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greypetrel · 9 months

Note

9. eye-to-eye hugs for Alyra?

Hello!

Sorry for being so late, stress from a long year caught up with me and I took a week of holiday to recuperate.

Hope it’ll be nice enough to compensate, and thanks for asking Alyra! She’s actually Yzma in her youth days. A polyamorous Yzma scared shitless by Broodmothers. Really, she went on like a train, grumbling and phased not much by anything… She saw the Broodmother and went “NOPE.” (Alistair had to grab her by the neck of her armour and physically turn her around).

Tis the prompt list.

Heart of a Poet.

9. eye-to-eye hugs

There were few things, in the palace, that could actually surprise the Empress’ Occult Advisor.

Oh, adapting had been quite the feat, and she thoroughly hated the whole of it. The fakeness, people never meaning what they want to say, from the masks down to the very lane of rose bushes, cared to the littlest budding leaves, where she was walking right now. Nature shouldn’t be confined and controlled: it was an illusion, as much as the whole of the Court.

A carefully, meticulously upkept illusion ready to burst at the first little prodding.

But as much as she hated it, she had to stay: for she knew the Eluvian maze lead her to Orlais and Val Royeaux. To what end, exactly, she couldn’t yet see, and the key to control it was nowhere to be found, or kept carefully secret in some area of the Winter Palace she hadn’t yet discovered. But it was, indeed, the perfect place to gather informations, as much as some unrest was brewing, and Kieran was happy with the library at least. Most importantly, it would have been the very last place anyone who remotely knew her would look for.

As much as she hated the Game, and frankly found the Empress a conniving opportunist that embodied all the worst a vulture stood for in popular belief, that day Morrigan was surprised.

Growing up in woods and wilds, running its paths as predator and prey, she knew when she was followed. She knew a predatory stare on her neck when she felt it, and that was one.

She never liked turning into any prey animals, it left her uneasy in her skin. She had to change the game: she turned left and right, guiding her pursuer in a secluded clearing that was outside of the palace’s windows and, conveniently, was too wide to follow a person without being seen.

She reached the small gazebo in the centre and abruptly turned around, to spot…

Nothing at all, for she was perfectly, blissfully alone with herself and her thoughts.

Weird.

A worthy predator, then, succeeding in having her fooled?

There were, indeed, two people her mind ran to. The first, she didn’t want to think of and it sent a shiver of dread and rage in equal measure down her spine. For the second, her thought ran to a day in the Frostbacks, the winter sun cutting sharp like it was today through pines and conifers, as she ran and was chased. It brought a smile on her face.

It couldn’t be. It wasn’t safe to assume it was the second option.

She didn’t want to fool herself any further.

Not yet.

In any case, it was worth knowing who was chasing, right now, and why. A wounded fox -speaking of old memories- pretending to have a hurt paw and luring the bigger carnivore closer to bite its jugular better.

Yes. She could play with it.

---

The chase continued throughout the day.

It wasn’t anything much, and Morrigan couldn’t pinpoint the person who was looking at her once. Not during a long and boring lunch with the Empress and a couple of Dukes, discussing over fundings to grant to the Grand Universities and pushes towards a more open-minded attitude towards elves that were too little, not enough to settle. She couldn’t come to any better conclusions during a game of whist dragged for too long, when she got asked the usual prodding questions about her position, her role, her status, her provenience. She batted every jab with one of her own, never once believed that the laughter she caused was anything but condescending, and took pride in winning the game, under her mysterious observer��s stare.

She signalled to Kieran not to run after her, when she met him just out of the drawing room, just to be sure. She had taught him a clue for this kind of situation, after all, and the boy heeded it right away with an amused expression, skittering away before even greeting his mother, with a giggle. The reaction gave Morrigan a clue, but yet again she didn’t put much thought into it. Hope was futile, hope was dangerous. In her life, and in that environment. And knowing whom else may be to seek her out, she didn’t want to risk it. Not with him in the middle.

Shivers ran through her spines when, after that fleeting meeting with her son, the sensation of being observed stopped. It could have been casual, it could have been that she walked in paths that allowed for little hideouts. If it was whom she hoped to be, she knew the child and the child knew her. Otherwise, she feared giving him away. But she had changed in the last years, and she couldn’t help but walk to the library, where Kieran was headed for his afternoon lessons, and ask. She got answered that yes, he was at his usual spot with his teacher, they were going through some history volumes. A new teacher, the woman told, a Dalish. She could call him here, if the Arcane Advisor so wished. But the arcane advisor was, finally, content with the solution to her riddle.

The sensation got back fleetingly, for a moment when she headed back to her rooms for dinner, before disappearing again. This time, it created a sense of anticipation, a longing. So, she ordered her dinner to be brought into her apartment, and ordered for one person more. She already wove a spell over the kitchen staff in charge of handling her meals not to notice Kieran, not to notice that she never required food for just one person. It would have worked if the meal was for three people instead of two, today.

And so she waited, absentmindedly nibbling at her food as her son told her about what he had learnt today, whom he had met. He was particularly mysterious, and vague when she prodded him to get any further detail. She just knew why, but the game was that she had to pretend not to know and prod for answers. And so she did.

“I am sure that the renown teachers of Empress Celene, so keen in financing universities, would hardly stop at enlightening the minds of promising young men with just ‘the usual’.” She chided, leaning her head to the side and raising one eyebrow and, in spite of herself, smiling at said promising young man.

