#and there’s something i quite like about her very normality to say a cousland’s eyes being so startling and out of place | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

branwen-lavellan · 4 years

Text

Love Bites

ZevranXCousland for @14daysofdalovers. NSFW.

It had been some time since Zevran had come to Odette’s tent, but he hadn’t been sure then. He hadn’t known what his feelings meant. He hadn’t known if she’d return them, or if their relationship was just sex to her. Now, he knew: whatever it was that he felt, whatever existed between them was real. It went way deeper than sex, and she felt it too.

He pressed down on top of her, and she bucked her hips into him and pulled at his shirt. He understood. It had been many nights, and he felt equally desperate for her.

He laughed. “You are certainly eager, Mi Amor.”

“Just shut up and fuck me!” she snarled.

Normally, that would have driven him wild, but so much had changed for him. He pulled back, pushing to his knees and crawling off of her.

Odette jumped up to a sitting position, her knees drawn in, a scowl on her face. “So I guess we’re not doing this, then?” she said.

Zevran was truly baffled. He hadn’t meant to end the night, just to shift, to talk a moment, to figure out what exactly was going on between them. In all his years as both an assassin and a lover, never once had he made a mistake that felt as fatal as pulling back just now had been. He shook his head. “Can we not talk?”

She didn’t meet his gaze. “What is there to talk about?”

“Odette-“. He paused. She was a woman who nursed pain with anger. He knew that well, and so he knew he had to choose his next words carefully. After what felt like ages, he settled on, “you know I love you, yes?” He said it with the lilt he normally carried in his voice - that sing-song tone that he had cultivated as a front so that the world would think he didn’t have a care.

Odette looked up at him and the scowl on her face relaxed. He had that effect on her. It was why she was in his tent now and not Alistair’s, even though he had promised his unyielding love through the symbol of a rose. Odette wasn’t looking for promises, because she didn’t believe that she had a future. It was only in the past few weeks, only after surviving a fight with Rendon Howe and bringing about his death that she had begun to question what the future might hold. But Zevran had no clear plans for the future either, and he never showed that it bothered him. He’d learned that Odette’s attraction to him was, in part, that she wanted to be like him. She wanted to look on the dark cruel world with a smile.

A smile or a scowl, both were just defense mechanisms. She would learn that in time. He would help if he could. But he was only just now working through his own trauma. He wasn’t what she needed, but he would have to do.

He looked into her face, the scowl gone, but replaced with cold stoicism. His Amor had many strong suits, but vulnerability was not one of them.

“If you know I love you, why would you assume that’d I’d leave now?”

She shrugged, and the scowl returned. “I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you haven’t come to my bed in a week has something to do with it.”

He scooted closer with a laugh. “Did I not tell you that I just wanted to be sure, first? Well, as I’ve said, I have never been more sure of anything in my life. I know exactly where I want to be, and, for the first time, I have the freedom to be there. And there is here - right here. With you.”

She huffed, and for just a brief second, he saw her cold exterior crack. It wasn’t much, but through it he glimpsed the pain, the grief of her loss, the insecurity, the fear, and that little spark of love and passion that he’d learned to coax out of her.

He continued his work, hoping to pry it open. He scooted closer, brushing his nose against hers. “I have quite a lot to say on the matter, and I have no intention of ‘shutting up,’ as you put it. Now, the fucking, that can be arranged.”

She giggled, but only a little. “Sorry,” she said, hanging her head, pulling back from him. “I just-“

“Say it, Amor.”

She gulped. “I want you so badly sometimes, I forget myself.”

She scooted back a hair and folded her arms around her knees, which she had pulled tightly to her chest. His brave Warden, their seemingly fearless leader, who always kept her cool, who was strong for each and every one of them when they couldn’t find the strength themselves, was gone. Before him sat the real Odette Cousland, a person that, to his knowledge, only he had ever met. She seemed smaller when the front was gone, and she looked older and so dreadfully tired. She was only nineteen, so incredibly young. He had a good eight years on her. Yet, in these moments, she looked older than him. He always thought that he’d been through so much, that he’d suffered so much, but he realized now that, despite the horror he’d seen, he was lucky to have very few memories of his life before the Crows. It was the knowledge of what she’d lost that left her so distraught. He hadn’t known her before, but he suspected that whoever she had been had died at Howe’s hands along with her father and mother.

“What else?”

Her lip trembled. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of wasting time.”

“Wasting time?”

“How many times have we faced death in the last week?” she asked, “how many more times will we be able to do this before-“

“No, mi Amor,” he said, brushing her blonde hair behind her ear, revealing his earring. “A month ago, I could not have told you what tomorrow will hold, but now I know that it holds a future for you and me, yes?”

“Where will we go?”

“Why, anywhere we want!”

“What will we do?”

“Anything we want. And,” he said with a wiggle of his brows, “I suspect each other. A lot.”

She looked down at her hands, still healing from the number she’d done on that tree. Her face contorted, and her eyes grew wide in horror. “And when I hear it? My calling?”

He pulled her close and held her. “Then you and I will face the Deep together, my love.”

She broke his embrace only to reach his lips, to drink him in. He lowered her down to her furs once again, and she scooted into position beneath him. He rutted into her, but this time was met with the slow grind of her hips.

He pulled away from her lips and shifted down until his lips met her neck. “We have time,” he said, between planting kisses. “We will make time.”

She panted under him, and her fingers knotted into his hair.

He bore down harder, letting his kisses linger at first, then sucking and nibbling, having every intention to leave a mark. She moaned beneath him.

“Tell me,” she cried, “ tell me what we’ll do when this is over.”

He licked a stripe up her neck, then nibbled the lobe of her ear. She yelped as he pulled away, her lobe trapped between his teeth before it snapped out of his grasp. “I’ll take you to Antiva.”

“Yes,” she sighed.

He popped open the buttons of her tunic one by one, slowly, teasingly, as he returned to her neck. He bit down harder, and she gasped, pulling his hair so hard it brought tears to his eyes. He loved it.

“More,” she said, “tell me more.”

“We‘ll eat Oysters by the docks,” he said, “they do wonders for the sex drive.”

Her tunic now open, he wrapped his arm around her and lifted her just long enough for her to shrug it off. Then she pulled at the string of her brassiere until it came loose. She ripped it off and chucked it away. He laid her back down, trailing his love bites down her neck, over her collar bone, finally coming to rest at her left breast.

“Maker!” she cried, “oh fuck! What else?”

He reached a hand down to her trousers and began to untie them. “I will get you drunk on Antivan wine. We will stay in the finest inns with silk sheets and balconies that overlook the sea.” He slipped his hand into her untied trousers and searched until he found his prize. He slipped his fingers over her clit with ease and pulled free again -ever the tease- to find that they were coated in her slick wetness.

“Maker, don’t stop!”

His patience was waning, to his shame. He tugged her pants free and shed his own clothes as quickly as he could, then wasted no time in sliding into her. She arched at his entry and opened easily for him.

“Keep talking!” she said.

“I will take you like this again and again and again under the Antivan stars!”

“Yes!” She moaned.

He pulled her closer, and returned to his spot on her neck, breaking free only to tell her his plans. “We will rid the world of the Crows, together. We will cut them down one by one.”

Her nails scraped down his back.

“We will return once more to your family home and restore it to its former glory.”

She sobbed, with pleasure or grief, he couldn’t tell, but he kept going. “We’ll travel to Orlais and revel in their finery. I'll take you to the Grand Tourney in the Marches. We’ll see the Necropolis in Nevarra. We’ll see the world.”

He was nearing his climax. He could feel the heat building in his loins. Based on the way Odette’s eyes were squeezed shut and the way her mouth hung open, so was she.

“And?” she screamed.

He came hard. He saw white, and his whole body tensed till his muscles shook. He didn’t think about what he said, he just let the words pour forth without reservation, stammered in the heat of his ecstacy. “I’ll marry you,” he said. As the wave of his orgasm subsided, he felt her clench around him and knew she, too, had reached her peak. He continued thrusting into her, over and over as she came, her face contorted into a silent scream. “I’ll marry you. In a Chantry. Before our friends. Before the Maker.”

Something stirred in him like the holy flames of Andrate’s pyre in his chest. His future was illuminated by its flames. He would wed her, an act that he never could have dreamed possible before, but now was the only path he could envision himself walking. He clung to her and began to laugh, a true laugh. He had nothing to conceal, no pain to ease. Just pure joy.

Odette smiled beneath him, and the tiredness and age and pain melted from her face. “Marriage, huh? I didn’t think you were the type.”

“Is that a no?” He laughed.

“Not at all,” she said. She nipped at his ear this time with a grin. “And Antiva sounds perfect.”

#zevran arainai #zevran x cousland #zevran #odette cousland #cousland #dragon age #dragon age origins #14DALovers #zevran x warden #zevranxcousland

57 notes · View notes

trvelyans-archive · 4 years

Text

past and present

a comm for the wonderful @dauntless-necromancer of morrigan and kieran and their warden elrich cousland <3 thank you for commissioning me !

also for context because i didn’t post the first one, in this fic morrigan and kieran live in the mountains while elrich is searching for a cure for the calling ! and kieran’s a teen now, iconic ! i hope you enjoy !!! <3

It was just supposed to be a walk.

Kieran often walked across the mountain vistas surrounding his and Mother’s new home – it was his only escape whenever they were in an argument or she needed a few hours alone after receiving another letter from Father with bad news. He had a few paths he liked to walk the most, but sometimes he explored a little further than the last time; a little higher up the cliffs than he was able to reach when he was younger.

He was 19 after all, now, and growing into his own. He was a short child – he hadn’t been taller than Mother until he was 14 or 15 - but now that he was (finally) an adult, he was gangly. (At least that’s what Mother said.) He had strong arms and legs, plenty strong enough to be able to pull himself up and over the higher ledges on the mountains, but they looked thin and ropy, and Mother always told him that he was much stronger than anyone would ever assume he was at a glance.

“Which isn’t entirely a bad thing,” she’d said after, kissing him on the forehead as she brushed past him to reach the cupboards where they stored their herbs while they two of them made dinner. “It will be much easier for you to take them by surprise that way, after all.”

She said that with a twinkle in her eye, then, and that always made everything better.

Today, though, things were different. Kieran left in a huff after they’d gotten into another one of those arguments they seemed to have every couple of days at that point – there were messages and letters from Father that Mother sometimes kept quiet despite Kieran practically begging to see them, and he had had enough. He wanted promises too, after all. He wanted Father to tell him that he was okay, that things were okay, that he would return to his family one day soon when his work was finished. He didn’t want to hear it from Mother – of course she would tell him that. She would do everything for him.

Or… most things, at least. Except read him Father’s letters or let him write one of his own in return.

So he left, wrapped up in his favourite cloak with a full waterskin, a pack full of food, and a journal that Father had sent him several years, and Mother stood at the doorway, watching him go with a frown on her face. He was entirely intent on returning before evening fell – because, really, there was no where to go - when he found himself stuck in the middle of a blizzard.

A few years ago, when he was younger, he would have been much more scared of being stuck out in the snow by himself. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t scared this time – he was, especially because he quickly realized that he accidentally forgot his warmest mittens back home – but he knew how to deal with this kind of thing much better.

After all, there wasn’t much else to do up in the mountains but explore. Read, write. Take a walk.

Get caught in a blizzard.

He laughed to himself and pulled his hood up higher over his face, trudging through the quickly rising snow into a thick grove of pine trees. On every couple of branches, every couple of trees, hung little clay ornaments Kieran sometimes made when he was desperately bored in the middle of summer, and the sight of the few that he could tell were made by Mother calmed him a little. Blizzards ebbed and flowed quite often up here in the mountains, so it would only take an hour or so for this portion of it to pass. Of course, that meant Kieran had to take shelter somewhere to wait it out safely, but he did not mind very much. It just gave him time to think about the letter he would write Papa when he returned home, whether or not Mother wanted him to or not.

She didn’t have to know…

Not that he liked keeping secrets from Mother. She was all he had – for now, at least, until Papa would join them in the mountains one day soon and they’d be together again – and they had to trust each other to stay alive. They were as close as a mother and her child could possibly be, she always said. They had respect for one another, even though they had seen each other in their lowest moments, and they tried not to keep any secrets between them, no matter how dark or scary they were.

No secrets, and yet she always hid Father’s letters.

Kieran frowned. He wasn’t going to apologize first this time.

After all, he always needed some sort of distraction nowadays to keep him from dwelling on all the thoughts in his mind; so he could ignore the voices that he sometimes heard at the back of his head even though he knew no one was behind him. Though Mother didn’t like to talk about it very much, there was something different about him – something that had always been different about him. For the longest time, he thought it was normal, that everyone felt that way – especially after he had gone to Skyhold with Mother to meet the Inquisitor and tried to befriend some of the other children there - but around the time he turned 17, Mother sat him down and told him… well… a lot. A lot of things he never expected to hear but also, somehow, that he saw coming at the same time.

He huffed as he leaned against a tree and slid down into the snow, pulling his cloak around his body and swinging his pack down from his shoulders to hug it against his chest. He had a book in his bag, but he wasn’t content on bringing it out right now – the snow would surely melt against the pages, and he had no intention on smearing the ink when his books were the few prized possessions he actually had. Instead he tipped his head back against the tree and looked up, at the flurries of flying snow, at the muted grey sky beyond them.

And then, somehow, he fell asleep.

He did not wake up on the mountain.

The first thing he thought when he awoke and his vision cleared was that, somehow, he was actually very thankful he hadn’t brought his warmest mittens along. They would have made his current condition much, much worse, as every other part of his body was sweating.

He squinted as he glanced up, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight streaming through the leaves in the trees – not pine needles, he noted, actual leaves – and staring into the sky. There was no trace of any clouds above him, grey and stormy or otherwise, and, in fact, it seemed like quite a beautiful day. So beautiful, in fact, that he was lulled into a foolish sense of security for a moment before bolting upright.

He was far, far away from home.

Before he started moving, he shed his heavy coat and draped them over his arm after pushing up the sleeves of his shirt but left his cloak on, pulling his hood higher up over his face. He could not remember if it was summer or not – he often forgot such things because they lived so high up in the mountains that the seasons didn’t mean much besides it being slightly colder in Wintermarch and vaguely warmer in Justinian - so perhaps he had no reason to be too worried. It could be that he was somewhere in the foothills of the Frostbacks and it’d only take a week or so to return to Mother – well, if the weather held out like this…

But he knew the treacherous roads of the Frostbacks as well as anyone, and he knew well enough that once he reached higher altitudes the trek would become much harder.

So, then, knowing that, perhaps instead of a week it would be more like… three. Give or take a few days for the weather, any issues with the roads, and especially considering that he wasn’t certain he was in the foothills, anyway. After all, the terrain felt much different; the flora was unlike anything he had seen in recent memory. Based off of his knowledge of the world alone, he could’ve been in… the Free Marches. He could’ve been in Orlais. He could’ve been anywhere.

And everywhere, right now, seemed very far away from home.

But there was no point in worrying about it in the meanwhile, at least not until he started moving and got a sense of where he was. He couldn’t undo… whatever it was that had just happened – or, at least, it was very unlikely he could undo it, especially since he didn’t know how it had happened in the first place - and sitting here, dwelling on it and twiddling his thumbs meant he was wasting precious time. Kieran heaved a heavy sigh and started off towards a gap in the trees, figuring that it was as good a place as any to start.

Kieran liked to consider himself an optimistic person – he had forced himself to be when he started growing older - but after only a few minutes, he was beginning to realize just how much he sounded like his mother.

That hurt more than he wanted it to.

Thankfully he had his waterskin, and a book in his bag he could read if he got bored. This was not the type of forest he was used to – there were no swollen roots or long, overhanging branches – and, if he felt so inclined, he could probably take out his book and read while he walked without it slowing him down too much. Perhaps tomorrow he’d take his mind off of things by reading while he travelled – that is, of course, if he didn’t have to use his book as kindling tonight. Which made him feel… more miserable, somehow.

He was out of the forest within an hour, and across a meadow in the next. The cloak was slowing him down slightly – it was heavy, thick wool – but he thought it would be best to keep his face hidden for now, even as he descended down a short hill into another thicket of oak trees. Pausing, he leaned against a tree and pulled out his waterskin, uncorking the top and tilting his head back to pour a stream of water into his mouth.

When he felt the tip of a knife against the back of his neck, he couldn’t help but choke.

He recovered quickly, though, and wiped his mouth on the back of his neck while he turned around slowly with his hands raised in defense (one still holding his waterskin, which he was dangerously close to spilling).

“Ah,” the man said quietly. He was an elf, with tanned skin and golden hair, and though he was considerably shorter than Kieran and quite a bit smaller, the knife at Kieran’s throat didn’t do anything to make him feel less intimidated. “I must admit… you looked much more threatening from behind.”

Kieran frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that perhaps I should not run you through right now,” the man replied, taking a short step back. “Not that I was planning to, really – the man in charge would not approve – but, if you had posed a threat… well, the thought crossed my mind.”

Kieran crossed his arms over his chest. He could be plenty threatening. This man didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Who’s this ‘man in charge’ you’re speaking about?” he asked.

The man laughed, and Kieran felt his annoyance grow even stronger. “I do not think I am at liberty to disclose that information to anyone quite yet,” he said. “At least not without getting a fair punishment in return. Saying that, I do suggest you move along – some of our friends are, well… not very open to strangers, and –“

“Zevran?”

A woman stepped out from behind the elf, a woman with bright orange hair and a medium build who looked unsettlingly familiar. “Who’s this?” she said, eyes narrowing and nose wrinkling.

“Perhaps a bandit,” Zevran said. “Does not quite look the type, to me anyway, but appearances can be deceiving, no?”

The woman rolled her eyes. “He’s probably just a villager from the nearby town,” she told the elf before turning to Kieran. “Is there something wrong? Have you lost your parents to the Blight?”

The Blight?

The Blight was almost 20 years ago now – the Blight, Mother said once, is the reason Kieran was born in the first place; the reason he had the abilities to read things and feel things the way he did.

How did he end up here?

“No,” he answered hesitantly. “I mean… Yes, I have. My mother and father are…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t quite know exactly what to say.

“I am sorry to hear that,” the woman said, taking a step closer. “Would you like me to keep them in my prayers tonight?”

Zevran, the elf, cleaned the flat side of his blade with his thumb, never taking his eyes off Kieran.

“Yes, I would appreciate that very much.” Kieran shifted uneasily on his feet, glancing at the woman from underneath his low-hanging hood. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your name?”

“I am Leliana.” She smiled at him. “And you are…?”

Leliana. Of course. Kieran remembered Leliana well from his time in Skyhold – she had been in several strongly-worded discussions with Mother late at night when she stopped by their quarters. She looked younger, now – happier. And much, much less tired.

Kieran knew that time travel was a possibility – he’d heard some rumours about Tevinter Magisters travelling through time several years ago – but he wasn’t well-versed in how it worked enough to be able to have done this himself.

There had to be a reason he was here, and he was determined to figure it out.

“Kier,” he said after realizing she was waiting for a response. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Leliana.”

“You, as well.” She glanced over at Zevran. “See? He’s not a bandit. If he is, he’s certainly better at conversation than the rest of them.”

“Yes, yes, he is a wonderful conversationalist,” Zevran replied. “However, Leliana, I do believe we have duties to attend to, hm?”

“Ah, yes!” Leliana offered Kieran a dazzling smile. “Well, I’m sorry about your parents, Kier. May the Maker watch over you.”

Leliana and Zevran had been two of his parents’ companions during the Blight. Leliana was one of the few people who had tried to reach out to Mother after her and Kieran left the Inquisition following the defeat of Corypheus, even if they had never quite become friends. If they were here, that must have meant his parents were around, too.

And he wanted so badly to see them, to see what they were like when they were younger…

“Do you have room for another person to travel with you?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

And Kieran thought Mother was suspicious of outsiders now. After seeing what she was like during the Blight, he’d never think that again.

It had been a few days of travelling with them – which still felt incredibly weird and alien to him – and though she glared at him less and less in camp, she still glared at him every chance she got. It made him feel sick to his stomach to see her glaring at him like that, and each time she did he felt like there was something he needed to apologize for.

There was, really, a whole list of things to say sorry about. I’m sorry for not respecting your privacy. I’m sorry for letting my emotions get the better of me. I’m sorry that I just miss Father so much –

And then, well, he stopped finding things to apologize for and instead found things he wanted her to apologize for, so it was a little bit of a moot point. Especially because this wasn’t the right version of his mother he had to apologize to.

And perhaps he wasn’t helping by always keeping his hood up in camp, but there was nothing else he could do, really. He couldn’t very well wear a mask without arousing even more suspicion. And though Leliana took a shining to him, and Zevran was about as nice to him as Kieran wanted, Mother and Father – or Morrigan and Elrich as he had begun to force himself to call them – didn’t pay very much attention to him at all. They were too wrapped up in each other to notice.

While he sat in the opening of his makeshift tent, he watched them. It was nice – in his time, he had only seen them together when he was a young child, and he scarcely remembered any of those times very well. But here, during the Blight, they talked and sat together. Even if they didn’t sit too closely or too intimately – even if Morrigan kept her distance – they were… together. And that was what mattered to him, really, in the end, even if he couldn’t be a part of it. He just wanted his parents to be together and for him to see it. It made him happy when they acted like a real, true family.

They hadn’t done that in a very long time.

Besides that, though, there was still a tension between his parents that he couldn’t deny, but he didn’t quite know why it was. He’d known that his grandmother – whatever she was, in the end – wasn’t very kind to his own mother, but he didn’t understand how that affected her. After, Father was sitting beside her in front of the fire with a hand in the short space between their bodies, and Kieran could tell he wanted to reach out for her. So why didn’t he? And if he did, why wouldn’t Mother let him?

One night, when rain trickled down from wispy gray clouds and left a thin mist over the camp, he sat in the mouth of his tent as always, watching them, and this time he was close enough to hear.

“… Even you aren’t immune to my charms, are you, Morrigan?”

Morrigan glanced away, down at her hands. “I am immune to every man’s charms, Elrich,” she answered.

“You don’t have to be,” he said softly.

She looked over at him and smirked, but Kieran could tell there was a sadness behind it – a sadness he had seen himself in their time. “Oh?” she said. They were sitting closely together – much closer than Morrigan sat with anyone else in camp – but she wasn’t close enough to rest her head on his shoulder or hold his hand. “You think you know everything I’ve been through, do you?”

“No,” Elrich responded, “I didn’t say that. I meant, rather, that you don’t have to be immune to every man’s charms – certainly not mine.”

Morrigan sighed. “Have we not been over this enough?” she asked quietly.

“We have,” Elrich answered before offering up a small, sad smile of his own. (Kieran realized how much he looked like his father, in that moment – the colour of his eyes, the shape of his hair. He used to look much more like his mother as a child, but now the gentle slope of his jaw had turned sharp, and he had to shave quite often in the golden looking glass Mother had displayed in her room.) “I just thought I would remind you.”

“Your reminders are… welcome.” She stood up suddenly, reaching up to adjust the cloak around her neck so it hung more tightly across her shoulders and chest. “I should turn in for the night.”

“I should, too.” Elrich stood up beside her and tilted his head down to look at her, eyes roaming across her face for a long moment before he backed away with a slow, approving nod. “Goodnight, Morrigan.”

“Sleep well,” she said, turning on her heel and heading back towards her tent. Not without shooting Kieran another glare, first, but this time he didn’t care. He pulled his hood higher over his head and inched back into camp, closing the tent doors behind him.

There must have been some reason that Morrigan did not feel safe initiating a relationship with Elrich – there must have been something to inevitably draw them together, as well. The rings that his mother and father both wore in his time were not worn by either of them right now, so he supposed that that should have been his first step.

After he got some sleep, of course.

As always, his dreams were plagued with phantom faces looming over him and shadows that slunk into darkness at the corners of his eyes. Voices that somehow sounded distant and close at the same time whispered in his ear, and he could feel the ground vibrate with every step one of the blurry figures took towards him from a cloud of dense, green fog. Some of it was Elven – he had known how to speak it since he was a child – and some of it sounded older; more ancient. He knew what the language was and who it belonged to, but he just couldn’t put it into words for himself. This is how he had slept every night. And as always, when he finally awoke, his brain was tied into knots that took him several long moments to pull apart so he could finally breathe again.

It helped to have Mother around to sing him lullabies when he woke up. He suspected he would not be able to ask her now unless he wanted to risk being flayed alive.

That day, the voices echoed in his head as they climbed small mountain in the foothills of the Frostbacks (too far away from Mother for him to turn tail – he didn’t think it would work, anyway). They were heading for Orzammar, Elrich had told Kieran that morning when he emerged from his tent covered in a thin sheen of sweat. They had business with the Dwarves to attend to. Kieran was neither pleased nor displeased at the announcement – it gave him time to figure out with the words floating around in his head meant; what exactly they were trying to tell him to do.

It was hard when Elrich kept asking questions.

Not that Kieran didn’t want to talk to him - he really, really did. After all, that’s what had gotten him into this in the first place. It was just... well, this was the wrong version of his father to talk to, and he didn’t want to give anything away.

But his emotions won out, in the end - instead of telling him to leave him alone like he should’ve, he sat down around the fire with him and made breakfast. Well, watched Elrich make breakfast.

“So, are you from Ferelden?” Elrich asked, glancing over at Kieran.

“Yes,” he answered.

Elrich smiled, eyes crinkling around the edges with amusement. “You don’t sound Fereldan,” he commented. “Can’t imagine this is a very nice time to see the country.”

He sounded the same as he always had - dignified, confident, and most of all kind - but his voice was much higher, and Kieran couldn’t help but snicker at how hard his father was trying to sound mature.

“Well, the company is good,” Kieran replied. “I cannot get any safer than I am travelling with two Grey Wardens.”

Elrich leveled an even, unflinching stare at him, though Kieran could see a flash of fear in his eyes. “You know?” he asked.

“Yes,” Kieran said. “It’s not that hard to tell, really.”

Elrich laughed. “What gave it away? The Griffon breastplate?”

Kieran laughed, too, and then realized how much it sounded like his father’s and stopped. “Perhaps,” he said. “My mother always says - er, said - that I’m very observant.”

“Well, your mother sounds like she was a smart woman.” Elrich pulled the pot of soup off of the fire and set it on the ground, where it melted the thin layer of snow around it.

“She was,” Kieran replied, tilting his head to hide his smile.

“What happened to her?” Elrich questioned. “Darkspawn?”

