Summary: Even in domestic bliss, there remain battles to fight. Phaedra/Fenris family fluff, post-Kirkwall.
Disclaimer: In no way, shape, or form do any of the recognizably canon characters or places belong to Yours Truly.
Queen's Quornor: Just some down time for each of the characters. I figured they needed some peace and quiet, given that they've gone through so many ups and downs lately. So here they get to spend quality time with the ones they love, without worrying about what's going to happen next. We'll get back to the action and drama later.
Quiet Interlude
There was something to be said for the quiet, Fenris reflected. After years of running, fighting, and generally trying not to be found, having the opportunity to sit down with the most important people in his life and enjoy the silence was a welcome treasure. He leaned against Phaedra's shoulder, carefully maneuvering Leda so she would not wake with the movement. Glancing to the side revealed his wife smiling back at him, tiny Rai'eena secure against her chest.
The twins, for once, had gone to sleep without their usual fuss. They had been bothered by colic and fevers all day, running their parents ragged with worry. But Phaedra had finally soothed them with a combination of magic and herbal treatments, and now the girls were dreaming in their parents' arms. Fenris and Phaedra were left cradling their infant daughters on their bed, free to enjoy each other's company in peace.
Phaedra rested her head against his, a contended sigh drifting from her lips. Fenris had to agree: this was the life.
Leda stretched and yawned in her sleep, her little pink tongue curling before she smacked her lips and settled back in her father's arms. The elf watched her, a happy smile quirking the corners of his mouth. He would never have dreamed that merely watching a baby like this would make him so happy. But then again, he would never have imagined that he and Phaedra would share such a life together. Back in Kirkwall, he had thought they would remain in her estate for the remainder of their lives, enjoying the perks of her title and mediating the ongoing quarrel between Orsino and Meredith, or whoever would succeed the two leaders. He had believed that he could finally settle down, luxuriate in a life safe from Imperial hunters, and walk as a free man with the woman he loved.
Yet a part of him had always been expecting the hammer to fall and shatter that peace, considering how erratic the Knight-Commander's behavior had become and the escalating unrest within the Gallows. He had always been poised for action, awaited the moment when he would resume his life on the road.
At least he had not been alone this time, he thought. Phaedra was with him, and now their daughters had finally come. Sheltering within the Brecillian forest, they had recovered the peace snatched from them in the City of Chains. His former master was dead, Varania had fled for parts unknown, their companions had left to pursue their own futures, and they were wanted the world over for crimes against the Chantry. But for the moment, they were safe.
He tilted his head against his wife's and let out a sigh of his own, feeling another smile curve his lips deeper. Yes, this was the happiness he had been seeking. This was the peace he had dreamed of.
And nobody, not Tevinter hunters or vengeful templars, would ever take it from him.
/1/2/1/2/1/2/1/2/1/2/1/2/1/2/1/2
Phaedra lay on her side, silently watching the play of moonlight across her husband's body. A decade and more had not diminished her fascination with his markings; when he was asleep, she often found herself watching them, admiring the liquid sheen of illumination over the lyrium beneath his skin.
Fenris hated them, she knew. But even knowing how sensitive they were could not lessen their beauty in her eyes. Her husband was a living work of art, a breathing statue of flesh with silver vines curling and dipping across his body. Danarius had been responsible for so much misery in his life, but at least the man had made his bodyguard into a thing of absolute beauty. Not that Fenris was ugly, of course. Even without the markings, Phaedra would have thought him the most handsome man she had ever seen. But the markings accentuated his natural good looks, and made him extraordinary.
She traced the arcs of his tattoos, following them up his chest and neck to his lips, then let her gaze drift to his ghost-white hair. His locks matched hers for color, but she strongly suspected that it was not his original shade. There was no exact method to check since, like all elves, he had no body hair. But his black eyebrows pointed to his potential origin as a brunette. Phaedra had been expecting their daughters to inherit darker hair; it had been a total shock when one had been a redhead, and the other a silverette like them. It had been less of a surprise when Malcolm had arrived with a colorless shock of hair, but still puzzling.
Perhaps the trauma of the lyrium tattooing had caused the change in hair color. Maybe it had been a result of long-term exposure to the substance. She had no way to be certain. All Phaedra knew was that Fenris had been the first person she had met with hair to match hers, and she had found him all the more appealing for it.
