Posts Tagged 'hawkeling'

cccrystalclear:

Fenhawke daughter Lea

m, fenris?

spirrum:

M – When
it rains/snows/storms

Minrathous, Seheron, Kirkwall
– all warm climates with a sweltering sun, and air that hisses and sighs with
heat. This is what he knows, and vehemently prefers, when faced with the
alternative.

In this case, the alternative
is Ferelden, known for two things: an over-abundance of mud, and a population
of dogs to outnumber its people. But as far as Fenris can see, the only
abundance of anything is the white, unpleasantly cold substance that has kept
his wife in high spirits for the better part of their journey south.

His youngest sits on his hip,
a solid and warm weight where everything else is cold. “Da,” she says. Then,
points. “O.”

“Snow,” he agrees, with a
sigh. “Yes.”

“Ma,” she says then, and he follows the line of her gaze towards
where Hawke is trying – and succeeding – in shoving snow down her brother’s
trousers. For his part, Carver is doing a good job yelling loud enough to
attract every highway bandit in a mile’s radius, but neither of them seem to
find the noise at all excessive.

Another sigh. “Yes, that is
your mother. And your uncle.”

A snowball flies across the
path, hitting Hawke square in the back of the head, and she whirls to find her
son falling over himself with laughter.

“And your brother,” Fenris
adds, and feels, suddenly, like a stranger in his own family. Nearly two
decades in Kirkwall has not managed to knock the Fereldan from either of their
bones. Even his eldest – born in the Anderfels, perhaps, but raised in
Kirkwall, is romping through the snow like he was born in it.

A small touch of cold against
his nose, and he looks up towards the grey skies, and the snowflakes drifting
down.

“No,” his daughter says simply, tucking her face against his
scarf, the brush of her dark hair prompting him to press his cheek against it. Then,
as though uttering it with enough insistence will convince the weather to change its ways (and
considering her heritage, the thought is not implausible)

No.”

“My sincerest sympathies,” he agrees, gaze following his wife as
she hoists their son up by his armpits, to toss him into the nearest snowbank.
“What say you we go back home to Kirkwall, you and I?”

“Wall,” she agrees solemnly,
and despite the snow seeping into his boots, Fenris finds a smile.

From across the path, Hawke
looks up, scarf tangled with her hair and cheeks flushed from the cold, and her grin ten years younger. She’s so much more than her place of origin, but the frozen
earth has turned something soft within her; has made mellow a countenance that
the city has spent years hardening. It might just be nostalgia, but he doesn’t begrudge her this sliver of happiness, even if he can’t find it in himself to understand it.

And, “You will grow to love it,” he says, even
knowing she can’t yet grasp the meaning of the words. But she is his,
and this he knows, as she will one day realize –

That the things which at
first seem inconceivable (a mage, the mother of his children; freedom, when he’d forgotten such a thing existed), might one day make all the sense in the
world.

onemooncircles:

Oh no my hand slipped

Mistress Miranda Hawke and family ❤

onemooncircles:

Miranda Hawke, her beloved, their little ones, and the dog in the parlour-kitchen of their house in Jader, 9:45 Dragon.

[The kids love Fenris’s bedtime stories: he might not do all the voices the way Hawke does, but his readings are clear and confident and come from the heart.  Hawke loves them every bit as much as the children do, because she remembers a time when he couldn’t read a word.]

spaceprincessarts:

De-stress doodle… Aster, Fenris and lil Faelan Hawke ♥♥

firnelle:

Merry Christmas from my surrogate family to yours!

I don’t know if your still doing the kissing prompt thing, but if you are maybe, “exhausted parent kiss” with hawke and fenris? Please and Thank you

bipolarfenris:

you didn’t specify fic or sketch but i went with sketch :’) such a cute prompt!! ahhhh thank you for this!!! ^_^

actualarishok:

fawxdraws:

I have a sickness and the only cure is more happy family art

(This is how i stay awake during meetings at work)

@feministlarxene

hotdadsofthedas:

Fenris and Liz and Kiley for Billini

Artwork by @nazgullow

Please may I have F!Hawke/Fenris, A?

spirrum:

A – Fire, flames, or
excessive heat

The scream tears through the walls, and he’s on his feet
before the last dying note has trembled from her lips, halting just beyond the
doorway when the sight roots his feet to the floor.