“You could say that,” Kieran responded.

“I’m sorry.” Elrich scooped a spoonful of porridge into a bowl and handed it to Kieran. “If it makes you feel any better, something worse than Darkspawn killed my parents.”

Kieran flinched. He knew what happened to his father’s parents, but he and his mother had always agreed that, selfishly, they were slightly thankful - they would not be here if it wasn’t for them. However, hearing his father talk about it now, when the wound was still fresh... it hurt.

Especially because Kieran felt the same.

“I’m sorry,” Kieran murmured, looking down into his bowl while his eyebrows drew together in thought.

“It’s alright,” Elrich replied. “Thank you, though, anyway. I do hate the Darkspawn - more than anything. I hate them for destroying beautiful Ferelden land and killing villagers - like your parents. I hate that they’re leaving young people without a family.”

“You’re not that much older than me,” Kieran pointed out with a laugh.

“True.” Elrich spooned some porridge into his own mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “I’m trying my best to be strong, but... it can be hard sometimes. Knowing that I carry the weight of the country on my shoulders, that so many people’s lives are in my hands...” He swallowed hard, glancing down at his bowl with a bitter laugh. “I suppose I shouldn’t be complaining. Things have turned out better for me than they do for most, and with any hope, this should all be over soon so I can...” He cleared his throat. “Settle down once more.”

Kieran winced and hoped Elrich didn’t notice - he had no idea how much longer he would have to wait to do the settling he wanted.

“You’re doing a great job,” Kieran offered quietly, than quickly added, “from what I have seen so far, anyway.”

“Thank you.” Elrich smiled at him. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

“Just... make sure you don’t lose sight of what is most important.” Kieran let out a gentle sigh, losing himself in his thoughts. “Family. The people you hold dear. They are what you’re protecting, after all.” He frowned. “They are worth more than anything.”

“That they are,” Elrich replied, then glanced over to where Morrigan’s tent was opening. His eyes lit up, and a hopeful smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Speaking of which... I need to go speak with Morrigan. Excuse me.”

He stood up slowly as he assembled a second bowl of porridge, and when he hurried over to Morrigan and handed it to her, she stared at it for a long, long moment before taking it tentatively from his hands and smiling up at him. A small smile, but a smile nevertheless.

Kieran looked away, ignoring the ache in his heart.

He packed up his own tent, rolled it up, and watched as everyone prepared for the day - Leliana stretching in a warm patch of sunlight, Zevran sharpening his knife with his tongue between his teeth. They looked so normal and calm - Kieran had no idea how they did it. Although, he thought, they didn’t know what was going on in his head either - they probably wouldn’t be able to live with the thoughts and the voices as well as he did.

That made him feel better, at least.

At midday, when the sun was at it’s highest point, they were about to begin ascending a mountain pass towards Orzammar - the first of many, he remembered, having studied the map of the Frostbacks several hundred times - when, suddenly, they heard a guttural roar in the distance and a burst of flames blazed across the path in front of them, leaving melted snow and charred rocks in their wake.

A dragon.

No wonder the voices had been so loud.

Up ahead, everyone drew out their weapons, but Kieran kept back – he had nothing more than a simple dagger Leliana had given him, and he wasn’t sure he could wield it efficiently enough. Wynne, the older mage who came from the Circle of Magi, summoned an ice field to separate the dragon from the group while Leliana notched one of her arrows and aimed it at the creature’s neck.

It swooped down in front of the group. Alistair and Zevran rushed forward to slash at it, led by Elrich, and Wynne and Leliana attacked from the sidelines while Morrigan watched, creating a dark purple sphere of shifting magic in her hands that she flung at the dragon with unnatural power. It wailed and wailed but did not relent, reaching out to swipe at them again, but Elrich got a hit in before it could hurt any of the party.

Kieran pulled his hood higher up over his head, unsure of what to do.

Zevran and Alistair continued assaulting the beast’s legs while Elrich slid underneath its stomach, hacking at the dragon’s underbelly which seemed to be covered in a thick layer of dark, heavy scales. Morrigan and Wynne flung balls of spirit magic at it over and over in quick succession, and Leliana aimed her arrows to try and pierce the dragon’s eye – they bounced off like flimsy pieces of metal, but she did not give up. They were shouting at each other over the roaring – directions and suggestions and cries that the others stay safe or be careful – and none of them seemed to notice that Kieran was not joining the effort. If they did, they didn’t notice.

At one point, deep into the battle, Morrigan hurried to Elrich’s side and casted a shield around him while Wynne tended to his wounds. Though their faces had all been creased with battlehardened lines, when his mother and father looked at each other in fear, Kieran could see a fear there. After Elrich had been healed and stood up on shaky legs to attack the creature again, Morrigan held him back by the arm. When he turned around to look at her, a bolt of lightning came forth from the tip of her staff and struck the beast on the nose. A current of electricity tore through it.

The dragon let out a guttural cry and reared up on its hind legs, futilely lashing out at the party, but they all stumbled back from its reach before it could land a blow. It squirmed and thrashed in the cold air, claws scraping the rocks on either side for leverage, before it finally slumped down onto the rocky ground, chest heaving as it took one last breath until it lay there, dead.

A tired cheer echoed through the mountain pass, and the party looked at one another, giving them relieved smiles or grateful pats on the shoulder.

Except for Elrich and Morrigan, who were hugging tightly.

Kieran smiled.

He hadn’t seen that for a long, long time.

That night he lingered in the mouth of his tent like always, pretending to sharpen his dagger while he listened to his parents talk around the fire.

Well, there wasn’t much talking. They set up camp a few hours after slaying the dragon so everyone could tend to their wounds, and Morrigan never left Elrich’s side while Wynne stitched up the larger ones that Morrigan said she didn’t want to touch. She didn’t leave his side through dinner, either, and now, in the dark of night when neither of them were supposed to still be awake, she held his hand tightly, staring into the fire.

“What are you doing?” he asked with a laugh, nudging her shoulder with his.

“Considering whether or not to flay myself alive,” she answered with a slight smirk.

“Always so dark,” Elrich said, shaking his head while he chuckled.

Suddenly, Morrigan turned to him, a crease between her eyebrows. “I have something for you,” she said, blinking.

“What do you mean?” he asked with a grin.

“I mean that I have a gift for you,” Morrigan said. She reached over to her pouch, where she slid her hand inside while keeping her eyes trained on him, and then fished out a smaller pouch from inside. “’Tis… a ring. Now, before you get any foolish notions, let me explain.”

Except she said nothing further until Elrich prompted her with a nod of his head.

“Yes, um… Flemeth once gave me a ring because it allowed her to find me wherever I went, in case I was ever captured by hunters.” She passed it back and forth between her hands. “I disabled its power as soon as we left the Wilds. Recently, however, I thought to change it. Now…” Morrigan glanced up at him. “I will be able to find whoever wears it, instead.”

Elrich tilted his head, reaching out to place his hands over hers. “That’s a sweet gift,” he said. “Thank you.”

She blushed. “’Tis not given out of sentimentality,” she said. “I believe you are too important to risk. If you were captured, the ring would allow us to find you quickly.”

“Does it do anything else?”

Morrigan pulled it out of the bag and looked at it, squinting slightly. “Flemeth used to say it was a link between us; one that I presumed worked both ways. I never tested it, but I doubt she would have lied over such a thing. So it would mean that I am linked to you as much as you to I.”

He inched closer, taking it from her gently. “So I could find you, if need be?”

“I… do not know.” She frowned. “As I said, I never tested it. Perhaps.”

“I’m glad to know you care,” he told her.

To Kieran’s surprised, she looked offended. “D-do not read more into it than is there,” she said. “You have supplied me with equipment, certainly this is not very different, is it?”

“Thank you for the gift, Morrigan,” Elrich replied, placing it in the palm of his hand and curling his fingers tightly around it.

“You… are welcome,” Morrigan replied, clearing her throat. “Perhaps it will be useful some day.”

They said very little after that – instead they sat beside each other, arms and legs and shoulders touching like they were connected at the waist.

Occasionally, Kieran could see his father glancing down at the ring and smiling.

Elrich retired to his tent first that night, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear before leaving, and just when Kieran thought that perhaps his mother was going to follow, she didn’t. Instead she turned around and frowned at him.

“Enjoy listening to other people’s conversation, do you?” she asked, stalking over to his tent and looking down at him.

“No,” Kieran answered, wrinkling his nose. “I respect other people’s privacy.”

“You don’t fool me,” Morrigan said. Though it was said harshly, Kieran didn’t think it was an accusation. “There’s something you’re not telling everyone else – they have not noticed, but I have. Why are you travelling with us?”

“I had to,” Kieran replied, staring her down for a moment before shuffling into his tent and closing the entrance tightly behind him.

He woke up, to his surprise, in his own bed back home with the same woman leaning over him.

“Foolish boy,” Mother was muttering, tucking in his blanket between his bed and the wall. “Foolish, foolish boy.”

“Mother?” Kieran asked, pushing himself up from the bed.

Mother glanced over at him and sighed. “How could you scare me like that?” she asked quietly. “You could have frozen half to death, or –“

“I’m fine, Mother,” Kieran said.

“No, you’re not. You nearly have frostbite. Foolish, foolish boy – what will I do with you?”

“Mother,” Kieran began, “I would like to write father a letter.”

Mother stopped what she was doing, hesitating for a long moment before turning towards him. “I don’t think that is a good idea,” she replied softly.

“I want to write him a letter,” Kieran insisted. “I know you don’t want me to be disappointed that he has not returned to us yet, but I won’t be. I’m more disappointed that I haven’t heard from him in several months.”

“Well, neither have I.” Mother frowned, looking down at her wrinkled hands. “He is far away from here. He’s alive, but I… I fear he might not be for much longer.”

“He will be.” Kieran drew his chin up. “I know he will be. I can feel it. And I would like to write a letter to him.”

Mother sighed once more and glanced over at him, and just when he thought she was going to get mad, her lips curved into a wickedly pleased smile.

“Very well,” she responded. When she moved to stand, Kieran followed, but she waved her hand at him in exasperation. “You stay here,” she said, smiling. “I will bring it to you. You need your rest.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Kieran said, smiling. “I love you.”

Mother squinted at him. “Perhaps you hit your head as well.”

“Mother!”

“I am just kidding,” she said. “I love you too, you foolish, foolish boy. Now lie down.”

When Mother left, closing the door softly as to not disturb him, Kieran’s eyes fluttered shut despite himself, and he nestled down beneath the blankets, already thinking about what he would – and definitely should not – write to his father about.

#my writing #my commissions #warden x morrigan #cousland x morrigan #i'm nervous for this one !!! i hope u enjoy it i love them <3

26 notes · View notes

scentedstrangercreation · 4 years

Text

A Qunari and a Warden walk into a bar.... (Sten x warden AU)

It had been a busy week at Skyhold. Preparing for the arrival of a Qunari ship had proved an intensive task. But as expected, Josephine seemed to anticipate every last detail. A partnership with the Qunari was an almost unheard opportunity, and everyone was determined to make the talks as successful as possible.

Bull, on the other hand, couldn’t wait for them to leave. It had been years since he’d been around his people, and he was ashamed to admit he wasn’t quite sure how to act. He knew his duty was to the Qun, and everything that may entail when the day came, but that day wasn’t here yet. Who knows, he may not even be alive to see it. He hoped he wasn’t at least.

After helping with introductions, he quickly retreated to the Herald’s Rest. The Inquisitor could handle herself for now, and he needed a drink. As usual, the tavern was warm and humming with activity. He spotted Warden Cousland sitting alone at the end of a long, wooden table; fiddling with the edges of a neatly wrapped box.

Bull eyed her curiously between swigs of ale. She was waiting for someone.

The Warden had only been with the inquisition for a few weeks. He liked her. At least he liked what he knew about her. She was warm and charismatic in a way that immediately put you at ease, and she knew it. No one seemed to notice between the songs and stories that she never actually revealed anything about herself. Sure everyone knew the tale of the Hero of Fereldan, but who knew Elissa Cousland? Who was the ex-noble, the orphaned Grey Warden who stopped the Blight and lived to tell the tale?

Now, here she sat alone in a tavern full of people, looking more nervous than Bull had yet seen her. He picked up his drink and made his way over.

“Waiting for someone?” Bull slid onto the wooden stool across the table.

A smile briefly softened her face, “An old friend.”

She looked clean. Her hair was brushed loose from its normal braids, and she smelled like incense and spice. Waiting for a friend indeed. He was finally going to learn something about this woman.

“Can I get you a drink while you wait?”

“I think I owe you enough coin as it is.” She grinned, resting her chin against her palm.

She hadn’t won a single Wicked Grace game since arriving at Skyhold. Bull was almost certain this was intentional. She was studying all of them, collecting and cataloguing every move. He might have thought her a Ben-hassrath if he didn’t know any better.

“This one’s on me.” He offered.

“No really, I’m—,” she trailed off as her gaze moved past him. Her eyes grew round and earnest, “Sten!” she called out, standing from her chair.

Sten? Bull furrowed his brow in confusion, turning to look over his shoulder where the Arishok stood tall and broad in the doorway.

Later, when Bull told Dorian about his night, he wouldn’t admit how long it had taken him to connect the dots between the Warden and the Arishok. He knew the Arishok had travelled with the Warden during the Blight, but he never considered their relationship to be anything more than a temporary alliance, certainly not friends.

The imposing Qunari looked out of place in the busy tavern, and Bull wondered if he looked the same to others. Either way, the Warden didn’t seem to notice or care. She practically bounced around the table, throwing her arms around the towering figure.

Bull didn’t know what he was expecting, but it was certainly not for a small, brief smile to curl at the edge of the Arishok’s mouth.

Elissa took a step back, gazing up at him. They were so close. Bull glanced between them, too distracted to read their lips. He felt the gears turning aimlessly in his head, but for some reason they weren’t clicking into place.

The Warden turned from the Arishok, beckoning him to the table where Bull sat, still confused. He realized he hadn’t swallowed the ale in his mouth, when she addressed him.

“Have you met—,” She began, but Bull interrupted, finally swallowing and standing respectfully.

“Shanedan, Arishok.” Bulled bowed his head slightly.

The Arishok regarded him silently before nodding his head once, “Hissrad.”

Bull flinched internally at the title. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had used it, and it was jarring to hear so far from home.

“I brought you something,” The Warden reached for the wrapped box on the table and offered it to the Arishok.

Bull took the opportunity to sit back down and observe, quietly sipping on his ale.

The packaged looked small in the Quanri’s hands. He lifted the lid and released a small chuckle—a chuckle—before lowering the box just enough to reveal golden cookies inside. If that wasn’t a shock enough, his next words were.

“Thank you, kadan.”

Bull choked on his drink, coughing and spilling ale before he could control himself. Laughing, cookies, kadan. Bull couldn’t think straight.

“Sorry, I—,” Bull apologized, attempting to regain composure between sputtering coughs. But he needn’t worry, neither the Warden nor the Arishok were paying him any mind. They were standing close again. So close that for one, alarming and confusing moment, Bull thought they might kiss. Instead, the Warden stepped away.

“How was the journey?”

“Long.” The Arishok answered simply, his hand wandering curiously to one of her loose strands, “your hair, it’s different.”

“I grew it out.”

“Impractical.” He said, allowing a piece to slowly slide from his fingers.

“You don’t like it?” she grinned, raising a brow.

“I did not say that.”

Bull looked around for someone, anyone else to notice what was happening, but no one else in the busy tavern seemed to care. He looked down at his drink, briefly wondering if he was hallucinating.

“Is the dog here?”

“Bear?” she asked, “he’s around here somewhere. I’m surprised he hasn’t found you yet.”

“Indeed,” the Arishok looked around expectantly, “he’s getting careless.”

“He’s getting old, Sten.” She laughed, “He’s probably upset you haven’t come to visit sooner.”

“Hm.”

“He’s not the only one upset, you know.” She raised her chin, “your last letter was…brief.”

“Letters are a poor substitute to conversation.”

“And neither is a poor substitute to both.” She crossed her arms.

“I am here now,” he said, setting the box down on a table and stepping closer again.

“And? Do you have something to say?”

“Nothing that you would wish me to say in a crowded tavern.” Bull wondered if he imagined the change in the Arishok’s tone.

Elissa released a quick, surprised laugh, “Then I suppose we should find somewhere more private.”

“As you wish, kadan.”

The Warden turned back to Bull, trying and failing to conceal the flush rising up her neck, “thanks for the company, Bull.”

She waved, but he could only nod dumbly, absently raising his mug in her direction.

Without another word, the Warden took the Qunari’s willing hand, leading him from the tavern and out into the night.

Bull wasn’t sure how much longer he sat in silence, but it must have been a while. He finally stood up and walked over to the abandoned gift. He poked it distrustfully as though it might twist into smoke, but it was real.

“You, uh—, you okay, Chief?” Krem appeared beside him, “you look like—,”

“Like I just watched the Arishok, leader of my people, skip off holding hands with the Hero of Fereldan?”

“Uh, sure…” Krem scratched the back of his neck, “I guess?”

Bull swallowed the remainder of his drink, “you got anything stronger than this?” he held up his empty cup.

“As a matter of fact—,” Krem pulled a metal flask from his waist, “from that temple last week. Not sure what it is, but it’ll knock ya on your ass, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

Bull swiped the flask, and took a deep swig, “I need to find a very large stick.”

With that he walked away.

“Well that was rude.” Krem said to no one but himself, before returning to the Chargers with the abandoned box of cookies in-hand.

#warden x sten #f!cousland #cousland x Sten #dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #rarepair #iron bull #dragon age au

49 notes · View notes

elusetta · 5 years

Text

Dedicated to my loving ex-mother @sharky-broshaw and my beloved musketeers.

Read here on ao3.

My Leliana:

Life at Vigil’s Keep has been demanding, and I am loath to deliver to you the news that I cannot yet return home. There are matters here that still require me. If you could, I would beg you to come here, to cut short our separation, but I will understand if you cannot; this place is dreary as the Fade, and the sun never seems to shine. It is hardly the place for you, my love.

But it is not all bad. The rain is one thing; my companions are another. I am happy to report to you that here, I have found companionship I did not think possible outside of those I had known during the Blight. Sigrun, although distrustful of my actions with the Architect, is the most delightful dwarf I have known since Dagna; I think you would get along with her. Velanna- who I am sure you will remember from the letters I sent you during my time in the Wending Wood- has grown on me, and I believe I have grown on her, even if she would never admit it until the day she dies, shem that I am. Anders is quite like Alistair, full of jokes and lively banter. As for Justice, the spirit who possessed a corpse, I do not quite know what I can say of him- of it?- but, regardless, he is part of us. Oghren, of course, you already know.

And then there is Nathaniel Howe. I will admit that I was not prepared to forgive him for the crimes of his family, but he has made it impossible not to. I have grown exceptionally fond of him, despite the dark circumstances that I met him in, and I certainly hope that I will remain friends with him until the Calling takes us both.

The only thing missing from this keep is you, Leliana, and your absence is dearly felt. I cannot expect you to give up whatever it is you’ve been doing these past months, but if you have the chance and the will- if your Grand Cleric business is entirely completed- come be with me. Schmooples can sleep in our room. (And I’m certain that my companions would adore your stories, if you would tell them.) I hope I do not sound too pathetic, but it is still hard to be without you. I fear I rely on you- you and Alistair- too much for my own good. It is undeniable that I have not been at my best, even with all these people who I care for, and it has been… difficult to sleep.

And in case you forget it while I am away: I love you.

With all my heart,

Iseult Cousland.

The last lines of ink dried on the paper, turning from glossy to matte under the insistent warmth of her firelit bedchamber, just as footsteps faded into Iseult’s awareness. She turned, a smile already encroaching at the edges of her lips.

Nathaniel. A presence she’d once been cold around, but as time had worn on, had become a comfort. His blue eyes took in the room with only an archer’s, a ranger’s, alert interest, before landing on her letter. “Am I intruding, Commander?” Her smile grew. She turned in her chair, the movement so much lighter than what she was used to, her body for once bereft of the silverite armor that weighed down every step. “No, I had just finished. And Nathaniel,” she added, meeting his eyes gently, “we’ve been over this. You can just call me Iseult.”

“If you insist.” He walked closer, his height towering over Iseult- already small, and even smaller seated- and glanced at the letter. “Who are you writing to? If you don’t mind my asking.”

Iseult rolled up the letter, sealing it with wax imprinted by the Cousland heraldry. “My wife.” Wife; the word was still pleasantly unwieldy, perhaps not official but full of everything she couldn’t say.

He smiled, a subtle thing that would have seemed insincere to anyone who did not know him. “Will we ever get to meet that woman, I wonder?” Iseult let out a small laugh. “Oh, I do hope so.” Examining him again, something called to her in his stance, shifting slightly from foot to foot. “Did you come to see me? Or is this a patrol?” He’d taken to pacing the keep; whether from habit or as a way to combat his thoughts, she couldn’t tell. This seemed different, but then again, despite her attempts at understanding him… he was not exactly the easiest person to read.

“I meant to ask you something,” he said almost nervously, sitting down on her bed with eyes that darted everywhere.

She folded her hands in her lap. “Of course, Nathaniel. Anything.”

He let out a sharp breath- of relief? Of preparation?- before opening his mouth and letting out a stream of words much too fast for Iseult to understand.

She blinked at him. “I’m sorry, what was that?” “The elf. I can’t tell if she likes me or not. I want her to like me, I think,” he replied, only slightly slower than before. “How do I make her like me?” Iseult’s eyebrow quirked. “Well…” She trailed off for a second, then stifled a giggle. Of course. All the ‘my lady’, the compliments, the way his eyes followed the woman when he thought no one was looking. She’d been right. “In my experience, you’re usually supposed to tell her that you like her.”

He gave her a look that was something like nerve-wracked exasperation. “But what if she doesn’t like me back?”

Iseult pursed her lips. “Then you give her things until she does.”

“That seems immoral,” he protested.

Iseult shrugged. “Velanna’s prickly. Show her you like her, and- wait.” She suddenly stood up, pacing back and forth in front of him, her hands clasped behind her back. “You did mean you like her in the ‘you want to kiss her’ way, right? Not just as friends?”

He nodded, and Iseult echoed the movement. “I see. Maybe you could tell her that. I think most people like to be kissed, even the prickly ones.”

“But I’m a human. Didn’t you hear her talking to Anders the other day? She said she found most humans physically and morally repulsive.”

“That’s true,” Iseult conceded, “but didn’t you hear her apologize to you?”

He made a noise of consideration. “It seems we’re at an impasse.”

“Well, we don’t have to be,” Iseult pointed out. “Just go talk to her.”

“Come on, Iseult,” he sighed. “Was I being too forward? When I called her lovely? You have a wife. You should know this.”

Iseult frowned, slowing to a stop. “Nathaniel, Leliana and I met while attempting to stop an archdemon, and we only became closer because I was forced to kill someone who looked exactly like her while in the Fade. We are hardly an example of a normal couple.” Studying his face, she added, “But I do not think you were being too forward. She told you to stop that time, and you did. I would call you the picture of chivalry, but…”

“But what?” “Well, you did try to kill me once.”

He scoffed and looked away, then sighed. “Thank you. I suppose I should try... something.”

“That is, generally, the better option.”

He got up and left the room, and Iseult followed at his heels, letter in hand.

My Leliana,

Most likely I will not send this letter; it has been only a day since I sent my last one, but I feel compelled to write down the events that have transpired since then, and I am unsure of how else to do it. Perhaps, if you do come to the keep, I can give you them then, as a primer on the dynamics I have discovered.

Did you know that Nathaniel Howe likes Velanna, in a kissing way? He came and asked me about what he should do. I’m very flattered, since I am eight years his junior, that he would seek me out for advice, and seeing as I am at least a little bit sure that she likes him back, I have decided that it is my duty to make lovers out of them. Is this what you mean, when you say you serve the Maker?

(I’m joking, my love; I know it isn’t.)

I will update you as developments continue.

Yours,

Iseult Cousland.

With a small snort of withheld amusement, Iseult put down her quill and stood up, quickly maneuvering to hide it behind her when someone kicked through her door. Immediately, a violent urge surged through her. Darkspawn? Or worse, a betrayal from inside the keep? Her hand flew to the sword leaning against her bed, but when her visitor appeared- a brightly-colored, flushed Velanna- she relaxed. The look in those eyes was panic, yes, but Velanna didn’t panic when faced with a fight.

So Iseult could only conclude that Nathaniel had acted, as she had advised him to.

“Walk with me, shem,” Velanna demanded.

Iseult smiled wryly, slipping the letter into the drawer of her desk. “Okay, my lady.”

Velanna froze, her eyes wide and her cheeks quickly coloring, and she grasped Iseult by the sleeve, dragging her through Vigil’s Keep to the bemused stares of many of the soldiers. “How-did-you-know-that!” she hissed under her breath the moment they were alone.

Iseult blinked at her innocently. “Know what?” “You shem are so infuriating,” Velanna growled. “I need to speak with you.”

Iseult smiled, trying not to look too pleased with herself, and nodded.

Velanna sighed, producing a squealing chicken from Maker knew where. “What is the meaning of this?” Iseult choked on a laugh. “What?”

“Nathaniel gave it to me yesterday, then started saying something about how chickens were sort of like me, and then he got distracted and left.” Velanna searched Iseult’s eyes. “What does it mean? Is this some sort of shemlen custom?”

“Oh no,” Iseult mumbled to herself. “Oh, Nathaniel.”

“What does that mean?” Velanna was practically shouting with frustration, and the chicken squawked, flapping away from her and back to the ground. “What does any of this mean?”

It would probably be easier to take the metaphorical bull by the horns, but thinking of Velanna, and thinking of Nathaniel, Iseult quickly determined that this was a matter best left to them. During the Blight, Alistair had been the only one who knew her feelings about Leliana before Leliana did, and Iseult knew she would have killed him if he’d told. “Maybe you should ask him.”

“You- you can’t just-”

Iseult was gone before Velanna could finish her sentence, and judging by the chicken that ran out, terrified, after her, she could only assume it was for the best.

My Leliana,

It has been almost two weeks since Velanna’s surprise meeting with me, and I still worry about what has happened between her and Nathaniel. They have been especially cold toward each other whenever I have brought them out together. I think that Velanna may have considered his attempt at an advance an insult, and Nathaniel has taken that as a rejection. I am going to have to wait for another opportunity to attempt to put them together, and as it is, my attentions are better focused elsewhere, at least for the moment.

