For this? For them?” the elf begged, hatred and heat on his tongue.

“Do not call him Hissrad,” Atarah hissed, “his name is Iron Bull and he’s my blood.”

Bull’s-- Hissrad-- whatever, his face? It fell. He looked like Atarah when she read that letter, like she couldn’t believe her shit-rotten luck.

“Blood? He is ashes,” Gatt cursed, “and I think he will regret this.” He bowed away, chirped to his horse and rode off.

“I’m--?” He choked, watched his contact and ties with the Qun go. “Funny joke, boss. Really wanted to rub it in his face that I wasn’t with him anymore?” He gave an easy-going smile. Atarah, lilac eyes flashing with the cresting tides, did not smile, nor did she joke. The way she looked at him, like he didn’t understand a language scattered in his brain like diana mar inan, da’len--

“Tama said she gave birth to three children. One was foundered with magic and she was questioned-- she feared for me, still in her womb, and she left the Qun. She told me her other child was taken by the Ben Hasrath and had the numbers--”

“Six-eight-nine-six-six-six-eight,” they said together in unison.

“A family reunion?” Dorian awed, rested his warm hand on Bull’s sweaty flesh. He gave him a grand smile, and it was genuine. Sera looped Atarah’s arm over her shoulders, gave her girlfriend, her Inky, a squeeze to the ribs.

“Defying your mould, Bull? Now that’s metal,” she teased, eyed Atarah with a smile decorating her sweet face.

“CHIEF!” Krem called, stumbling down to the group. A few Chargers followed behind--

“What hap--?” Krem began, but Bull crushed him to his chest, gave him the grandest hug he’s ever dealt.

“Let’s go home, Sis,” Bull chuckled, dumbstruck at his life as he peeked over his shoulder. Atarah pulled Sera in for a kiss, then she nodded at her big brother. Sera tugged her down, pulled her towards her mouth.

“Ar lath ma,” Sera whispered shakily-- like a secret they’d never share. Atarah kissed her about seven more times before they mounted up and rode home, side by side with their ramshackle group. Like a family, full of pride, despite the world saying they shouldn’t.