“I had a special teacher today, Mother.” The boy smiled back, nodding solemnly.

“Oh? And whom tis might be?”

“A wild fox, she told me.”

A twitch of her lips, and she knew. Relaxing with the final confirmation that it wasn’t anyone else, she put her mind at ease and kept on with their evening routine. Dinner, then a new spell to teach him -he was so talented already- with the subsequent questions. Brushing teeth, a story and then bedtime for the child. A kiss on his forehead, a last caress and wishing each other sweet dreams. As she gently closed the double doors that led to the bedroom her son occupied, she was alone with her thoughts.

Or well, not entirely.

“Orlais, uh?”

A dear, dear voice asked from behind her, the lilting accent embued in sarcasm. She sounded more Fereldan than she had when they first met.

“I do like witnessing history where it’s happening, when it’s happening. You should know it.” Morrigan answered, amusement creeping into her voice in a way that years ago she would never have allowed to. “How did you find me?"

“I really should know, yes.” She laughed. “A nightingale helped me.”

It didn’t matter, now. They both were changed, they both knew. Rare visits too sporadical to really see the progress in its entirety, but enough to ease them both into it, enough not to make it a surprise.

All it mattered, was that Morrigan turned to see Warden-Commander Mahariel, clad in unassuming travelling clothes in brown and green under a black cloak, casually leaning on her windowsill. She looked paler and more tired, her dusky skin had painted with a greyish hue, with dark circles under her eyes and cheekbones well defined. Her smile crinkled the white scars that the Archdemon left in its wake, and even older and more consumed by the Blight, Morrigan still found her beautiful.

She stepped towards her, straightening her spine, hands daintly kept in front of her bust and strutting a little, the becoming image of a Lady clad in burgundy velved and black musselin.

“You’ve gotten worse, I knew there was someone following since this morning.” She chided, no real bite to her words. Not even as a pretense, try as she might.

“Maybe I wanted you to find me.” Alyra answered, gracefully hopping down her perch and walking forward, eyes fixed on hers. They were still as keen as Morrigan left them.

“And yet, the only one who saw you was Kieran.”

“I wanted you to find me… Eventually.”

She stopped right in front of her, so close they were almost touching, half a smile still on her lips in a practiced game of theirs. The first kiss, when they met, was never the elf’s to give. She would come closer, signal her consent, but never step up to take it, always keep half a step, half a centimetre behind. The closing distance was always for Morrigan to fill. It took a while, back in the Blight, to understand that it wasn’t carelessness or just her wanting to aimlessly flirt, on the contrary: It was her way to ask for consent and be sure the Witch actually wanted it. It had irritated her, it still did. She loved her for it, when she humphed and moved forward, filling the distance and pressing her lips on hers.

Colder than she remembered, but still answering readily to the kiss, as her hands found her waist and dragged her closer with a satisfied sigh. There was some urgency in her movement that wasn’t just from the long separation. She grabbed her waist with a tid-bit too much strength, as if she was afraid she would disappear, her lips nibbled at hers with too much urgency, begging for her to open. Uncharacteristically.

So, Morrigan took back her head, after a while, and didn’t yield when the elf tried to pursue, grunting a little in disappointment and holding her tight and as close as she could.

“What happened?” the Witch asked, not stepping away, but knowing better thank mistaking whatever that was for just desire.

All her answer was a sigh, long and dragged, and a forehead coming to rest against hers. For a full minute, she didn’t move, staying there and just basking in her presence, finding words. Morrigan let her, hands travelling up from her shoulders to caress her hair, mindful not to disturb too much the complex game of braids she tied the auburn mass into. She wore them long, since she became the Arlessa.

“I came here to say goodbye. This is but a detour.”

Dread ran down Morrigan’s spine, at those words. She knew Wardens that witness a Blight live even less, but… Ten years alone felt too little. Ten years felt like being robbed. She looked consumed, but not that much. Her eyes, when she opened them just in front of hers, were acute and keen, as per her usual. Riordan had looked watery and far-away, caught in some thought nobody could follow. They had not the same expression, but-

“Don’t make that face.” Alyra stopped her train of thoughts, moving slightly forward to peck another kiss on her lips. Just one, reassuring, before returning forehead against forehead. “It’s not the Calling. It’s just… A desperate mission, I don’t know if I’ll return.”

“More desperate than climbing up a mountain to find the ashes of a dead woman?”

That earned a laugh, bittersweet, and another kiss.

“Tell me about this plan.” Morrigan coaxed her, right after.

They broke the hug, but kept close to each other, as Morrigan brought her in her own room and closed the doors. They made small talk as they shed some layers of clothing to get more comfortable. Alyra took away her cloak, leather vest and boots, and helped her with her corset, unlacing it with care and expertise, and helping her slipping out of the voluminous gown, petticoats and crinoline.

“If Leliana could see you.” Alyra snickered.

“Mythal help me if she ever did, I wouldn’t hear the end of it.”

“She’ll be furious. She doesn’t get to wear many shoes anymore.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“You didn’t meet her?”

“I stay well away from anything smelling of Chantry, for… Obvious reasons.”

“Mh.”

The elf settled on the loveseat in front of the fire, ignoring the plush bed right behind it, and dragged the witch down, gently, by holding her hand, when she was done tying a dressing gown over her waist. They settled, so close that they touched, but still facing each other. Morrigan let her do, let her position herself as she was more comfortable and at ease possible. Whatever it was, it was all but clear it was important and delicate. So, as the witch sat with her legs folded under her, lying on the backrest of the couch, and the Warden in front of her, a leg spread and hooked over the other’s thighs, one arm folded to pillow her head on the backrest and the other hand absent-mindedly playing with Morrigan’s necklaces on her neck, the redhead started to speak.