Vigil’s Keep is currently having its first sunny day since I arrived. While not as warm as some places I could mention, it is undeniably pleasant, and I am at last able to write outdoors. I wonder if your suggestion about roses around the Keep would work. We do need some morale to spare. Our soldiers are hard at work repairing the Keep, and we have taken heavy losses; a flower or two might be just the thing to cheer them up.

Yet, even as the sun shines and I spend my days in no danger, extracting help from various nobles and guarding the Keep, I find it bittersweet. The sun reminds me of you.

Suddenly, a voice cut into her concentration, and Iseult dropped the quill, sending splatters of ink across the page. She cursed softly and looked up to see Anders, his ever-faithful Ser Pounce-a-lot draped sleepily over his shoulders. “Commander!”

She set the letter aside and smiled up at him. “Hello, Anders.”

“What are you doing sitting against the wall? Shouldn’t you be out doing Warden-Commander things? Come on, let’s go find the nearest darkspawn and beat them to death with your sword.” His eyes sparkled with amusement, as they always did, and Iseult only gave him a half-smile in response. “You’re awfully quiet today. Something got you down? Is it Nathaniel? I keep telling him, his whole brooding thing is going to put people off.”

“Nothing in particular,” Iseult replied. “Not Nathaniel. Well- not entirely Nathaniel, anyway.”

Anders must have taken the wistful sigh that she released after that in a way she most certainly did not mean him to, because he gasped comically loudly, his hand flying to his mouth fast enough to startle Ser Pounce-a-lot, whose blue eyes flew open. “Warden-Commander, are you in love with him? I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s handsome. I know I would go for him, if he weren’t so dark and dismal all the time. But didn’t his family kill yours? That’s a little scandalous, don’t you think? A little bit spicy? Just a tad? Ooh, or maybe the forbidden love drives you to him?” He wiped away a fake tear. “Go to him, Commander. Follow your heart.”

Iseult watched his performance with amusement, and when her silence finally caught up to him, he paused, giving her an opportunity to interject. “Anders, I trust that you know I’m married.”

“You’re what?”

“To a woman,” she finished. “And I do not care for men, not in that way.”

He stared at her, then slowly began to nod. “So what is it, then?”

She shook her head, trying not to let too much melancholy show. “Many things, really. Our soldiers flag, our Keep is still damaged. And, on a more personal note-” she pretended not to notice his eyes lighting up at that- “I miss my wife, and despite my efforts, Nathaniel and Velanna seem destined not to be together.”

“Oh, wait. If you’re married, does that mean we might finally have an explanation for the woman no one’s seen before in the courtyard?” Iseult’s heart leaped into her throat. “I’m afraid I have to leave you, Anders.”

“Oh no! I feel so betrayed,” he called after her as she raced to the middle of the Keep. “Never forget me, Commander! I love you!”

Her heart pounded in her ears as she glanced around the dull stone exterior of the Keep. No red hair; she breathed out.

Then a pair of hands covered her eyes, and she shivered in barely-contained joy, the feeling of those fingers so familiar. “Did you miss me, Issie?” Leliana’s beautiful, beautiful voice murmured into her ear, and Iseult could not reply with any method other than whirling around, cupping Leliana’s face in her hands, and kissing her deeply.

The soldiers around her took notice. Some laughed, others cheered. One particularly unruly recruit yelled “Get it, Commander Cousland!” from the back, but was quickly hushed by her peers.

They separated, and Iseult pulled Leliana into a tight embrace. The recruits collectively aww-ed, but she was only aware of the woman in her arms, the texture of her hair, the softness of her skin, the warmth of her body. Iseult exhaled deeply, her breath tangling in her wife’s hair. “Oh, my love, I’m so glad you came.”

“How could I not?” Once again, they drew apart. Many of the personalities around them had lost interest by then, a development that left Iseult some measure of relief. “You were so very convincing in your letter. Can Schmooples really sleep in our room?” “Anything to keep you here,” Iseult replied.

Leliana cocked her head with a devious smile. “Now, I believe you had some companions to introduce me to.”

“Oh, I most certainly do.” Iseult smiled back at her, intertwined their hands, and set off for the keep with a new spirit in her step.

Dear Fergus,

Thank you for your letter, dear brother, and I trust that you are doing well. As for me, well, you know that your baby sister has been up to her eyes in work ever since that fateful day that I became a Grey Warden; that has not changed with the end of the Blight, nor with the defeat of the Mother. I am not sure what I hoped for. Heroism, I suppose, is a lifelong profession.

I must confess, though, that I am happier now than I have been since the night Rendon Howe the night all this began. I am surrounded by friends, Leliana is here with me and seems to be enjoying herself immensely, and the Keep is finally beginning to become itself again. Perhaps even stronger than it was.

I hope that Highever is prospering, and I do hope to return to it as soon as I can. Do not worry; soon enough, I am sure that you will wish me once again out of your hair.

Love,

Iseult Cousland.

With a last swell of effort, she heaved the stone into place. Sigrun glanced at her approvingly. “Hey, nice job, Commander.”

Iseult grinned at her. “Iseult, Sigrun. Just Iseult. And thank you.”

“You know, you should do this more often. We might actually get somewhere.” The dwarf’s tone indicated that she was only half-joking.

“You’re a skilled rogue, Sigrun,” Iseult responded, putting her weight behind another stone. “I will admit that I don’t quite understand why you’ve taken such an interest in restoring these walls.”

“Eh. Brings me back to my roots, I guess,” Sigrun answered with a shrug. “Anyway, get that last thing in and I bet we can call it done for the day.”

In response, Iseult shoved with all her might, feeling several protests from her body but still managing to place the stone. She stepped back and shook out her arms, admiring her handiwork. “I’ll be feeling that for three days.”

“Just three?” Sigrun laughed. “Some of these noodle-arms still haven’t recovered from their first day.” She slapped Iseult’s bicep appreciatively. “Good to know not all humans are just weak sacks of blood.”

“And what would you consider yourself, Sigrun?” Iseult tapped her chin in false thought. “I seem to remember that you were the one who fell down a flight of stairs and got approximately a hundred bruises.”

“Hey, no fair! I died and didn’t complain about it,” Sigrun protested.

“You died metaphorically,” Iseult answered, ruffling Sigrun’s hair. Despite their differences in race, Iseult stood only a few inches taller than Sigrun, a fact neither of them let the other forget- Iseult because she was, at last, taller than one of her friends, and Sigrun because Iseult was the smallest human she had ever met.

Sigrun sniffed the air around Iseult and made a face. “You need a bath.” “So do you,” Iseult replied. “This isn’t exactly a leisure activity.”

A soldier bounded up to them, and Iseult quickly straightened back into her Warden-Commander’s posture. “Commander, there’s been a darkspawn sighting to the northeast. You may have to head out and take care of it.”

Iseult nodded. It was bound to happen eventually; what few darkspawn there had been, the patrols had taken care of, but they were ordinary soldiers, and they had their limits. Perhaps this larger party would point her toward wherever they were coming from, too. “I’ll take Velanna, Nathaniel, and Leliana.”

Sigrun caught her eye. “Aww, you’re leaving me behind?”

Iseult smiled apologetically. “We do need someone to defend the keep.” She whistled sharply, catching the attention of Nathaniel, who she waved down. “Get Velanna! We’re going hunting.”

He immediately gave her a look of excruciating pain, but did not argue.

Smiling to herself, Iseult tracked down Leliana, and by the time the party left, the air was fraught with a certain sort of tension she had never quite experienced before.

The lands around Vigil’s Keep bustled with activity. Merchants towed their wares toward the Keep in a variety of methods; hunting parties pursued herds of animals through the wilder parts. Still, there was very little sign of darkspawn. The party plunged into the forests around it, deeper and deeper, fast approaching the mark on the map.

Examining the map again, she turned her horse to face Nathaniel’s. “Nathaniel, you’re a tracker. Do you see any signs of darkspawn around here?” “None,” he answered. There was a tightness in his face, his knuckles white around the reins of his steed. “It’s quiet.”

Iseult went still. The only sounds around her were Leliana’s humming and the whickers of the horses. The trees seemed to hold their breath around her.

This was all wrong.

“Ambush,” she found herself saying. “There has to be an ambush.”

“You’re right,” Velanna responded. “The forest is never this quiet.”

Iseult urged her horse into moving, but before it could, it dropped to its knees under her with a pained noise.

A massive hurlock raged toward her. Iseult reached for her sword, only to find that it was gone. Nathaniel leaped off of his horse, taking aim and firing at the monster, but his arrow glanced off of its thick armor, and he fell back, taking aim again.

Leliana darted toward Iseult’s fallen horse as Iseult herself stood frozen, preparing for the impact of the hurlock, and sure enough, it slammed into her within seconds. If anything less than her silverite armor had stood between them, it would have caved in her chest. Breathless, she looked up at its towering height, her nerves steeling, and with all the power in her body, she kicked it in the groin.

“Hey, that’s one of my tricks!” Leliana beamed, slipping Iseult’s sword into her hand in an instant before rushing for the hurlock.

Still staggering from her attack, it roared. Vines whipped around it, crushing its throat, and it fell to the ground. Iseult nodded appreciatively in Velanna’s general direction.

More hurlocks and genlocks poured from the trees. “Fall back!” she called to Leliana. “Protect the support!”

They retreated to the aid of Nathaniel and Velanna, themselves overrun with darkspawn, and remained in tight formation. Leliana’s flashing knives, Iseult’s flaming sword, Nathaniel’s flying arrows, Velanna’s booming fire. It was a thrill she could never forget.

Claws assaulted her armor. One particularly hardy set carved two messy lines through the breastplate, and Iseult swore under her breath, thinking of the look Wade would surely give her when he saw it. In retaliation, she sent her sword plunging into the offending darkspawn’s chest, and it crumpled to the ground with a hiss.

The tide began to thin. “Come, my brethren,” growled an impossibly low voice. “Kill them all.”

“Creators, I thought we were done with these!” Velanna said in a strangled voice from the back.

In the darkness of the trees, a glimpse of sharp teeth and black eyes far too intelligent for its kind.

Iseult turned to Leliana as the wave of enemies broke for a moment. “Can you handle this alone?” “What? Why?”

Iseult glanced at (presumably) the leader. “Let me cut off the dragon’s head.”

Leliana smiled wildly. “Go get him, Issie.”

Iseult breathed out, and in a rush not unlike the one she’d taken toward the Archdemon a year ago, her feet pounding on the soft dirt of the forest floor, she aimed herself toward the darkspawn-shaped shadow in the foliage. Everything she had, everything she was poured into her veins, lighting her nerves on fire. “Come here, you wretch!” she shouted. It barely turned toward her, but in the seconds it had taken her to speak, she had already run her sword entirely through its body.

It hissed and crumbled, reducing to nothing. The darkspawn surrounding the other three of her party fell back with confused sounds, and from the rear of the party, Nathaniel and Velanna picked them off one by one.

Iseult breathed in and out, and in again. It was over.

And something was wrong with her chest.

She hadn’t been paying enough attention.

The pain made itself known. She scraped at her breastplate, managing to get it off despite her shaking hands. Blood seeped through the fabric of her tunic, rapidly staining it red, and when Iseult lifted it to examine the wound, it was deeper than she could have expected. Stretching from her right collarbone to her left hip curved three slashes, clawed into her by one demon or another. She honestly could not remember which one it could have been.

Either way, as her hands came away from the wound stained with blood, Iseult’s attention was fixed on them. How long had it been since she’d last bled like this? Her legs weakened, and she sat down, feeling more blood drip from them with every movement.

“Issie? Are you-” Leliana’s eyes caught the gouges, caught Iseult’s bloodstained hands, and immediately, the color drained from her face. “Oh, Maker.”

“Not… that bad,” Iseult said, voice straining. “Just need a… poultice.”

Leliana turned around. “Velanna! She needs healing! Please!” The elf walked over slowly enough that Leliana was nearly crying by the time she finally arrived. Iseult sighed, her breath too shallow. “It’s not that bad.”

Nonetheless, Velanna’s hands glowed green with healing magic, and when the light diffused into Iseult’s body, the bleeding stemmed, and the pain went from a lashing knife to a dull ache. “Don’t die on us now, Commander. We still need you to keep those darkspawn at bay,” the elf offered, her words surly but her voice touched by a hint of worry.

“Yes, I love you too, Velanna,” Iseult responded with as much of a voice as she could muster.

Velanna scoffed and walked away.

As soon as Leliana had checked that the wounds were no longer quite so vicious, she leaned down, kissing Iseult almost ferociously for a lingering moment. The warmth of her, the undeniable softness, grounded Iseult, as it always did. “I am not losing you to something like that,” Leliana whispered when they broke apart.

Iseult laughed weakly. “You won’t.”

Leliana helped her to her feet, and with the strength she had left, Iseult made her way to the other two members of their party, the ruined breastplate dangling by its straps from her hand. It was so inconsequential, the simple ability to have someone to literally lean on, but as Leliana continued to cast gentle, worried looks at her, Iseult could not help but let some of the glowing incandescence in her chest form into a smile.

All this luck… she could hardly comprehend it.

A soft rustle in the trees broke her train of thought, and she glanced around the surroundings just as one last hurlock broke through the greenery, heading straight for her. Before she could even open her mouth to sound a warning, a form separated it from her.

The monster’s claws tore open Nathaniel’s arm. Only a second later, it was dead, strangled by a mass of vines thicker than Iseult had ever seen them. Velanna’s teeth were bared, her hand outstretched, the last vestiges of mana still shimmering around her fingertips.

“Nathaniel!” Iseult immediately cried out. “Are you-”

He nodded as if it were just a scratch, even as the blood poured down his arm. “It’s nothing.”

“It is not nothing,” Velanna snapped. Sweat beaded on her face as she dredged up, somehow, enough power for another healing spell, but nonetheless, the flow of his blood thinned.

“Let’s get back to the keep,” Leliana said, helping Iseult onto her horse before mounting her own. As impersonally as she could, Velanna did the same for Nathaniel, and the half-smile he sent her did not go unnoticed by anyone.

Iseult urged her horse into a run and barely felt the pain in her chest.

Dear Alistair,

I was injured today, and it made me think of you. Oh, that doesn’t sound right. I mean that it made me think of the time we had together, during the Blight. Despite everything, I must admit that I miss it sometimes.

Do you remember all of our escapades? Wynne sitting us down and giving us a long talk about the dangers of a man and a woman making love, only to realize that us sleeping together was sleeping and nothing more? The time you made me hide bugs in Zevran’s shoes, and my confession of it mere minutes after the fact? The adventures with the dog?

You make it easy for me to miss you, my dearest friend. I know that I am partially to blame for that, what with putting you on the throne, but not a day goes by that I do not wish you were still here with me, with no other complications.

If you can, come and visit Vigil’s Keep. It will do you some good, I’m sure, to see the rebuilding of the Grey Wardens. Really, though, I am only being selfish: I long to see you again. Besides, I am sure that there is a diplomatic, kingly reason to visit the Keep. Or there will be, if you look hard enough. There are a few people I think you would like to meet.

With love,

Iseult Cousland.

The fire crackled, sending shadows dancing along the walls. Iseult smiled softly to herself, folding and sealing the letter before placing it carefully on the desk.

“Come to bed,” Leliana coaxed.

Iseult slipped out of her everyday clothes and obliged, curling into Leliana’s side, her head resting on her shoulder. “It has been a surprising day.”

Leliana hummed in agreement, running her fingers through Iseult’s hair. “I worry for you, Issie.”

“Why?” Iseult replied, a bubble of laughter in her voice. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Yes, of course you can. I just…” She trailed off. “I find myself thinking about the future. Our future. I know we’ve discussed it before, but- what about children? And what about after that? What happens if you get injured, and Maker forbid it, what if you die?” The laughter in Iseult’s voice evaporated, replaced with soft sincerity. “Leliana… we aren’t facing a Blight. Whatever tries to kill me now is almost definitely going to be less dangerous.”

“But swords are swords,” Leliana interjected. “I was a bard. I have seen the nobles and warriors alike killed by simply turning their eyes away at the wrong moment.”

That night ran through Iseult’s head for the hundred thousandth time. Her mother, strong and unyielding. Her father, brave and wise. Both of them dead by a sword in the back. A chill ran down her bones, and she let out a defeated breath. “I know, my love.”

“Just be careful, yes?” Leliana’s voice was softer now. “I don’t want to have to say goodbye. Not ever again.”

Ah, yes. The archdemon fight, when no one knew if they would make it out alive. Iseult’s body tensed just thinking of it. If the Maker had mercy, nothing like that battle would happen again.

But this was here; it was over. She let out a breath and allowed herself to relax. “I promise you won’t have to.”

A moment passed in silence. It was a moment poised elegantly between peace and sleep, covered with the gauze of approaching fatigue, yet still entirely lucid.

Then, Leliana let out a giggle. “So, that boy and his elf friend?” Iseult grinned into her wife’s shoulder. “You noticed?” “He rather reminds me of you, with all those stares.”

“I was never that obvious,” Iseult objected. Or at least, she’d thought so.

Leliana’s smile widened. “Oh, please. You and your poor, pathetic puppy eyes. I swear you turned pink every time I so much as spoke to you. You were anything but subtle.”

Iseult blushed, and ignored how it completely proved Leliana’s point. “And how did you pick up all of that?” “It was part of being a bard, remember?” Leliana pressed a kiss to the top of Iseult’s head, leaving a spreading warmth. “Besides… I loved you too.”

Iseult began to drift, but still caught the “and still do” that Leliana added.

She slept with the warmth of arms defending her from the shadows of the past, and she dreamed of a future full of stars and old friends.

Alistair,

I am unsure as to why I am writing this letter at all, because the impetus for my writing it was that I heard you were undertaking a journey here. I will see you soon in person, I am sure, so there is truly no reason for this letter to exist. Still, it calms me to write to you. I can imagine your face, what you would say to me, every time I do.

Leliana likens me to a mabari; she says she can practically see a tail wagging in excitement as I watch for you from the battlements. Nonetheless, I am certain that your journey will take you a while. An insufferably long while, actually. So, in the meantime, I must busy myself with work around the keep, of which there is thankfully more than enough of. Two weeks since my last letter, and every day has been a wait.

Until I see you again,

Iseult Cousland.

The sun shined down upon the keep, catching the silver of Iseult’s armor, stained only slightly with darkspawn blood from the hunting earlier, as she once again stood in front of the ever-challenging Velanna. “All I’m saying is that you two should work something out. If you continue to-”

“Dance around each other,” Leliana interrupted her.

Iseult pushed back a grin. “If you continue to have such heated arguments during our outings, then it does pose a risk of interrupting our dynamic, yes?” “Then perhaps you should not put me in the same company as such an infuriating shem!” Velanna practically bellowed, shooting Leliana, who was still wearing a little teasing smile, with a look that could have cut glass. “If he persists with all of his my lady and his… enraging little compliments I swear on the Creators I’ll-”

“Velanna,” Iseult said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder, “will you at least talk with him? If it truly upsets you so much, I am more than certain that he will back down. He is a good man. He may be just trying to show you respect.”

“It doesn’t upset me! That’s what upsets me about it!” Velanna’s ears immediately turned bright red, and she stormed away without another word.

Leliana tilted her head at Iseult. “That went well, I think.”

“She certainly revealed a few things I think she didn’t mean to,” Iseult agreed.

They nodded at each other. “I say another week,” Iseult added.

“A week? You’re mad. I say it takes them three days.” Leliana’s eyes suddenly drew to the gates. “Oh- Issie! Look who it is!”

Iseult squinted at the gate. A glint of gold, a shimmer of blonde. A thrill immediately pushed itself through her. “Alistair!” As quickly as she could, she began to take off her armor, Leliana’s gaze only growing more amused as her movements became haphazard.

“Do you really have to greet him like that every time you’re apart?” Leliana said, one eyebrow raised.

“Commander, I-” Nathaniel froze upon seeing the scene. “Commander?”

“Yeah, what is she doing?” Anders appeared from behind him.

Leliana smiled enigmatically. “You’ll see.”

“Is he wearing armor?” Iseult asked from the depths of her own.

Leliana took a moment to make it out. “He is. And it’s his fancy King of Ferelden armor, too.”

After one last moment of fumbling with straps and metal, Iseult finally extricated herself from the enormous pile of metal. “Oh, this is going to hurt.”

Three gazes followed her as she took off in a whirlwind sprint across the courtyard: two utterly bewildered, and one extremely amused. “Alistair!” Iseult called to the man across the courtyard.

His head snapped around to see her, and he opened his arms, grinning widely. “Sei!”

With one final sprint and a mighty leap, she jumped into his arms, embracing him tightly. Sure enough, the impact of her body on his massive, superfluous armor- or rather the impact of his armor on her- pushed all of her breath away, and she had to wait a moment to regain it. “Oh, I’m so happy to see you! I’ve missed you so much!”

“And I you. Why did I let you talk me into becoming king, again?” He returned the embrace with as much vigor, until suddenly his grip loosened. “Ooh, people are staring. Do you think it’s acceptable for a king to-”

“Alistair Theirin,” Iseult said, only partially joking, “I haven’t seen you for far too long. Let them stare.”

“Oh, all right.” He sighed heavily. “I suppose that getting to hug my best friend after an eternity away from her isn’t the worst thing in the world.”

She laughed, then caught the eye of a nobleman who was somehow horrified, disgusted, and confused at the same time. “Although if you don’t put me down soon, those rumors will start up again.”

“Ugh.” Reluctantly, he placed her back on the ground, and they both assumed their authoritative postures once more; hers of a Warden-Commander, his of a king. “Commander Cousland, I believe you owe me a tour of the keep?”

She bit her cheek to stop herself from beaming. “I believe I do, your majesty.”

“So this is important business, hmm?” Anders asked, arms folded across his chest and one eyebrow significantly above the other. “I’m not complaining, but…”

“Do kings do nothing but sit around and drink?” Velanna snapped.

Iseult raised a finger to hush them. “This is important business. Raising morale.”

Nathaniel laughed from behind a mug of ale, then covered it up with a cough.

Oghren just burped loudly. “You kids don’t know how to have fun.”

“Oh, I think I know something that’ll raise morale.” Alistair, much less imposing without his golden armor, shot Iseult a dangerously playful look. “Want to hear the story of how your Warden-Commander once climbed into a tree and wouldn’t come back down because she had seen a snake? In her full set of armor, by the way. The tree could barely hold her.”

Anders looked at Iseult in disbelief, a slow smile spreading over his face as he took in the fact that she’d turned bright red. “Now this I have to hear.” He sat at the table, chin resting on his fist. “Please, go on.”

“It wasn’t even a snake,” Alistair continued. “It was a rope that her dog had chewed up.”

Velanna scoffed and sat down too, pretending not to be interested. Iseult buried her head in her hands.

“Aww, you were so stupid,” Sigrun cooed, slapping Iseult on the back with surprising force.

Leliana chimed in from the other side of the table. “Ooh, or the time that a nobleman asked you two how long you’d been married.”

Alistair guffawed, ruffling Iseult’s hair. “She had no idea what was going on.” He remembered something else, perking up again. “Or the time Wynne tried to give us the baby-making talk.”

“Or the time she fell asleep standing up in her armor, and no one noticed until she tipped over,” Leliana added.

“Or the time she-”

“Haven’t you damaged my reputation enough by now?” Iseult groaned, half-serious.

Alistair shoved a drink in front of her, stronger-looking than anything she’d seen in weeks. “Here, this should make you feel better. Leliana, do you remember the time you put a fake spider in the corner of her tent, and she broke a sword trying to kill it?” Iseult removed her head from her hands, picked up the drink, and downed it all.

“Woohoo, Commander!” Oghren shouted. “Look at that, she can drink.”

“Speaking of drinking, did she ever tell you about the time she drank too much and cried because, and I quote, ‘snakes don’t have legs’?”

Iseult poured herself another drink and downed that one too. The fuzz of a tipsy stupor began to rapidly descend on her.

“What about the time she sent the mabari to get a stick, and instead, he came back with Sten’s blade?” Leliana giggled.

Nathaniel patted Iseult on the shoulder. “I’m so glad I didn’t kill you, Iseult.”

“If you were really my friend, you would distract them by telling everyone here about your feelings for Velanna,” Iseult responded.

She realized too late that she had said that at full volume. The table fell silent.

“I’m beginning to regret not killing you, Iseult,” Nathaniel said, his jaw tightening.

“Your what?” Velanna squeaked, her voice going suddenly high.

Sigrun began to laugh hysterically, sliding from her chair to underneath the table.

Leliana broke into a broad smile, getting up from her seat to drag both Nathaniel and Velanna out the door. “It sounds like you two have some talking to do.”

The door slammed behind them. For a moment, the room was completely silent. Anders peered through the window. “Give them a minute… and they’re kissing. Well, that was fast.”

Iseult sighed. “He’s never going to forgive me. Now who am I going to ask to be my surrogate?”

“Your what?” Anders yelped.

“What’s a surrogate?” Sigrun mumbled from under the table.

Alistair let out another loud laugh. “That reminds me of the Morrigan incident. Leliana, did I tell you how she-”

Half of Iseult wanted to sink into the ground and never be seen again. The other half of her was too happy, surrounded by friends and firelight, to even consider it.

All this luck…

#writing #my writing #dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age origins awakening #fanfiction #leliana #nathaniel howe #velanna #king alistair #nathaniel howe x velanna #leliana x female warden #leliana x warden

28 notes · View notes

allisondraste · 5 years

Text

Temperance (4/?)

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/ Female, Non-HoF Cousland

Story Summary: Nathaniel and Elissa were childhood friends, but time and distance tore them apart. In the aftermath of the Fifth Blight, and Ferelden’s Civil War, both Elissa and Nathaniel must attempt reconstruct their tattered lives. As a series of events lead them to be reunited, both are reminded of so many years ago when things were much simpler.

Chapter Summary: Liss is determined to make that grumpy Howe boy her friend, but she isn't prepared for what that entails.

First Chapter Previous Chapter [AO3 LINK]

Highever, 9:15 Dragon

Liss had made a new friend, or at least she was bound and determined to make that quiet, grumpy Howe boy her friend. Nathaniel — or Nate, as she had decided to call him — seemed much less interested in the notion, however. In fact, he didn’t seem interested in much at all, especially not normal things that kids should be interested in. He had been staying in Highever for over a month now, and she had never seen him play, not a single time. He just attended lessons, read books, and followed Fergus around like he was a sad, little puppy. Liss didn’t understand why anyone would want to follow Fergus around. He smelled like sweat and old cheese.