She lifted one hand, lightly stirring the air above the whorls on his chest. In response, Fenris murmured and shivered, but remained asleep. He was incredibly sensitive, thanks to the markings. The lyrium intensified any sensation, and while it often came across as pain, in particular circumstances Phaedra had been able to turn his sensitivity to her advantage. In the midst of pleasure, she could use his markings to increase his desire and enjoyment, making their encounters all the more exciting for him. He would hurt afterwards, but he had learned to appreciate the intensity, if not crave it.
It was odd that he could receive so much sensation whenever she touched him, given his revelation about her not causing him pain whenever she brushed or pressed his markings normally. It was only when they were intimate that she had any sort of effect on the lyrium, a phenomenon that neither of them could begin to explain. Whatever was at work, Fenris could not enjoy the touch of any other person. Isabela had give it her best shot in Kirkwall, prior to their relationship solidifying, but there had been no pleasure in her seductive caresses. Only Phaedra could touch him and not cause him pain.
Even holding their children, he had told her, left a stinging burn along his arms wherever their skin met his. He had learned to tolerate the pain, but it was not comfortable. Phaedra could only hope that time would deaden the sensation; their daughters adored him, and loved to be held. Fenris enjoyed picking up and carrying the twins, regardless of the excruciating result. Holding their newly-born son did not hurt him so much, but that was more because there was always a blanket preventing contact between them. Whenever Fenris held him skin-to-skin, Phaedra always caught him furrowing his brows in discomfort.
The mage sighed and continued to trace his features with her eyes, following the curve of his jaw to the tip of his ear. Fenris had made good progress in learning to ignore the vestiges of his past in their daily lives, but a part of him still struggled to appreciate how a human such as herself could ever love an elf like him. Phaedra had long since stopped trying to convince him - it was a concept he had to accept for himself. But secretly she was happy to have fallen in love with an elf rather than a fellow human. She had always found elves graceful and beautiful, and sympathized with them as outcasts in a world that catered to magic-less humans. She had never been able to see herself with a human man, to the disappointment of many hopeful suitors. Fenris could understand her loneliness in ways no normal human ever could, and so she had been drawn to him. They both had spent years on the run from forces determined to capture them, lived in constant fear of being dragged into a fate that loomed as a specter from a nightmare. They had both fought to remain free, and in the end their liberty had been guaranteed only with the deaths of their tormentors.
At least their sacrifices had toughened them. Had Phaedra not lived as an apostate and Fenris as a runaway, they would not have survived in the isolation of the Brecillian.
She directed her wandering gaze to the arm resting atop his toned stomach, followed the tanned limb up to his shoulder. Her husband was easily the strongest person she had ever known, in so many ways. He was strong enough to run from the only life he had ever known not once, but twice, to face the scorn and fear of the crowds, to come back to her in spite of the pain and the repeated gain and loss of his memory. His was a deceptive sort of power. To look at him, one might never guess just how much strength was in his lanky body, his skinny limbs. But up close, she could see the wiry muscles cording his arms and legs, the chiseled symmetry of his chest and belly.
So much strength, and he had dedicated it to the defense of himself, their family, and the life they had built together.
Taking into account his brooding demeanor and the air of feral anticipation that surrounded him when first they met, Phaedra was occasionally amazed at how tender he could be, even after five years of marriage. Having isolated herself from romantic companionship all her adolescence, she had limited understanding of how men were supposed to act when they were alone with a woman. But after seeing how Anders and Varric had treated her, the way Carver had fumbled to gain Merrill's affections and his short-lived romance with Peaches back in Lothering, the mage was certain that few men could convey the mixture of gentle consideration and leashed passion that Fenris wore like a cloak whenever he was with her.
Ethereally handsome, strong beyond reckoning, intelligent, and loving.
She sighed and reached out to take his hand, smiling at the unconscious squeeze she received when their fingers twined.
Whatever she had done to deserve this man, it was totally worth it.
/1\/2\/1\/2/\1/\2/\1/\2/1\/2\1/\21/\2/1\2/\1/1\2
The sun shone warm and bright, filtering through the leaves to pierce the shadows with golden shafts. A few butterflies danced around the beams, their brilliant blue wings stirring minute breezes in the still forest air. If Leda listened carefully, she could hear the voices of the ancient trees, groaning as they beseeched the nourishing sunlight to grace their gnarled trunks.
