Response to a kinkmeme prompt. ;) But I kept it clean!

I tried to make the Arishok more... fluffy... to fit the 'endearing' theme. Although I hesitated, at first planning an unrequited love, I felt an odd desire to show a spot in their relationship farther down the line (late in Act II). It would take an extremely long time to win the Arishok's attention, but as Qunari are capable of loving and forming close bonds, I thought that eventually he could grow closer to Hawke. I have an entire story written out in my head that I may one day publish, and this could be taken as a snippet from it. As Hawke learns of the Qun and Qunari society from the Arishok, he eventually accepts insights into Hawke's culture. This can be taken as a small account of one such exchange.

The characters, locations, lore, and Qunari language all belong to Bioware.

Lessons

"Teth a. What are you doing?"

Hawke looked up immediately, alarmed by the sudden change. The deep, constant rumble of his voice had suddenly faltered, and a large, warm hand had grabbed her thin wrist tightly, yanking her fingers from her mouth. Her lips, however, still hung open and the cold, salty spray of the sea assaulted her taste buds.

"I... I don't know what you mean," she fumbled hesitantly, ignoring the instinctual desire to yank her arm free of the Arishok's steely grasp. Unable to meet his intense golden gaze, Hawke stared at her trapped wrist. His hand was unbelievably large, easily enclosing around her arm. The glove was leather and scraped uncomfortably against her skin, although his rather loose grip proved he meant no harm. Still, the sharp points of his covered claws dug gently into her flesh as a means to fully capture her attention.

She had been listening peacefully, staring out at the vast, unchanging sea as the waves lapped at her bare feet. She might have considered their venture to the Wounded Coast almost romantic, but the Arishok had been calmly reciting passages from the Qun while watching the soft flow of the tide. Even when the harsh winds lashed his white mane against his face and sent his loose sashes dancing, the Arishok had not removed his focus from the sun dipping below the horizon. Hawke tried to mimic his deep concentration.

This was merely one of many lessons Hawke had been periodically attending over the years, and with each visit, her respect and understanding for the large warlord grew until they morphed into a secret affection. And, this was one of the few times he had touched her outside of the sparring ring, and although it was completely innocent, Hawke couldn't help but feel the flush rise in her cheeks.

"You were biting yourself," he growled softly, his tone reprimanding and… inquisitive? Hawke finally bent her head back to glance at the Arishok. His light orbs held hers in a steadfast gaze, and she felt the blush deepen. Her free hand came up to scratch the back of her head nervously, another of her idiosyncrasies. She giggled, but his face remained set and stoic.

Biting her nails had been a lifelong habit. She often nibbled away while daydreaming, or, in this instance, listening intently. The edges were now jagged and often bled when she bit too far. Isabela had called it a self-destructive act, claiming that long nails were appealing and left nice scratches in a lover's back. Hawke had disagreed.

"Yeah, sometimes when I focus I, uh, chew on my nails. It's just a little habit," she drew out carefully, finally tearing her gaze away to stare at the extremely interesting wet sand between her toes. She'd always been able to speak to the Arishok confidently, demanding his respect as best she could. It had been the best way to gain his attention, and eventual friendship. His own presence was so large and cold, it commanded absolute fixation. Now, however, with her cheeks a dark shade and her blue eyes bouncing around nervously, she felt only embarrassment.

"You eat away your own nails? Without your blades, and with teeth so dull, they would be your best weapon," he murmured, pulling her wrist up higher to inspect the damage. He ran another finger across her blunt nails, and she could not help but shudder when his claw teased across the back of her hand. She said nothing, simply peering up at his face, scrunched in curious concentration as he examined her finger nails. "Qunari," he continued, "particularly females, keep their nails long, sharp, and dangerous. I don't understand why you would remove such an asset."

He released her wrist, but stepped closer, closing the little distance between them. She tried to keep her eyes steady on his, even as his ever present warmth enveloped her wind-bitten flesh, and his hot breath tickled her face and neck. "I, I didn't mean to stop the lesson. It's just a habit. I'm not trying to disable myself or anything. I can still kick and punch, and though they aren't razor sharp like yours, my teeth can still deal some damage." She smiled widely to illustrate her point.

He made no reply. The sun was falling even lower, and the sky was a wash of bright reds and violets, with only a few wispy clouds streaking across the horizon. It was getting late. By now, the Arishok would have been seated upon his low throne in the Compound and Hawke would be reading to Haldor or Fenris by the hearth in the manor.

"I'm fine. It's really not a big deal. It just helps me stay calm and makes me feel comfortable. In control." She could hear the strength growing in her voice. Maybe it was because he was no longer grasping her hand. This time she agreed with Isabela. She really was pathetic.

"But I could always stop if you're so worried." Her confidence was fully returned as she teased him gently. He never returned her little jabs, and likely would have yelled or sent her away many years ago. But as their connection grew, she knew she had a little room to sneak in her snarky self. Even with their growing relationship, she had been given many the angry 'parshara' and 'enough'. Not this time.

"No. It is an… interesting concept," he whispered quietly. Though his deep voice still rumbled from deep within his chest, the fact that he was speaking so quietly had Hawke swooning anew. "I, too, am learning each day I remain trapped in this pustule of a city. I have learned that not all humans are vain, selfish creatures. You are different from everything I've known, even in these little ways." He paused, and she expected the conversation to be over. But still, he pressed on, admitting tiny bits of personal information. She felt honored. "You heighten my curiosity, Kadan. I am… glad to have found one worthy of such respect."

Her puzzlement was clear on her features. Kadan? He had called her Dathrasi, Basra, Hawke, and, finally, Basalit-an. This term, however, was new and unfamiliar, even after many days spent translating. Had she managed to climb another rung in his eyes?

"Thank you, Arishok. I could say the same," she replied, dipping her head in respect to her enemy, turned mentor, turned friend. "But… what does 'kadan' mean?" The word slipped carefully from her tongue. It was foreign, but something about it made her lips tingle.

Surprisingly, he tore his gaze from hers first to look back at the sea. The dying sunlight danced across his smooth skin, highlighting his strong muscles and bright red war paint. His head was tilted slightly, huge horns curling into the sky. Finally, he turned to face the ocean. She hesitantly lifted a hand to grasp his bare forearm. He raised his opposite arm, and she almost shrank away. He didn't detach her though, but instead laid his hand over hers, squeezing softly. His thumb rubbed against the jagged edge of her thumb nail.

"I think that is a lesson for another day."

Thank you for reading. 3