Papa told her she wasn’t to bother him, but she didn’t think that encouraging him to act like a normal kid was the same as “bothering.” Nate did not seem to mind it much whenever she left her lessons early and sought him out. While he was never really excited when she dragged him outside to the gardens and enlisted him in her search for the perfect flowers to braid into a crown, to play games, or even just to hide from Aldous behind some of the bushes, he didn’t complain. The only time Nate got annoyed with her was when she tried to make him wear the flower crown she had so artfully crafted. As soon as the white petals touched his pretty black hair, he blushed and took it off, handing it back to her forcefully. She tried to remember not to do that again.

Liss had once again persuaded her way out of Aldous’ lecture, this time by reciting the entire tale of Flemeth and Bann Conobar from memory when he asked if she’d even paid attention. Little did he know she had read several different versions of the tale -- multiple times. She did not need to attend to his instruction, especially when he couldn’t even pronounce the names properly. She was only eight and she knew that it was Oh-sen, not Ah-sen. Obviously defeated, the man had grumbled about “Bryce’s know-it-all children,” thrown his hands up in frustration, and told her she was free to go. Thrilled she did not have to sneak away this time, she skipped out of the room and into the open air.

She didn’t make it far as she had hoped before she felt a tug at her arm drawing her abruptly to a halt. She spun to face the person holding her arm only to see Fergus towering over her with his eyebrows raised.

“Skipping again?” He spoke in a gentle kind of way that he always did when he wasn’t really serious. “You’re going to get in trouble.”

“Aldous let me go, I promise.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“Please don’t tell Papa, Fergus.’ She clasped her hands together and pouted, earning her an eye roll and a hair tousle.

“Your secret’s safe with me, sis,” Fergus answered with a smile, making Liss feel a twinge of guilt for thinking he was smelly. Just a twinge.

Liss nodded and turned to continue her traipse toward the courtyard, but Fergus called after her. “If you’re looking for Nathaniel, he’s out at the archery range.”

“Okay,” she chirped and took off running toward the castle gates. The targets were lined up just inside the walls, where guards sometimes practiced. There were no guards around at the moment, leaving the area empty and quiet.

Nate stood at the far end, several feet away from a target that was nestled in a corner. She didn’t understand his affinity for small, secluded spaces, but she didn’t plan on pointing it out to him. Several arrows already protruded from the target, close to the center, but not quite a bullseye.

Liss watched as he took another dull, training arrow from the quiver, line it up on the bow across his finger, and aim carefully as he drew back the string. His eyebrows pressed together as he released the string, sending the arrow flying toward the target and landing directly in the middle. The corner of Nate’s lips quirked up at the hit, quickly turning into a grin that spread across his face. It even lit up his eyes.

“Wow,” Liss exclaimed, causing Nate to jump and dart his head in her direction. His smile fell briefly and then returned when he realized it was her.

“Did you see that?” He motioned toward the target with his thumb as he walked toward her. “I’ve never done that before.”

“That was amazing ,” Liss said excitedly, “Mama tried to teach Fergus to shoot like that, but he’s better with a sword. How did you learn to do that?”

Nate shrugged. “I just practiced.”

“Can you show me?”

“You want to learn how to use a bow?” He blinked in disbelief. “Are you allowed? Father never lets Delilah use weapons. Says it’s not something girls should do.”

“That’s silly.” Liss was indignant, puffing out her chest and turning her nose up. “Papa says girls can do anything that boys can.”

“Right...sorry. I’ll show you.” He motioned for her to follow him, moving to stand in front of one of the targets. She ran after him giddily, eager for the chance to learn something new. Nate placed the bow in her hands and walked forward to retrieve the arrows from the target. It was heavier than she expected, coarse wood rough in her palms. He returned with the arrows in hand and extended one out to her. “I never got why Delilah wasn’t allowed. She’d be good at it.”

Liss took the arrow and stared awkwardly between it and the bow, unsure how to hold either, before looking up at Nate helplessly. He laughed, taking her shoulders and squaring her up with the target. “Which hand do you write with?”

She raised her right hand and wiggled her fingers.

“You want to hold the bow in your left hand, then,” he explained, “And line your left shoulder up with the target when you aim.”

“Like this?”

“Mhm,” Nate said with a nod, “Make sure your feet are far enough apart that you can balance. Do you know what to do with the arrow now?”

Liss nodded in response, hooking the end of the arrow on the string and lining it up with her finger, just as she had seen her mother and Nate do.

“Right! Now you just shoot it.”

The bowstring was more difficult to pull back than she intended, and her arms shook as she attempted to aim. Her posture failed her, and when she released the arrow, it soared directly into the ground. Her cheeks grew hot with embarrassment, and she expected to find Nate laughing at her when she turned to face him, but he wasn’t. He only smiled gently and handed her another arrow. Fergus would have laughed at her.

“It’s harder than it looks,” he said, moving to stand behind her, lining her shoulders up again and holding her in place as she drew back the string and released the arrow. It wasn’t a great shot, a bit too high, but it struck and sunk into the very top edge of the target.

“Oh,” Liss said, bewildered as she turned to face her friend, “I did it! Thank you!” She threw her arms around him in an excited embrace. He stiffened, but didn't push her away.

“It’s-,” Nate began to reply, but he paused, blinking in the direction of the door to the castle’s main hall. Liss turned to figure out what had caused him to stop, only to see her father standing a few feet away, smiling as he always did. For a moment she worried that he would be cross that she was not in her lessons again, but he did not seem to realize she wasn’t where she was supposed to be.

“Good work, kids,” he remarked cheerfully as he moved closer to them, tousling Liss’ hair as Fergus had done and giving Nate a pat on the shoulder. Despite his typically happy appearance, something was wrong. He had a heaviness in his eyes she wasn’t used to seeing, and his hand lingered on Nate’s shoulder as he addressed her. “Pup, I need to speak to Nathaniel for a bit. Why don’t you go find Fergus and the two of you get washed up for dinner?”

“But Papa, I-.” She wanted to stay with Nate, and practice shooting more. She didn’t know why she couldn’t hear what Papa had to say, too.

“Elissa.” His tone was serious, and she knew she needed to do as he said without protest this time. She offered an apologetic smile to Nate, whose eyes had widened with worry, as she ran off to find her brother.

It took awhile to find Fergus, who had been down in the kennels with the Mabari trainers and breeders. His latest fixation was to have one of the puppies bond with him; however, he had no luck so far. Papa warned him that the more he tried to force a bond, the less likely it was to happen. Fergus didn’t listen, though, and stubbornly went down to the basement each day to pester the dogs. She hoped it would happen for him soon, for his sake and for the dogs’.

“I shot a bow,” she told him proudly as they walked up the stairs to their rooms.

“Get a bullseye?”

“No, but I hit the target once.” She beamed, as she spoke. “Nate helped me.”

“Good on him,” Fergus said, a chuckle at the end of his words, “Maybe he can help me, too. Get mum to stop lecturing me about it.”

After washing up and changing into a different dress, one that was not covered in dirty paw prints from being in the kennels, Liss joined her family in the dining room for the evening meal. Her parents and Fergus were already seated, awaiting her arrival. Looking across the table, she frowned when she didn’t see Nate, his usual seat empty and unset. She turned her gaze to her father, who just shook his head, somberly.

“Where’s Nate?” She pulled out her chair and sat down at the table that was nearly too tall for her. “Is he okay?”

Her parents exchanged glances and nodded at one another before looking back toward Liss and Fergus.

“Sweetheart,” her mother began, voice quivering as she spoke, “Nathaniel received some really sad news from home. He didn’t feel like coming to dinner today.”

“Sad news,” Fergus repeated, “What kind of sad news?”

“Apparently Nathaniel’s mother has been very sick for some time now,” her father said, “I don’t know if he told either of you. I know that it is not something Rendon has ever mentioned.”

Liss and Fergus both shook their heads. She remembered him talking about his father, sister, and brother, but not once since he had been in Highever could she remember him saying anything about his mother. Especially not anything about her being sick.

“Is she okay,” Liss asked, scooting her chair out and standing up again, hands on the table.

“She died, pup.” Her father frowned as he spoke, “Last week, actually. The letter just arrived today. They poor lad wasn’t even able to go to her funeral, to say goodbye.”

“Bryce,” her mother said pointedly, laying a soothing arm on his shoulder. Liss didn’t understand the exchange, but it upset her to see her father so clearly bothered. He almost seemed angry.

“Is...Nate okay?” Liss was still standing, fists now clenched at her side.

“No, but he will be,” her father told her softly, “He asked if he could stay in his room instead of come to dinner. I think he wants to be alone.”

Liss didn’t even ask to be excused before she took off running out of the dining hall, up the stairs in the corridor, and toward Nate’s room. She ignored her parents calls for her to come back, thinking about how she might feel if her mother were to die. It made her so sad she could hardly stand it and she couldn’t even imagine what Nate was feeling. She knew her father was right and that he probably wanted to be by himself, but she was his friend, and she couldn’t just leave him all alone. If he told her to go away, she would, but she at least had to try.

When she reached the door to his bedroom, she pressed her ear against the elaborately carved wood, but wasn’t able to hear anything. She knocked, and when there was no answer, she let herself in, turning the knob and pushing the door open gently. She scanned the room, which was illuminated by a lone sconce on the wall, only to find Nate sitting on the floor in a far corner of the room, his back against the wall. He traced the edges of a small, golden ring with his fingertips, staring at the ground. When he heard the door creak open, despite Liss’ attempts to be quiet, he looked up at her with swollen, tear-reddened eyes.

“Liss?” His voice was hoarse, and barely more than a whisper.

“Mama and Papa told me what happened,” she explained as she moved closer, sitting down next to him, “I’m really sorry.”

He said nothing in response, instead just closing his eyes and letting his head droop. Large tears rolled down his cheeks and dripped from his chin, and she didn’t know what to do. She’d never seen a boy cry before, and she was at a loss for how to make him feel better.

“I can go if you want me to,” she said softly, “Papa said you might want to be al-.”

“No,” Nate choked out, urgently, “Stay. Please stay.”

Unsure what else to do, she leaned over and put an arm around his shoulder. In a swift, unexpected movement, he turned to wrap his arms around her in a desperate hug, his face buried into her shoulder so that she could feel the warm tears as the fell. He wept and trembled against her and she put her other arm around him, reaching up to pat his head with her hand. It was just as Mama did when she was upset. She wondered if Nate’s mama had held him like this, too, but that made her sad, and sympathetic tears burned in her eyes before dropping to her cheeks.

“I’m so so sorry, Nate,” she said, squeezing him more tightly, “I’m sorry.”

She held him for a long while, until his breathing slowed and became more even, his grip on her relaxing, his shaky body finally resting, as he fell asleep against her. She guessed he had worn himself out, and she was glad to see him at peace. She was only slightly bothered that she was now stuck, unable to move him and not wanting to wake him up.

She was relieved when the door creaked open, and she looked up to see her parents standing there, framed by the light from the hallway. Her father frowned, eyebrows furrowed as her mother brought a hand to her mouth. Nate didn’t hear them, and they both entered quietly. Her father hurried over to pick up Nate, carrying him to his bed and tucking him in under the heavy covers. Her mother, noticing Liss’ own tears, rushed to her side and held her, much as she had held her friend just moments before.

“It’s so sad, Mama,” she mumbled into the the woman’s gown.

“I know, sweetheart,” she soothed, pressing a kiss against Liss’ hair, “I know.”

“My girl, you did a good thing tonight,” her father said as he knelt to join them. “But you must be exhausted. How about we get you to bed?”

Liss nodded, still sniffling. Tonight, she welcomed bedtime, comforted as she was carried to bed by her mother, who was still alive. She said a tiny prayer before she fell asleep that the Maker would take care of Nate’s mother, and that he wouldn’t take her own, not for a very, very long time.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age awakening #nathaniel howe #nathaniel howe x cousland #elissa cousland #my writing

24 notes · View notes

caed-nuas · 5 years

Text

Three Things Oc Meme

Tagged by @acepavus, thank you so much!!! Took a while but I got around to it!!! Tagging @cloaked-blog-of-ocs, @daydreamingdragonage, @moonlacer, @red-wardens, and anyone else if they wish to do it, just tag me so I can learn more about your lovely ocs!!

I'm using my three dwarf wardens for this!! (note Zeja is in a different worldstate then the other two)

Royce Aeducan

He's actually utterly confused at the system of Dwarven politics and really doesn't like it. Why be voted in by a select few when in relitly a good heir cares about all the people, every dwarf under a leaders rule really should be the rulers first concern, shouldnt they have a say? And the backstabbing only makes everyone distrust eachother when they should be again helping to make Orzammar better, why backstab? Royce just doesn't understand it which makes him very bad at actually playing along with the politcal landscape of Orzammar (whereas Zeja despite never liking it was very good at handling said political landscape)

Royce is really fond of rain and actually is rather mesmerized by it at first rather than scared. Actually loves all weather as he just finds ir amazing. The climate actually changes and water falls from the sky and that's all normal? The surface is alot more interesting then he'd ever thought.

He really enjoys painitngs. Everywhere is so dreary and the same bland bronze or silver colour and he finds adding a painting can make anything look better, it's something your eye can look at and he also enjoys making paintings for said reason. They're also very calming

Zariah Brosca

Really doesn't like dogs. They're just so big and nosy and loud, and she's also scared by the fact that these big animals are warhounds and can easily kill a dwarf. Safe to say she keeps her distance around both Adina’s Mabari and the one rescued by Royce at Ostagar.

Working in the Carta for as soon as she could, Zariah really doesn't care much for the legality of situations. If someone is dying of hunger, stealing food is good even if it's breaking some moral law, why should she adhere to this law when it prevents someone from doing good. So yeah Zariah has no qualms about doing something illegal and conflicts with both noble raised wardens alot as they both treasure rules and laws for different reasons.

Zariah was shocked at being tittled Warden Commander when she was merely 19 compared to Adoma Cousland who was atleast 5 years older, but Nora herself believed her best got as afterall she and Anora had a country to rule. And in the end Zariah proves to be a rather great Commander and actually able to manage the responsibilies thrown her way quite well, and she is rather glad actually to be Warden Commander as she gets used to it

Zeja Aeducan

Zeja is very fluent in sign language and can write in atleast four different languages as well, and by far the oc who knows the most languages even though they actually cannot speak, and a couple years after Zeja has picked up Antivan from Zevran fairly well.

Zeja can play quite a few musical instruments and can play them really well. As far back as they can recall they've always loved music and has found it quite relaxing.

Zeja really doesn't like committing themselves to staying in one place long and enjoys travelling to new places far too much to ever be tempted to do so. So more times than not Zeja will often be traveling across Thedas for a variety of reasons, alongside both Zevran and Sigrun of course.

#i did it!!!#thanks for the tag!#tag meme #oc post #my post #character: royce aeducan #character: zariah brosca #character: zeja aeducan

18 notes · View notes

haledamage · 5 years

Link

Pairing: Female Cousland/Nathaniel Howe

Story Summary: Cathain Cousland had been in love with Nathaniel Howe for as long as she can remember. It doesn’t take long after they reunite in Amaranthine to realize she still is.

Chapter Summary: A series of conversations, during a brief respite between fights.

We’re up to 10 chapters! and over 42k words! thank you so much for all the support <3

“I thought this place would be bigger. Grander. The way you spoke of it, I expected a fairy tale castle covered in climbing roses.”

“Of course you did,” Cait said, picking another wildflower out of their basket and weaving the stem with the others. “You’re a romantic. Even when I said ‘Avvar fortress’ and ‘built for function over form’ all you heard was pretty things.”

“I like pretty things. Like your Nathaniel,” Leliana said with a cheeky grin. “He is very handsome, isn’t he? He must take after his mother, no?”

Cait smiled as she placed her completed flower crown on Leliana’s head. “I can’t even imagine how you must have pictured Nate, the way I used to talk about him.”

“He does not quite live up to expectations, that is true.” Their eyes followed Nathaniel, over at their makeshift archery range. He was having what was probably a very dour and taciturn conversation with Loghain and Stroud. “How could he? True love makes everyone appear more magnificent than they really are.”

Cait fought the urge to roll her eyes. True love was a fairy tale. The love she felt for Nathaniel was no greater or more 'true' than the love she had for Leliana, or Fergus, or Anders; it was just a different kind. But they’d been over it before and she didn’t feel like rehashing it today. “It seems like you and our dear General have grown close.”

Leliana laughed her lovely, musical laugh and placed her flower crown on Cait’s head. “For someone whose job demands so much subtlety, you are not very good at it. But it is not like that. Loghain is… a friend. It is more than I expected when we met. It is enough.”

“He gave you the ‘old soldier’ speech, didn’t he?” She did a passable impression of his low, grumbling voice. "‘I’m old enough to be your father, girl. You have better things to do than waste time on an old soldier like me.’ He tried that on me too and I wasn’t even romantically interested in him. But you are, aren’t you? I’m not reading that wrong?” Leliana didn’t answer, just laid her head back on Cait’s shoulder. They both stared up into the canopy of her tree. “I can see why you would be. He’s handsome enough, and charming despite his attempts not to be. Maybe because of his attempts not to be.”

“You find him handsome, do you? I suppose you would.”

Cait shrugged the shoulder that her friend wasn’t leaning on. “I have a type. I’ve learned to accept it. Do you want me to talk to him?”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that, Caitie,” Leliana said lightly.

Cait shook her head, then had to catch her flower crown as it slid off her head. “You didn’t. You would do the same for me.”

“Do you need me to?”

“No. Nathaniel isn’t the issue in our relationship. I’m the one holding back.” Leliana found her hand and laced their fingers together, a silent show of support. “I’m just not any good at words. I have them, in my head clear as day, but when I try to say them… nothing.”

“You do not need words to show someone you love them. These,” Leliana touched her flower crown, held up their joined hands, “are how you tell me you love me. This is how you prefer to speak to us. I understand because I love you too. He understands too. He has had much more time to learn your language.”

“Maybe, but I want to tell him in his language. He’s… he’s a romantic. Like you.” Cait paused as Leliana giggled. “I know. He’s good at hiding it. I told you none of this, okay?”

“Well, if it were me...” Leliana said, and Cait could hear the ideas already forming in the bard’s head. “Perhaps something big is in order. You are very good at grand gestures. I think I know a good place to start. I will help, it will be fun.”

They didn't make any real effort to get up yet, though. They'd both spent the last few months surrounded by grumpy men and it was nice to be around another woman for a while. Maybe they should get Sigrun and have a girls' night; Cait was sure the three of them could find some trouble to get into, something more fun than their usual brand of trouble.

“Mrow,” a tiny voice said from the tree above them. Cait and Leliana exchanged a glace.

“Hello…?”

“Mreep eek.”

Cait scrambled to her feet to come face to face with a tiny ginger cat on one of the low branches. It was young, in that midway growth stage where its legs and tail were all much too long for the rest of it. Maybe six months old or so. It stared at her with bright green eyes. “Hello, sweetheart. Where did you come from?”

“Eep mrrr.” She reached out a hand and the cat leaned so hard against it that it almost fell out of the tree. She picked it up gingerly and it grabbed onto her shoulders, tiny needle claws digging into her skin. It bumped its face into her chin in a friendly kitty hug.

Leliana giggled. “I see you’ve made another new friend.” She scratched the cat between its ears and Cait almost dropped it as it tried to lean into the new source of attention. “I think he is hungry, poor thing. You take care of him and I will go to my room. I have something for you. I will go get it and see you in your room later.”

After she left, Cait stared at the cat. The cat stared at her, squinting its eyes happily. “I think I know exactly what to do with you, sweetheart. What do you think of mages?”

-------

“Anders, are you awake?” Cait banged on his door. “I have a present for you.” As soon as the door started to open, she held up the little cat.

Anders blinked at her over the cat’s head. His hair was down around his shoulders and he was shirtless; Cait could clearly see his ribs, but he looked much healthier than he had when they’d met. He looked like he had just woke up, even though it was early afternoon.

“Moooow rrp,” said the cat, and Anders’ bleary eyes finally focused on it. He reached forward very slowly and scooped it into his arms. It smooshed its face into his.

“I found him in my tree out in the courtyard,” Cait said, grinning. Anders looked completely smitten; he barely even acknowledged she was there. “He’s yours, if you want him.”

“Mine? You mean I can keep him? Here in the keep?”

“Of course you can.” She scratched the cat on top of its head as it thoroughly inspected Anders hair; seemingly approving, it bumped its face into Anders chin again. “You’re responsible for keeping him fed and happy. If he comes near my dog, Byron will adopt him immediately and try to teach him how to be a good mabari, so maybe keep an eye on where he roams. The rest is up to you.”

Anders walked over to his bed and gently set the cat down, who curled up immediately on his pillow and closed its eyes. He then stalked back to Cait and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. “May I point out that you’re all right?”

She smiled. “Go ahead.”

“You’re all right.” He stared at the cat as it stretched out its front paws, taking up a remarkable amount of space for a half-grown kitten. “Now I guess I need to get you a nice gift, ey?”

Cait stared up at him, confused. “What? No. Of course you don’t. Why would you?”

“No one’s ever just… given me a gift before,” Anders said in the smallest voice she’d ever heard from him.

“Anders, you’re my friend.” She hugged him again. She wanted to hold him until he understood what the meant and understood that she meant it. “You’re family. This isn’t some kind of one-upmanship. If you want to think of it that way, think of it as thanks for saving my life. Or thanks for being obnoxious and pushing Nathaniel and I together again.”

He was quiet for a very long time before he nodded. “Okay. Thank you, Caitie.”

“Can I make a request, though?”

“Anything.”

“Give that cat the most ridiculous blighted name you can think of.”

Anders grinned. “I think I have some ideas.”

-------

Her room had been empty when she returned. No Leliana, no Nathaniel, just Byron napping in the sun. She'd waited a while, but the bard had never come around, so Cait went down to the training cellar, hoping to hit things until she could think straight.

Grand gestures, Leliana had said. She could do that. She just hoped it didn't backfire.

They still hadn't set up any decent combat dummies, so Cait walked through a few basic training drills to warm up. Then she worked her way through a series of push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, and lunges, just trying to work up a sweat and get her heart rate up.

“I should have known I'd find you down here,” Loghain's quiet, amused voice said behind her. “Nice to know you aren't letting yourself get complacent now that you've got a roof and a title over your head.”

“I am hiding from my emotions,” Cait said honestly, dropping from the hanging bar to land toe to toe with the former teryn.

“Would you like some company?”

She picked up a sword and shield and he grabbed a pair of daggers, switching roles to keep them both out of their comfort zones. They already knew who would win in a normal fight, after all, and they both still bore the scars from it.

Cait felt off balance, the shield much heavier and less maneuverable than she was used to. The daggers looked comically small in Loghain's large hands.

She swung her sword, in much too wide an arc. Loghain parried easily. “So what are you hiding from?” she asked bluntly.

“They spotted a woman matching the description of the marsh witch at the border to Orlais,” he said, swinging at her but missing entirely, used to a longer blade. “Heavy with child.”

Cait paused. Whatever she had expected, it wasn't that. Loghain slapped the flat of a dagger to her shield arm and the shock of pain brought her back to the present. “Morrigan is a lot of things, but a liar isn't one of them. Chances are we'll never see her or her child again. We're both alive. Concentrate on that.”

He laughed dryly. “I have missed your unique brand of optimism while I've been away.” His tone changed to that of a patient instructor. Ever the general, even here. “Try switching the shield to your right arm. You're left hand dominant, you'll feel less off balance with your sword there.”

She did as he suggested, rolling her shoulders to loosen them up and adjust her footing. “You're right, that does feel better.” When she pressed the attack again, she was quicker, less clumsy.

“I've spoken at length with your Howe,” Loghain said, moving close to try and get past her guard.

Cait kept her shield resolutely between them. “He has a name, you know.”

He smiled a little, looking much more relaxed now that they were alone. “Yes, but you still knew who I was talking about.”

“And?”

“And I think if I'd had him at my side instead of his father, I would have had a much more successful campaign during the Blight,” he said wryly.

“If you'd had him at your side instead of his father, you and I would never have been enemies.” She swung her sword again, but was much too slow.

“Indeed.” He watched her face, easily sidestepping and ignoring her attempts at attacking. “He asked for my blessing to marry you.”

“He what?” Cait's sword clattered to the floor. Loghain dropped his combat stance until she picked it back up. "That's cheating, Loghain," she snapped. "A low blow."

He wasn't impressed or intimidated by her display. "Maybe you shouldn't expose your weak points quite so obviously."

She finally lifted her sword again. “I--Shouldn't he have asked Fergus? He's my only living blood family.”

“Perhaps.” Loghain waited until she was clearly ready before stepping forward to harrow her again. “When's the last time you spoke with your brother?”

“The coronation,” Cait said, half-hiding behind the shield. “I see your point, I guess you would be my closest family, these days.”

“Is that what we are?”

“Aren’t we?” Loghain's expression didn't change, but there was a softness around his eyes that hadn't been there before. “So what did you tell him?”

“That he had my blessing for as long as he makes you happy. That I know several very skilled assassins if he ever stopped.” He hit her shield a certain way and her whole arm went numb. “But I assume that’s what you’re down here hiding from.”

“You assume correctly.” Loghain sliced forward with a dagger and her sword clattered to the ground again. He picked it up and handed it back. As they started over, she said, “Do you ever feel like an impostor? Like every positive thing anyone sees in you is just… window dressing? Like you’ve fooled them into thinking you’re a good person and it’s only a matter of time until you slip up and they see through it?”

“You’re too young to be so jaded, Cait,” he said, disarming her again easily. She held up her hands in surrender. “Even at your absolute worst, you’re still a better person than most. You’ll never have a normal life, but you can still have a little normalcy in it. That’s what Howe is offering you.”

He helped her unstrap her shield and stayed close, studying her with that intense stare that she found so intimidating when they first met. Maybe she still found it a little intimidating. Loghain continued, “If you don’t mind a bit of advice from someone who’s been where you are: take it. Be happy in spite of the burdens placed on you.”

“I wish you’d take your own advice,” Cait whispered.

“Cait…”

“At least take her to dinner or something, Loghain. Give her a chance.” Cait knew how petulant she sounded, but she didn’t care. “She's an amazing woman, and you'd be good for each other.”

Loghain scoffed and turned away under the pretense of putting the weapons away. “She's barely older than my daughter.”

