The Prank War
The Chargers had barely stepped onto the training grounds when the laughter started. It began as a few snickers, quickly escalating to full-blown guffaws as one by one, they noticed each other’s glowing war paint.
“Oi, Krem!” one of the Chargers shouted, doubling over as they pointed at his face. “You’ve got smiley faces!”
“What?” Krem frowned, confused, until he caught sight of his reflection in a water barrel. He froze, his jaw dropping as the bright yellow grins on his cheeks flashed cheerfully with each movement. “Oh, for the love of—who did this?”
Another Charger chimed in, twirling dramatically to show off the glowing swirls across their forehead. “I’ve got spirals! It’s art!” they declared with mock grandeur, striking a pose.
The scene descended into chaos as the rest of the Chargers examined their glowing designs, each one more ridiculous than the last. Even the most serious among them couldn’t keep a straight face when Iron Bull emerged from the tent, his broad chest adorned with glowing pink hearts that pulsed with faint light.
Krem clamped a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking as he desperately tried not to laugh. “Boss,” he choked out, “you’re—uh—looking good.”
Bull’s single golden eye narrowed dangerously as he glanced at his reflection in the barrel. The pink hearts on his chest flickered playfully, each one a direct affront to his usual commanding presence. “Who did this?” he rumbled, his deep voice low and sharp, cutting through the Chargers’ laughter.
The group fell silent, exchanging quick glances. Krem took a cautious step forward. “Boss, it’s just paint. It’s a prank.”
“It’s not just paint,” Bull growled, his fingers brushing over the glowing designs as his jaw clenched. “This is magic.”
The Chargers quieted, their amusement fading slightly as they caught the tension in his voice. Krem raised an eyebrow, his tone turning serious. “Bull, come on—it’s harmless. No one’s trying to mess with you.”
But Bull didn’t respond immediately. His eye lingered on the glowing hearts, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. The words “It’s you” burned faintly in his mind, tied to the soulmark he hadn’t been able to forget, and his jaw tightened further. “Feels like manipulation,” he muttered darkly, the accusation laced with a bitterness that wasn’t directed at the Chargers but lingered all the same.
Krem sighed, stepping closer. “Boss,” he said quietly, his tone firm but not unkind. “This isn’t about the soulmark or the mark or—any of that, alright? This is just the Chargers being the Chargers. And if you let yourself stew in this, you’re gonna ruin a good joke.”
Bull grunted, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t pull away as Krem continued. “You’re allowed to laugh at yourself, you know. We all are. And if you don’t—” Krem gestured toward the glowing hearts with a faint smirk—“then you’re letting whoever did this win.”
Bull exhaled sharply, his broad shoulders relaxing slightly as he glanced at the Chargers. They were still laughing quietly among themselves, their camaraderie evident despite the brief tension. The pink hearts flickered again, their playful glow seemingly mocking his seriousness.
The Chargers were scattered across the training grounds, their laughter rising and falling as they examined their glowing war paint. The enchanted designs flashed brightly with each movement—smiley faces, spirals, hearts, and absurd patterns creating an entertaining spectacle. But despite the hilarity, Bull wasn’t laughing.
The towering Qunari stood apart from the group, his golden eye narrowing as he brushed his fingers over the pink hearts blazing across his chest. His jaw tightened as the glow flickered faintly, mocking him with every pulse. He didn’t need to hear the Chargers' chatter to know who was responsible; there was only one person in Haven with the audacity—and sense of humor—to pull something like this.
“Sera,” Bull growled, his voice low and sharp.
The laughter quieted as the Chargers exchanged glances, their amusement fading into watchful silence. Bull strode forward, his broad shoulders casting a heavy shadow, his attention honed in on one target. Sera, who had been giggling behind a nearby crate, froze momentarily before her grin returned with exaggerated flair.
“Well, hello, Big Horns!” she greeted, her storm-grey eyes sparkling with mischief. “Looking fancy, eh? Bet Haven’s never seen hearts glow quite like those before.”
Bull didn’t react to her words, didn’t even crack a smile as he stopped directly in front of her, towering over the rogue with an air of quiet intensity. “Was this you?” he asked bluntly, his tone carrying an edge that cut through the lighthearted atmosphere.
Sera tilted her head, pretending to consider the question. “Maybe,” she said breezily, crossing her arms. “Maybe not. Hard to say, yeah?”
Bull’s single golden eye narrowed further, his expression darkening. “I don’t have patience for this, Sera. You think it’s funny messing with the Chargers? Messing with me?”
Sera’s grin faltered slightly, though her storm-grey eyes remained steady. “Oi, it’s just war paint. No one’s hurt. You lot could use some pizzazz anyway.”