“I am after a cure for the Blight.” She announced. Nothing more and nothing less than what it was, straight to the point.

“Do you have a trail?” Morrigan asked, trying not to sound too worried over it.

“Avernus’ research brought some results. Even if he keeps complaining about the methods I imposed. I brought you his notes, should you wish to give your opinion.”

“Of course.”

“Nathaniel has the command until I’m gone. If you discover something, report to him. He and Velanna will know what to do.”

“Do you trust an Howe?”

“I do.” She chuckled. “Weird, isn’t it? He is in charge until I’m gone. Vigil’s Keep stays safe for you, should you need it.”

“And thus Warden-Commander Mahariel rides alone in the sunset, to prove anyone daring say she’s just running after ghosts that ghosts can be punched in their teeth if you try hard enough.”

It elicited another laughter, louder than the previous one. She scooted closer, searching for her hand and, when she found it, twining their fingers together and squeezing, in silent gratefulness.

“I’m not letting Anora bear his heir. Not the first one, at least.”

“And here I thought you two got along pretty well.”

“Oh, we do. But you know me.” She surged forward pressing herself flush against the other, lips, as per usual, just a breath away from hers. “I keep biting until I get what I want.”

“I got the idea, yes.” Morrigan smiled, not yet filling the distance.

She cupped the other’s cheek instead, the one where the scars broke the blue line of her Vallaslin, and delighting as the other closed her eyes and leaned in her touch.

“You’re not doing this for him, aren’t you?” Morrigan knew the answer: she could never see Alistair asking for anything of sort, but power changed people, years had passed since she last saw him, let alone spoke to him. And she wasn’t leaving her lover with him, if that was the price. She could forget the Eluvians for a couple of months, enough to go to Denerim and turn him into a frog for real.

Alyra, tho, snorted: not a positive reaction, but the one she wanted to see.

“I’m doing this for me. I wanted children from before I met him, and Kieran would love a younger sibling, he told me. That the father I chose will be happy as well is but a fortunate side effect.”

“You really have the heart of a poet.”

“If any of you wanted a romantic, Leliana was the right Bard, you know.”

She relaxed back again, smiling. That relaxed smile she so rarely donned, even during the Blight, and always felt like a personal victory. Morrigan should remind her that she had food brought up for her that was waiting. They could discuss details and how she could help her over dinner. But since she was there and she could, she just bent forward and kissed her again.

“Where are you headed first?”

“North.” She said, sighing. “The Anderfels.”

“Weisshaupt?”

The smile turned sly, and that was a more usual one.

“I’m sneaking in the First Warden’s private library.”

“Oh, if I could come with you.” Morrigan chortled, imagining the scene. “Has he stopped insisting for you to report?”

“I have no idea, I told Varel to toss his letters in the fireplace if he reads something on that line again. When I left, it had been a couple of months since I last heard from him. My spies didn’t find any Warden army marching our way, so I guess he put his mind at ease.” She huffed and shrugged. She started having troubles with the First Warden from soon after she became Warden-Commander and firmly refused to travel all the way up to the Anderfels to justify herself for being alive, she told her, and Morrigan had been updated on their cold war ever since.

“Or, his attention is elsewhere.”

“I have contacts to write back to Amaranthine, should the worse happens, can I ask you…?”

“I’ll write to Nathaniel, via the usual means.”

“Thank you, Mo.”

She sighed and leaned forward, resting her forehead against her shoulder.

“After Weisshaupt?” Morrigan asked, gently raising her hands to unpin the crown of braids on the back of her lover’s head. One by one, collecting them in her lap as she undid them and three braids slowly fell down.

“After that, off to some far-off entrance to the Deep Roads. Some remnants of the First Blight, I have a map. With some luck, I saw my fair share of Broodmothers and won’t have to even come closer to smell one.”

The elf shivered, and the mage knew that it wasn’t from her hands carefully guiding her braids to rest before her shoulder, tidying them neatly. She started to undo them, one by one, combing her fingers through knots and waves. They saw each other little: their duties kept them apart, and yet this little ritual became ingrained. Morrigan would undo Alyra’s hair, and then Alyra would unlatch Morrigan’s jewels, one by one, before slipping in the same bed. The little things that gave them both the illusion that whatever they had was an habit, was normal, that they had all the time in the world and not stolen moments.

“My my my, the Hero of Ferelden scared of something!” She joked, for the hundredth time.

“Hush.” Alyra swatted her, without any real effort. “Those things give me the creeps. They’re just… Wrong.”

“One could argue that no Darskpawn is exactly right.”

“One never had to dispatch two Broodmothers. One of which was talking. Those things shouldn’t talk. I don’t want to see one ever again.”

“Even if it won’t talk?”

“Can we stop talking of Broodmothers? It was supposed to be a pleasant evening.”

Morrigan laughed, sweeping the mass of hair behind her back and snaking her arms around the other woman’s neck, to hug her. It was refreshing, to give in to some tenderness and sincerity once in a while. It was refreshing, to have Alyra’s back there in her arms, sighing contently and holding her close with hands on the small of her back, nose in the crook of her neck and planting lazy kisses on the trapeze.

“Will you and Kieran be fine?”