“Anora would absolutely be agreeing with me if she were here.” She followed him across the room, not letting him escape that easily.

“She's Orlesian,” he sneered.

“Loghain…”

He finally turned back to face her. “She deserves better than me.”

“Maybe,” Cait said plainly. “But she wants you.”

“She told you that, did she,” Loghain muttered, but he looked pleased at the thought.

Cait was pretty sure if she hugged him she'd start crying, the torrent of emotions rolling in her belly finding the only outlet they could. Instead, she laid her hand on his arm, thumb resting over a knot of scar tissue just above his elbow. He sighed, a small, frustrated sound, and found the matching scar on her arm from the same fight.

Friendship forged in blood and pain. Maybe she was good at grand gestures. Maybe Leliana understood her more than she gave her credit for.

She smiled at him, starting to finally feel calm again, and said, “Maybe it’s time for us old soldiers to stop running from the chance at a little peace.”

-------

She ran into Leliana in the hall on the way back to her room, who held out a small box for her. "It's a gift from the Drydens. They said you would find a use for it. I think I have an idea, but let us see if we are thinking the same."

Cait opened the box and stared at its contents in awe. "I know exactly what you're thinking," she said. She pulled Leliana into a hug. "It's perfect. Thank you."

"You are so welcome."

"I actually have something for you too. Will you come with me a moment?" She grabbed Leliana's hand before she could answer and pulled her along.

They made a quick stop at Wade's forge. He was hammering out a sword, but stopped as soon as they approached, visibly grateful for the distraction. When Cait said “I have a commission for you!” in a sing-song voice, he even looked a little excited. She left the box and a down payment, as well as a promise for double the pay if he and Harren kept it secret, and then she took Leliana’s hand again and led her back inside.

Nathaniel was in her room again when they walked in. He sat at the little desk under the window, a quill in hand and Byron asleep on his feet. His hair was down and loose around his shoulders and his bow was propped up in the corner by her armor stand and it was all so unexpectedly, breathtakingly domestic that Cait couldn’t help pause in the doorway and stare.

Then Leliana elbowed her in the back and Byron barked happily when he spotted her and the moment was lost. She stepped into the room, Leliana on her heels. “Sorry to bother you. We’ll be out of your hair in just a moment.”

“Cait, it’s your room,” Nathaniel chuckled. “If I didn’t want you in my hair, I could go to my own room, couldn’t I?” He grabbed her arm as she moved past and pulled her back to him. “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon.” She kissed the top of his head, then squirmed free to get back on task. She found her bags in the corner by the bed and dug through until she found what she was looking for.

Cait held the green-gemmed ring out to Leliana. “I think this is supposed to be yours.”

“It’s… lovely,” Leliana said slowly, studying the ring. “What is it for, exactly?”

“A pretty thing with a sad, romantic story attached.” Cait told an abbreviated version of their trip to Blackmarsh, of the scavenger hunt with the ring and the note at the end and the villagers, trapped in the Fade for decades. “I know how cheesy this sounds, but I think I was meant to bring it to you. To tell you their story so you could carry it with you.”

Leliana grinned playfully. “You’re right. That does sound cheesy,” she said, but she put on the ring. “I hope they are together, wherever they are now.”

“That’s what I said,” Nate said softly.

“Good,” Leliana laughed. “Then I do not have to worry that Cait will get too serious and grumpy without me here.”

“You like serious and grumpy,” Cait pointed out.

“I have a type. I have learned to accept it.” Leliana gave Cait a quick hug. “I should go find your General. He is likely to find something reckless to do so he doesn’t have to think about his feelings, no?”

“I can see why you and he get along so well,” Nathaniel said dryly. “So much in common.”

After Leliana left, Nate turned back to the desk and Cait tried not to go back to staring at him. She busied herself sorting through the pile of now clean and dry clothes on her bed and putting them away. A remarkable number of them weren’t her clothes.

"Do you even use your room anymore?" Cait said softly, putting another of his shirts on a hanger and putting it in the closet. "Maybe we should just move all of your stuff in here."

Nathaniel turned to look at her. "I can’t tell if you’re joking or not."

"I’m not. But we can pretend I am if you’d prefer." She gave up the pretense and walked over behind his chair and sliding her arms around his shoulders. “What’re you writing?”

“Calling in some favors from my time up north. Trying to find some information about the Architect or any historical mentions of talking darkspawn.” He leaned against her and took her hand, holding it over his heart. “The First Warden is understandably slow to share information with me, but the Wardens can’t be the only ones with records dating back that far. I know a girl in Kirkwall, Charade, who has contacts as far north as Tevinter. Told her I’d help her track someone down if she did the same for me.” He tapped the top sheet of paper and added, “This one’s to Delilah. I promised I’d keep in touch.”

“I should probably write to Fergus,” Cait said with a sigh. “He’ll ask me to come visit him. I’m not ready.”

“Have you been back to Highever at all?” He turned his chair around and pulled her close. Sitting down, he was still barely shorter than she was standing.

She shook her head. “Not since Duncan dragged me out. I just… I can’t.”

“I understand.” Nathaniel touched his forehead to hers. “I could go with you, if you want. Once you're ready. Assuming Fergus would even let a Howe through the gates.”

He was probably right. Cait wasn’t even sure Fergus really wanted to see her either; she knew he blamed her at least a little for the deaths of their parents, of his wife and son. As if she wouldn’t bring them back in a heartbeat if she could.

“He’ll come around,” was all she said, “sooner or later.”

“That’s more patient than I would normally expect from you,” he said.

“Yes, well, I had a good day. I’m feeling a bit generous.” She tilted his head up so she could kiss him. “Don’t worry, I plan to go back to being obtuse and difficult first thing in the morning.”

“I’d better take advantage of it while I can, then.”

-------

She ran into Stroud in the hall the next morning on the way to breakfast. "Good morning, Ser Stroud."

"Good morning, Warden-Commander. Might I take a moment of your time?"

“Of course. Do you want to take a walk?” she gestured down the hall and fell into step next to him.

“As you wish.” He didn’t say another word until they were outside. Stroud kept his hands clasped behind his back, every movement poised and professional, and Cait found herself mimicking his posture as they walked. “You have done good work here, Commander. Especially considering the… unique circumstances surrounding your recruitment.”

She nodded her head in a small bow. “Thank you, Ser Stroud.”

“Call me Jean-Marc.”

“Only if you’ll call me Cait,” she said with a smile.

His mustache twitched. “On second thought, perhaps just Stroud will do.”

Cait laughed. “So you do have a sense of humor after all. What was it you wished to discuss?”

They turned a corner, moving farther away from the forge and the crowds in the courtyard. Stroud spoke in a hushed voice to discourage eavesdroppers. “Have you had any direct contact with this Architect?”

Cait shook her head. “No. Just minions.”

“I have been reading your reports and these confrontations you’ve been having do not seem accidental.” He pulled her to a stop behind a half-repaired wall, dark eyes somber and intense. “I think the Architect, whatever it is, is targeting you specifically.”

She thought about that for a moment. “Targeting me, or targeting the Commander? Because the Commander could be anyone. If I were to walk away tomorrow and leave for… I don’t know, vacation in Antiva, would I meet talking darkspawn there or would they be the new Commander’s problem?”

Stroud’s mustache twitched again. Cait was starting to suspect he had it so people couldn’t read his expressions. “Are you planning a vacation to Antiva, Commander?”

They started walking again. “No. But if they're targeting the Commander of the Grey, the Architect has a grudge against Wardens and is just trying to cut off the snake’s head, as it were. If they're targeting me, it’s for something I’ve personally done.” She shrugged. “And since I’m not the one who killed the archdemon, I don’t know what else they could possibly want with me.”

Stroud was quiet for a long time. “I hadn’t considered that. I don’t think I like the implications either way.” A merchant cart came barreling down the road toward them, and they stepped to the side to let it past. Once it was gone, he continued, “I’m concerned about the way his subordinates keep finding you. How did they know you would go to the Blackmarsh? To Kal’Hirol?”

Cait’s blood ran cold. “You don’t think there’s a spy here, do you?”

“Not among your Wardens. I have spoken to all of them. Their loyalty is not in question. Neither is that of your seneschal,” he said, and Cait deflated with relief; she knew that her people could be trusted, but convincing a man like Stroud of that would be impossible if he’d decided otherwise. He was still talking, seemingly not noticing her momentary distraction. “I’ve heard rumors of a conspiracy against you.”

She heard what he was trying to infer. “You think Esmerelle is working for the darkspawn?”

“Or perhaps they work for her.”

“Esmerelle isn’t smart enough to be the Architect,” Cait sneered. “Unless someone hired her, too, to try and split my attention. Blight and damnation, I don’t like the connotations there, but… I’ll look into it. That would be my blighted luck, wouldn’t it?” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Stroud.”

“You are welcome, Commander.” They walked for a while in silence. “I will be heading back to the Free Marches soon, I think. You have things well in hand here.”

Cait had figured he wouldn’t be staying long, but she was surprised that she was a bit sad to see him go. Curious and knowing she might not get a chance to ask later, she asked, “What’s your job like up north?”

“Scouting, mostly. There are several places where the Deep Roads open directly to the surface, like at Kal’Hirol. We patrol to make sure the darkspawn don’t try to amass at any of them.” Stroud’s mustache twitched again. He was clearly proud of his work. “I do some recruiting as well. A lot of promising people come to and from the Marcher cities.” He paused, then added, “Perhaps I will start sending them your way instead of to Orlais.”

Cait smiled. “If I find any promising scouts, I’ll send them your way.”

“Thank you, Commander.” As they turned to head back to the keep, Stroud continued, “Sigrun in particular shows great promise, if she would be amenable. After this Architect business is concluded, of course.”

Her gut reaction was to say no, but she stopped to think about it. Even with this Architect stuff, it was pretty quiet in Ferelden on the darkspawn front. Sigrun would get bored with too much downtime between fights. She conceded, “I’ll talk to her about it. The decision would be hers ultimately.”

“Of course.” Stroud watched her closely as he said, “Lord Howe would be of considerable use as well.”

“I’m sure he would,” Cait said, fighting hard not to sound hostile. “He and I are a package deal, however.”

He huffed, a sound dangerously close to a laugh. “If I am honest, you would be a boon to my work too. A woman of your talents is wasted on paperwork. But that is not up to either of us, is it.”

“I suppose it isn’t,” she said, relaxing a little.

“Thank you for your time, and for your hospitality,” Stroud said, and after a very long pause added, “Cait.”

“The honor was mine, Jean-Marc,” Cait grinned, only tripping over his name a little. “I hope we get to work together in the future.”

“As do I.”

#nathaniel howe #cousland/nathaniel howe #dragon age #dragon age awakening #dragon age fic #cait cousland #cait/nate #rhi writes #something might be found #no action this chapter! just a bunch of chatting #background loghain/leliana #because I love my pairings as rare as possible apparently #I introduced stroud to begin with only because anders acted like he knew him in da2 and I wanted them to have met #but uh I love him and I'm sad he's leaving

3 notes · View notes

cruelangelstheses · 5 years

Text

alistair theirin, cat-sitter

fandom: dragon age rating: G characters: alistair, zevran, isabela, merrill, morrigan words: 3k additional tags: modern au, fluff, humor description: alistair ends up cat-sitting ser pounce-a-lot for the weekend. everything is fine, except that he knows nothing about cats—and to make matters worse, he’s pretty sure ser pounce-a-lot hates him. a/n: i’m back lmao i’ll be done reposting these soon. this was written for @compulsive-elfrootpicker for a wintersend exchange! their warden reina cousland is mentioned briefly so that’s who that is :-)

read it on ao3

—

This is not what Alistair had expected when Reina asked him to take care of a cat for the weekend.

It’s not even Reina’s cat; it’s Reina’s friend’s cat—Anders is the guy’s name, if Alistair remembers correctly. Apparently, Reina had agreed to watch Ser Pounce-a-Lot for the weekend while Anders was away, before realizing at the last minute that she was also going away for the weekend. Cue a panicked phone call late Thursday evening in which Reina asked Alistair to be the substitute cat-sitter, and Alistair agreed despite knowing next to nothing about cats. “Surely they can’t be that much different from dogs,” he’d assured himself. It should be fine, right? Right?

Wrong.

It’s only been about ten minutes since Reina dropped off Ser Pounce-a-Lot at Alistair’s apartment. In that time, Pounce has shredded Alistair’s curtains, knocked over several cups, and pissed on the kitchen floor despite knowing full well how to use the litter box, which Alistair had placed right near the back door to the balcony. Granted, it could be worse—at least the cups are all plastic and didn’t break, and at least Pounce didn’t piss on the carpet, and Alistair has been meaning to get some new curtains anyway—but still.

“What do you want from me?” Alistair asks the cat, who is standing on top of the kitchen table and swishing his tail back and forth. He’s just finished cleaning everything up, but there are bound to be plenty more messes at this rate.

Ser Pounce-a-Lot meows, but Alistair doesn’t speak cat, so he has no idea what that means. “It was a rhetorical question,” he says. Pounce hisses and uses his hind paws to slide his collar off of his neck. Alistair sighs.

It’s only Friday afternoon. Reina won’t be back to pick up the cat until Sunday evening. Clearly Alistair isn’t going to survive until then without some help, so he does the only thing he can think of to do: he calls Zevran.

Zevran Arainai is not usually the first person Alistair calls in the event of an emergency. That would be Wynne—she’s a sensible woman who has lived a lot longer than Alistair, and she’s very good at being “the adult” in any given situation. Alas, she’s apparently busy all weekend—if she’d been available, Reina would’ve asked her to watch Ser Pounce-a-Lot instead of Alistair.

The second person Alistair calls in the event of an emergency is Reina, but obviously that won’t do any good in this case. The third person would be Leliana, but she’s visiting family in Orlais; thus, by default, Zevran is the next person on his list, because Sten and Morrigan both scare him, and he trusts Oghren with a cat even less than he trusts himself.

Alistair’s conversations with Zevran normally take place over text when not in person, but this is an emergency, and he’s not going to risk being left on read when there’s a cat loose in his apartment who seems bent on giving him the headache of a lifetime. Luckily, Zevran picks up on the third ring. “Hello? Alistair?”

“Zevran!” Alistair says, breathing a sigh of relief. “Look, I know you probably have plans this evening, but I’m having a bit of an emergency and I need you to come over as soon as you can.”

“An emergency?” Zevran repeats. He sounds like he’s not sure whether to be concerned or amused. “What sort of emergency are we talking about? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

Alistair snorts. “Zevran, if I needed to call an ambulance, I would’ve called it before I called you.”

“Alright, fair enough,” Zevran replies. “Just let me put my pants back on, and then Isabela and I will be right over.”

“You—what?” Alistair says, but it’s too late; Zevran has already hung up.

Alistair shakes his head and turns back to the kitchen table—except Ser Pounce-a-Lot is not where Alistair last saw him. “Ser Pounce-a-Lot?” he calls, looking back and forth between the table and the counters. “Pouncey?”

It’s no use. Ser Pounce-a-Lot is nowhere in the kitchen—Alistair figures that out pretty quickly just by checking the cabinets and the pantry. The cat is gone, and he clearly doesn’t bow to Alistair, so it’s unlikely that he’ll return just at the sound of his name. “Blast it,” Alistair mutters. This day is just getting worse and worse by the second.

Alistair heads into the living room, checking behind and under furniture and even lifting up the couch cushions, to no avail. Beginning to grow desperate, he runs to the bathroom, searching under the sink and behind the shower curtain and even in the (closed) toilet, just in case Pounce somehow lifted up the lid and crawled inside. Nothing.

Alistair is in the process of tearing his bedroom apart when he hears Zevran’s voice singsonging, “Alistair! Oh, Alistair!”

“Yes!” Alistair calls as he digs through his closet. “I’m back here!”

A few seconds later, Alistair hears two pairs of footsteps behind him in the messy room. He glances over his shoulder to find Zevran and his friend-with-benefits, Isabela, both staring at him with their eyebrows raised in confusion. “What is the emergency?” Zevran asks coolly.

Alistair turns around to face them, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, so Reina agreed to watch some guy’s cat for the weekend, but then she realized that she was also going away for the weekend, so she pawned the cat off on me to babysit. Except the cat is a monster who hates me and I don’t know how to take care of it, and also since I called you I have discovered that the monster-cat has gone missing.”

“Wait,” Isabela says, holding a hand up. “Whose cat is it again?”

Now it’s Alistair’s turn to raise an eyebrow in confusion. “Err...I’m not quite sure why that matters, but I think his name’s Anders?”

Isabela gasps and claps a hand over her mouth. “I knew it! You’re watching Ser Pounce-a-Lot!”

Alistair shrugs helplessly. “Well, I was. How do you even know this guy?”

“I met him through a mutual friend,” Isabela says. “He gets around, it seems, despite the fact that he’s kind of a hermit.”

Zevran, meanwhile, is typing something in his phone, a half-smirk on his face. Alistair narrows his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“I am adding this to my list of ridiculous reasons Alistair has called me,” Zevran replies with a laugh. “Do not worry, my friend. We shall find this Ser Pounce-a-Lot in no time.”

“You have a list?” Alistair says, before shaking his head. “You know what? Never mind. We have more important issues here. Number one being that I’ve had the cat for less than half an hour and I’ve already lost him. I checked the whole apartment, every hiding place I could think of, and I haven’t found anything.”

“Hmm. You never know,” Zevran says thoughtfully as he puts his phone back in his pocket. “Cats can be very quick and sneaky. Maybe he keeps moving to different hiding spots like a game of tag.”

“A game of hide-and-seek tag,” Isabela adds. “If we split up, we might be able to find him.”

“Yes. Good idea,” Alistair agrees, so with that, Zevran and Isabela rush out of the bedroom to search other areas of the apartment.

Alistair investigates every part of the bedroom and bathroom multiple times, with no success. When the three reconvene in the living room after a solid ten minutes, he can tell by his friends’ expressions that they didn’t find the cat, either.

“I don’t get it,” Alistair says. “I didn’t leave the front door open or anything. How did he get out?”

At that, Zevran awkwardly gestures toward the kitchen. “Alistair, I have a question,” he says slowly. “Was that window always open?”

Oh, no. Alistair nearly sprints into the kitchen, his eyes resting on an open window right above the kitchen counter. He’d opened it earlier in the daytime because it got hot in the apartment and he’d needed some air. Now the spring breeze blowing peacefully through the window seems to mock him.

Alistair rests his elbows on the counter and then buries his head in his hands, groaning and swearing under his breath. “Maker, I’m so stupid.”

“Well, Isabela knows the fellow who owns the cat,” Zevran says reassuringly, doing his best to remain optimistic about the whole situation. “That will probably come in handy.”

Isabela laughs nervously. “Um, actually, it might not.”

That is not what Alistair wanted to hear. “What? Why not?”

Isabela crosses her arms. “He loves that cat. If he even suspected that something bad happened to it, he’d probably—I don’t know—magic us to death.”

Zevran snorts. “I believe the phrase you are looking for is ‘kill us with fire,’ my dear.”

“Wait,” Alistair says, an automatic reaction. “Anders is a mage?”

“Oh. Yeah,” Isabela says nonchalantly. “Why?”

Alistair shakes his head and reminds himself that it’s not relevant. “Oh. No reason, I guess. I used to be a templar. Well, I left before I could actually take my vows, but I have all the abilities.”

Isabela’s eyes widen, as if she’s just suddenly put two and two together. “Are you serious?”

“Err...yes?” Alistair says, eyeing her with confusion. “What about it?”

“I think Anders somehow teaches his cats to like mages and dislike templars,” Isabela explains. “Or maybe they just learn the behavior by being around him. At any rate, they seem to be able to...sense that sort of thing.” She shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t know a whole lot about magic and such.” Then she smirks a little, her eyes twinkling playfully. “But that would explain why Ser Pounce disliked you so much.”

Zevran practically cackles. “Oh, the thought of a cat shredding your curtains because you’re a templar!” he crows.

“I was a templar,” Alistair corrects. “But if the cat likes mages and dislikes templars...do you think he may have wandered off to a mage’s house?”

A lightbulb seems to appear over Isabela’s head. “That’s it!” she exclaims. “I know where to look for him. There’s a mage girl who lives just down the street, and he can’t have gone too far.”

Zevran snatches a bag of cat treats off the kitchen table, probably to entice Pounce to come back. “Well, what are we waiting for?” he says, shaking the bag. “Let’s go cat-hunting!”

With that, the three all rush out the door. They don’t bother with the elevator (since Alistair lives on the third floor of his apartment building); Alistair practically leaps down the stairs, Zevran slides down the railing, and Isabela sprints faster than Alistair thought was possible in knee-high boots. They probably look strange running through the lobby and bursting through the front doors. Isabela leads them across the parking lot and onto the sidewalk, heading in the direction of the downtown area.

Any thoughts about how it might have been faster to take the car vanish when Alistair sees the bumper-to-bumper traffic. It’s late afternoon on a Friday; it would’ve taken them ten minutes just to get out of the parking lot. Besides, they’re pedestrians, so they have the right-of-way at every crosswalk.

It’s not long before they arrive at a quaint little white townhouse with a rocking chair and several potted plants on the porch. Isabela bangs on the door several times, yelling, “Merrill!”

A few moments later, the door opens, revealing a small elven girl with black hair and tattoos on her face. “Isabela!” she says cheerfully, sounding pleasantly surprised. “What brings you here? And who are they?” She gestures toward Alistair and Zevran.

“Some friends,” Isabela replies quickly. “Listen—did you happen to see an orange tabby cat recently? Like, within the past forty-five minutes or so?”

Merrill’s eyes light up. “Yes, actually! A cat that looked just like that came scratching at the door maybe fifteen minutes ago. I gave him some pieces of cucumber and he sat with me on the porch for a little, but then he left.”

“He left?” Alistair repeats in a panic.

“Merrill,” Isabela says slowly, “that was Ser Pounce-a-Lot. Anders’s cat.”

Merrill covers her mouth with her hand. Clearly she knows Anders, too. “Ohhh,” she says, her cheeks flushing pink. “I knew he looked familiar. But he wasn’t wearing his collar, so I wasn’t sure.”

Alistair mentally smacks himself, remembering the way Pounce had removed his own collar with ease. Alistair hadn’t bothered to put it back on him.

“Oh, Merrill,” Isabela says with a sigh, but there’s not a trace of malice in her voice (in fact, Alistair thinks he might actually hear a bit of endearment).

“The last I saw him,” Merrill adds, “he was headed down toward Korcari Street. Fast, too.” She giggles a little. “He was a cat on a mission. As if he had somewhere very important to be.”

Alistair and Zevran exchange glances. They only know one mage who lives on Korcari Street. “Morrigan!” they say in unison.

Alistair throws his hands up in the air. “She hates animals!” he yelps. “She’ll kill him! Skin him alive, eat him for dinner, then use his bones as kindling!”

Upon hearing this, Isabela grimaces and says, “Well, we’d better be going, Merrill. Got a cat to save and all that. Bye!”

Without another word, she turns around and leaps down the steps, Zevran following her. Alistair shoots Merrill a glance and says, “Thanks.” Then he turns around and runs after Isabela and Zevran.

“Oh! Um, no problem?” Merrill says from behind him. Isabela will have a lot of explaining to do later, it seems.

As they rush to Korcari Street (earning strange looks from passersby as they shove their way through crowds and cross streets when they’re not supposed to), Zevran says, “I have to say, Isabela, I am surprised.”

“Surprised about what?” Isabela asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You always go on about how selfish you are,” Zevran says smugly, “yet here you are, helping Alistair with his cat predicament without expecting anything in return.”

“Oh, come on,” Isabela replies defensively. “I’m only doing this because I don’t want Anders to kill me. That’s all.”

“Hmm,” Zevran says, clearly unconvinced. “From what I’ve gathered, Anders still thinks that Reina is the one taking care of the cat. If anything were to happen to him, it would be on her head, and maybe Alistair’s. Not yours.”

“I—well, I just had to make sure that—shut up.” Her cheeks turn pink, and Zevran laughs.

This time, when they reach Morrigan’s townhouse, Alistair is the one who pounds his fists on the door and shouts, “Morrigan!”

“She may not answer to you,” Zevran says. “Let me try.” Taking a deep breath, he cups his hands around his mouth and calls, “Morrigan! O magical temptress, I beseech thee!”

The sound of the front door slamming open stops Zevran from continuing his speech. “What?” Morrigan snaps, looking even grumpier and more terrifying than usual. “First a cat, and now this.”

“A cat!” Zevran exclaims. “That is what we’re here for!”

“Please tell me it’s still alive,” Alistair adds.

As if on cue, an orange tabby cat appears from behind Morrigan, rubbing himself against her legs and purring. Morrigan rolls her eyes and lightly pushes him away with her foot. “Shoo,” she says with a scowl.

“Pouncey!” Alistair cheers, a wave of relief washing over him at the sight of Ser Pounce-a-Lot all in one piece.

Morrigan raises an eyebrow, probably at the name. “I was not aware you had a cat, Alistair.”

“Oh, I don’t,” Alistair says quickly. “He’s not mine. I’m just...cat-sitting. Except apparently this cat really likes mages and really doesn’t like templars.”

Morrigan snorts. “Explains why he thought I would be a good person to visit.”

“Why did you even let him in, if you hate animals so much?” Zevran asks.

“I didn’t,” Morrigan says. “I opened my door to see what all the scratching was about, and he ran inside before I could stop him.”

“Well, uh, we’ll take him off your hands,” Alistair says, crouching down to pick up Ser Pounce-a-Lot. Pounce hisses and doesn’t move from Morrigan’s side.

“Go,” Morrigan tells him, sounding exasperated. “I have other things to deal with. This man will not harm you.”

Pounce meows at her. Alistair thinks the cat almost sounds unsure.

“He is an ex-templar,” Morrigan continues with another roll of her eyes. “He never actually took his vows. Now go.”

Alistair holds back his laughter at the sight of Morrigan trying to reason with a cat. Ser Pounce-a-Lot trots out the door, but instead of heading toward Alistair, he stops at Isabela’s feet.

Isabela laughs a little. “It’s because he knows me,” she says. Then, to Ser Pounce-a-Lot, she adds, “Fine. I’ll carry you, you spoiled little furball.”

Ser Pounce-a-Lot meows approvingly as Isabela picks him up. “Well, err...sorry for bothering you,” Alistair says awkwardly to Morrigan. She glares at him, but—if he isn’t seeing things—he swears that her eyes betray something akin to amusement beneath the irritation and hostility.