Bull exhaled sharply, his fists clenching at his sides. “Magic war paint,” he corrected, his voice dipping into a growl. “Glowsticks aren’t funny when you don’t trust what’s behind them.”
Solana shifted beside Sera, her scarlet gaze flicking to Bull, but his focus didn’t waver. The rejection was still fresh, still raw, and he didn’t even glance in her direction. His attention stayed fixed on Sera, as if Solana wasn’t there.
“Bull,” Sera said carefully, her tone softening. “It’s a joke. That’s it. No mind tricks, no spooky magic shite. Just glitter and giggles.”
Bull stared at her for a moment longer, the tension thick in the air, before he exhaled again, stepping back slightly. “Good,” he said curtly. “Because anything more than that, and this stops being funny.”
The Chargers exchanged uneasy glances, the laughter from earlier replaced by a quiet murmur of uncertainty. Sera raised an eyebrow, her grin returning with a cautious edge as she added, “Big Horns, if you’re so grumpy about it, you might wanna give us credit. Those glowing hearts? Top-tier art.”
Bull didn’t respond to her jab. Instead, he turned away, his broad frame retreating as the Chargers began murmuring among themselves. Krem stepped forward, clapping a hand on Sera’s shoulder with a smirk. “You really got him this time,” he said, though his tone carried a hint of concern. “Boss is in a mood.”
Sera shrugged, her storm-grey eyes flicking to Solana with a mischievous smile. “Well, Broody,” she said lightly, “guess it’s time to plan phase two. Won’t let Big Horns mope forever.”
As Sera turned to nudge Solana, Krem’s grin grew sharper, his eyes glinting with determination. “Oh, we’re not done,” he declared, his voice carrying enough weight to draw the other Chargers’ attention. “If Boss won’t loosen up about this, then I say it’s on us to get even.”
Sera blinked, tilting her head with interest. “You saying what I think you’re saying, Krem?”
“I’m saying the Chargers have a reputation to uphold,” he replied, crossing his arms. “And this? Glowsticks, hearts, enchanted art projects? It’s personal now.”
One of the Chargers whistled low, grinning as they jabbed an elbow at Krem. “Aye, Krem’s declaring war, is he? What’s next? Glitter bombs?”
“Glitter bombs and then some,” Krem shot back, his grin widening. “We’re not letting this go without payback.”
The Chargers erupted into laughter, their earlier unease fading as the promise of retaliation sparked excitement. Sera chuckled, crossing her arms with an exaggerated smirk as she stepped closer to Krem. “Oi, you lot think you’re ready for a war? Red Jenny doesn’t go down easy, yeah? And Broody here?” She motioned toward Solana with a wink. “She’s got fancy glowing magic on her side. So bring it on, Chargers—I’ll take the whole lot of you.”
Solana raised an eyebrow, shaking her head with quiet amusement. “You realize this is just going to escalate, right?”
“That’s the point,” Sera replied with a grin.
Krem smirked, motioning to the rest of the Chargers. “Alright, team. You heard her. Let’s get planning. And mark my words, Sera—when we strike back, you won’t see it coming.”
Bull, who had stopped near the edge of the camp, glanced back briefly at the commotion but didn’t intervene, his jaw tight as he turned away again. The Chargers, meanwhile, dove headfirst into preparations, swapping ideas and laughing as the energy shifted from unease to camaraderie.
The prank war had officially begun.
The Chargers wasted no time after Krem’s declaration of war. By dawn the next day, Sera’s tent had been rigged with enchanted glitter bombs. The moment she opened the flap, an explosion of shimmering sparkles erupted, coating her head to toe.
“Bloody hell!” Sera shouted, flailing her arms in a vain attempt to rid herself of the relentless glitter. “I’m sparkling like some noble twit! You lot are gonna pay for this!”
Solana stepped in, visibly amused, as she plucked a glitter-covered feather from Sera’s hair. “They’re committed, I’ll give them that.”
Nearby, the Chargers roared with laughter, high-fiving one another as they celebrated their first strike. Sera wasted no time retaliating—swapping out the Chargers’ weapons during practice with wooden spoons, soup ladles, and even a mop. Each item bore a cheeky note:
“Soup’s on, Chargers! Signed, Jenny ❤️.”
Sera had been restless all morning, pacing back and forth near the crates by Solana’s tent. Her storm-grey eyes gleamed with anticipation as she waved her hands dramatically. “Alright, Broody,” she said, her voice sharp with excitement. “Egghead needs to loosen up. Let’s show him how it’s done.”
