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Ser Cullen Rutherford, holder of various important positions involving the putting out of fires and banking of drama, approaches a longtime ally, friend, and unrequited lover where she sits on a flat peachy toned rock playing with a new pet. Her rooms in Skyhold, instead of smelling of fine Orlesian or Tevinter perfumes, stink of different types of urine. She does not appear to notice, but the stench sometimes knocks visitors unconscious. For some reason this does not lessen her attractiveness in the yes of her various lovers. “Hawke, there's something wrong with you.” Cullen says, appros of nothing, his hands firmly on his sword.
Hawke - warden, champion, inquisitor - looks up from under her pointed black eyebrows. “That's the three hundred and fifth time you've said that, Cullen.”
“Only the three hundred and fifth time, really? I thought it would have been at least double that by now.”
Varric - dwarf, merchant, storyteller and unrequited friend - leaps into the conversation. “Is that a Gamordan Stormrider, Hawke? Where in the world did you find one, and most importantly, how did you wrangle it? Why is it not chewing our heads off?”
All eyes, Hawke's included, turn to the female dragonling gamboling around the ferocious woman, the dragonling playing with other members of Hawke's vicious menagerie, such as her Mabari hound, hyena, pet Red Templar Behemoth, tiny pocket steel golem, deepstalkers, and various species of giant spider. It's possibly the most beautiful sort of dragon, looking like an extremely dramatic butterfly dressed in the colours of purple, white and orange, and capable of breathing lightning and generally being epic once it grows up. Currently it's the size of a small pony. If it weren't for the fact that Hawke has no favourites amongst her pets, it would be her favourite.
Noticing that all the humans* are watching it, the baby dragon opens its mouth wide and issues an adorable noise, before spitting out a tiny lightning bolt, which strikes a castle wall harmlessly. Everyone but Hawke leaps back with a shout.
“Hahahaha, good girl, Leandra! Good baby girl. Here, come get a snack.” the Champion pulls a live giant rat from her satchel, and flings it onto the straw covered ground several feet from the dragon. It takes off after it, flinging more lightning about, the other pets forming a crowd to watch the hunt.
Recalling the question she was asked, Hawke grins at her friends, canine teeth as sharp as her eyes. “I went camping in the Exalted Plains with our favourite Red Templar general-”
“Aaargh!” Both men groan, for similar as well as very different reasons.
“Yip!” Leandra the Dragon hits the rat with her largest bolt of lightning yet, snatches up its spasming body and flings it into the air, catching it in her jaws and swallowing it whole. The Behemoth makes a noise that might be applause
A hard look casts itself across Cullen's reddening face. “You know, high dragons as a species have always reminded me of you, Marian.” he says, low and rather sinister.
“Aww, aren't you swee-”
“Their horde of wingless male nanny sex drones who live to serve, defend and provide, in particular remind me of how you operate. The once in a century rampages and general personality too, of course.”
With a jaw dropped to the ground, Varric wordlessly stares from one warrior to the other, his hand going for his crossbow. Shooting a templar (for his own good) was not on his checklist for today, but, you know. Cullen himself seems to have been petrified by his own words, and by the look on Hawke's face, which is the blank one she wears just before stabbing some unfortunate in the gut with a dagger.
But before Varric has cause to use Bianca, Leandra the Dragon comes gamboling over, her gait springy. For some reason she pulls ups and the walks straight into the Commander, nudging him like a dog, a gigantic scaly dog, pushing him back and away.
Varric gets ready to jump between the dragon and its owner so as to buy Cullen time to get away. “I think the overgrown lizard is attempting to save your life, Curly. You might want to take her advice…”
Hawke's glower intensifies and she stands up, compelling Varric to get in her way, and Cullen to fall on his backside. “What do you mean ‘once in a century’? Three times in ten years, more like! Where have you been, Cullen?!” she shouts.
But a dragon is licking the former knight commander's face and frizzing his hair, so he is unable to respond.