[ Master Post ]
Title: Rhapsody in Ass Major – Chapter 223
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters: Cormac Hawke ♂, Anton Hawke ♂, Anders ♂, Cullen ♂, Fenris ♂, Isabela ♀, Merrill ♀, Varric ♂
Rating: T (L2 N0 S0 V0 D1)
Warnings: An awful lot of drunken revelry, mages, Hawkes
Notes: Anton is not nearly drunk enough for this bullshit.
Cullen was still trying to process the thought of Carver with mages. Mages with lightning. No, he didn’t need that thought either. Luckily the uncomfortable thoughts of Carver were interrupted by Anton as he pushed his way into the crowd.
"Cullen Stanton Rutherford," Anton huffed, "what’s this I hear about you killing a dragon?"
Cullen turned wide, helpless eyes on Cormac and Fenris. He pointed at Cormac. "His fault."
Fenris smirked into his beer. "Technically…" he said shrugging.
"My fault. As usual. If you’re going to punch me, I’ll let you, but we’re taking that outside." Cormac grinned and guzzled beer, finally letting go of Isabela. "A high dragon, Anton. In my mine — which is mine, now. Mine mine." He shook his head. "A high dragon. It was her or the fifty miners depending on us. I can almost guarantee there will be more dragons. More and smaller. They’re friendlier when they’re small."
Purrcy leaned off of Anders’s head, batting at the feather on Anton’s hat, but not having a long enough reach to hit it.
"I even carved the heart out of it so your darling templar could eat it. Or some of it, anyway. That thing was massive. This is what we could haul down, today. Tomorrow I have to go back and get the frozen parts." Cormac shook his head and offered his brother a strip of roast dragon. "The Champion of Kirkwall, husband to Knight-Captain Dragonslayer. History was made, Anton. And it’s got your name on it, even if you weren’t there."
"Step outside so I can slap your face off," Anton insisted.
"Have a drink first!" Isabela purred, winding herself around Anton, with a tankard in each hand. "Celebrate that your extra sexy other captain didn’t get his leg chewed off!"
"Your brother’s arm was much more concerning than anything that happened to me," Cullen pointed out, patting the bar behind him for another drink.
Cormac shrugged, the gaping hole in his sleeve still obvious, even covered in blood and filth, like he was. "I had to see if it would work. It … almost did."
"It?" Anton asked, eyebrow quirking. He still looked less than thrilled, but he had no qualms about taking Cullen’s drink. "Does this have to do with all the books open on the library table?" Not that they were open or left out anymore. Not when he was related to Artie, even if Artie no longer lived with them.
"Leave it to a Hawke to find a new way to almost kill himself," Varric said, gesturing at Cormac. "But yeah, it did work."
"Nothing that exciting." Cormac shrugged. "Just some magical theory bullshit that’s a little less bullshit than I thought. The best part is it doesn’t even seem to be Tevinter. This is some old Chantry teaching, right here, from one of the Exalted Marches against the Imperium. The good parts aren’t in the book, for obvious reasons, but it doesn’t take much, if you know the theory, to fill in the blanks."
Anton cocked his head at his brother. "Creepy mage shit. Creepy mage shit that involved you almost losing an arm. Nope. Not asking. Lalala. Someone hand me another drink. I don’t want to remember having this conversation."
Cullen went to hand Anton his drink, only to find it had already been taken. "Hm. S’weird." He patted the bar anyway, just in case one popped up out of nowhere. Anton stole Cormac’s instead.
Anders, on the hand, looked intrigued, and he straightened, finally relinquishing Varric as his arm rest. "So it worked?" he asked. "Granted, I’m not thrilled a dragon needed to bite you for you to find out, but…"
"You knew he was working on this?" Fenris asked, eyes narrowing. "Of course you did." The muttered ‘mages’ was said into his next sip.
"Mages," Anton agreed.
"I helped him work on this." Anders looked a little smug, until the grin split his face into outright wicked arrogance. "You know I love the way he screams."
Cormac buried his face in Isabela’s boobs again, and she rested her tankard on the back of his head, before deciding it was a little higher than she needed it to be. "Can we not talk about the early experiments in front of my brother? You’re welcome to tell Cullen all about it, because I’m still trying to convince him it’s not blood magic, but can you not tell Anton about any of those completely amazing things I would like you to repeat, please?"
"I’m not sure I want to know, either." Cullen looked a bit green, which was an interesting contrast to his usual shades of red. "But, if there are books. I can… books. Yes."
The smile on Anders’s face was less arrogant and more wicked, as he turned it on Cullen, mouth opening to say something unspeakable, but their eyes met, and he looked away, expressionless. "There are more people than drinks, and this is not an acceptable situation."