The young mage spread her arms wide and arched towards the light, rising onto her tiptoes as she silently rejoiced in the warmth on her chilled skin. A lazy grin curved her lips; spring was at its height, and winter was a distant memory. She loved this time of year. Life was on the cusp, transitioning between new and mature, and the forest was filled with patches of juvenile greenery and colorful flowers beneath every opening in the canopy. Here and there, the gentle residents of the woodlands enjoyed the abundance of fresh plants and light, taking pleasure in Nature's renewal. At the corner of her vision, her pet fox Kitsa rolled in the cool grass, his jaws open in what passed for a canine grin.
Leda raised and lowered her arms, allowing the sudden movement to spin her in a tight circle. She lifted one pale limb, offering her hand to the dancing butterflies as a place to rest their wings. One of the fluttering insects took her invitation, drifting close and settling delicately on her palm, fanning her skin with tiny swirls of air. The mage smiled and brought her little companion close, beginning to sway with music called from the depths of memory.
As she dipped and twirled, Kitsa came to join her, weaving in and out of her legs in a joyful series of bounces. His snow-white tail swirled and waved, signaling his joy. In her hand the butterfly clung tight, content to ride her palm while Leda danced.
She leaned back, pointing her right leg straight to the sky overhead, her spine holding her parallel to the earth. Kitsa yipped and bounded to the other side of the glen, bringing Leda's attention to the tall figure standing just beyond the trees. She smiled and beckoned with her free hand, inviting her observer to join in the dance.
She watched as he set his bow and quiver securely between the roots of a giant sycamore, swaying gently in place as she waited. Talian came to her and set his hand in hers, prompting the butterfly to join its fellows. She offered him a teasing grin, then he pulled her close and they began to move.
They spun and swayed, their movements totally in sync with one another. Talian lifted her to receive the light from the sky; she shimmied down his body and ducked around him, trailing her fingertips along his back and shoulders in a teasing caress. He took hold of that hand and guided it high above her head as she rose onto her toes, twirling her in a gentle circle. She bent backwards and his forearm was there to support her, to hold her steady while his free arm caught her upraised knee. Leda wound her arms about his neck when he brought her to him and raised her face to receive his kiss.
Around them, the butterflies continued their waltz. Kitsa paced the circumference of the glen, keeping a watchful eye on the forest beyond. Talian lowered her to the soft grass warmed by the sunbeams, and Leda accepted his weight with a smile.
Spring was truly the celebration of life.
/1\2/\1/\2/1/\2/1\/2/\1/2\/1\/1\2
The rasp of the whetstone echoed about the cave, assaulting Nalamir's sensitive ears with a rhythmic cacophany. He glanced up from his pile of arrowheads, wooden shafts, feathers, and leather thongs; Rai'eena had seated herself at the back of the cave, and was pointedly ignoring him while she sharpened her blade.
He allowed a tiny smile as he appraised her from the corner of his eye. Since deciding to return to the forest and begin a new clan with him, Rai'eena had alternated between allowing herself to display her love for him and retreating back into her independent-minded pride. Sometimes, this happened without any warning whatsoever. Today, for instance, she had been affectionate and flirty, but now she was back to ignoring him.
It was maddening how her emotions could turn on a coin, but Nalamir had long since learned to look past her mood swings. He loved her because she was so vivacious, particularly compared to the maidens of the Dalish. Rai'eena had a zest for life that he found enthralling. Being around her made him feel energized as he never was among his clan-mates. She kept him on his toes, and coercing the softer side of her personality out from behind the fiesty exterior reminded him of all the times he had stalked prey on a hunt. It was difficult, but so very worthwhile.
He admired her in the light from the fire that separated them. Like her sister, Rai'eena had inherited her father's stature. Although she possessed a fair amount of curvature in the chest and hip regions, she was all legs. But she preferred folding herself into tight positions, as though to hide how tall she stood. Nalamir had never seen her sit up straight; she was always bent forward, sometimes with her legs drawn close to her body. But in spite of her attempts to disguise her height, any onlookers would be drawn to her due to her exotic looks. Rai'eena had her mother's bright green eyes, and she enjoyed emphasizing them with black kohl in a tight outline. Her scarlet hair hung just below her shoulders, and she had acquired a habit of dyeing the roots black and fading the color into her locks so they gradually lightened into her natural shade. Nalamir had thought the technique odd the first time she had showed it to him, but now he loved how edgy it made her look.