Solana raised an eyebrow, leaning against the edge of the crates. “Loosen up with eggs?” she asked dryly, her tone betraying faint amusement. “That’s your plan?”
“No, not just eggs,” Sera shot back, holding up a basket overflowing with them. Each one was painted with exaggerated elven faces—some bearing swirls meant to mimic Solas’s serious face, others with comically distorted features that were impossible to ignore. “They’re recruits for his secret egg cult. Everyone knows he’s running one.”
“Everyone?” Solana asked, amused. “Or just you?”
“Same difference.” Sera grinned, rummaging through the basket to retrieve one egg crowned with feathers. “Look at this one—perfect Egghead leader vibes.”
Solana shook her head, her smirk softening as she added a subtle enchantment to the eggs. “Let me guess: you want them to hum?”
“Oh, Maker’s pants, yes!” Sera clapped her hands together, bouncing slightly on her heels. “Elven hums—super mystical, super annoying. It’s perfect.”
Later that afternoon, Solas returned to his workspace, prepared for a quiet evening of research. What he hadn’t prepared for was the basket sitting conspicuously on his desk, the eggs inside glowing faintly in the fading sunlight. A soft hum emanated from the basket, growing louder as he approached.
Solas stopped mid-step, his sharp gaze sweeping over the display with practiced precision. Each egg seemed carefully positioned, their painted faces staring up at him as if waiting to be addressed. The hum deepened, shifting into a melodic elven tune as he picked up the feather-crowned egg—the leader, clearly.
Pinned to the side of the basket was a note written in Sera’s unmistakable scrawl:
“For Thedas’s finest feather-brained scholar. Your secret egg cult is growing—don’t let it crack. Signed, Jenny ❤️ (and Broody too).”
Solas exhaled sharply, setting the egg down with deliberate care. “Of all the absurdities,” he muttered under his breath, his stormy expression darkening. “This has Sera’s influence—and, evidently, Solana’s support.”
The hum from the eggs continued as Solas reached for his quill, scrawling a swift response on the back of the note before leaving it pinned where the basket had sat. He spared a single glance at the feather-crowned egg before turning away, unwilling to let the chaos linger in his thoughts.
When Sera returned to Solas’s workspace later, she practically cackled with glee at finding the note waiting for her:
*“If your idea of humor involves hums and painted eggs, I shall assume your understanding of elven culture is as fractured as the shells you so gleefully decorate.”*
“Oi, look at that—Egghead’s got jokes!” Sera exclaimed, waving the note triumphantly.
Solana tilted her head, eyeing the basket of eggs still humming softly. “Think he’ll keep any?”
“Bet he’ll smash the lot,” Sera replied with a grin. “But if he doesn’t—well, that’s proof of the egg cult, isn’t it?”
Despite his outward disdain, Solas quietly tucked one painted egg away in his drawer—the smallest one, adorned with faint golden swirls. It wasn’t much, but there was something soothing about its quiet hum amidst the chaos of Haven.
Sera, meanwhile, spent the evening plotting her next move, rallying Solana for what she called “phase three” of the war. If Solas wanted to remain aloof, then he’d just have to face the consequences of ignoring Red Jenny herself.
By the third morning of the prank war, Sera was practically buzzing with excitement. “Alright, Broody,” she said, grinning as she adjusted the ribbon on the final enchanted chicken. “Time to show Commander Cluck who runs this coop.”
Solana, arms crossed as she leaned casually against the doorframe, arched a brow. “We’re escalating with chickens?”
“Not just chickens*” Sera corrected with mock indignation. “These are tactical chickens. Look at ‘em—regal ribbons, enchanted clucks, and morale-boosting chaos. Brilliant, yeah?”
Solana smirked, muttering under her breath, “If you say so.”
Together, they unleashed the twelve ribbon-adorned chickens into Cullen’s office, each bird enchanted with phrases squawked at random intervals. As soon as the door closed behind them, the havoc began.
The chickens scattered, pecking at maps and climbing atop precariously balanced stacks of parchment. One particularly bold chicken hopped onto Cullen’s desk, squawking loudly, “Cluck for Jenny!” as it knocked over his inkpot, splattering black ink across a carefully drawn map of Ferelden.
Another chicken fluttered to the edge of a chair, puffed up its feathers, and proclaimed, “Join us!”
The chaos grew exponentially when Krem, hearing the ruckus, arrived to investigate. He barely made it two steps into the office before a chicken darted in front of him, flapping wildly as if to defend its territory.