“Worry not for us. I can take care of us.”

“I know. But let me worry.”

“Worry by writing. He’ll be happy to hear your adventures. The stories about you are his favourites.”

“He stormed me in questions, this afternoon. I fear he learnt very little about Emperor Drakon’s reign, but he knows everything about the werewolves in the Brecilian Forest, now.”

“Of course he had.”

“He’s such a good child.”

And there there was: regret. The slight hint of it that she allowed herself to show, and just with Morrigan, when all her barriers were down. She clutched her closer, the old wound they both sported closed but never really healed. She caressed her hair, in silence, offering support and the acceptance she knew the other needed, right now. There were no words to spare: they both had chosen, they both knew that it had to be this way. So, they both let it end with that, in a hug. A hug that said I’m sorry and I know and It’s ok like it is. There was time, for now, for closer expressions of affection, for finally tackling that dinner, for everything else.

“How long ere you leave?”

“Three days.”

They got, indeed, time, and there was only them in that room, warded and protected by ancient glyphs and spells. They could leave their hard shells out for a while.

#dragon age #dragon age fic #mahariel x morrigan #ficlet #lgbtq+#alyra mahariel #writing petrel #she's a young Yzma really #“You should have THOUGHT before becoming a Guerrin.”#she's a Bard but she just composes drinking songs

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calico-callista · 1 year

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#dragon age #dragon age origins #world state 1 #Bran Mahariel #Morrigan #couple art #mahariel x morrigan #grey Warden #apostate #dalish #elf #portrait art #digital art

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thiefbird · 2 years

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Welcome to dadwc friend!!! I would love to see your darling Dirthail telling someone off. Fierce warden vibes all day. 😌

One dose of yelling at Wynne coming up!