While most would say that there was no way to tell an elf-blood from a regular human, the Dalish shaper would disagree. To his eyes, the warrior woman was a lovely meld of human and elven features. She had her mother's high cheekbones and her father's mouth, the slanted tilt of the former Champion's eyes combined with the size and shine found in those of the former slave. Phaedra's long, finely-shaped fingers matched to Fenris' raw physical power. All this made her a study in contrasts, a beautiful warrior who moved with grace and surety even as she strode among her fallen enemies. Nalamir loved to pick out which feature or quality came from which parent, and note how it had affected and shaped the woman he loved.
Rai'eena thought she was inferior compared to her twin, for a number of reasons. In Nalamir's eyes, she was easily the match of his clan's newest addition, if not her superior. Leda was a gentle healer, who mended wounds and soothed the ailing with a kind smile and soft hands. She was an ethereal wisp of a woman, a pale spirit given human form. Linked to the Fade at her very core, the elder twin always seemed a touch disconnected from the world around her, as though constantly listening to a universe beyond the sight of others. Talian had found her irresistible, but to Nalamir she was not worthy of his attention. Leda was far too similar to any Dalish maiden, in spite of her lovely face and healing hands. She was a friendly warmth, a welcoming flame, but he had never felt any inclination to nurture her.
The younger sister, on the other hand, was a true fire. She offered heat and drew the attention of those around her, and when out of control she was nearly unstoppable. She embodied both life and death, and could offer either at a whim. In the ironbark shaper's eyes, she was a primal force that had enticed him since the day he met her.
It was exactly what his new clan would require, once they met up with the other Dalish who had agreed to join them in the Wending Wood near Amaranthine. The hunters were in need of a driving force, beyond their desire to live apart from the clan they had known all their lives. They needed someone who could excite them into working harder to recruit and provide, someone who would run towards an attacker with sword drawn, shrieking a battle cry at the top of her lungs. Rai'eena was a combative woman when she was unhappy, but Nalamir had seen her appeased before. There was a leader hiding beneath the resentful shell, one who could inspire and galvanize those around her. Andayla, being the Keeper, would be the clan's head. But there had to be someone to back her up and protect the clan as a whole. Every Dalish clan had a shadow-leader, someone to lead at the Keeper's side and deal with outsiders. Rai'eena would need some training in that regard, given her hot temper, but she was less likely to cause a stir among shemlen than any Dalish.
There was one other factor that played into Nalamir's hands. Andayla was one of the only females in the clan who actually got along with Rai'eena and enjoyed her presence. She had been one of the people who encouraged him to find his missing sweetheart, recognizing the potential within the elf-blood. Rai'eena returned the friendly sentiment; not only had the two spent a good deal of time together when the clan stopped in the Brecillian, but she held the First in high regard compared to her peers. Nalamir had seen his beloved's slightly-pointed ears prick when he had dropped her name at the inn.
Rai'eena insisted she was only coming along because the new clan needed her sword. But the reality was that she was joining to be with him. It seemed like a conceited notion, Nalamir knew, but it was the truth. Rai'eena did love him, and she had always wanted to belong somewhere. She had long since been aware that she had no place in a large group, despite her attempts to join Nalamir's old clan. During his search, he had discovered that she only tried to join smaller merc companies, where her quicksilver personality would be less likely to interfere with existing dynamics in the group. She needed to be a part of a small group. That aside, Nalamir had recognized in her a certain weariness. Disillusionment.
Her time as a mercenary had soured her view of the human life. She was ready to embrace the ways of the Dalish.
He felt a smile quirk at his lips. It would take some time for her to fully acclimate, but he knew she would find a place in the new clan. That aside, he did not intend to merely keep her around. Someday, he wanted to marry her, start a family with her. Most Dalish would condemn him for thinning his blood by siring children on a half-human, but Nalamir could not bring himself to care. He had been dreaming of red-topped daughters and sons with human features; he could have children with elven women, but it would mean nothing. It had to be Rai'eena.
She caught his smile and tipped her head to the side, a quizzical frown creasing her brow. Nalamir's smile broadened and he shook his head. If she knew what he was imagining, she would probably turn as red as her hair, sputter some insult, and storm off for a few hours.
But she would come back.
Eventually.
The Dalish ducked his head to hide his grin, and bit his tongue.