“Maker’s breath—get back here!” Krem exclaimed, stumbling as he tried to avoid stepping on the bird. That’s when another chicken waddled up and, with remarkable precision, pooped directly onto his boot. He froze, glaring down at the offending bird, which stared back with unnerving calm.
“Alright, Jenny,” Krem growled, his voice low and ominous. “This means war. Real war.”
Moments later, Cullen stormed out of his office, his normally composed demeanor replaced by visible exasperation. He held a piece of parchment tightly in one hand, his golden eyes narrowing as he glared at the chaos before him. A chicken perched triumphantly on his shoulder, squawking, “Commander Cluck!”
“Why,” Cullen demanded loudly, his voice cutting through the camp’s usual buzz, “are there chickens—enchanted chickens—in my workspace?”
Across the camp, Sera doubled over laughing, her storm-grey eyes sparkling with glee. “They’re your new recruits, Commander Cluck! You’re welcome!”
The spectacle didn’t go unnoticed. Varric, leaning against a nearby post with Bianca slung over his shoulder, watched the scene unfold with growing amusement. “Chickens, huh?” he drawled, smirking. “Well, Commander, looks like your leadership style is really inspiring the *pecking order.*”
Cullen turned sharply, his jaw tightening. “This isn’t funny, Varric.”
“Oh, it’s hilarious,” Varric shot back, his grin widening. “I mean, they’re practically clucking your praises. ‘Commander Cluck’ has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
Another chicken squawked from within the office, “Join us!” Varric gestured toward it with a flourish. “See? You’ve got a whole new unit. Small, but feisty.”
Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly reevaluating his life choices. “This is ridiculous.”
“I don’t know,” Varric said, shrugging. “Seems like solid strategy to me. I’ve heard chickens are great for morale—and they’ve already got Krem on the defensive. Battle-tested recruits, right there.”
Cullen, with Krem’s help, eventually managed to corral the chickens back into their makeshift coop. The parchment attached to one bird’s leg—a note from Sera—read:
“Hope your new recruits cluck up to expectations! Love, Jenny ❤️ (and Broody too).”
Krem, still glaring at his soiled boot, shook his head. “You know what, Jenny? We’ll see who gets the last laugh.”
“Oi, feel free to try,” Sera replied, smirking. “But you lot better watch your backs, ‘cause Red Jenny doesn’t lose.”
Cullen, meanwhile, muttered something about reorganizing his desk and banning livestock from Haven as he retreated to his tent, the faint sound of chickens clucking behind him.
Varric, still chuckling to himself, turned to Solana. “You know, I might start writing this one down. ‘The Tale of Commander Cluck and His Feathered Battalion.’ Has a nice ring to it.”
The Chargers knew they needed a bold finale to cement their place in the prank war history books. By the fourth day, the camp was buzzing with rumors of their impending retaliation, each one more outrageous than the last. But no one—not even Sera—was prepared for what awaited her.
As night fell, the Chargers made their move. They had spent hours earlier in the day rigging Sera’s tent with enchanted sparklers, carefully positioned to light up in a dazzling display as soon as she stepped inside. The moment the tent flap swung open, the trap was sprung.
Brilliant streams of golden light erupted across the space, spiraling and twinkling as if an entire festival had crammed itself into the small canvas structure. The colors shifted and danced in the air, casting flickering shadows that glimmered across the walls of nearby tents.
Sera, startled at first, froze in the doorway. Then her storm-grey eyes lit up, mirroring the mischievous glow of the sparklers around her. “Oi!” she yelled, laughter bubbling up as she threw her arms out to the side. “You lot are asking for it now!”
Her voice carried across the camp, drawing soldiers, scouts, and even a few curious mages to the scene. They gathered at a safe distance, marveling at the chaos and brilliance. The Chargers stood just beyond the crowd, grinning smugly at their handiwork.
“Worth every bloody second,” Krem said, folding his arms with a satisfied nod. “Look at her—she’s practically bouncing with joy.”
“And plotting her revenge,” another Charger added, barely stifling a laugh.
The prank war’s finale seemed to spark a wave of infectious energy throughout the camp. Soldiers in the training grounds joked about their still-glowing war paint, some daring each other to wear the shimmering designs into battle. The faint remnants of glitter from earlier escapades caught the moonlight, scattering tiny specks of light across the grounds like the stars had descended for a visit.
Near the supply tents, the last of the enchanted chickens clucked loudly, still emitting phrases like, “Cluck for Jenny!” and “Join us!” Much to Cullen’s chagrin, several soldiers had taken to feeding the birds and encouraging their antics.
“It’s either madness or morale,” Varric quipped as he leaned against a barrel, Bianca resting on his shoulder. “Maybe both. You’ve gotta admit, Haven’s never been more alive.”