"Agreed," Fenris rumbled. "I will need at least two more drinks myself to make up for the mental images I’d rather you had not given me."
As though summoned, a harried-looking Corff slid another drink across the bar in Cullen’s direction, sweat pouring down his brow. Three hands reached for the drink, none of them belonging to Cullen.
"That is just not fair," Cullen whined at Anton, the smug victor.
"What isn’t fair is that I don’t have a dragon steed," Anton sniffed. "I am still so very disappointed in you, husband." He consoled himself with a gulp of beer.
"Stabby, there is no way you would have been able to get your thighs around that dragon."
"You underestimate me, Varric."
Cormac looked up and glared in Varric’s direction. "Okay, so you’ve gotten me back. Both of you. I didn’t even say it, and you’ve gotten me back. If there was something I didn’t need to think about it was my little brother’s thighs around a dragon."
"Oh, Maker," Anders groaned, catching on a moment later.
Isabela cackled, dribbling beer into Cormac’s hair. "You know, they’ve got something for that," Isabela said with a grin. "I could get you one."
Anton tried not to look contemplative. "That— what— No!"
Cullen muttered something about ponies into the drink he finally managed to acquire, by having Corff put it directly into his hand, and Anton spit beer, choking on it and his tongue.
Fenris leaned his elbows on the bar, shaking his head. "Why am I here?" he asked the tankard in his hand.
"Because we’re good company?" Isabela said, batting her eyelashes at him over Cormac’s shoulder.
"No, not that."
"Because of the free drinks?" Varric suggested.
Fenris tilted his head, considering the mediocre beer in his hand. "That seems more likely."
"It’s why I’m here," Anton said, shrugging. Cullen twisted in his seat to give him an offended stare. "What? I do not support the slaying of dragons, no matter how large or cranky or how difficult it would be to get my legs around it."
"Because boobs," Cormac decided. "Which I should be a gentleman and quit hogging. After all, I believe I also have a mountain savage who is very interested in continuing our experiments in magical theory."
"A mountain savage," Anders huffed. "My people didn’t give Andraste a dog."
"No, your people gave Andraste unprecedented control of the law," Cormac shot back, wrapping an arm around Anders’s waist. "Still not holding it against you. I’ve got better things to hold against you. Like my—"
"Don’t say it!" Anton jabbed a finger at his brother. "Do. Not. Say the words."
"He should hear the things you say," Cullen muttered.
"I don’t say them in public!" Anton protested.
"And more’s the pity," Isabela purred, jutting her lip in an exaggerated pout, as she pushed herself away from the bar, pinched the tip of Fenris’s ear, and wrapped an arm around Anton’s shoulders. "I’d love to hear the things you say. Well, the things you say to Cullen, anyway. I know most of the other ones."
Again, Cullen muttered into his drink, this time something about ‘ass-banditry’.
Anton grabbed the tankard from Cullen’s hand. "You, my darling husband, have had more than enough to drink, and you remember what happened the last time you got this drunk!"
Cormac raised a hand. "I remember!"
"Yes, but you were still there, in the morning," Cullen slurred, wrapping himself around Anton’s other side and nuzzling his neck.
"And so were the memories," Anton drawled, "at least for me. Come on, then, Captain. Let’s get you some place more horizontal. At home."
"Ooh, will you be horizontal too?" Cullen asked into Anton’s neck, letting himself be pulled up off the stool.
"Possibly. Possibly even in the same bed, if you’re lucky." Anton kissed the crown of Cullen’s head and shifted Cullen’s weight against him until the templar stopped drooping towards the floor.
"All right, boys, say goodnight to the Dragonslayer!" Varric called out, raising his tankard accordingly. The words were met with a smattering of cheers and applause, and Cullen blinked, waving at the room.
"Fenris!" Cormac turned to the elf. "Come home with us. Take a bath. By yourself. Then go home to my brother before he tidies your house into oblivion."
Anders raised his eyebrows, suggestively, at Fenris, over the top of Cormac’s head.
Fenris stared back, apparently unmoved. "A bath. I do require one, before …" he gestured vaguely in the direction of Hightown. "Just a bath."
"Not… really something you have to say to me," Cormac said, holding up his hands, defensively. He pulled Isabela into a sloppy and thorough kiss, as soon as she opened her mouth to comment. "Give that to someone for me, would you?"
Grinning, Isabela stood on the bar. "Bring me a bottle! I want to play a game!"
"And that’s the sound of us leaving. Have a good one, Varric, and watch that Merrill gets home in one piece." Cormac clapped the dwarf on the shoulder and led Fenris and Anders out, the two of them squinting at each other.