@dadrunkwriting

~~~

"You and she are very close, aren't you?" Wynne mentioned as Dirthail approached from Morrigan's fire. Dirth hummed noncommittally, trying to step around her. Wynne caught him by the shoulder and tugged him into her tent.

"Do not ignore me, young man," she scolded. Busybody old biddy.

Dirth sneered at her. "My apologies, Wynne, I didn't see you there, however can I help you?"

Wynne scoffed. "You and the... apostate. You're quite taken with each other."

"And what business is it of yours, how I spend my time?" Dirth all but spat.

"She's hardly discrete," Wynne complained, crossing her arms. "The way she looks at you, it's as though she's completely forgotten there's anything of you above the waist."

Dirthail snorted. "And? Creators take you, do you mean to deny me my fun?"

"Oh, sweet Maker," Wynne said, blessing herself with a gesture. "Is a little decorum from you two too much to ask?"

"Probably more likely to get it from Zevran," Dirth muttered caustically.

Wynne pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing. "Moving on. I noticed your... blossoming relationship, and I wanted to ask you where you thought it was going."

Dirth gave her a disbelieving look as she continued. "She is a cunning woman, a maleficar. She will use you for her own ends."

Rolling his eyes, Dirth turned away from her. "Morrigan and I understand each other, which is more than you can say about anyone, I warrant."

Wynne's eyes flashed angrily, and Dirth could feel the tingle of her connection to the Fade flaring. "Do not dare to assume my experiences, young man! I am trying to tell you what I see, what my instincts tell me. Even if your feelings for the witch are genuine, that does not make it good."

"Because she isn't one of your passive Circle mages?! Because she has more of the Fade in her finger than in your entire miserable, spirit-taken form?" Dirth shouted, enraged. Creators, but she was infuriating.. .everything he hated of the shemlen packed into an old woman, that was Wynne.

"Because you are a Grey Warden! You have responsibilities which supersede your personal desires, you impertinent child!" Wynne was seething, Dirth could feel it in the waves of mana flowing from her.

"You are not my Void taken commander, Wynne. You are here under my command. Do not lecture me about my responsibilities!"

Sneering, Wynne turned away. "If talk of your responsibilities bothers you, you are entirely too much of a child to have any sort of intimate relationship," she said snidely.

Dirth stared at her, wide-eyed. "I'm too much of a child? Coming from you, who cannot even find her own supper without a Tranquil slave to fetch it for her? Keep your judgements to yourself, Wynne. I do not wish to hear them." He spun on the spot and stormed from her tent.

How dare she tell him his business? How dare she tell him he was a child when he had survived so much? He whistled for Barkspawn to stay, ignoring his whine of protest, and headed into the woods around camp.

Dirthail walked for half an hour or so, seething, till he found a small stream. Stripping off his armor and clothes, he stepped in, hissing at the cold on his bare legs. It wasn't deep enough for swimming, but he lay down and rested his head on the bank, freezing the anger out.

Wynne was too important to the party. Morrigan only knew a small amount of healing magics, and they couldn't continue burning through healing potions and poultices the way they had before. He would have to apologise for shouting, to keep the peace.

Frustrated with the whole situation. he slammed the back of his head against the rock beneath it a few times, before he was caught by big, warm hands. Alistair gently lowered him down, looking concerned.

"Wynne?"

Dirth scrubbed a palm over his face. "Creators, was I that loud?" he asked, sitting up and shivering.

"I'm not sure if your Creators heard you, but the Maker probably did," Alistair teased. Dirth chuckled.

Alistair helped him out of the stream, wrapping him in a blanket. They settled beside the stream on an old stump, Dirth leaning tiredly against his fellow Warden. "So what was that blowup about?" Alistair asked after a while.

"Apparently a Warden shouldn't do anything other than be miserable." Dirth huffed. "I'm surprised she waited so long to say anything, Creators know she hates Morrigan. Worse than you, even."

Alistair tensed at the mention of Morrigan. "I don't hate her, I'm just... a reasonable amount of concerned she'll turn me into a toad," he said with a forced laugh, pulling away from Dirthail slightly. Dirth sat up, giving him space, but Alistair tugged him back with an arm around his shoulder after a few seconds.

"Well, Wynne does hate her, and she's our best-"

"Our only-"

"Our only healer," Dirth corrected. Morrigan was starting to pick it up from watching Wynne, but the old bat refused to actually teach her. "I'll have to apologise."

Alistair made a sympathetic face. "She... is a lot, sometimes. But I think she means well?"

"Well, she likes you," Dirth groused. "Void take me if she ever finds out I'm technically an apostate, not just fucking one."

Alistair's ears flushed red at Dirth's language, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. He was so easy to embarrass, and so cute when he was flustered; Dirth couldn't help himself.

Eventually, his shivers subsided, and they both headed back to camp. "Thank you for coming after me," Dirth murmured softly as they were petting Barkspawn.

"That's what friends do, right?" Alistair said cheerfully. Dirth tried to ignore the pang that statement sent through him, and grinned up at Alistair. "Still, thank you. You're..." Important to me? Beautiful? "A good friend."

Alistair flushed, ducking his head with a pleased smile. "So are you, Dirth."

#Dirthail Mahariel #dirthail x morrigan #dirthail x alistair #warden x morrigan #warden x alistair #mahariel x alistair #mahariel x morrigan #dadwc #da drunk writing circle #dao #dao fanfic #dragon age origins #dragon age origins fanfic

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vikinggirl3 · 1 year

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(4/7)

This is Theval Mahariel, Dalish Elf. Rouge, uses a Bow and Arrows. Romances Morrigan. Ranger.

#dragon age #grey warden #dragon age aesthetic #dragon age origins #warden mahariel #warden x morrigan #mahariel x morrigan #All Wardens Survive AU #oc: Theval Mahariel

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pumpkinlass · 1 year

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Than come, my love. We will face the future together

#dragon age origins #dragon age #dao #morrigan #morrigan x warden #warden mahariel #pumpkin draws

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lomakes · 28 days

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the trials of being married to a ranger with his animal bffs and his shapeshifting sometimes-gf

#zevwarden #zevran x warden #warden x morrigan #mahariel #celyn mahariel #dragon age #dao #da fanart #zev like the wolf I can deal with the bear takes up a lotta space but ig it’s warm??#The spider?????#MORRIGAN IS THE SPIDER???#zevran arainai #morrigan

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milton-chamberlain · 9 months

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Morrigan: You are still impossibly frustrating, Zevran.

Zevran: I do. And it is still part of my charm!

