troubleyan | open rp post

troubleyan

🏹 texts/epistolary 🏹 prompts 🏹 ota*

* pssst if we've threaded together on bakerstreet, consider this an open invite

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From:

battlemaged

Just another day at Skyhold. Rest and resupply, with plans to head back out the following morning. But apparently forty-eight hours was far too long for a certain few, because in the haze of a relatively warmer afternoon than most, Cole suddenly burst into Josephine's office, where she and the Inquisitor had been diligently pouring over paperwork, declaring in a high, excited voice, "The Champion and the Iron Bull! In the courtyard! Hurry!" Then the boy was off again, flying through the hall shouting the same thing over and over until all of the keep was buzzing with a mixture of curiosity, worry, and concern.

What had begun as a friendly competition of drinking and boasting had evolved, or devolved, depending on perspective, into an impromptu sparring match between the Champion of Kirkwall and the Iron Bull, with Varric taking bets from the onlookers, Sera hanging on the fence hooting, and even Blackwall serving as referee. Dorian and Leliana had emerged from their tower, as had Cullen, looking appropriately concerned; Solas and Cassandra managed to look appropriately disgusted, but neither deigned to turn away from the spectacle: Hawke and Bull sans their armor and weapons, both powerful, muscular bodies gleaming in the weak Ferelden sun, each trying to grapple the other into submission.

And despite Bull's obviously larger bulk, the Champion was hardly a weakling. Years of chopping wood and working on a backwater farm in his youth had granted Rowen Hawke a splendid physique, and the years of staying battle-ready and just as willing to bash an enemy with one of those large fists or the butt of his staff as he was to use his innate magic had kept him in perfectly top form.

Though the spectacle certainly looked vicious, Hawke was laughing as he grappled with the Qunari, boots digging into the soft sand to keep from being shoved back against the fence. He shoved Bull back and off, then delivered a solid right hook that no doubt rattled the ox-man's teeth, judging from the roar Bull gave, and ducked the returning haymaker, rolling beneath the blow and dancing back to his feet, cheekily tossing his sweaty hair back and smirking.

The crowd roared, excited at the show.

"Again!" the half-naked mage taunted, bright blue eyes gleaming. "Come on, big man! Come on!

From:

troubleyan

It's not like she was busy or anything, pouring over details of Josephine's contrived plan to ennoble a peasant so the assassins would cease trying to sneak into Skyhold to kill Evelyn's favourite adviser. It's not like she's been needing a distraction, because honestly Josephine worries a lot and Evelyn is going to be excellent at the politics, she promises.

But Cole barges in just as she's about to drop down to her knees and actually beg for a break, and in the nick of time.

Without pausing, and out of worry, she lunges out of her chair and is out the door in no time. Surely they would not be in danger - or fighting each other - right? The men are chums, all things considered.

(Well, as much as Rowen can be chummy with a reminder of the qunari that sieged Kirkwall three years back.)

The crowing crowd makes her know there's no attack incoming, and to make matters good, she sees down into the sparring ring all the way from the top of the stairs.

Brilliant. They are brilliant. Fuck.

She descends briskly, as both men lay into each other, her throat tight as her gaze traces their moves quickly - as quickly as they move. What a perfect display of power. You wouldn't think Hawke is a mouthy apostate, with the way he's built. Then again, you wouldn't think Bull is a spy, with the way he is built either.

She approaches the ring, stopping by Sera, arms on the fence at her hip.

"Oh, hey Inky," Sera quips, and does a double take before laughing and shouting towards both Bull and Hawke. "Watch out, boys, mummy's here!"

Evelyn swats Sera's thigh lightning fast, sending the elf into giggles.

"Don't worry, boss, I won't break him," says Bull, with a knowing smirk.

"I mean, it looks like he's asking you to, Bull," Evelyn says back, loud enough and smug enough to send onlookers tittering. She turns her attention to Hawke. "You know, if he's not fast enough for you, Champion, I'm always up for getting under your armor."