“Try not to do it again,” Morrigan says with a hint of a smirk.

Alistair sticks his tongue out at her. Behind him, Zevran snickers.

They take their time walking back to Alistair’s apartment. “So,” Alistair says slowly, “we found Ser Pounce-a-Lot, but something tells me he’s going to keep making trouble.”

Zevran raises an eyebrow. “Is this your way of asking us if we would like to sleep over? I graciously accept.”

Alistair can feel his cheeks heating up. “Well, I mean, if you want—”

Zevran holds up his index finger and presses it lightly against Alistair’s lips. “Nonsense. I will not abandon my good friend Alistair in his time of need. I assume you have no objections, Isabela?”

After a short pause, Isabela, still carrying Ser Pounce-a-Lot, says, “None. But I reserve the right to leave whenever I want.”

“But of course,” Zevran says. “It has been decided. Ser Pounce-a-Lot will not stand a chance against us!”

Alistair smiles and shakes his head. It’s going to be a long and interesting weekend for sure.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dao #alistair theirin #zevran arainai #isabela #ser pounce a lot #my fics #rereading this is making me laugh ngl

2 notes · View notes

heartslogos · 5 years

Text

newfragile yellows [544]

“What do you mean you’ve lost the lottery ticket?” Sera says, rounding on Malika, “Andraste’s blasted garters, Malika. We spent three hours making sure that ticket looked legit. Three fucking hours on one lottery ticket to make sure it could get past the fraud detection and you lost it? We don’t have another friggin’ three hours to make a new one.”

“Well. It’s got to be in this car somewhere, right?” Malika says, panicking as she starts pulling things out of her bag. “Just drive or we won’t make it in time.”

“What,” Lavellan’s voice is very calm through the car speakers, but also obviously very forced, “Do you mean you don’t have the forged lottery ticket?”

“We’re working on it, Boss,” Malika says, “Don’t worry. Sera and I always pull through for you.”

Sera can hear the sound of Lavellan moving very fast and the sound of people of getting out of her way very, very fast.

“I need Leliana and Herah,” Lavellan says, “Where’s Leliana and Herah? Of all the blasted times for them to not be where they always are…”

“You don’t need Leliana and Herah, we’ve got this.”

“We’ve got nothing,” Sera says. “I don’t know why you keep acting otherwise. Malika you had one job.”

“I did not have one job, I had fifteen jobs. Hold the ticket, be your navigation, keep up three separate chats with the people pretending to be three different people, do an inventory to make sure our gear is ready…that’s already ten different things.”

“Are you counting the chats and the pretend bits as separate things?”

“Yes!”

Sera feels like it probably shouldn’t count as separate things but she’s attempting to weave through traffic on a goddamn holiday so she doesn’t have the focus to argue.

“Bull,” Lavellan says, “Malika and Sera aren’t going to make it.”

“We will! We totally will!”

“They lost the ticket.”

“It’s got to be in this car somewhere! It’s a closed system.”

Sera can hear Bull’s voice but she can’t quite make out the words, but she can sense the same measure of frustration that she, herself, is feeling. And honestly…yeah. Nothing to say about that.

“We should’ve made two fucking tickets,” Sera says.

“It’s still here! I swear it is! It was in the car with all of our gear.”

“Hold on,” Lavellan says, and then they hear her cover the speaker and the sound of several people talking and then crackling. Lavellan’s running. “You took the wrong car!”

“What the fuck do you mean we took the wrong car?” Sera asks.

“Bull, check the garage,” Lavellan says, “Skinner, where the fuck is Herah? Get her to the garage and get her on her way to intercept Sera and Malika. Someone tell Leliana to make a fake accident or something. Fucking stall for time.”

“What do you mean we took the wrong car?”

“You took the wrong damn car is — we have three cars that look exactly like the one you’re in,” Lavellan explains, “And all of them are loaded up with our normal gear. One of them just got brought in by Maxwell and it needed refurbishing because there was blood in the back seats and someone spilled cocaine back there. Malika must have put the bag with the lottery ticket into one of the other models, and then one of our clean up crew probably moved it to another garage for clean up thinking it was Maxwell’s car instead of the one you were using.”

“Why the fuck were we parking the same car colors and models in the same flippin’ garage to start with then?” Sera snaps.

“Apparently we need to figure out a system for that. I’m hanging up, I’ll have someone send you a new route to stop at to pick up the forgery from Herah. Malika, keep stalling. I need this ticket to get into government hands or we’re fucked.

“Having the Boss learn how to play cards from an Antivan and a Qunari really, really set her up good,” Maxwell muses. “You should have seen her at the table with the Hawkes and the Couslands. She cleaned house. I think Garrett would be impressed if he didn’t lose so many favors to her.”

“I love that woman so much,” Bull says. “Hey. Guys? I love her. Did you see the look on Aedan Cousland’s face when she bluffed the fuck out of him? If there were gods I cared about I’d thank them for putting her on this planet for me to watch destroy everyone in her path.”

“Is there anyone overly upset with us?” Josephine asks, “I told her not to win too much.”

“She did take some losses,” Maxwell says. “But overall she showed up and turned up. It was like watching a painter. Or a musician. It was art, Josephine, really. You did the world a service in teaching her gambling.”

“Don’t worry,” Bull says, “I flagged the possible problems. Aedan Cousland’s a dick, but he’s kind of honorable. He wouldn’t stoop to doing anything over a game of cards. And if he did Solona Amell’s got it out for him anyway so we could tap the Hawke’s and Amell’s for help dealing with his attitude.”

“So what’s going on here?” Maxwell asks. “Did we miss anything good?”

“Define good.”

“Anything that might end up being the end of me if I don’t hear about it immediately.”

“Ah, well then. Zevran is here,” Josephine sounds a little strained. “And…well. You know how he and Ellana get along.”

Bull and Maxwell grimace.

“How can two people so similar get along so badly?” Maxwell muses. “Bull, you get Ellana, I’ll get Zevran?”

“Nah, you can’t handle Zevran, either,” Bull lints out. “He bats an eye at you and you’re all fluttery like paper in the wind. I’ll handle Zevran, you get the Boss and distract the fuck out of her.”

“By handle Zevran….do you mean…handle Zevran? Or handle Zevran? Or handle Zevran?”

“Maybe, yes, and if it comes to it,” Bull replies. “Don’t question my methods, Trevelyan.”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

1 note · View note

princee-ace1 · 5 years

Text

In Their Eyes - CH. 34

A life without love in it is like a heap of ashes upon a deserted hearth -- with the fire dead, the laughter stilled, and the light extinguished.

Alistair x Warden Cousland A love story told in the eyes of their loved ones and those who knew them

[CH. 34] Fondness | Leliana

“Now that we’re back at camp, I wanted to talk about what happened. At Redcliffe,” Alistair begins as he stands next to the Warden. His voice softens with a certain sincerity once she turns her full attention to him. “I just wanted to thank you. You went out of your way to help the Arl’s family and you did it, even though it would have been easier not to. There’s been so much death and destruction, it … well, it makes me feel good that we were able to save something, no matter how small. I owe the Arl that much.”

He thumbs an amulet the Warden had picked up for him, then she takes his hand in hers. Their eyes meet and she smiles gently. “If we can stop the Blight, we’ll save much more.”

“You’re right,” he agrees, returning her grin. Half-jokingly, he adds, “Hopefully by then, there’s still enough of Ferelden left to save.”

They part ways on a good note: the Warden returns to sharpening her blades while Alistair helps Wynne with her tent. However, their exchange does not slip past the observant eyes of their bard, who grins when she sees Alistair turn back to the Warden mid-way as if he wants to say something more, but changes his mind at the last second.

It's clear to her and everyone in their camp how Alistair dotes on his Warden. From his longing stares to the way he always makes sure to thank her and remind her how important she is to him. His appreciation for her is boundless, and it’s so easy to tell that the Warden likes him as well.

Perhaps they’re already more than friends, and just didn’t tell anyone. If so, Leliana can’t help but feel a little intrigued for some idle gossip.

Quietly, the bard stands next to the Warden and states, “Alistair is quite fond of you, isn’t he?”

The Warden nearly cuts herself in surprise. Leliana’s grin widens when the Warden faces her with a light dust of pink across her cheeks. Unwilling to admit it, the Warden feigns ignorance. “He is?”

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s obvious. He’s not very good at being subtle,” the former cloister sister states in a rather matter-of-fact tone. She’d have to be deaf and blind not to realize the Wardens hold enamored feelings for each other. A mischievous glint flickers in the bard’s eyes as she presses, “I was wondering if there’s something more between you two.”

It isn’t very often that the Warden is visibly embarrassed, and she tries to hide the fact that she is by carefully asking, “What do you mean?”

“Oh, don’t start. You know perfectly well what I mean. I’ve seen you flirting with him,” Leliana teases, reading her like an open book. “I like Alistair. I don’t think there is anyone who doesn’t. He’s a very nice boy, no? Handsome, too. And I can see he’s quite taken with you, as you are with him, yes?”

“I care about him … in ways I never thought I could.” She stares at her blade for a moment, seeing her own reflection mirror back at her from the polish. It’s clean and sharpened as if it hasn’t had a touch of bloodshed. “But we’re Grey Wardens. We have to put our honor and duty above everything else.”

“Even love?”

“Especially love.” The Warden looks torn. “I wish … I wish things could’ve been different, you know? I wish I could’ve met him sooner, when things were normal. But I wouldn’t have met him if I didn’t become a Grey Warden. We have the Blight over our heads and the darkspawn at our heels; nothing is ever safe or easy, and we can’t afford to let our guard down or get distracted.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Leliana tells her. “If there’s one thing I learned in my time traveling with you, it’s that there will always be a glimmer of light in the dreary and impossible, and you must hold onto that light and always cherish it. Honor and duty are important, yes, but so is love. So is joy. We live in dark times, but that does not mean you should punish yourself when you choose to be happy.”

The Warden smiles a little. “I think you’re right.”

“I know I’m right,” Leliana corrects with a grin. “I think I’m glad you and Alistair found each other. You’re a remarkable woman and Alistair is a good man. Perhaps in the end, it will be worth it, no?”

“I … think so,” she admits softly, and her eyes begin to linger toward her fellow Warden. “I do like him.”

Finally, the answer she’s been looking for.

“I’m happy for both of you, and especially for him. Alistair is a wonderful person and he couldn’t have found a better companion.”

Thanks for reading! ⇷ prev | luna ✩ tip jar ✩ ao3 | next ⇸

#dragon age #in their eyes

1 note · View note

lokidiabolus · 5 years

Text

Offline Age - Chapter 2

Fandom: Dragon Age Origins

Pairing: Alistair Theirin x Elissa Cousland

Summary: Alistair was never really a lone wolf or anything, but having a place only for himself had its appeal. He didn’t plan on taking responsibility for anybody in upcoming years, until one fateful night his doorbell decided to wake him up at 2 AM and show him he was so, so wrong.

How Alistair subconsciously harbored mother hen tendencies towards completely unknown person in five minutes and then fell in love so hard it almost broke all bones in his body.

Warnings: Slow Burn, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Tons of overused tropes, Prequel to Online Age

Can be found on Ao3.

Elissa had very little personal belongings to begin with, it made Alistair concerned. His amount of clothes exceeded hers (not to mention lots of her shirts stayed in the flat, soaking the water) and he considered himself fairly uninterested in clothes shopping. It was like she bagpacked into Redcliffe instead of moving in and quite frankly her bag actually looked that way (kind of dirty and battered). She didn’t even have a bed in her flat, she slept on raggedy sofa previous tenants left there and Alistair had so many questions he had no idea where to start.

“I guess you don’t really need a tour in here,” he commented when she entered his home, stopped in the living room and looked around. They had the same layout of the flat but Alistair had to admit his was much more furnished, which definitely raised even more questions.

“I’m good, thanks,” she replied without moving from the spot. She still held the bag and the suitcase and Alistair watched her with worry, because this looked like a speedily approaching meltdown if he ever saw one. He approached her cautiously and when no reaction came, he tugged on her bag and it easily slid off her shoulder to his hand, so he could put it on the floor. He repeated the same thing with the suitcase, leaving her just standing there, looking lost.

“You okay?” he tried. Her eyes had that distant look in them, like she was lost in thought. “Elissa?”

“Huh?” she snapped out of it, blinked few times, and then slowly nodded. “Yeah, sure. Sorry, spaced out.”

“Wanna catch some zees?” he pointed towards the bedroom. The clock showed something past four and if she didn’t sleep either, she must have been exhausted. He knew he was. “You can use the bedroom-,”

“I’ll take the couch,” she interrupted him quickly. “Thanks.”

He had no time to actually say anything else, since she flopped on the sofa like a sack of potatoes and was out cold in three seconds.

“Sure,” he mumbled in aftermath, grabbed the blanket from the armchair and put it over her. He had a feeling she was so far the strangest thing he had ever picked up.

***

He woke up to silence. It was strange how his brain thought it must have been a mistake when up until today there was nothing else but silence every day, but somehow the unusual quiet was wrong, he just couldn’t point a finger on the reason why. He tossed around in the bed for a while, and then reached for the alarm clock to check the time.

Half past seven. Not that bad.

His stomach was rumbling and his head hurt a little when he was crawling from under covers, and when he entered the living room, the why is it so silent hit him in full force. Elissa was sitting in the corner of the couch, awake, and with a notepad on her lap on which she was scribbling something. The blanket was twisted around her legs and waist to keep her warm and her hair was loose from the bun, falling down her face and over her shoulders. Everything else was completely silent, only the pencil movement over the paper made a slight noise.

“Oh, you’re up,” she glanced at him from under long eyelashes and then focused back on the paper. “Thanks for the blanket.”

“No problem,” he shrugged, his mind slowly fitting her into his life like a slot in Tetris. She still weirdly stuck out, but hey, he only knew her for a day – not even that actually. “Feeling any better?”

“Well, at least not like passing out anymore,” she smiled into the scribble, or whatever she was creating there. “I guess we both needed to sleep a bit, huh.”

“Well, I normally don’t hear my bed calling my name so loudly, so I’d say so,” he agreed and walked through the flat until he reached her unpacked bag again. He stared at it for a while, taking in the holes and obvious over usage, and then tilted his head to the side. “So what’s your story?”

“My flat got flooded,” she answered flatly. “It was pretty bad, you know.”

“Wow, really,” he left the bag alone – bad topic, obviously – and continued towards the fridge to feed himself. “Flooding is the worst, isn’t it.”

“Can totally ruin your day. And home.”

The fridge was basically empty, and it shouldn’t have surprised him. He wasn’t grocery shopping for at least two weeks now, basically living on take outs or food he grabbed on the way to or from work, and at this moment he hated his past self so much.

“Chinese it is,” he turned around to find his phone and when he reached the middle of the living room, he couldn’t help but try to fit Elissa sitting curled up on the couch into his life again.

“What?” she raised her head, staring back at him, and then made a face. “Wait. What’s your name again?”

“Again?” he made a face back at her. “How rude.”

“Should I call you Theirin then?” she shot back and the cringe that passed Alistair’s face must have looked pretty out of place. Wait, how did she even know his last name?

“You mean you know my last name but not my first name?” he crossed arms on his chest. “That’s it. We are breaking up.”

The eye roll didn’t come as a surprise. He got lots of those during his life.

“Was on your doorbell,” she gestured vaguely towards the main door to the flat. “Not my fault you didn’t put your whole name on it.”

“Not enough space,” he offered and when she still looked expectant, he lay off the jokes for the moment. “Fine, fair point. It’s Alistair.”

“Alistair,” she repeated thoughtfully. “Kind of a knightly name.”

“I wanted to be a Templar when I was a kid but my nanny didn’t approve, said math comes first,” he sighed dramatically and continued to his bedroom for the phone. “I still feel like it would serve me well. I was never big on studying, but hitting people over the head could have been my true calling.”

“I can tell,” she smirked when he reappeared in the room. “Brawns over brains, hm.”

“Ouch.”

“It’s fine, we all excel in something,” she told him sweetly and returned back to her scribbling. Alistair thought of a retort, but nothing came, so he left her victorious for now, just made a mental note to get back to it later with revenge.

“Going to order take out,” he announced instead while searching for the right number in his contacts. He should have put it in his favourites; they already knew him by his name there. “You want something?”

“Which take out?” It caught her interest. He wondered if she even ate today with all that happened to her or if she fussed around the flat the whole time. It would make sense if she did.

“Chinese.” Her eyes lit up, so it must have been a good choice. “Anything special you want?”

“As long as it’s edible, I’m game,” she put the notepad away and tiptoed towards her bag where she started to dig. “Oh god, now when you’re talking about it, I’m so hungry. Haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

“Figures,” he commented under his breath and the restaurant picked up on second ring. He ordered twice the usual and by the corner of his eye caught Elissa pulling out a wallet from the bag. Somehow it made him uneasy, so when he was answering questions about his health to the lady on the phone that spoke broken but super adorable English, he put a hand on the wallet and pushed it back to the bag, shaking his head. Elissa looked confused and tried to take it out again, which met with his resistance.

Why? She mimicked at him. Let me pay.

No way. He mimicked back. My treat.

She pouted and it looked so stupid he barked out a laugh, which made her pout even harder. He had to refuse the money two more times after the food arrived.

***

Elissa insisted on sleeping on the couch. He was ready to make the sacrifice and let her use the bed, but she refused so vehemently he began to suspect she was either allergic to beds or maybe traumatized by pillows. Either way her loss, his bed was nice and comfortable and the couch was not.

Well, it wasn’t that bad, but still not the ideal sleeping arrangement, even though she made it look like it was the best thing to lie on. He refused to believe it (since he got the couch, he maybe sat on it twice. He had no idea why he let Anora talk him into buying it). She had her own pillow and a blanket that apparently escaped the water catastrophe but her Pooh bear shirt and plaid pants were in worse condition and Alistair took a pity on her and lent her his own shirt with a Griffon on it (but she had to solemnly swear not to drool on it which apparently offended her, since she threw it at him and then demanded it back).

They went to sleep early, despite napping over the day and Alistair somehow managed to completely forget about her in only few deep breaths once he closed his eyes. His unconscious self still remembered to be quiet in the morning the next day, but it didn’t supply why or any other context, so when he staggered outside of the bedroom in his briefs, he was quiet but also oblivious, up until he finally properly woke up in the bathroom and promptly facepalmed with a loud smack.

He was not surprised when he got out of there that Elissa was staring at him from the couch, still bundled up under the blanket but perfectly awake, and he never felt more naked than now (even though he still had the briefs, which offered little comfort. Or cover. Or dignity).

“Let’s forget this happened,” he offered into the rainy morning and Elissa’s lips widened in a grin. “Please.”

“Mkay,” she just told him, which roughly translated to nope, and went back to sleep.

***

“So?”

“I’m sorry, it’s probably on my chair in the bedroom.”

He already knew how disappointment on Duncan’s face looked like, and this was spitting image of it. The unhappy downturn of his mouth and the curve of his eyebrows haunted Alistair’s dreams when he got into the firefighter training at least for a month after he first saw it.

“Why did you even go home in your uniform?” Duncan sighed in obvious defeat and Alistair felt even worse. “Actually, what’s going on with you since yesterday in overall? Is there a problem?”

“Problem? What problem.” In retrospect that really did sound suspicious when Alistair’s voice cracked in the middle of it. But there was no problem, no sir. No problem at all! He expected this week to carry in similar fashion, sure, but that’d be normal with the getting used to period of the new cohabitation. But nobody needed to know about it. Or about Elissa. Or about anything, really, it’s just Alistair’s private matter. The fact he left his uniform at home – or basically even that he went home in it in the first place – was only an unfortunate accident. He blamed the morning’s briefs faux pas for it.

“Is something going on with the house?” Duncan, that good old man, didn’t buy it. Of course. When did he ever. “Or the piping?”

“Nope!” Another not exactly believable response, Alistair was aware. “I was just curious.”

“About the piping,” Duncan’s eyes narrowed and Alistair had an urge to avoid his eyes. But that would mean he had something to hide, so he could not. The battle with his instincts was killing him.

“Yeah, about the piping,” he nodded in frantic search for a viable excuse, but no bright ideas came when he needed them. Just Elissa grinning at him from the couch, obviously ready to serve him the incident in the face when he was going to expect it the least. He knew her only for a day but he could already see she was a worthy opponent.

On the other side, Duncan’s face told him he didn’t believe a single word. That was fine. Alistair was sure he was going to come up with something before another press for answers comes.

“Desk duty,” the older man announced flatly, making Alistair groan. “You brought it on yourself, boy. Now get to it. Bring your uniform tomorrow.”

“I can totally borrow another, why are you doing this to me,” Alistair protested and stubbornly followed Duncan out of the office like a dog. “Duncan, come on.”

“You obviously need to clear your head,” Duncan told him over his shoulder. He was so not getting swayed by Alistair’s puppy eyes anymore, that was not fair. “So you can start there.”

He didn’t need to say end of debate for Alistair to know he lost.

***

The only bright side of desk duty was an earlier leave while not needing to clean up or help with anything in the base. Sadly, for Alistair it was more of a punishment not to busy his hands with anything, rather than taking a breather, so at the end of the shift he was sucked dry of any motivation to even lift the pen for more than abstract sketches in the corner of the paper.

On his leave Duncan still managed to send him a disapproving look and that held onto him all the way to the store, during the grocery shopping and even through the ride in the elevator. It would probably stick longer if after entering his flat he didn’t find Elissa sitting on the floor, surrounded by papers with various pencil sketches on them, looking back at him with a grin.

Oh no, he thought.

“Didn’t lose your pants today, did ya?” she delivered without mercy. Alistair was afraid to look at her work in fear he would find one sketch to depict his morning lemme just saunter through the flat in my undies situation, because quite frankly she was obviously capable of doing that.

“You’re never going to let me live it down, are you,” he groaned and her grin widened even more. One day and she was already on a high horse? Good grief, since when he was such a pushover.

“Could have been worse,” she offered while he finally took his shoes off and brought groceries to the kitchen. The kitchen that never looked so… empty as it did now. Like half of things were missing.

“Did something happen in the kitchen?” he walked back to the living room with confused expression and Elissa was just stacking the papers together from the floor. There was another pile next to her consisting of pencils of all shapes and a case she probably carried them in.

“Not in few years, I wager,” she replied.

Well, yeah, Alistair wasn’t very big on cooking, true. But still. He watched her gently putting the stacked papers in a prepared folder and closing it with a click and his brows furrowed.

“It looks like stuff is like. Gone?” he glanced back towards the kitchen. “Or something. Like, things that used to be there and I usually just pushed them further when I needed space. Those are gone.”

“They are not gone,” she finished with her cleaning and stood up, still in his Griffon shirt and some loose pants of hers. Looked funny. And weirdly domestic, like in those movies about pillow wars. “I washed them and put them in a cupboard.”

“You cleaned my kitchen?” he blinked in surprise and she passed him and entered the incriminated place herself, just to open one of the cupboard doors, showing the mugs and plates neatly sorted inside.

“Somebody had to do it,” she shrugged. “I’ve wanted to make tea but… I thought the kettle was going to walk away from me, obviously alive.”

“Fair enough,” Alistair cleared his throat and she started going through the groceries, putting them on the table, and then carried them to the fridge. Was weird seeing that. Actually, the whole flat was weird seeing right now, because things were neatly put on their places, the floors clean and the pillows on the couch fluffed, and he had never seen anybody doing this in his home before, it made it feel alien. He couldn’t point a finger on the exact emotion, bad or good, it just hovered in grey area, making him nervous.

“Oh,” he heard her suddenly in the hallway and before he could ask what happened, she was back with him. “I shouldn’t have done that, should I.”

“Done the-“

“The cleaning,” she added quickly, her face showing uncertainty. “I should’ve asked first. Oh man, I’m sorry if I overstepped the boundaries or something.”

Alistair had no idea what to say. He looked around again, at the small touches she left over the place he never really thought of doing, and the Tetris pieces in his mind shuffled slightly, making the shapes still stick out, but… less.

“Sorry,” she said again in much graver tone and hung down her head. She looked like a kicked puppy and Alistair couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. It apparently confused her, since she looked back up with raised eyebrows and he couldn’t blame her.

“Let’s make a deal, you minx,” he pointed at her without any power over his smiling face. “You forget about this morning and I will forget about your obvious lack of sense for privacy. How about that?”

“I didn’t go to your bedroom,” she opposed, catching up on his brightening mood, since her face cleared. “I’m not that brave.”

“Oho,” he crossed his arms on his chest. “Afraid of the pillows, are you. I knew that.”

“The pillows?” she waved her hand. “My dear Alistair, I saw the mess in here, where you don’t sleep. I know what you’re capable of. The bedroom should have a biohazard sign on it, I’m sure.”

“Excuse me, my bedroom is a sacred place,” he shot back.

“When was the last time you changed the sheets?” she mirrored his pose and crossed her arms on her chest as well.

“Last week, actually,” he smirked in victory and she smirked back.

“After how long?”

He took a breath to answer, but then he realized it would only prove her point, so he just let the air out again.

“That’s what I thought,” she scored another point, smiled at him sweetly and left him standing in the kitchen.

Alright, he thought, chuckling. Alright. I can work with that.

#dragon age origins #alistair x cousland #offline age #alistair theirin #female cousland #female warden #modern setting au

1 note · View note

theconfusedartist · 6 years

Text

DRAGON AGE

Alright, so I’ve been wanting to talk about this for a while, now that I’ve gotten back into dragon age origins and since I’m about to start doing a shit ton of fanart and fic simply bc I’m getting back in the swing of it, I figure I might as well start actually making a post about them, rather then just making a one-off post and talking about them without out any context lol.

Ok so, in this AU that I’m working on, Duncan realized that, hey, maybe only one recruit for like the end of the world in his order of grey wardens, is not the best idea, and then goes on to recruit all of the characters from the origins.

So, he swings by Orzammar first, getting Brosca and Aeducan. In this au, the name of my Brosca is Tsoyo and the Aeducan is Sariah. I’m gonna post pictures of every one of my warden later, but for now, I’m just gonna say who they are. Tsoyo and Sariah knew each other before, since Seriah hired Tsoyo’s...services in the past. Seriah doesn’t really think much of the casteless, but she does like that they can do some dirty work for her and go basically undetected for it. So, in terms of time, Tsoyo goes to the proving and wins, just like in the original, and Duncan recruits her, but in this, Duncan stuck around a little longer as the Aeducan family still had business with him and he needed to go to the deep roads to make sure that this was a real blight and I mean, hey, what better way to test the new recruit right?