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ammoniteflesh · 3 months

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I commissioned this incredible art of Ghila and Morrigan from @chimeowrical!!!!! 😭🤩❤️ They were so good to work with, I would 100% recommend commissioning them!

If you wanna see more of these two, pls check out my fic, The Path of Aching Blood:

#speak faust #ghila mahariel #ghila x morrigan #da #dragon age #morriwarden #morrigan x mahariel #morrigan #warden mahariel

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maintitle · 3 months

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TABLE OF CONTENTS FOR Ao3 WORKS:

Series:

The Journals & Journeys Of Warden Commander Vehra Mahariel: A DA:O Morrigan/Mahariel-centric series about my canon Warden. (Complete.)

The Journals & Journeys Of Lyla Hawke, Champion Of Kirkwall: A DA2 FemHawke/Merrill-centric series about my canon Hawke. (Complete.)

The Journals & Journeys Of Inquisitor Hissera Adaar: A DA:I FemAdaar/Josephine-centric series about my canon Inquisitor. (Complete.)

When Life Has Meaning, Death Will Beckon: A Sadie Adler/Bonnie MacFarlane tragic romance set after the events of RDR1. (Last updated 1/21/24.)

All New, All Different Drew!: A 1610 Jessica Drew Series where she transplants to 616 and tries to live a normal life. (Last updated 2/2/24)

AKA Overworking: A 616 Jessica Jones series (Last updated 3/18/22)

SHORT STORIES:

The Grasping Claws Of Panic: Jessica Jones has a nightmare-induced panic attack.

Skin Etched In Violet: How can Jessica Jones live with herself, knowing her daughter is purple?

Home Is Not Home: Piotr Rasputin returns home for the last time.

A Dry Palette: Piotr Rasputin reflects on a nightmarish last few years.

My Name Is Scanlan Shorthalt: Scanlan Shorthalt writes his final story.

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dreadfutures · 1 year

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FOR ART PROMPTS??? stomach, for Halevune x Morrigan? 🥺

Halevune Mahariel x Morrigan during the Blight, the babieeees

From this meme

#my wip art #mahariel x morrigan #warden x morrigan #halevune mahariel #nothing untoward happening here at all

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thatonedalish · 13 days

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#dragon age fanart #dragon age #dragon age art #warden mahariel #dragon age morrigan #morrigan x warden #dragon age origins #da:o

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greypetrel · 3 months

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Welcome home kisses from the touches prompt list!

Hi Mo! ✨

Thank you for asking! This sent me in a flurry, I won’t lie. Meaning: I had three different ideas, half wrote two, and eventually decided with the angstiest one. Also because Alyra is one I write less so she needs more affection.

And nothing, some shenanigans post Fort Drakon, playing Denerim as a Mahariel is just… Nasty. If you’re romancing Alistair it’s the first place where you see the cracks. I hope you’ll enjoy! 😊

Tis the prompt list

The Only Possible Choice.

[ Dragon Age: Origins, post “Captured!”, Warden and Alistair runs on their own | Female Mahariel x Morrigan – hints of Female Mahariel x Alistair -go poly or go home | 3333 words ]

Kisses – 11. welcome home kisses

Did you ever feel your heart stopping? Did you ever feel like a moth drawn to a flame? It's time to put on your lifejacket 'Cause I'm about to step up the game, oh - Kamikaze, Susanne Sundfør

She was absolutely furious. Seething with rage and a thousand “I told you so”.

Because oh, she had told them it would have ended up like that. They just had to spent a night in Fort Drakon, lose most of their armours and weapons and tools and escape through the skin of their teeth. Better than she would have thought, which was a quick execution and their bodies thrown to the pigs to get rid of the evidence. She would have done it, but Loghain was apparently slower than she would have been. A meagre consolation.

Anora was a royal bitch, and she tricked them. Almost jeopardized not only that mission, but the fucking war. And Alistair had the guts of saying she should calm down, that they had to rescue her.

Had to.

For all Alyra cared, she could have rotten in a cell and freed them of another arrow in her father’s quiver.

For all her silver tongue, she didn’t know how to explain to the Landsmeet having escaped from Fort Drakon without looking like a savage who cared not for their laws and rules and could easily decide to jump over them.

And all around her people told her to stay calm and get to better counsels and speak with the Queen.

Creators, she would speak with the bitch to curse her thrice before killing her. Her father could watch.

What angered her the most was that Alistair took the side of the asshole he called uncle, in treating her like she was but an unruly child who understood badly the rules this world followed.

It didn’t cost him so much thought to leave command fully to the unruly child that didn’t know the rules. And he had the audacity to ask her not to be angry at him.

He had paid her very little attention in the last weeks since they arrived in Denerim, looked only at his uncle, shadowed him like a lost duckling who finally found his. He left her explore the city, investigate, move to gain them support all on her own, facing the Alienage and the merry band of slavers hidden between with just Zevran, Leliana and Morrigan at her side. Saving Anora had been the first task he didn’t invent excuses not to participate, and that was the one task Alyra didn’t want to pull through.

What was worse was that she was right. Dalish and all, not knowing the rules fully, but she had been right. Anora sold them both off to save her own filthy skin, and now they had to pay the consequences.

And Alistair told her to stay calm, that she had no reason getting angry, she would have done the same and she knew it. She was overreacting, and he defended his uncle against her.

His uncle who made him sleep with the dogs. His uncle who threw him away to the Templars when his new wife asked him to.

She told him things she didn’t want to tell him, and retreated in her room. Kicked Stan out of it, because she really didn’t want to put up with anyone, this evening.

She just wanted to take off the accursed boots and nasty clothes she donned, jump in a bath to scrub the prison and the feeling of wearing someone else’s dirty clothes, and retaliate redecorating the room with her knives. Those curtains were ugly.

She managed up to the bath, scrubbing herself raw with a piece of soap and a rag, until her skin reddened and felt sensible, cleaned and combed her hair carefully.

As she was still combing her hair with a finer comb and finally starting to relax minutely with the gesture, someone knocked on her door.

Alyra huffed and ignored it. She was dressed but in a robe, humans and Andrastians were bashful about being undress, and she just wanted to be left alone. It was almost a year since she had left the clan and started to solve other people’s problems, they could leave her an evening of quiet and sulking in peace.

Apparently, they really couldn’t.

Knock knock knock.

It grew more insisting. Alyra ignored it again, hopping on her feet and heading to the desk, as her fingers worked to braid red locks sprouting over her left ear.

Knock knock knock knock knock knock.