/1\/2/1\/2\1/2/\1/2\/1/2/\1/2\/1\2/1/\2/1\
The water rippled beneath his fingers, streaming away in tiny trails as he dragged his hand atop the surface. Malcolm smiled and continued to play with the water until, after a few minutes, another hand lifted from the pool and grabbed his. This hand was far more slender than his own. His grin broadened and he wrapped his fingers around the small palm, gripping it tight. He brought their hands up to Aleihra's shoulder, keeping his other arm wrapped softly around her middle. She let out a gentle sigh and snuggled closer to him. Her head rolled back against his shoulder, her nose resting against his neck. A smile of her own mirrored his.
It was a warm summer day, and the couple had elected to spend it sitting in the bathing pool behind his parents' house. Aleihra had developed a certain appreciation for the water; at eight months, she was tired of aching bones and her sore, rounded body. Being submerged helped to ease the discomfort of advanced pregnancy, and these days the Dalish huntress was most often to be found relaxing in the the dammed stream. Phaedra sometimes joined her and applied magic to soothe the pains, but usually Malcolm was the one accompanying her.
That was not the only reason she spent the majority of her time in the water, allowing no thoughts to cross her mind. She needed the peace to keep herself sane. Emotional as the pregnancy had made her, these quiet stretches in the water were some of the only factors holding her together.
Aleihra had left her clan. The group had departed the forest several months ago, and the huntress had remained with her new family. It had been a mutual decision for her to leave, but she was still counted as a member of the clan. The Keeper had given her blessing to the union with Malcolm and officiated over their wedding before their departure. Aleihra's parents were divided on their opinion. Her father had congratulated them on their marriage with genuine warmth. He, at least, was looking forward to seeing his grandchild when next the clan passed through the Brecillian. On the other hand, Malcolm had watched his new wife fall apart when her mother turned her back on them, coldly informing them that she no longer had a daughter and had washed her hands of her. Even now, he sometimes caught her shedding tears for the mother she had lost.
But at least she had found support with his parents. Phaedra and Fenris had welcomed her into the family and treated her like a third daughter, in spite of their initial hesitance regarding the unplanned pregnancy and hurried wedding. Malcolm suspected they were happy for the distraction; with Rai'eena missing for nearly two years and Leda now a member of a different Dalish clan, his parents had needed something to sidetrack them from their worries.
As for the couple, they were looking forward to the arrival of their child. They both knew it was not going to be easy, and Aleihra was fearful of the birth itself, understandably. But Malcolm always managed to calm her with speculations about their child's appearance. Neither of them were expecting many elven features, given that shemlen blood seemed to dominate the overall look of a mixed-blood child. But considering that Malcolm and his sisters had somehow wound up with delicate points replacing the curved ears of a human, and large eyes reminiscent of their elven father, it was not impossible that their son or daughter might inherit some Dalish physical traits. Right now, the biggest debate centered around their child's hair color. Four of his five family members had white hair - Rai'eena being the sole exception - and Malcolm had been told that his paternal aunt had been a redhead whereas Phaedra's siblings had both been brunettes. Aleihra herself had rich red hair, somewhere between crimson and chestnut brown, which meant there was a distinct possibility for the baby to come out with flashier hair than his or her father. They had a bet running on which color it would be.
Overall, Malcolm was content with his new life. He had never wanted to leave the forest, and living with his parents hadn't bothered him as it had his sisters. He had a wife whom he loved from the bottom of his heart, and in a few months he would become a father. Having tagged along with Fenris on hunts for years, he felt prepared to fulfill the role as the provider of his little family, although Aleihra was certain to help him in that regard.
He also hoped to raise many more children with his wife. He knew that his mother had been denied her dream of a large family, since his own arrival had been so difficult. If Aleihra was willing, he wanted to give Phaedra enough grandchildren to make up the difference. He wanted a family large enough to fill the house his father had built, enough kids that none of the rooms would be empty anymore. But if Aleihra said no, then he would content himself with their one child.
All the same, he thought with a smile, he would attempt to cause a few "accidents" if her denial wasn't too strong. Besides, he knew she wanted a number of children as well, to make her own father happy.
His sisters could have all the adventure they wanted. Leda would spread her healing gifts as far as she dreamed, and Rai'eena was free to travel wherever she willed. Malcolm missed them, but he wished them well. He was happy to stay beneath the trees he known all his life, to look after their parents and raise his own family.
Happiness was not limited to great deeds, he reflected, hugging his wife and unborn child a little closer. Let his sisters bring fame back to the Hawke name, renew the nobility of the former Champion's line. All the glory he needed was right there in his arms.