Their youngest is sobbing – their eldest, stiff-backed and startled, eyebrows
singed and eyes wide, and hands lifted in a gesture that is half in surprise,
half for protection. But there’s no damage, only the lingering smell of woodsmoke,
and that familiar, acrid tinge that follows large and unfiltered bursts of magic.

“What on earth–”

And then Hawke is there, pausing only a moment before striding past him, hands searching
out the rigid shoulders of their eldest, a soothing touch pressed against a small back. She murmurs something, a low word Fenris does not catch, but
the boy nods, and moves out of the way without protest.

Hawke does not touch their youngest, but sits down on her
knees, a mother’s patience but a mage’s understanding in the set of her shoulders, and
Fenris knows she’s been here before.

“Kit,” she says, the endearment softer than anything he’s
ever heard her say. “Sweetling, you have to breathe.”

She does then – a great, heaving gasp that dissolves to a
sob, and then Hawke is reaching out, pushing a singled lock of dark hair out of
a sweat-slicked brow.

“Oh, you are fire, alright,” she says, laughter low and old as she reaches to wipe the tears off their youngest’s rose-flushed cheeks. “But no
harm done,” she adds, long and slender fingers enveloping those unbearably small hands.
The girl jerks, but stills when it’s clear her mother has not been burnt.
“See?”

A sniffle, and a nod that is poorly convincing, but
the furious clench of her fingers has loosened in her mother’s gentle grip.

She looks up then, blue eyes trembling with tears lifting past where Hawke kneels, to Fenris in the doorway.

“Da,” she says, simply, and he’s opened his arms before
she’s taken a single step.

No hesitation, and he’s been burnt before. Not just singed but
burnt – scorched from the inside out, fire in his veins and his bones and under his skin and he’d never thought he could handle the touch of a mage again, before Hawke; before his daughter who clings now, lace sleeves fringed and soot-stained around
her small hands – small hands carrying terrible power, but he fears none of it
in her touch.

He curls a hand in her hair – her mother’s hair, dark where it
slips around his fingers with ease – but her fright still sits, a rigid tension in once-unburdened shoulders.

“Well,” Hawke says, rising to her feet. A fond ruffle to their son’s hair, to hide the way her hands are shaking. “That wasn’t so bad.”
And it’s a humour for their daughter’s benefit, Fenris knows, when she adds,
rubbing a thumb against a pale, lightly singed brow, “When I first discovered my
magic I burnt my father’s beard clean off.”

The sound that falls against his shoulder is equal parts sob
and laugh, and he finds Hawke’s eyes over the top of their daughter’s head. And there’s fear there, Fenris sees, in the press of her mouth; her smile too stiff for the carefree ease it suggests.

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t have one,” Fenris says,
and marvels only briefly at the years that have made it possible to say those
words so lightly, because what’s far more important is the tremulous but earnest laugh
it prompts below his ear, and the small arms tightening around his neck.

And his wife’s smile, settling into one he knows; gratitude in the loose curve of her mouth, but not surprise. Because they’ve been fighting their battles together for years, and this one will be no different.


Blogger Gatherings!



Click the button for reports from the 2010 Spring Blogger Gathering, hosted by Linett of Nimrodel!

Berethron of Brandywine hosted the 2010 Summer Blogmoot.

The Winter Blogmoot was held on December 4, 9 p.m. EST at the home of Telwen of Silverlode.

Next up: The Spring Blogmoot of 2011 shall return to Nimrodel with Tuiliel (Whart, aka user-1027520) hosting! Linett is looking forward to another local moot!

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