So, while Duncan is getting Tsoyo ready for what’s to come, Seriah goes to the new provings that takes place as they redid it because they couldn’t fathom that a casteless could ever win and this doubled as them holding it in honor for the Seriah getting her new post as a commander. Seriah didn’t really rise to Bhelen’s bait and didn’t go after him like Bhelen had hoped, even though she realized that there was no way that the mercenaries could’ve gotten the ring unless it was from Trian. It was quite the surprise to see her brother, dead in front of her and her father and Bhelen walking in and being accused of his death.

She gets sentenced to walk the deep roads and meets up with Duncan and Tsoyo and from there they scout for a bit before going off to the circle. Because I mean, hey, one mage is equivalent to ten soldiers, right?

So, Duncan gets there, with Tsoyo and Seriah in tow who are really uncomfortable being around each other as they’ve had a less than clean relationship in the past (murder, blackmail, and other stuff). Duncan gets to the tower for recruits and in this au, both ‘Surana’ and Amell are there. I’ll explain why I put the ‘’ around Surana in a minute.

So, Amell, who’s first name is Daylen, Jowan, and ‘Surana’, who’s first name is Acici, are all there. Jowan is going through with his little plot to escape the circle and Acici has literally just had her harrowing, a few nights ago before Duncan had gotten there. Daylen has his harrowing the night before Duncan arrives to the tower and his goes very...differently.

I’ll go into this a LOT more in a second reblog, since I want to go into everyone’s backstory in a bit, person by person, with pictures, but since I’m going with the abridged version, I’ll just put it as, Acici had the normal harrowing that we get in the game, give or take, and Daylen thought it was fun to fuck around with things that he shouldn’t. So, Duncan has his eye on the both of them and Acici, being the actual loyal friend goes around bolstering her image and getting the rod of fire, killing spiders and charming the old man to sign the form for her. She had him sign the form, but then figured that if she curried favor with as many senior enchanters as possible, then it would probably be good for her in the long run.

As for Daylen, well, he’s sitting there like, ‘why do we have to get dragged down with Jowan?’ and goes to Senior Enchanter Irving and tells him about it. Sure, he feels bad about it, but the deal was this: if he goes along with this plan, then he and Acici have to be pardoned and get off scot free for helping with taking down Lily and catching Jowan in the act. Irving agrees and he plays double agent. And well you know how that song and dance goes, Jowan gets away, and the others are left holding the bag. Irving tries to pacify Gregoir, but he hates mages so Duncan conscripts them both into the order. Meanwhile, Tsoyo and Seriah are just really confused with all the magic bullshit going on. And then there were four recruits.

After that, Duncan and the four recruits go to Highever, to recruit Ser Gilmore because I guess Duncan wanted a basic ass bitch (idk, I’m not gonna lie, I haven’t finished the human noble to this day. I’m still trying to, but I really didn’t see any appeal in Gilmore like that, he seemed like someone good to have as a second, but not someone you’d send to kill an archdemon when there’s only two grey wardens left) and Cousland, or better known as Luna the heartbreaker, isn’t really interested in the wardens or anything. I mean why would she be? Duncan is fine and all, but she gets to rule over a castle by herself, why the hell would she want to leave? But then, it’s not really up to her when mostly everyone gets killed anyways. So, at this point we have five recruits, good job Duncan!

Their next stop is (drumroll please) DENERIM! (wasn’t expecting that were you?)

Duncan was like, shit, lemme go and get Adaia, at least that way I know that I can have someone who knows what the score is and she can help the others and Alistair as someone who’s been around the bend and seen some shit. Only, that’s not what happens, obviously because Adaia was killed by humans a while back, but he is just in time to witness a double wedding and get threatened by a one of the brides (lol). And also see them all get carried off to get raped by the arl’s son and his guards. Luna is cross, but like ‘hey, shouldn’t we do something about this?’. Tsoyo is a bit surprised because she thought that elves were all a bunch of fig eating floofies that just lived in happiness, not squalor and fear of death, so she seconds it. Acici is ready to murder Duncan when he says that they can’t get involved (for that same reason that ‘Surana’ is like that) and hands a sword to Nelaros and Soris. Go get ‘em boys!

And now the estate is running with blood, Nelaros is dead, Shianni is traumatized, one of the bridesmaids is dead, and Tabris, Sauda the bride, has literally learned all the different ways to kill over seventy men with a dagger and how quickly rat posion kills three adult human men. Sauda, not willing to let Soris get hauled off, says that it was all her doing. Which...isn’t really an exaggeration, she tore into those fuckers like she was getting paid to do it, Soris gave back up with his crossbow, but she was very eager to spill blood for the kidnapping of her, the others and Nelaros’ death. Also Vaughn was killed, as was his friends. Horrifically.

And now we have six recruits!! Way to go Duncan, you always find the lively ones!

This recruit wasn’t planned, as Duncan was planning to cut through the Brecilian forest to save some time, and came across two elves that are just heavily tainted. That’s right, in this au, Tamlen lives. So Mahariel, Yeva, and Tamlen are just sick as fuck, but still alive so Marethari is like, ‘let’s get a fucking move on’ and Duncan conscripts them, when they both try to weasel their way out of it. But what can you do? At least Tamlen isn’t dead (a split second decision, I’m not gonna lie). So, Duncan comes to Ostagar with seven new recruits and most of them just....do not give a damn about the king (lolololol get fuckin’ rekt Calian). They go into the wilds, save a few mabaris (mabari? mabaris?) with some wild flowers, Tsoyo gets a big gay crush on Morrigan, then they come back and do shots with the darkspawn blood in the joining. Daveth and Jory die(wah wah) but everyone else makes it out alive (Tamlen...barely made it. Bitch nearly pulled a Daveth) and then they were sent to the tower.

The reason for them all being sent to the tower was simple. Cailan realized that a lot of the new recruits just did not give a fuck about the crown or his authority or was in grieving over their lost loved ones, and was like ‘hey, that way there’s no way that the tower ISN’T going to be lit and I don’t have to worry about them on the field’). And then he died. Duncan didn’t die tho, are you fucking kidding me? The leader of the grey wardens? Dying? I don’t fucking think so. He makes it out, but it’s a little after the battle and he makes it far enough into the wilds that Flemeth saves him. The other wardens have already left with Morrigan and they’re on their way to Lothering, but Duncan had to stay with Flemeth for a while due to the severity of his wounds and how long they would take to heal, even with magic.

Duncan joins up with the other grey wardens around the time that they get captured by Anora’s captors (I have to play to see who would get captured or not, as most of these characters are fucking warriors and some of them in their own personal runs might actually be able to take them down where others can’t) and I haven’t decided what happens at that point.

That’s all that I have right now, but once I get some character portraits up, I’ll update this a bit more.

13 notes · View notes

pathcrier · 6 years

Note

5, 35 and 47 for the OC asks.

Hohoho, ty!!! I just woke up so please bear with me. I’m doing these for Delaney AND Avalon because they need lovins. The answers are under the cut.

5. What is your OC’s first memory?

Avalon: Avalon can’t truly remember much of her childhood yet one memory sticks out from the rest. It was the day Fergus’ son, Oren, was born. She was nearly 11 years old when her nephew was born. She remembers not being able to enter Oriana’s room because she was too young, she was stubborn and quite annoyed. Bryce decided to take Avalon’s mind off of this, since it will still be quite some time before the babe is born. The two of them went to her father’s study and had spent much of the time playing chess together- sneaking treats in for the wee lass despite Eleanor stating it’ll spoil her appetite later. Avalon kept talking about how she’s going to be the greatest warrior in the world and also the Queen. Bryce’s eyes gleamed with love and adoration at this small, spritely child. Knowing she’s the most pure and wonderful thing to ever happen to him. What only felt like minutes was evidently a couple of hours- Fergus and Eleanor came dashing into the study and excitedly stating that it’s a boy. Fergus carried the excited Avalon on his back as they made their way back to his family. Upon entering the room, Oriana, drained and tired, asked if Avalon wanted to hold her nephew. Avalon had graciously accepted, quick to state that he’s funny looking. “You weren’t so cute yourself, sister.” Fergus quipped. Avalon peered down at the tiny human, with a loving smile on her face, “I think I’ll enjoy having him in the family.”Delaney: Laney’s most vivid memory was the day Bethany’s magic manifested, Bethany was only 6 when it happened and Delaney was 12. (By DA2 when the twins are 18 - Hawke is only 24) Delaney was helping her mother prepare for dinner when the two of them heard Carver yelling. Delaney rushed outside to see their shed was on fire, Carver was angrily yelling at Bethany who was sitting on the ground, sobbing, not even sure what was going on. Delaney who was very protective of her sister, shoved Carver away from her, exclaiming that screaming at her wasn’t going to make this any better.. Leandra sent Carver to go find Malcolm, who was off fishing at a nearby creek. Delaney cradled the distraught Bethany in her lap, who was shakily repeating “I don’t want magic, I don’t want to go to the Circle.” Delaney could remember thinking that it was dangerous enough living with one apostate, let alone the fact they’re elf-blooded.. and already seen as outsiders. She worried more at Bethany, who seemed to resent the fact that she was the only child to inherit Malcolm’s magic. Soon enough Malcolm and Carver returned, and their father brought Bethany to his study while Carver and Delaney doused the shed with water to rid themselves of the remaining flames. She could hear Carver muttering something about being a cursed family- to which Delaney responded by smacking him upside the head and calling him a brat.

35. How’s your OC’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Constantly worrying? Living in memories?Avalon: Since Avalon and Alistair are the only living Wardens in Fereldon, there is a lot riding on her shoulders. She doesn’t have time to daydream, she is constantly worried, which eventually sends her overboard into a full blown panic attack that took Leliana, Wynne, and Alistair to calm her down. She can’t sleep because of the dreams, she hates being awake because the continuous threat of Darkspawn lurking around the corner- which she can’t sense yet; this causes her to worry even more so. How can she be a Warden without being able to sense darkspawn? After that one ambush on their camp, she couldn’t sense them. She wasn’t even sure if Alistair sensed them. She is so high strung and anxious all the time, and constantly thinking of the worst. She often confided in Alistair about not being good enough to save Fereldon. She worries that they won’t gather an army in time, and she worries that eventually Howe and Loghain will catch up to her and all but end the Cousland line.Delaney: She always has her head up in the clouds, daydreaming. Wondering what life could’ve been if they had been a normal family or if they had been born into nobility. But this doesn’t effect her work or how she lives. She knows that this reality, right now in Kirkwall, is her top priority and can’t afford to live in a fantasy. She knows that there’s no one else who can put Meredith down, she needs to be focused on the task ahead of her and not on what could have been. She does find herself reminiscing her childhood and old life to Fenris quite often. He is usually the one who instigates it with curiosity , they spend hours in bed just talking about her previous life in Fereldon and often enough the question of “Would you ever return home?” pops up. Delaney will admit that Fereldon is always going to be her home and she wonders if she should go back eventually but quite honestly she has nothing for her there and the people she loves are here with her now. 47. Can your character draw? What do they like to draw? Do they doodle?Avalon: Avalon is talented at the art of swordsmanship and battle, she jokingly states that the battlefield is her canvas, but she cannot actually draw. Her mother had often tried getting her to take on softer arts, such as painting. But she found them dull and monotonous and ultimately gave up on learning the skill. She’s a warrior, I have no need for silly doodles. To which Eamon was state “My girl, you are soon to be the Queen, perhaps its time to take up a more delicate trade..?” Which Avalon always snorts and declares that this isn’t Orlais and she won’t succumb to anything overly frilly and boring.Delaney: Delaney used drawing as an escape since there wasn’t much to do in Lothering, she would say she is quite talented. In Kirkwall she had a whole shelf full of both filled and empty sketchbooks. She uses her friends as her muses, and if you looked at her books they would be full of very detailed, very thorough portraits her buds. Namely Fenris, who she saw the most, as they lived together. Many nights were spent with Fenris submerged in his reading, and Laney with her legs draped over his lap, sketchbook in hers, studying his profile. She does also mindlessly doodle, usually over letters and invitations from nobles. Often enough of crude or immature images thanks isabela.

#Delaney Hawke #Avalon Cousland #my ocs #heraldofwho #dragon age #ask meme

3 notes · View notes

sky-scribbles · 7 years

Text

Six Proposals

(A Dragon Age story featuring six pairings, three games, and two worldstates.)

Sophina Cousland hates doing it, even as it brings her joy.

She feels the eyes of every noble in Ferelden burning into her as she steps forward, and she knows what she’ll be called for this. Power-seeker, manipulator, opportunist. It won’t be true, but it will still hurt. And it hurts even more to think of how very... not right this is. A proposal should be a private thing, a moment for two alone, not something announced in front of the eyes of a nation.

Maker, this can barely even be called a proposal. She’s not even asking, she’s telling.

It’s not as if they haven’t discussed it. They have, countless times, curled together in her tent in the camp at night. They knew they had to talk about it from the moment they learned that Alistair might be dragged onto the throne. If the crown fell to him, Sophina told him, he would be expected to marry someone, sooner or later, and he laughed and made a joke about how he’d better start working up the courage to ask her before anyone else got there first. And she wondered aloud whether it would make the nobles at the Landsmeet more likely to accept him, if he were married to a Cousland, to someone who could back up his blood claim to the throne with the political support of all Highever.

They made light of it, the way they make light of everything, but the thought still hung unspoken in the air between them – we shouldn’t have to talk about this now. We should be able to talk about this after years of being together, not mere months. And we should talk about this because we love each other and we’re ready to make it binding, not because it’s a political convenience. This is wrong, so very wrong.

But she knows that once the crown falls to him, they could so easily be torn apart. And she knows that this is the surest way to make sure that doesn’t happen. She promised him she wouldn’t let him go, and she intends to keep that promise.

‘Alistair will be king,’ she says. ‘And I’ll rule beside him.’

They don’t have much time to discuss it, once the Landsmeet’s finished, because having an archdemon bearing down on you tends to cut short your talking time. They have a few minutes, and they’re enough to let her know that he is at least happy with this, and for them to grin at each other at the thought of the future they’ll have if they both make it out of this alive. Everything else will have to wait. And so they wait, and once everything is over – once the Archdemon has fallen and the crown’s on Alistair’s (still somewhat reluctant) head, and the celebratory feast has been eaten and the palace has fallen silent… they finally have a moment to look at each other, and find a quiet corner, and smile.

‘And breathe,’ Sophina says, and Alistair laughs.

‘Thank you for the reminder. I’m not sure when we last had a chance to do that. A week ago, I think.’

‘It does feel that way, doesn’t it? We should have told the Archdemon how bad its antics were for our health, I’m sure it would have crawled back into the Deep Roads and hidden from the guilt. But now, at least, we have a moment to relax.’

Alistair nods slowly, and glances over his shoulder. ‘We do indeed. Which means…’

He rubs the back of his head and shuffles his feet. ‘Soooo… I know we’ve already done this, officially. But it wasn’t exactly… you know. And I know I said it saved me from having to ask you, but I’ve been thinking, and I realised – I want to do this properly. The way I’d have done it if we’d had the time to… do this the way it’s normally done. Am I rambling?’

Sophina chuckles, and squeezes his hand. ‘Just a little, you great goof. You do, occasionally, have a tendency to engage in a touch of rambling. But I can live with that. What exactly is it that you want to do properly?’

‘Well – this.’ Alistair draws in a breath, closes his grip a little tighter around her hand, and sinks onto one knee, for all the world like one of those knights in the oldest and best tales. ‘Lady Sophina Cousland, Hero of Ferelden, future Commander of the Grey, vanquisher of the Archdemon, befriender of witches and assassins and Qunari warriors, archer extraordinaire, embodiment of general incredibleness - will you marry me?’

Sophina bursts out laughing and spends a moment beaming at him before pulling him to his feet. ‘Maker, yes. Yes, of course, I thought I’d already made that clear. And for the record, Alistair?’

‘Yes?’ he says, and he elongates the word in that ridiculous way that always makes her laugh.

‘I know the whole declaring-it-before-the-Landsmeet thing was a bit… odd. And un-private. And not how we would have wanted it to be.’ She reaches up, smoothing down the front of his tunic, straightening his collar. Alistair smiles, and Sophina knows that the gesture is familiar to him, comforting. She did this a thousand times on their journey together – brushing dried blood from his armour, smoothening his hair where his helmet had ruffled it, cleaning the dust of their travels from his face. ‘But this… this is what I want. Because I love you. Forget the politics, forget the Blight and Loghain and everything else – I love you. I know that, ideally, we’d have waited a while, but – ’

‘I know.’ Alistair presses a hand to her lips to stop her. ‘And I feel the same. That’s why I’m asking.’

Sophina closes her eyes, and presses her forehead against his chest.

‘And it’s why I’m accepting.’

She knows that it’s still not quite how they would have planned it, but somehow… somehow, that’s all right. Nothing in their lives has happened as they would have planned it. And maybe it won’t be easy, maybe it’s sooner than they would otherwise have done it, maybe it’ll take work, but that’s fine. Because they’re willing to work at it, they’re willing to fight to keep what they have. Because now, standing still and utterly content in each other’s arms, they know that they don’t have to be alone any more, that they will never be alone again.

And by the Maker, but that is worth fighting for.

Firion aches for every moment that Zevran is away.

He scours the horizon every morning for signs of a yellow-haired figure returning towards him. He unfastens the golden ring from his ear and turns it over and over in his fingers, pressing the metal against his skin. He packs his bags a dozen times, intending to march out to Kirkwall and make certain that his lover is safe. ‘Something I have to do myself be damned,’ he mutters, but every time he shoulders his pack, takes up his staff and takes a resolute step in the direction of the city, he has to sigh, turn back, and unpack his bag again.

I must have faith in him, he tells himself. I’ve waited for him before. I waited for him to be able to love me. Now I can wait again for him to come back to me.

But it still isn’t easy, knowing that his lover is so close to the cold grasp of the Crows again. Firion lies awake at night, playing and replaying in his mind the scene that might happen when at last Zevran comes back to him. He pictures Zevran appearing in the distance, and himself running out to meet him (and slowing to a properly dignified walk before reaching him, if he has the self-control), and he pictures the longed-for embrace. And then he pictures himself finally, finally asking the question.

‘You will ask him,’ Firion growls, but he never quite manages to convince himself.

Weeks stretch into a month, and the news arrives. Kirkwall is burning, thrown into war by a rebellious apostate and the Knight-Commander’s madness, and Firion can bear it no more. Zevran was there, hiding with the Dalish close to the city, and he cannot, will not stand by when the man he loves might have been caught in the chaos. Again, he packs and sets out, and this time he stays on the path.

He’s only been travelling in the direction of Kirkwall for three days when he passes through a little copse of trees and hears, without warning, a voice from above him. ‘Why, mi amor, you promised to stay safe. I did not expect to hear such falsehoods from you.’

Firion jerks his gaze upward in time to see Zevran drop from the branch where he’s been perching – probably been watching Firion trawl across the wilderness for hours, just for the fun of it. He gives his lover no time to say anything more, but steps forward and sweeps him into his arms. Zevran chuckles, holds tight to him for a moment, then pulls their lips together.

Ask him, Firion snarls at himself, but when they break apart, the words die on his tongue, just as they knew he would. So instead he asks, ‘What took you so long?’

Zevran laughs. ‘Oh, I was waylaid by the world-changing events in Kirkwall. It was that old friend of yours from the Wardens who started it all, the apostate. All in the name of mage freedom, so I knew you would never forgive me if I didn't provide a little assistance. When I saw that things were becoming interesting, I... slipped into the Gallows, provided an extra pair of blades.'

Firion stares. ‘You helped fight Meredith?’

This meets with an aren’t you proud of me? sort of grin. Firion draws in a long breath.

‘Zevran,’ he says, ‘you are wonderful.’

‘But of course. And now, my dear Warden, shall we find a tavern?’

Firion almost suggests that they retreat to his tent first, but he decides that a tavern trip could be beneficial. He needs to ask the question, and liquid courage could help him on the way. So he takes Zevran’s arm, and together they head down to the nearest village, a small farming town that nestles in the crook of a rise of hills. The inn is small, but packed with farmhands clad in homespun tunics and earth-stained jerkins, none of whom have the look of men who have ever travelled more than a few days’ journey from their farms.

So the two elven men attract stares. Striking, they are, like strange inversions of each other – one pale-skinned and dark-haired, one dark-skinned and pale-haired. No one can miss the blue and silver Warden tabard that Firion wears, the uniform that allows him to openly carry his staff, nor can many of the women tear their eyes from Zevran’s laughing face. There’s one, an elven serving maid, who perhaps hopes that the closeness between the two strangers is simply that of friends. As she passes Zevran his drink, she smiles a little more broadly at him than Firion is comfortable with, and trails her fingers over his shoulder. Firion sets his teeth, then opens his mouth to crush her hopes before they can go too far - but Zevran beats him to it.

‘I must disappoint you, my dear,’ he says. ‘I am engaged.’

And without further ado, he turns to Firion and drops dramatically to one knee. ‘My Firion,’ he says, in equally theatric tones, ‘I have longed for you every moment of my journey. I once promised you that I would storm the Black City to be at your side. There has been no need for such a thing as of yet, but... well, Thedas can be just as threatening as the Black City from time to time, and I would most enjoy taking it by storm beside you for the rest of our lives. Would you do me the honour of becoming my husband?’

The clamour of the tavern dims. And Firion closes his eyes and remembers all those moments when he thought this could never happen, that Zevran would never feel able to commit to anything that would bind him, even love him at all. He thinks of all the times he was terrified that it was his fate to be disappointed and pushed away.

And he looks down at his lover, smiling up at him without a trace of fear, and knows that neither of them ever has to be afraid again.

‘Well, obviously,’ he says.

Zevran jumps to his feet, grinning from ear to ear, and glances at the startled-looking serving girl. ‘Engaged, as you see.’

Firion has a split-second to feel relieved that he now doesn’t have to propose himself, before Zevran kisses him so forcefully that it’s impossible to feel anything but awe. And entire tavern - including the serving maid, to give her her due - breaks out in cheers.

Their latest hiding-place is a deserted shepherd’s hut, lying abandoned at the verge of a forest. There are wards set around the door and the windows, and the place is so remote that the chance of being found is slim to none. But a lifetime of being hunted by Templars makes wariness a part of you, something that cannot possibly be separated from you – and so when the door flies open with the force of a hurricane, Anders lets out a startled cry and lunges for his staff.

‘Anders, look at this!’

He stops with his fingers brushing the weapon, and relaxes with a shaky breath. ‘Maker, Dalton, if you’re going to burst in like that, at least shout ‘I’m not a Templar’ first.’

‘Never mind that, look at this!’ Dalton Hawke pushes the door shut behind him and brandishes a sheet of vellum above his head. ‘You need to read this, Anders, I can barely believe it myself, just look, look – ’

And he thrusts the mysterious document into Anders’s hands.

‘I just went into the village to get some food, and there were Inquisition soldiers pinning them up on every tree and wall.’ Dalton clasps and unclasps his hands while Anders straightens out the page. ‘It’s an official declaration from Divine Victoria herself, and it says – Maker, Anders, you need to read it.’

So Anders, after staring in bemusement at his lover for a suitable amount of time, looks down and reads.

Official Proclamation from Divine Victoria, concerning Mages, declares the title, and Anders feels his heart freeze within his chest. He stops, closes his eyes, tries and fails to steady his breathing, and goes on.

It’s a whole page of politics, and some of it Anders skips over so that he can move on more quickly to the parts that matter most. And when he reaches them, he has to read and re-read them, because it seems unbelievable that servants of the Divine actually set these words to vellum, that this is the new law of Thedas.

Mages, the proclamation says, are the children of the Maker, made as He desired them. No child of the Maker deserves to be faced with oppression and confinement simply on the grounds of how they were born. By the Divine’s order, let it be known that from henceforth, the institution of the Circle of Magi is dissolved, and mages have the same rights as any citizen in the lands of the White Divine. These rights include:

Right to freedom. No mage shall be forcibly removed from his or her family and residence in order to be removed to a Circle.

Right to own property.

Right to marriage and to raise a family.

Right to protection from unlawful imprisonment and harassment on account of their abilities.

The list goes on. There’s an explanation, too, of how mages will be kept safe and how they can learn to control their abilities and resist demons, and promises that phylacteries and Templar hunts will never exist again, and explanations of why all these changes have been made – something to do with restoring order and ‘ensuring that there shall be no repeat of the chaos that has consumed Thedas’ and so on and so forth – but Anders will take all of that in later. For now, he can only read through that list of rights one more time, feeling his own expression change from confusion to suspicion to amazement, and then look up at Dalton.

Who is smiling at him, lips parted, eyes wide in breathless awe.

‘We’re free,’ he whispers. ‘We did it, Anders. All this time, everything we’ve been through… it’s finally happened. Our fight – it was worth it. We’re free.’

Anders lets the vellum fall through his fingers. He stands motionless, his eyes closed. And then he lets out a trembling breath and throws his arms around Dalton's neck, holding him as close as he can get, pressing his face into the fur collar, making no attempt to hold back his tears. His mind is whirling, his thoughts reeling, the spirit within him is dazed as he is, and the joy and triumph erupting inside him are so immense, so overwhelming, that he can barely think, barely breathe, barely register anything brought to him by his mortal senses –

And so he almost doesn’t hear the words that Dalton breathes into his shoulder.

‘Marry me.’

Jolted firmly back into the physical world, Anders freezes. ‘What?’

‘I mean, if you want…’ Dalton lets him go and steps back, resting his hands on Anders’s shoulders. ‘Will you, Anders?’

He waves his hand at the page lying on the floor next to them. ‘We are free men. We have the same rights as anyone. No one can tell us that we don’t have a right to be happy in the way we choose. And this is - you are what I choose. We’ve been fighting for so long, and now we don’t need to any more. And if I could stand in front of the world and call you my husband, I’ll know for certain that we won.’

Anders looks at him, meets his eyes. They’ve even more huge and hopeful then they normally are. The words rise on his lips to tell him that they can’t, that he doesn’t have that kind of future, that there can be nothing permanent when he has a spirit woven into his flesh –

And then they stop. Because it is no longer true.

