ok i need to know about DraGOn AgE!?!?!?!?!? lol -merrybandofmurderers

LOL it is, shockingly, my WIP for Dragon Age Origins. I have 3 canon Wardens, so theoretically it was gonna be a big grand thing about how my Wardens came together, how they got together with their LIs during their adventure. Sort of petered out once I got to game plot lol

Anyway, here's a snippet:

“I swear to the Maker, I can’t leave any of you alone for five minutes!” Keiran cried, sparks forming at the tips of his fingers as he raged. Roenna, Aineislis, Leliana, and Alistair had gone out looking for supplies as they camped outside Redcliffe, and not only had they apparently started a brawl in the road, but Roenna was currently begging him to aid their attacker. Roenna flinched, but didn’t back down immediately, “Please, Keiran, he needs our help! And Aineislis says we shouldn’t move him or we’ll just hurt him worse!” “Didn’t you just say he tried to kill you!?” “Well, uhm, yes, he did… but he’s actually really nice, he was talking to us-” “What is the matter with you people!?” he yelled, but he was already grabbing his medical kit and staff, “Ugh fine! Let’s go.” It didn’t take more than fifteen minutes or so to find the rest of the crew and the place of the skirmish. There were a half dozen bodies scattered around the path, all of them very much dead. But there was a small crowd in the middle of the field, huddled relatively close. They spoke quietly, but he swore he heard laughter from them. “Guys! I got Keiran!” Roenna cried as she sprinted the remaining yards to them. Alistair immediately pushed himself up off the ground and hugged her, pressing a kiss to her hair. Disgusting. Aineislis turned to face him, too, revealing a third elf on the ground, his head resting in Leliana’s lap, a hand on his side, smiling widely. Keiran stopped dead in his tracks. There was an arrow through his thigh - no doubt the work of their master archer - and his left shoulder was popped out and underneath him. But the wounds weren’t what stopped him.

Spoilers: it's because he's hot.

Aineislis Tabris is an archer, Roenna Cousland is a warrior, and Kieran Surana is a mage.

Sten/f!Mahariel: Fall Into The Tide, Chapter 4

Chapter 4 of Sten and Yara Mahariel’s nautical adventures is up on AO3! The chapter is called ‘Conversations’, and it consists of a bunch of... well, conversations.

~6800 words; read on AO3 here. 

********************

The journey to Par Vollen unfolded in a series of surprisingly fair-weather days. Yara and Sten soon slipped into a new routine of training twice per day: once with weapons in the morning before breakfast, and another session of hand-to-hand combat before the evening meal. 

On the first day that they started hand-to-hand combat, however, Yara was met with a surprise: Sten didn’t seem entirely confident on what he was doing. Their sessions seemed to involve a lot of trial-and-error, and Yara often found herself standing idly while Sten inspected her body, almost as though he was trying to assess her value as a weapon. When he finally instructed her to hit him, he only seemed annoyed when he easily deflected her strikes. 

On the third day of this sort of haphazard training, Yara eventually held up a hand to stop him. “Sten, is something wrong?” she asked.  

“I do not want an audience,” he said.

Yara blinked in surprise. That wasn’t what she’d expected him to say. 

She glanced at the deck, where a handful of sailors were casually watching their sparring. It wasn’t unusual for a few crew members to watch while she and Sten were training, and Sten had never expressed a problem with it before. 

“You don’t want them watching us at all anymore?” she said. That was going to be a bit difficult to achieve, since the ship was not very big. She and Sten had been doing all their training on the forecastle deck where they were mostly out of the way, and seeing as the forecastle was raised, it would be quite difficult for the crew to not watch them at all.

“The weapons training, yes,” Sten said. “But this? No.”

She raised her eyebrows, feeling increasingly nonplussed. Why did it matter if the crew were watching weapons training or hand-to-hand? But Sten’s tone was firm, and Yara knew only too well how futile it was to argue with him when he was this adamant.

“All right,” she said. “I can ask them not to watch for now.” 

He nodded brusquely, and Yara drifted down to cajole the crew into not watching during their hand-to-hand sessions. When she and Sten were alone and unobserved on the forecastle deck again, she tilted her head.

“Why don’t you want them watching our hand-to-hand training?” she asked. She offered him a little smile. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of letting them see you get bested by a woman.”

Sten gave her a chiding look, then turned away. “I have little experience fighting such a small opponent.”

