Disclaimer: I own absolutely and completely nothing. Bioware has that particular pleasure.
Summary: A City-Elf/Bann Teagan collection of drabbles and one-shots based on a prompt table from an LJ-community. These will be more or less in chronological order with the faintest traces of added plot here and there. Will vary from drabble length to one-shot.
Author's note: I was going to update later this week but as you guys were so sweet yesterday and this is rather short, I thought, why not? But it is very short, it is very stupid and a light-hearted break~ Reread the very stupid part before checking this out.
In this chapter: Happy birthday~~~
014.
Wynne doesn't know her own birthday. A child brought to circle rarely does and she was too small to remember such trivial things. She made up her own, celebrates it every year – even though she's steadily frozen in her fifties for the past twenty or so years and anyone who says otherwise finds itself facing a rather large stone fist. All in all, she doesn't pay it that much attention.
Which is one more reason to stop all of this confusion taking place just in front of her eyes. It is just a birthday. Just one birthday. It doesn't make any kind sense all of them are partying like the world will end tomorrow.
Oh alright, they are in the middle of Blight. The world might not end but they might certainly die tomorrow if they are not too careful. And there is also the problem about their traitor status. It certainly makes every odd idiot attempt to attack them in every empty clearing they pass. Sad because it's becoming that easy to predict. Clearing? Prepare weapons and shields, they should be using the next hill. Careful, that tree is a very good hideout. Hrm, maybe we should avoid those five? They seem to be discussing our impending death. A little pathetic.
Wynne is a Circle mage. The one thing they are thought above everything else – if one excludes the conversations about sin, blood magic and the danger of becoming an abomination – is duty. Duty cannot be forsworn. It must be taken head on, done before every personal detail, treated carefully and objectively because lives of others always come first.
A birthday, she can accept. A small celebration can be done – small because the Blight is destroying everything between them and Denerim and time spent is time wasted. This is just ridiculous. This is useless. This is waste.
Except the whole group doesn't think so. Elves and humans, qunari and mages, - hmph - even the blood mage and part of the soldiers from Redcliffe. They all eat and talk, their voices warning everything around them their exact location, number and yes, do not forget how many they are. Wynne tried to warn them, she truly did. The female elf laughed, – of course, it was her idea – the Arl agreed almost piteously before being dragged by his soldiers, Alistair chose the time of her question to choke on his drink. And, in moments like these, the woman has the idea she's the only completely normal person in her small family – because Maker knows Alistair is odd, Leliana is trapped in her stories most of the time, Sten is just Sten, she won't even try to go into Morrigan and her leader is occasionally odd. Like now. This is hardly acceptable.
Surrounded by bones and an owner who just keeps laughing, rubbing his belly at random intervals, Assan stares and dares her to say so out loud.
Well, fine.
Note: Prompt 014 (Belly) from Troyed community table of prompts.