The part of him that is Justice has been calmer ever since they left Kirkwall. Seeing the mages finally begin fighting, being away from the constant injustice of Meredith’s reign – it has helped so much. And now he no longer has to fear Justice becoming a demon. Because that is what happens to a spirit whose purpose is prevented, and now – now Justice’s purpose is fulfilled.

And here is Dalton Hawke, gazing at him with love and delight in his eyes, and Anders knows that for the first time in his life, there is nothing, nothing, to stop him from being happy.

So he breathes out the words that truly make him a free man, a free mage, a man with a future.

‘Yes,’ he whispers. ‘Maker, yes.’

Conan Hawke raises his hands, and the earth before his feet splits apart. His face creased with the kind of single-minded concentration that only a young child can really manage, he pushes his palms higher, and a shower of pebbles rises from the gash he’s opened in the ground, soil cascading back down into the hole as the stones rise. For a few seconds, he holds them in place, his lips pursed tight from the effort of casting the spell. At last, he can sustain the magic no longer, and he has to step back, letting the rocks pour back down into the earth again.

His aunt beams at him. ‘That’s very good, Conan. With some practice, you’ll be able to draw up larger rocks. For now…’

Bethany twirls her arm, bringing a shimmering wall of magic into being in front of her body. ‘See if you can direct the rocks you summon, rather than just holding them. Throw them at my barrier – don’t worry, you won’t hurt me.’

Seated a short distance away – far enough for them to be out of earshot of Bethany and her pupil, if they speak in low voices – Conan’s parents watch his practice. Bryony Hawke sits with her arms stretched out behind her, grinning openly to see her sister and her son embracing their gift together, cheering every time Conan masters some new feat of magic. Fenris says nothing, but every so often, a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and something flickers in his eyes. Not many would be able to read it, but Bryony knows him well enough to recognise it as pride.

‘It doesn’t trouble you any more, does it?’ she says.

She nods towards Conan and Bethany, but the gesture is unnecessary; Fenris knows what he means. ‘Conan’s magic? No.’

There’s a pause, and then he sighs, seeming to realise that this is inadequate. ‘Truthfully, it never troubled me. He is my son. Finding out that he was my mage son…. It changed nothing. I fear for him – I fear how people may treat him, or what demons may do to tempt him – but I do not see him differently.’

Bryony squeezes his hand. ‘I remember a certain elf who, not so many years ago, would have been disgusted at the idea of fathering a mage.’

This meets with a chuckle. ‘Thankfully, a certain human taught me to see things differently. When we met, the changes that have been happening across Thedas – mage freedom, the Circles being dissolved – they would have enraged me. Now, I’m grateful. They mean that no one will take him from us.’

‘And that the Chantry will accept him at last,’ Bryony says. ‘Do you remember how angry I was, back in Kirkwall, when Elthina refused to accept him into the Chantry on the grounds of his birth? Now, he can be dedicated into the Chantry as an illegitimate elf-blooded mage and no one can do anything about it other than whinge and jabber a little.’

Fenris smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He opens his mouth as if to speak, then stops, looks away, and fiddles with his lyrium-marked fingers. At last he draws in a breath and says, ‘He doesn’t have to... remain illegitimate.’

He speaks so quietly that Bryony has to lean a little closer to hear him. ‘Care to elaborate on that?’

A short silence; then Fenris breathes in again and does what he once did so rarely, and what he now does so often – he looks into her eyes. ‘If you… If you married me, then Conan would… officially… no longer be…’

The sentence trails away into a silence that’s quickly broken by the sound of Conan’s pebbles rebounding off Bethany’s barrier spell.

Bryony stares at Fenris for a good half-minute, then nods. ‘Mmm,’ she says, drawing out the sound. ‘That’s certainly true. If I married you. Of course, first you’d have to ask me.’

‘I am.’ Fenris almost drops his gaze away, but after a heartbeat he seems to remember that he needs to keep looking at her. ‘I am asking you, Bryony.’

‘And then, of course, I’d have to accept.’

‘Do you?’

There’s no missing the urgency in his voice, something that’s almost desperation. And Bryony closes her eyes and smiles again, and remembers all the times Fenris pulled away from her, all the times he failed to meet her gaze and all the times he protested that he couldn’t be a father to Conan. All the times she thought they’d never get this far. After all of it, after everything, they are finally here, and he is asking her this.

She knows it doesn’t change much, making the whole thing official. She and Fenris and Conan have been the closest and tightest of families ever since they ran from Kirkwall together. They are one entity, one being, and that closeness is something that could never be matched or summed up by a piece of parchment signed by a Chantry sister.

But this question that Fenris has asked her – this proposal – isn’t about that. It’s about making a promise. A promise that he’ll never push her away again, a promise that the oneness between the three of them will be forever.

It’s a promise he’s made silently every time he’s kissed her, every time he’s cut down an enemy who dared to attack her, every time he’s lifted Conan up into his arms. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t beautiful, to have the promise finally spoken out loud.

‘Fenris,’ says Bryony, opening her eyes again, ‘nothing would make me happier.’

There’s only one way to ask her.

Talan Adaar waits for a cloudless evening that promises a warm and clear night, then heads down to his garden. He plucks the roses he’s been growing around his alchemy herbs, carries them in armfuls down to the glade, that glade, their glade. It isn’t easy, not with only one hand, but his sister helps him, bringing the candles down there for him, setting them out around the fringes of the clearing.

‘She’ll love it,’ Meraad promises, squeezing his remaining hand, and Talan sucks in a long breath and nods.

‘I hope so.’

He pulls the piece of parchment from inside his tunic; earlier, Meraad helped him cut it into the shape of a heart, and he has carefully inked words onto it, a request for Cassandra to meet him here after nightfall. With a final encouraging smile, Meraad heads away in the direction of Skyhold to deliver the note, leaving her brother standing in the glade alone, rocking back and forth on his heels.

When he hears approaching footsteps, he does what he does best; he retreats into the shadows, blurring into the darkness in a way that few would believe possible of a man his size. He watches, and his heart swells in his chest to see Cassandra smiling as she stands among the flowers and the candles - just as she did on that shining night all that time ago - and as she trails her fingertips over the petals and scans the shadows for him.

‘I know you’re there, Talan,’ she calls, and he decides that this is his cue.

He opens the book of poems; it falls open naturally on the page he’s been opening it to again and again over the last few weeks. Talan licks his lips, steels himself, and begins to read.

‘I have a life to offer you A voice within the night A shadow softly watching At the fringes of your sight. I have a world to offer you No longer seen alone Through leagues across the wilderness I offer you a home.’

He steps forward, into the candlelight. Cassandra’s smile widens, and she doesn’t stare at him in startled wonder as she did on their first night. Instead, she leans back against a tree to listen.

‘I cannot offer safety Or the comfort of a hearth But I’ll give my arms as shelter From the blackest of the dark. I cannot offer distance From the seething drums of war – But peace is not our destiny And I can offer more.

I offer eyes to guard your back From death’s unsated jaws Should you ever seek for armour Then my flesh and blood are yours. When battle-horns sound out a call From which you cannot hide You will never be without me Walking silent at your side.’

Cassandra’s eyes close, and Talan wonders if she – as he is – is thinking of the countless battles they have faced side by side, the battles they have come through because each of them was standing at the other’s back. He swallows, lets the words hang in the air for a moment, and continues on to the final, most important verse.

‘And when the horns are broken And the sound of drums has passed I offer you a moment To lay down your arms at last Though it may be just a heartbeat ‘Til we once again must stand – I offer you a promise And I offer you my hand.’

Talan closes the book. On silent feet, he crosses the grove to stand before Cassandra, and – remembering what he’s been told of human traditions – he kneels, setting the poetry collection aside and lifting his head so that her eyes meet his. And he waits.

There’s a long quiet, as Cassandra stares, her eyes slowly widening. ‘Are you asking me to marry you?’ she says at last.

And because Talan Adaar never lies, all he can do is nod. ‘Um. Yes. Yes, I am.’

She keeps looking at him, and a claw of fear grips his heart. What if it’s not enough, what they have? What if she couldn’t do it, couldn’t marry someone like him, a northern savage with no faith in the Maker, a man with horns like a ram and skin the colour of smoke –

He forces the thoughts from his mind. He knows she doesn’t care about his being a Qunari, and he knows that she loves him.

‘Do you remember what you said to me, that first night we shared here?’ The words flood easily from his lips. ‘You said that people would either say that you were tricked by the wiles of a Qunari madman, or that people would say that this – us – was part of the Maker’s plan, that it was meant to be. Well, I know which one I think is true. This world, it’s split apart and lost its faith and – and some crazy darkspawn magister levitated the ruins of a temple, none of it made any sense. And I fell through a magic mirror and I lost my hand and – and we’re still here. Through all this madness, you’ve still been here, keeping me sane. I don’t... I don't think I can exist in a life when I don’t have you with me.’

He reaches out, gathers up one of her slim hands in his huge grey one. ‘You know that I don't really know if I can believe in any kind of god - but I believe in you, Cassandra. I believe in us.’

An owl calls somewhere beyond the trees, but Talan barely hears it. It is as if the entire world has shrunk to the size of their glade, as if nothing exists any more beyond where the shimmering ring of candle flames softens the edges of the night.

And then Cassandra bends down so that their faces are level, pressing her palm against the side of his face and drawing them close together.

‘So do I,’ she breathes.

She kisses him then, a kiss that somehow manages to be tender and fierce at once, and when it breaks she touches her forehead to his and runs her fingers through his hair. Talan chuckles, and murmurs against her lips. ‘Is that a yes?’

Cassandra says nothing, but she doesn’t need to speak. The way she laughs is enough.

He ends up proposing in the bloody Fade, of all places. Which is more strange than he can really describe, but it feels right, and more importantly, it works.

The hard part is the waiting. Up until she pardoned him, up until she learned the truth and announced to the entire Inquisition that, somehow, she didn’t care – he never let himself even harbour hopes that he might someday be able to ask her. But then that day comes, and suddenly he has a future, they have a future. And so he waits.

He waits, while she learns to call him by the name Thom Rainier. He waits, while they learn the truth about Solas, while she crumbles to learn that all her faith was a lie. He waits, while she learns to live without one hand. He waits, through all the nights while she sobs into his chest, while she asks him just how much she’s going to lose.

And at last, when he’s made amends as best he can to all of his surviving men, and she has learned to walk as tall and strong as ever, and when he feels comfortable wearing his true name, he asks.

‘Elera,’ he says, one night while they lie curled close together, ‘there’s something I want to show you. A memory. Could you…?’

She understands, and smiles. Elera Lavellan lost her eyesight when she was eleven years old, but the Maker blessed her with magic, and more than that, with the talents of a Dreamer. She can see when she enters the Fade, and under Solas’s tuition, she learned to draw others’ dreaming minds there with her, so that she can walk in their memories. And this is what she does now, waiting while they both slide into sleep, then pulling his consciousness into the strange borderland between worlds and joining him there.

Slowly, the shifting landscape of the Fade changes. The ghostly green and black lights fade, the sky turns from sickly olive to a natural, cloud-streaked blue, and the twisting rock paths around them melt away into green and brown pine trees. A lake stretches away before them, a mirror of the heavens shimmering on its surface.

‘Pines,’ Elera says thoughtfully, stepping up to his side. ‘And hills. I suppose this is… somewhere in Ferelden? And there’s a lake…’

Thom sees the understanding cross her face. ‘Is this where we first met?’ she asks.

‘It is.’

She smiles. ‘You saved my life here. You blocked an arrow intended for me. The first blow of your ongoing war against all enemy arrows and spells aimed in my direction.’

Chuckling, Thom nods. ‘A war I’ll continue as long as I draw breath. But you saved my life here too, by becoming part of it. And I don’t just mean the times you’ve slain some demon that was giving me trouble, or how you got me pulled out of that cell in Orlais. I mean that before I knew you, I… I didn’t know hope.’

The scene around them changes so suddenly that both of them blink in alarm. The lake drifts away into nothingness, the pines become taller and darker, the grass beneath their feet thicker and wet with rain. Ahead of them, a pounding sea stretches away into banks of fog.

Thom’s throat runs suddenly dry. This place. This hill on the Storm Coast, the place where he became Blackwall, the place he brought Elera that day when he meant to tell her that they couldn’t be together and instead simply fell even deeper in love with her, so deep that there could be no going back.

He glances at Elera, and she touches his arm, as if to reassure him. She may have never looked on this place with sighted eyes, but she clearly knows where they are, must have guessed it from the roar of the sea and the hammering of the rain. ‘I was still drawing on your memories,’ she says gently. ‘You must have started thinking about this place.’

‘I… I suppose I was.’ Thom sighs, and rubs the back of his neck. ‘My life changed twice here. Once when Warden Blackwall died and I took the armour and the name from his body. And once when you stood over there and told me that I didn’t need to face all the war and death in my life on my own. It changed everything. It was the first time since – since what I did – that I let myself think that I could have a future. It was only for a moment, but I thought it.’

She edges closer to him, and slips her hand into his. ‘And you were right.’

A new memory occurs to him, and the Fade changes accordingly, the haunting view of the Storm Coast vanishing, the curling mist forming itself into stone bricks that rise up in layers around them. The rain ceases, the sky darkens from ashen grey to twilight blue, and pinpoints of stars blossom across it. They stand in her room in Skyhold, as it was that night when he surrendered, when he stopped fighting what he felt for her.

‘You told me I was a good man.’ His tongue feels heavy, as if somehow weighed down by just how much he's trying to say, and it’s a struggle to get the words out. ‘You told me… you're a good man. I see it. The... the bravest and kindest and most beautiful woman I’d ever known, telling me that – that there was enough goodness in me for even a blind woman to be able to see it.’

Elera is watching him, a fond smile playing about her lips. ‘And sees it still,’ she says.

Thom turns to face her, and as he does, the world around them melts flawlessly, seamlessly, back into the lakeshore again. That’s fine. It’s only right that he should do it here, back in the place where Elera Lavellan entered and changed and saved his life. He looks at her, lifts one hand, trails his fingertips down her face.

‘For years,’ he says, ‘you’ve been telling me that I have a future. And after all this time – after everything you’ve done for me – I believe it.’

And so he kneels, and utters the question he never thought he’d have a right to ask. ‘Will you marry me, my lady?’

He waits in frozen, terrified silence for only a moment before she smiles.

‘I will, ma vhenan,’ she murmurs.

And in a second, hope has become reality. His future is now.

30 notes · View notes

allisondraste · 5 years

Text

Convalescence (4/5)

Convalescence (3/5)

Chapter 4: You

Story Summary: It has been four months since the Blight ended, and four months since Alistair and Lucia have seen each other. Relationships are hard, especially when there is no certainty that one still exists. (Sequel to “Let Me Go”)

Chapter Summary: Lucia had prepared for all of the possibilities, except for returning to Denerim to find Alistair in the arms of another woman. If she ever liked surprises, they are now ruined for her forever.

Pairings: Alistair x F!Amell, Alistair x F!Non-Warden Cousland, Nathaniel Howe x F!Non-Warden Cousland

[AO3 LINK]

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Seconds passed by in hours, or so it seemed to Lucia as she awaited Alistair’s return to Denerim. Anora had stated that his trip was to be brief and that he should be back in the capital within a few days. That conversation had taken place three days ago, though it felt as if three months had passed. She knew that she was being impatient and dramatic, pacing about and finding anything to keep herself busy, but the anxiety gnawed away at her insides and she thought she might go mad if she remained still for too long. She made it 19 years without losing her mind, and she had no intention of starting now.

Despite her commitment to being reasonable, her quarters looked anything but that of a reasonable person. In the process of distracting herself during the wait, she had used every flask and ingredient she had to make potions, balms, and poultices. Her room put the apothecary in town to shame. Although, as her supplies dwindled, she began to mix whatever she had left to create her own recipes. Trying those concoctions was not recommended. In fact, she was certain that one was just elfroot juice. Lucia was not proud of what she had done, but it was better than the sinking anticipation that set in if she was idle for too long.

She considered going to the kennels to visit Rune and Fang, but remembered that they were being washed and groomed, a chore she was happy to give to someone else. Rune did not like baths and Fang liked them too much. With nothing left to do, she lay on her bed, back flat, counting the number of jagged bricks composing the ceiling. A knock at the door startled her to her feet, and she rushed to open it, wondering if this time it would be Alistair. It wasn’t.

Nathaniel’s eyes darted around the room uncomfortably as he entered, taking in the tables and dressers covered with flasks of bubbling liquid. The look that he gave her seemed to ask “Are you serious?” in the most judgmental tone she could imagine. Lucia looked down at the floor, and shrugged sheepishly.

“I’m sorry,” Nathaniel said, the bite of sarcasm heavy in his voice, “I came to see if you’d like to go to the market, but it seems the market has already come to you.”

“I’m trying not to lose my mind waiting,” she answered, still looking at the ground and scuffing the toe of her boot against the stone.

“Good job.” Another sarcastic remark. “This is completely normal.”

“I’m fine,” Lucia insisted, moving to sit down on the edge of her bed with a huff and a sigh. She finally looked up to meet her friend’s eyes, filled with concern as they were, “I’m just… used to moving away from my problems, not waiting for them to come greet me.”

Nathaniel approached her, placed his hands on her shoulders and shook lightly. “Problems always seem bigger from a distance. This will be good for you one way or another.”

“There is only one outcome I can see being good for me,” she argued, refusing to be talked down from her completely necessary worry.

“Right, and if the other outcomes happen, then you’ll get to see me kick some arse.”

“Yes. Violence,” Lucia said unenthusiastically, “That’ll fix things.”

“You’d be surprised.” Smirking, he extended a hand toward her. “Come on. We’re going to the market. You need some air.”

“I could also probably stand to stock up on flasks.” She took his hand and looked around the room quizzically as he pulled her up. “I’d wager a solid half of these are not any good anyway.”

Nathaniel just sighed.

And so they had gone to the market, which made her feel somewhat better. It was the return from the market that left her feeling like she might vomit.

Lucia stood by the door, frozen, as the shattered remains of her shopping trip glittered at her feet. “Tense” was not a strong enough word to describe the air in the room as she dealt with the kick in the stomach that had been seeing Alistair kissing and embracing another woman. Try as she may to focus on anything other than the scene before her, she couldn’t. Her eyes darted to the beautiful woman with blonde hair and dark eyes who the man she loved held in his arms. Well, the woman had been in his arms when Lucia and Nathaniel entered. Alistair promptly pushed her away when he’d heard the flasks break against the stone.

The moment stretched on for an eternity, tension mounting as time passed. Releasing a frustrated huff, Nathaniel spoke, breaking the silence that held them prisoner. “Well, now all of your flasks are broken. I even offered to carry them for you, but no, you were worried that I would break them.” His complaint went unacknowledged, but it eased the tension just enough that Alistair attempted to speak.

“Lucia, I-” he began, stopping when she turned her head away from him. She looked at the ground in a vain attempt to hide the tears that burned in her eyes.

“Oy,” the blonde woman sighed, her voice as light and lovely as Lucia would have imagined it to be, “This looks bad.” At least she sounded genuinely apologetic.

“Elissa?” Nathaniel examined the woman from beneath furrowed brows, a grin spreading across his face. He stepped forward in front of Lucia, crunching some of the glass shards beneath his feet.

“Nate,” the woman, who was apparently named Elissa, replied fondly, “Nate Howe? It’s really you! It’s been years since I last saw you.” She rushed toward him and embraced him. Either they knew one another, or this was just something she did.

“I think it was... the last summer I visited before-” His sentence trailed away not needing to be finished.

“That was a lovely summer.” Elissa offered him a smile that seemed to hold some immense sadness back from the surface.

“It was.” Nathaniel nodded, frowning. “I’m so sorry about what my— what happened to your family. I had no idea or-”

“It’s not your fault.” Another sad smile. “I’m sorry about your family, too.”

The conversation halted and the two looked from one another to Lucia and Alistair, having only just realized they were not the only two people in the room.

“I... think I should probably go and replace these flasks before the shop closes,” Nathaniel said, pointing a thumb to the door.

“I’ll come with you.” Elissa quite literally jumped at the chance to escape the awful atmosphere between Alistair and Lucia. “We can catch up!” Lucia figured that Elissa must have been one of the Couslands, the ruling family of Highever who Rendon Howe had murdered in their home. Lucia wanted to pity her, but as she walked past to leave with Nathaniel, her pretty eyes met Lucia’s and the smell of her perfume filled the space between them. The esteemed Hero of Ferelden was reduced to petty, shameful jealousy that was so far beneath her it was comical. Of all the possibilities she had considered, finding Alistair in torrid embrace with another woman was not one. It was an egregious exaggeration - the embrace was affectionate at best- but Lucia didn’t care.

Now, it seemed she could not even take Nathaniel up on his offer of violence.

Alistair watched as Liss left the room with the unfamiliar Warden, his eyes immediately snapping back to Lucia when the door closed. Her gaze was sharp enough to draw blood, searching his face for answers he didn’t have. He hadn’t seen her in so long that he was grateful to be under such scrutiny. She was at least twice as beautiful as he remembered: The fair skin and soft features that understated her ferocity, the dark hair, and those pale blue eyes, telling secrets she didn’t realize he could see. He had almost forgotten the subtle way her eyes changed when she looked at him, like he was the only person in the world.

At the moment, he did know that being the only person in the world was such a great thing. Her expression was flat and difficult to read, like she had withdrawn from him completely. He spent better part of their year earning her trust, showing her that she could open up to him. He doubted she’d ever be able to trust him again.

“I know you’re probably angry, but-”

“I’m not,” she interrupted him with short, quick words that made him feel small.

Alistair squinted. “Are you sure? Is this one of those things where you say that you’re not feeling a certain way, when you’re actually feeling that way very strongly? Because I really don’t think that this is the best time to do that.” He must have sounded as desperate as he felt.

“I’m not angry, Alistair.” Her composure was betrayed by the shaky breath that followed.

“If you think I don’t know you better than that, you’re wrong.” A bitter laugh accompanied the sigh that escaped him . “Please don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what,” she asked in a tone as sharp as her eyes. “Protect myself? Do what I’ve always done to get by and be okay?”

“Don’t hide how you feel,” Alistair answered, hoarse with emotion as tears began to burn in his eyes. He moved forward and placed his hands on her shoulders. “If you’re angry with me, then be angry, but for the love of the Maker don’t pull away from me now.”

“Okay fine. I’m angry,” she admitted, with a sigh, “No. I’m more than angry. I’m furious, and heartbroken, and just...so damn tired of losing people I care about. ”

“ I-”

“And I hardly think you’re in any position to tell me not to pull away.” She swiped his hands from her shoulders and pushed him away from her. “You have no right to tell me what to do with my emotions, when you buried yours in another woman.”

He wanted to protest, to tell her that it wasn’t like that, but the fact of the matter was that what he had done was exactly like that.

“It’s not like I meant for this to happen,” he said, not sure what else he could say that wasn’t a flat out denial.

“I suppose kissing her by the door was an accident then?” Lucia crossed her arms.

“To be fair, she kissed me.” It was a weak defense, one of which he was not proud.

”You certainly didn’t stop her.” A sad smile flashed across her face before vanishing. “And besides, I know you well enough to know you don’t just casually kiss people. This wasn’t the first time it happened.”

“No.” He tore his eyes away from her, afraid to see the pain his answer would cause. “It wasn’t. It happened one other time.”

“Are you-,” she began, but choked on the question as her emotions finally seemed to be getting the better of her. Alistair forced himself to look at her. He’d rarely seen Lucia cry, and the tears rolling down her face broke his heart.

“Together?” He waited for her to nod before answering. “No.”

“Have you-“ She gestured with her hands, unable to push words through all of the emotion.

“Thought about it?” Alistair took a deep breath and considered his words carefully. “Yes- but Luce, you have to understand. When you left, my world fell apart. You only said goodbye because I caught you, in case you’ve forgotten. There was no ‘I’ll be back when I figure this out.’ Nothing.

“I met Elissa, and she is funny and kind and she made me, I don’t know...feel better, when most days I felt like dying.”

Alistair paused and waited for her to shout at him or run from the room, but she didn’t. She let out a breath and looked at him, anger replaced by hollow sadness.

“You know, I don’t really know what I expected, leaving like I did. “ She shook her head and brought her hands up to her shoulders as if to hug herself. Alistair resisted the impulse to reach out and comfort her, fearing she might shatter beneath his touch like the flasks on the ground.

“I wanted you to have the space you needed, no matter how much it killed me. That’s what you do when you love someone.”

“I was just scared and selfish,” she argued, “I left when you needed me. I guess I forfeited any right I had to be angry at how you handled your grief.”

Alistair opened his mouth to speak, but the words were nowhere to be found yet again.

“I am glad you had someone there for you when I wasn’t.” Her words sounded further away, even though she hadn’t moved. “If she makes you happy, if she’s what you want, then-“

“No,” Alistair protested, nearly falling over himself as he rushed to her, unapologetically returning hands to her shoulders where they’d been earlier. He was no longer afraid she’d reject his touch or crumble beneath it. “She’s not what I want.”

“There is some considerable evidence to the contrary,” Lucia remarked, raising her eyebrows.

“Because I’m an idiot,” he sighed in defeat. His hands slipped from her shoulders, tracing the length of her arms before settling at his side. “And I did something stupid because I was sad.”

“Alistair, you’re not an idiot.”

“Oh, but I am.” He laughed, though tears of his own had begun to fall. “I am a stupid, foolish man for thinking, even for a minute, that I could ever want anything but you.”

“Oh,” Lucia said, blinking in surprise. Even wet as they were from tears, it should have been impossible for her eyes to glisten like they did when she looked at him in that moment.

“Being apart from you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do,” he continued, “And I never want to do it again. Luce, you’re the-“

Before Alistair could finish his thought Lucia’s lips were against his in a kiss. It was firm and decisive, but still so gentle his whole body ached in response. His heart leapt from his chest as he realized what was happening. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a desperate embrace and deepening the kiss, hot tears mingling on their cheeks.

When they finally came apart, Lucia eyed him affectionately as she wiped his tears away with her thumbs. He quickly pulled her back against his chest, resting his chin on her head, worried that if he didn’t hold her tightly she might slip away. He had no intention of letting her go.

“Anyway... as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” he stated suddenly after several minutes of silence, doing his best to sound offended. “ You’re the only person I want to kiss ever again.”

Lucia just sighed and laughed, her breath warm against him. It was the best feeling in the world.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #alistair theirin #alistair x cousland #alistair x amell #alistair x warden #nathaniel howe #nathaniel howe x cousland #hurt comfort #update

8 notes · View notes