Yara tsked and planted her hands on her hips. “All right, I get it, I’m small and frail and you’re big and huge. Why does that–”

He cut her off. “I don’t know how to train you without the advantage of weapons,” he said. “I do not know how to make you stronger in this. This is a weakness. Such weakness should not be… witnessed.” He shot a suspicious look at the crew, who had returned to their posts by now.

Yara tilted her head. “But we knew from the start that I’m weaker than you. That’s the whole point.”

Sten shook his head. “You misunderstand. The weakness is not yours. It is mine.”

She stared at him in rising confusion. “Sten, I… I don’t know what you mean. How is my lack of ability your weakness?”

“To know something is to possess the power to master it,” he explained. “In the lack of knowing lies weakness.”

Yara raised her eyebrows, then frowned as the meaning of what he’d said sank in. “So… hang on. So you think it’s a weakness anytime that you don’t know how to do something?”

“I am a sten of the beresaad,” he said firmly. “I am a soldier and a fighter. It is my duty to know how to fight, and how to train my companions to do the same. But I don’t know how to train you to best me.” He bowed his head to her. “I lack mastery in this, kadan. I am sorry.”

She blinked at him in utter bemusement. “But… but Sten, we just got started. You can’t expect to be a master at this right away.”

“It should not be this difficult,” he insisted. “The principles should be the same. We are both intelligent beings of muscle and bone. But your fists are so small and ineffectual. I do not know how to get around this problem.” 

He looked so put out by her small and ineffectual fists that Yara couldn’t help it: she laughed. 

He scowled at her, and she raised her hands in surrender. “Listen, I think I can help. I used to scrap a little bit with the boys in my clan. They did a lot of horsing around or tripping each other up since it was all in fun and no one really wanted to hurt each other.” She shrugged. “Maybe we could use the same ideas here.”

Sten stared at her. “...horsing around?”

“Yes,” she said. “You know, like… like plowing into someone’s belly and throwing them off balance so they’d fall down. Or kicking someone in the back of the knees so they’d land on their knees and be caught off-guard.”

His face cleared suddenly. “You find a way to bring me down, and if I fall, you can strike me with greater force while I am caught off-guard.”

“Yes, exactly!” Yara said brightly. 

Sten nodded decisively. “Yes. This is a good strategy. A good way to use your smaller size as a benefit and not a hindrance.”

Yara chuckled and folded her arms. “Good to know I’m not a hindrance despite my tiny size.”

For a brief moment, a hint of a smile lit the corners of his lips. “I did not say ‘tiny’, kadan. You are not an imekari.”

“I’m certainly not,” she replied.

As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized how provocative they sounded. Sten’s eyebrows rose, and when his eyes darted over her body, her heart jolted nervously in her chest.

His eyes returned to her face. “Are you flirting again?” he asked.

She nervously licked her lips, then boldly lifted her chin. “Maybe I am.”

He stared at her without replying, and she stared back at him in all his shirtless glory. For a tense moment, neither of them spoke, and when Yara felt like her heart might beat its way straight through her throat, he finally gestured for her to approach.

“Come,” he said. “Show me a way that the men in your clan would toss each other to the ground.”

She exhaled slowly – whether with disappointment or relief, she couldn’t quite decide – then did her best to describe how her clanmates would imbalance each other to throw each other off their feet. She and Sten worked together to balance his much-greater weight against her agility, and by the time their session was finished, Yara had managed to get Sten to his knees, and his face looked more relaxed than it had all day. 

“Good,” he said. “You are improving already. This is good.”

She smiled at him and wiped her forehead. “We make a good team.”

“We have been a good team for some time,” Sten replied. 

She smiled more broadly. She knew his compliment was entirely professional, but it didn’t stop her ears from heating up or the butterflies from fluttering in her belly.

She ducked her head and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Yes. All right. I’ll, um, this will be good to get back into tomorrow.” 

Sten nodded and rose to his full towering height, and her heart kicked into her throat once more. His chest was rising and falling with exertion and his muscles were lined with sweat, and Mythal save her, he smelled so damned good… 

Her pulse suddenly throbbed between her legs. She gulped in a breath of his sharp and salty scent, then stepped back and waved haphazardly at him before scurrying away to bathe. 