The mysterious pesterer sped the rhythm up, growing more frantical at each hit on the wood.

“Coming.” She groaned aloud, understanding that she wouldn’t have gotten rid of anyone there without being vocal about it.

Whatever anger she lost in the bathtub and doing her hair was instantly gained all over again. And with some extra at the idea that out there was Alistair, wishing to continue any further with the shitshow of blaming the other. Which was probably the last thing she wanted to do, right there and then. She clenched her hand on the handle and opened the door to the corridor abruptly, sneering at whomever was there.

“I hope it’s important.”

She hissed, before fully realizing who was on the other side exactly.

She met with Morrigan, hand still raised in gesture and looking at her with a weird expression on her face. One Alyra had never seen her sporting.

Considering she was alone, she didn’t want her there either: she tried, and tried and tried to flirt and get somewhere with her, but to no avail. If whatever they may have was friendship and companionship, she could accept it and gladly so… but not now.

Now, she stood there, looking at her like one would a mythological creature. A manticore ready to bite. She said nothing.

And because it was Morrigan, Alyra took a deep breath and spoke first.

“I am sorry. But if it’s not important, I am tired.”

“Tis important enough.” Morrigan answered, in that serious briskness that admitted just a yes.

Alyra moved to leave her space enough to enter her room. Closed the door all over again, knowing that whatever she wanted to tell her wasn’t something either of them would have liked to share with the first scullery maid that walked their way. She stayed on the door, leaving the other woman space. Not that she personally liked the space, not with her. But she knew cornering the other wouldn’t have led to good results, as it never did before save having her recoil on herself and get further away. Plus, it wasn’t the moment to stoke on whatever tension was going on between them. It really wasn’t the moment.

She leant on the door and started to absent-mindedly braid her hair and pretending she wasn’t aware of her guest pacing in the room with a frustrated gait.

“Why did you do it?” Morrigan asked, and she was angry about it, tho she tried to contain it.

“I did a lot of things, you need to be more specific.” She ended one little braid over her left ear and picked three locks from above the right one, getting back to work.

“You escaped from the prison without waiting for help. Do you realise how-”

“Yes, Morrigan, I do realize that was a risky endeavour that could have gotten us in even more troubles than what we already were in.” she interrupted her, letting irritation seep into her voice.

She didn’t want to take it out on her, she knew the other was just worried, but she had had the same argument with Eamon and she wasn’t keen in losing even more time discussing over something that couldn’t be changed.

“After careful considerations on my part, I realised that the only way to get out of that prison, seen the current political situation, was to escape from it. It worked, we’re both here, I already was made present it was a stupid move, as if asking Loghain to please release the Wardens he’s been hunting down for a year wasn’t even more stupid.” She explained, finishing the second braid and picking other three locks above the first. She used them to form a third braid, with another plain lock, and adding hair to each section at each crossing. “I already lost enough time over this argument, if that’s all you needed to tell me, Eamon beat you to it and I won’t listen to the same thing twice.”

They glared at each other for a minute, no one ready to lower their eyes first. Alyra stopped blinking, even, to show resolve. If that move was enough to destabilize most people, it wasn’t enough for Morrigan. It never had been, and the other just snorted at her as soon as she realize what she was doing, unimpressed. The witch stepped towards her, glaring more.

“You don’t understand. There’s more at stake than you think, you cannot do these things.”

“More at stake than I think?” Alyra hissed, letting the finished braid down with a vengeance. “Oh, you mean more than Ferelden falling into a full scale civil war, that will just be stopped by the fucking zombie invasion and rabid dragon we didn’t stop? You mean more than the Blight crawling across the Frostback and taking the world unprepared? More than that? I am sorry I didn’t consider it, in my humble and limited knowledge of the world. You was so less sheltered than I was.”

That hit her. That hit her low, and the worse thing was that Alyra knew it would have. She looked at her with fury, now, fire blazing from her golden eyes. She wanted to kiss her, bad. They got close in the argument. Too close, the witch was standing but a step in front of her, chest heaving as she got her breath back.

“You don’t understand.” Morrigan just told her.

“Help me, then.” Alyra prodded. “What am I missing?”

She shifted forward at that, not pressing directly into the other, not touching, but getting closer, and not leaving her eyes from hers. She heard the mage catch her breath, saw her eyes fall down on her lips, on the cleavage that her robe let peek out.

Morrigan groaned, frustrated, and turned her back at her, stepping back into the room. As Alyra knew she would have had. It wasn’t surprising. It wasn’t exactly the first time she pulled a similar stunt, getting closer and waiting for the other to decide whether to step forward or back, waiting for consent. And every time it ended like that. She looked down, there and then, and stepped to the other side of the room, leaning over the desk and shuffling the papers on it. Notes, schemes and maps, summaries of books she had taken from the library in the estate, trying to get a quick grip on Fereldan politics and how a Landsmeet even worked without relying on Eamon or his idiot of a brother too much.

Going on with her evening as if Morrigan wasn’t there.

She had shared the room with her since they arrived, after all, it wasn’t anything strange. The difference was that they were both in a mood, right now, both too stubborn to step out of it.

Alyra considered asking her to please find another place to sleep, tonight. Or to go herself to crack in Leliana’s room. There was just a certain amount of rejection she could stomach, for a day, and she needed to get a grip on herself and set her life back on track. If with the mage currently pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, hugging herself somewhat protectively, all that ever would be was a friendship, a too-close one at that, that was fine. But she needed at least one night of peace to set her mind to it.

In any case, she needed warmer clothes on. She huffed in disappointment, as another shiver ran down her spine, reminding her that she was underdressed for the weather and those large rooms were impossible to warm up properly.

Her notes got collected in one neat pile she tapped thrice on the desk, and left down on it, caring for the bottom to be parallel to the edge of the table. And then she moved, still ignoring her roommate. She could stare at the fire all she wanted, Alyra didn’t care. Maybe the fire knew what she was missing.

She made it to the dresser and to open a drawer, before Morrigan spoke again.