From:

battlemaged

The Inquisitor's arrival hushed the crowd for a brief moment, all involved parties feeling a smattering of guilt, but the Herald apparently didn't mind the carousing; she instead delivered to the grinning Champion her own sally.

To which Hawke smirked right back, cocked her a sarcastic eyebrow, and quipped right back, "But I'm not wearing my armor, your Worship." Mouthy apostate, indeed. And a distraction that Bull was too happy to take advantage of, for while Hawke was smirking at his lover from across the training ring, the Qunari lowered his head, gave a hoarse bellow, and charged, bricklike shoulder catching the mage in the solar plexus and sending him careening right into the fence, back first, then shoulders, then his head slamming into the post with three bone-cracking thuds.

He dropped, motionless.

The throng gave a collective gasp, then went deathly silent. Bull backed away, looking a little abashed; Varric, however, didn't seem an ounce worried. Blackwall, giving Evelyn a worried glance, slowly approached the unmoving Champion, only to be knocked completely off of his feet as Hawke suddenly surged up with a dragon-like roar, bloodshot eyes blazing, to launch himself at the surprised Qunari, taking Bull right in the knees.

Bull yelled, both men going down in a whir of sand, flailing limbs, and landing blows. The crowd paused, then erupted in wild cheers as their combatants battled like titans across the too-small training arena. The next body to slam into the post was Bull, upside down, to slither to the ground like a cut rope, the panting mage slowly getting to his feet and shaking off the fine layer of sand that coated him head to foot.

From:

troubleyan

He gets his wind knocked out of him, and in spite of how far she is from the post itself, she hears the cracking sound.

She's already up, feet on the fence, heart in her throat -

She can tell Bull is about to apologise too, and then the air...shifts. Crackles. Evelyn sucks in a breath, looking to where Hawke is not passed out but standing. Charging.

"Fuck."

She can tell there will be Templars writing letters to her about the dangerous apostates she keeps the company of.

When it starts to be bloody, she jumps into the ring and whips out two blades - palm sized - throwing them at the ground at their feet, pinning their trousers to the soil.

"Enough. Stop making wine of each other on my training grounds, you fucking wankers - Blackwall, call a victor or call the fight over."

Blackwall hesitates for a moment, then concedes: "Only fair to call it won by you, Inquisitor."

She looks from the Iron Bull to Rowen, two more blades between her fingers.

"If you start up again I swear to the Maker I'm shanking you both in the arse."

From:

battlemaged

Neither of them had meant for this little exhibition to become so rough. But both of them were large, powerful men, capable of shaking worlds when they walked too hard, so was it truly any surprise? Regardless, both Hawke and Bull came up short when the Inquisitor leaped into the ring, demanding the both of them cease and desist now.

And despite Evelyn's evident exasperation, not to mention his throbbing head and spine, Hawke managed to grin, reach around the Herald and offer his hand to the Qunari, shrugging lightly. "Good fight," he told his opponent, nonplussed as Bull somewhat grudgingly clasped his hand in return, grunting in reply.

The crowd murmured disappointment, some fading back to their duties while Varric collected, and Hawke glanced down at the Inquisitor.

"Just a friendly brawl, Inquisitor," he told her, running a hand through his hair to shake out some of the sand. Then he paused, eyebrow arching. "Did you want a turn?"

From:

troubleyan

She could, for the record. She could take him. Would she end up bruised and charred in uncomfortable places? Yes. Would it be exhilarating and possibly end with them having a rough fuck in the middle of the training grounds? Also yes, hence her hesitation.

She clears her throat a little. "No, I'll get my turn on you later. I'd dread to think what kind of brawl an unfriendly one looks like with you, Champion, except I've fought at your side long enough to have seen a few."

She gives him a careful once-over look. Steps closer to him now, so she can lower her voice and ask this for his ears alone: "What's wrong?"