In the days that followed, their hand-to-hand sessions became more and more focused and satisfying, though Yara was still having difficulty getting Sten into a vulnerable enough position to strike him hard. When they weren’t training, they often sat together while doing their own quiet activities. Sten spent a lot of time reading, and Yara wondered if he was hoping to finish The Rose of Orlais before they arrived in Par Vollen. For her part, Yara spent quite a bit of time just sitting with him and thinking while playing fetch with Fen’ain. She could be reading too, if she wanted to; Brother Genitivi had given her a small book containing essays and analyses of his own about the Grey Wardens, and Yara did want to read the book at some point. But for some reason, she was reluctant to pull the book out of her satchel right now. 

Instead, she sat with Sten and let her mind wander as she watched the clouds scudding across the sky. She thought about her former companions and wondered what they were up to: was Alistair with the Orlesian Wardens now? Had Shale and Wynne already set off on their trip to Tevinter? What sort of mischief might Zevran be getting up to? Had Oghren gone to find Felsi yet, and where in Mythal’s name had Morrigan gone? 

She thought about her clan, too. She still felt wistful for the simplicity and certainty of her life as a Dalish hunter, as well as longing for Ashalle and Fenarel and Marethari and for poor Tamlen too. But cutting through her longing was an ugly but persistent thread of bitterness. She still couldn’t decide whether she was more angry at Marethari for handing her over to Duncan, or at the entire clan for packing up and leaving instead trying harder to find Tamlen. If only they’d managed to find him, maybe he could have joined the Grey Wardens as well. If only they’d taken a little more time to look for him, maybe he wouldn’t have risen up as a blighted ruin of a man choking out his love for her through twisted and blackened lips while attacking her at the same time–

“Kadan?”

She jolted and looked up at Sten. “Yes?”

“Your hands,” he said. 

She looked down at her hands, and her gut twisted with dismay; her left wrist was reddened. She’d been scratching unconsciously at the skin on wrist – a bad habit that Ashalle had always gently scolded her about, especially when she was a child and prone to scratching until the skin was raw. Ashalle had stitched her some soft ram-leather cuffs to stop her from scratching herself raw, and eventually the habit had gone away, for the most part at least. 

She forced herself to relax her fingers and looked up at Sten. “Can you read to me from your book?” she asked.

He frowned, and for a moment Yara thought he was going to refuse. But his response took her by surprise. “I am several chapters ahead of where I was the last time I read to you,” he said. “You will not understand what’s happening.”

“So tell me what I missed, then,” she said.

“Why should I do that?” he asked.

She smiled pleadingly. “Because it’s fun?”

Sten shot her a very skeptical look, and she laughed. “All right, that was a terrible way to convince you, I’ll admit. Pretend I’m the Arishok and you’re giving me a report on your book so far.”

“The Arishok would not want a report on this drivel,” Sten said flatly.

She gave him a sly look. “So why are you still reading it, then?”

Sten frowned and returned his gaze to his book, and Yara immediately felt guilty. “I’m sorry, Sten,” she said. “I shouldn’t tease. Honestly, I think it’s great that you’re reading that book.”

He didn’t look at her, and he didn’t reply. As the silence stretched tensely between them, Yara began to wonder sadly if she should leave him alone. 

Just as she was about to rise from the bench, he spoke. “You have missed very little. The chevalier went to a tourney. He did not win, but instead of accepting the responsibility for his own failure, he became petulant and drunk.” He raised an eyebrow. “This appears to be a common theme among bas. There was also a suggestive drunken encounter with the noblewoman on a balcony.” He shot Yara a flat look. “The elf assassin would have called it ‘titillating’.”

Yara smiled, relieved that he was speaking to her again. “All right. That’s a great summary.”

He nodded, then began reading out loud, and Yara smiled to herself as she relaxed into his soothing baritone.

The days continued to blend together in a pleasant and unhurried flow. It soon became routine for Sten to read to Yara a little bit each day, and these quickly became the most calming parts of her day. She would sometimes make comments during Sten’s reading-out-loud sessions, prompting him to make dry or sarcastic replies, and eventually the focus of their sessions morphed from reading out loud to talking. 

One day, as Sten was opening The Rose of Orlais, Yara tilted her head. “I’ve still been thinking, you know,” she said. “About that parable you told me. The one with the ashkaari and the laundress.”

He nodded. “Have you determined the meaning yet?” 