Vivienne passed by, her elegant steps precise despite the chaos. “Alive, perhaps. But at the cost of dignity.” She eyed the sparklers still twinkling from Sera’s tent with faint disdain before adding, “Though I suppose it has its charm.”
As the sparklers began to dim and the camp settled into an uneasy calm, Sera emerged from her tent, her grin impossibly wide. Solana stood nearby, arms crossed but clearly amused. “How long do you think they’ve been planning that?” she asked.
“Too long,” Sera replied, brushing a few lingering sparkles from her jacket. “But, oi, points for effort.”
“You’re not mad?” Solana asked, raising a brow.
“Mad?” Sera laughed, spinning dramatically to face the Chargers. “Nah, this lot knows how to have fun. ‘Course, now they’ve gone and put themselves right in the line of fire. Red Jenny never lets a finale go unanswered.”
Her declaration was met with good-natured jeering and laughter from the Chargers, who raised imaginary glasses in a mock toast to their victory.
“Bring it on, Jenny,” Krem called, smirking. “We’ll be ready.”
As the camp finally quieted that night, the remnants of the prank war lingered—sparkles clinging to boots, ribbons forgotten on tent poles, and stories of chickens, glitter, and glowing paint shared over late-night fires. The antics had not only lifted spirits but forged bonds that went beyond duty. The laughter, though chaotic, was a reminder that even amidst uncertainty, Haven could thrive as more than just a battlefield—it could be a home.
On the fifth day, as the remnants of sparklers flickered out and Haven gradually returned to its usual rhythm, Victoria decided it was time to bring the chaos to a close. While the prank war had undeniably raised morale and forged bonds across the camp, it had also caused enough disruption to warrant intervention—particularly after the chickens took up temporary residence in Cullen’s office.
Victoria called a meeting in the war room, summoning the key culprits: Sera, Solana, Krem, Iron Bull, and a handful of the more enthusiastic Chargers. They filed in, some sheepish, others unabashedly proud of their handiwork. Sera, of course, led the pack, her grin wide as she practically bounced to her spot.
Victoria waited patiently at the head of the table, her arms crossed and her expression calm but authoritative. As the group settled, she raised an eyebrow and gestured toward the room at large. “Well,” she began, her tone carrying a mix of amusement and exasperation. “I hope you’re all proud of yourselves.”
Sera immediately shot her hand up, grinning. “Oi, I’m definitely proud. That chicken thing? Pure genius.”
Krem folded his arms, smirking faintly. “Until it backfired on my boots.”
“Right,” Victoria said, her lips twitching faintly as though suppressing a smile. “Which brings us to the matter at hand. Four days of glitter bombs, enchanted chickens, and, most recently, sparklers. While I’ll admit your creativity has been impressive, you’ve also brought the Inquisition to a near standstill.”
Iron Bull leaned back in his chair, his broad arms crossed over his chest. “What can I say? I lead a team of professionals.” He smirked, glancing at Krem. “Even when they’re covered in glitter.”
Victoria raised a hand, silencing the laughter that rippled through the room. “Let me be clear: I’m not here to crush your spirits. Laughter is important. Bonding is important. But so is running the Inquisition smoothly—and I think we can all agree that enchanted chickens don’t belong in the Commander’s office.”
“Commander Cluck’s still a pretty solid name, though,” Sera muttered, earning a round of chuckles.
Victoria sighed, but her expression softened slightly as she continued. “From this point forward, pranks are restricted to non-essential areas of the camp. They cannot interfere with operations, disrupt leadership, or—” she glanced pointedly at Krem—“involve livestock.”
Krem raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, the chickens weren’t my idea.”
“They were all mine,” Sera said proudly, earning another round of laughter.
Victoria gestured for quiet, her tone firm but kind. “I mean it. Haven has work to do, and while I appreciate the morale boost, we can’t afford to let this spiral further. Anyone caught breaking these rules will be assigned cleaning duty—and considering the amount of glitter still scattered around camp, I’d take that seriously.”
Sera’s grin widened, her storm-grey eyes dancing with mischief. “Oi, Broody, you up for some cleaning duty? Bet we could enchant the broom.”
“I think we’ve done enough,” Solana replied dryly, though her amusement was clear.
The meeting ended with a mix of groans, laughter, and good-natured grumbling. As the group dispersed, Victoria remained at the table, watching them with a faint smile. The prank war had taken its toll, but it had also strengthened the bonds among Haven’s residents. And while the chaos was finally over—for now—its spirit lingered, a reminder that even amidst turmoil, there was room for camaraderie.