“There is one thing I cannot tell you.”

Every word fell out of her lips like a stone sinking in a clear pond, heavy and slow.

“You don’t trust me.” Alyra concluded. It stung, quite a lot.

“Tis not that.”

“What is it, then?” She picked up her clothes, choosing with a calm she didn’t feel. Honestly, she was tired and she just wished everyone would leave her alone.

She didn’t look at the other, walking to the screen to get changed. At least the floor was protected by carpets, so walking barefoot wasn’t that unpleasant. But she didn’t make it to the screen.

Morrigan caught her arm, and she reacted by instinct. She pulled her arm back and pivoted on it, to get free and away. As skilled as a mage that she was, physically she was no match: in a moment, Alyra was free and facing the other, and a safe three steps away, instinctively in a fighting stance with bent knees, ready to jump.

“I didn’t tell you because you wouldn’t have believed me, or you would have gone away, or sent me away. I couldn’t risk it at first. And then… Things got complicated.”

“Complicated.”

“Yes.” She frowned harder, cheeks taking some colour. “I… I will tell you. But not now.”

“Are you going to stab me in the back?”

“On the contrary. Not any more than you did escaping on your own.”

Alyra snorted again, not understanding what even was the point of that conversation. Why she couldn’t tell her… Whatever it was that she was keeping secret. She glared at her, rage renewed past disappointment and rejection.

“What do you want, Morrigan?” She straightened her back, and even if at full height she couldn’t reach her, she put all her dignity up. “I’m out of my patience, if you want to tell me I’m a traitor because I am here, you can go gossip about me with Wynne, Eamon and Alistair, finally there’s one thing you can all agree upon.”

She turned her back and went again to the screen, not hunching down, minding her steps to be as elegant and dignified as she can. Not let her think she hurt you. Never that.

But it served her nothing: her arm was grabbed again, more forcefully this time. When Alyra again tried to set herself free, tho, Morrigan was ready. As soon as she turned to face the other woman, her other arm was equally grabbed, and she was pushed back, taking advantage of the turning to set her out of balance and surprised.

Her back was on the stone of the wall in moments, and Morrigan was there, close as ever, glaring at her.

“Thou worried me. I fear they’ll come and get thee and thou’ll get justiced without a sentence, this time. That was such a stupid thing to do, and I believed thou were more intelligent than that.”

“That was the only possible choice.”

“We were organizing a rescue party. Leliana and I-”

“No.”

Mahariel snapped her hands forward at that. The very idea she was just proposed made her blood boil. Knowing that Morrigan of all people was acting on it… She closed her fingers on the witch’s arms and pushed, hooking an ankle behind hers to make her loose balance and have her way more easily. It was fairly easy, then, to turn their positions around and have Morrigan pressed upon the wall, with her pinning her in position. She stepped even forward, keeping her blocked by pressing her hips on hers. She glared at few centimetres from her face.

“I already let one person I loved die for my sake. I couldn’t save Tamlen, but I’ll be dead before I’ll let the same happen to you, you understand?” She snapped. “Not waiting for you to enter Fort Drakon to get me out was the only possible choice.”

She declared, and they were there. Chest to chest, breathing heavily. Morrigan smelled of smoke and firewood and pines. And her expression had grown harsher at her words. Alyra didn’t care. But Alyra, maybe, wasn’t as intelligent as she was considered. She shifted her head slightly forward towards the other’s, stopping a breath away from Morrigan’s lips. She wanted consent, and she wouldn’t move any further.

“Why don’t you ever kiss me?” Morrigan asked, turning crimson at the question but stubbornly refusing to shy away.

“You don’t kiss me either.” She pointed out, ghosting her lips over the other’s, encouraged by how she wasn’t trying to move away, this time. It would have hurt more when the mage would have eventually pulled away, but she didn’t care, right now. All she cared about was that she was there, her presence and her smell comforting, and she wanted that consent. So bad. “Why were you worried?”

“I-” The Witch swallowed, breath catching and chin lifting up, following the other for a moment. “-The idiot…”

“Alistair knows.” She told her. “I told him we wouldn’t have been exclusives from the start. And besides, he doesn’t want me, these days.”

It stung, but it stung a little less, right there and then, pressed snugly against Morrigan, her lips so, so close. She held on, but she was moments away from begging.

“He’s a fool.”

“Do you want me?” Alyra cut her short. Alistair was right now the last person she wanted to think about.

Well, one of the last ones.

But she observed Morrigan biting her lower lip, and it just made her want to kiss it better so, so bad. But no. Consent. The last distance was for the other to fill. She cajoled and manipulated her way through Ferelden, but she would never do the same in a bedroom. Particularly with Morrigan, who had been her friend and the one that didn’t mind the cajoling and manipulations and daggers. She was pinning her in place, but not trapping her. Never that. She felt trapped for most of her life to know what it felt like.

“I wanted to welcome you home.” Morrigan admitted, finally, as it was a challenge.

“I’m right here.” Alyra challenged her back, taking her for measure. As she did for the start. As they both did with the other from the very beginning.

Morrigan huffed from her nose, in frustration, and surged forward, pressing her lips on hers.

Alyra would have whined, had she less self-control than she had. Months and months of waiting, and finally that was it.

She kissed her back, pushing her head against the wall and titling her own for a better reach. She tasted like smoke and like the woods and her hands were clumsy on her face. She raised hers to cup the others and redirect them on her cheeks, placing her better. For all her sharp tongue, it was clear she wasn’t that experienced, if any at all.

After a while, they both parted to gasp for air, breathing heavily, some of the frustration and anger disappeared. She never looked so good, Alyra thought, and wonder how much better could she exactly looked if she just could manage to kiss her longer harder, until her lips grew red and swollen, how much more her hair would get ruffled with enough fingers through it.

“Welcome home.”

Morrigan said, and Alyra took another kiss in all answer.

A whine escaped Morrigan’s lips as she gently bit her lower lip, hands slipping on the small of her back to press her flush against her, and that was how she knew that she won the hunt.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age fic #da fic #female mahariel x morrigan #mahariel x morrigan #warden x morrigan #first kiss #writing petrel #alyra mahariel #I deleted some words to keep the word count to 3333? You bet I did uwu #The Denerim part as a Mahariel romancing Alistair is A SHITSHOW #Like #OUCH #the only triangle admitted here is a poly one #(Alistair knows she was extremely clear from the start don't worry)

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