“No, not yet,” she said. “But I was wondering. The way you told it was… perfect. Like you’d done it before. So I was wondering if you – if qunari, I mean – do you memorize all your fables so you can just recite them anytime?”

Sten nodded. “It is a part of mastering the Qun. To understand the Qun, you must first know the words. We recite them over and over as imekari until they become as familiar as our own faces in the mirror.”

Yara raised her eyebrows. That sounded like a harsh way to teach children, but it had clearly worked in Sten’s case. “Do you ever take a little creative licence when you’re retelling the parables?” she asked.

He frowned curiously. “‘Creative licence’? What is this?”

“It means changing the original story a bit, or adding interesting details to make it more, er, interesting.” She grimaced at her own implication that Sten’s parables were boring. “Or, um… well, I guess it would defeat the point of memorizing it if you were changing the story.”

Sten put his book aside. “These are not stories, kadan. They are lessons passed down by the Great Ashkaari Koslun. It is not my place to alter the wisdom that has governed my people for ages.”

Yara nodded, but she couldn’t help but feel a little skeptical about whether the stories – sorry, lessons – really were exactly the same as they were when the Askhaari Koslun had first come up with them. All stories or lessons changed with time and telling, after all. 

Then Sten spoke again. “I sometimes imagine the ashkaari wearing armour made of dawnstone instead of iron or steel.” 

Yara looked at him in surprise. “Dawnstone? But… but dawnstone is pink.”

Sten nodded. “An ashkaari in pink armour. It is… frivolous.”

Yara stared at him, then slowly smiled. “You think it’s funny to imagine the ashkaari in pink armour.” 

Sten smirked, and Yara had to resist the sudden urge to hug him. Before she could say anything else, he spoke again. “Your people. Your Dalish clan. Do you have fables?”

“Yes,” she said. “We have nine gods, and we have stories about all of them. Do you want to hear one?”

Sten nodded, and Yara smiled. “All right. You’ll have to bear with me, though, I’m not much a storyteller.” She settled herself facing him on the bench. “I’ll tell you about Mythal and Elgar’nan. Once upon a time, there was only the sun and the land, and there were no gods. Then the sun and the land had a child–”

“The sun and land had a child?” Sten said. “That is impossible.”

Yara gave him a patient look. “Sten, do I interrupt you when you’re telling me parables?”

He sat back. “You are right. Go on.”

She smiled before going on. “The sun and land had a child, and he was Elgar’nan. The land, who was the mother, loved Elgar’nan and made all kind of animals and plants for him to enjoy. But the sun, who was the father, got jealous and burned all the animals and plants out of jealousy.”

Sten opened his mouth to comment, and Yara raised her eyebrows. He closed his mouth and waved for her to continue.

She continued the tale. “Elgar’nan flew into a rage and leapt into the sky to fight the sun. The sun was strong, but Elgar’nan was so angry that he was stronger, so he cast the sun down to the earth into a… a crevasse, I guess, and he was imprisoned there. But because the sun was gone, everything on the land started to die.”

“But everything was already dead from being burned by the sun,” Sten pointed out.

“Oh. You’re right,” Yara said blankly. “I never thought of that.” She paused and wrinkled her nose, then waved her hand dismissively. “Anyway, the sun was shoved deep into the earth, and the earth was so sad that she began crying. That’s how all the oceans and seas came to be. The land begged Elgar’nan to forgive his father, but he wouldn’t. That’s when Mythal came out of the sea, born from the land’s tears, and she convinced Elgar’nan to change his mind. So he pulled his father out of the crevasse inside of the earth, and they came to an agreement: the sun could shine, but he would do it gently so he wouldn’t kill everything on the earth. And, um… well, I guess that’s kind of it.” She shrugged. “The land was happy that her son and husband weren’t fighting, and Elgar’nan and Mythal lived on the land with all the animals and creatures under the sun. They gave birth to the other gods – or most of them, at least, but that's moving into other stories.”

Sten didn’t speak for a moment. When Yara raised her eyebrows at him, he frowned. “You are finished?”

“Yes,” she said. “That’s the end of the story.”

His frown deepened. “But there was no lesson. There was no point.”

She smiled. “No, it – it wasn’t really a lesson sort of story. It’s just a story of how the world was made.”

“But you established from the start that the world already existed,” he argued. “The land and the sun already existed.”

“Yes, but the animals and creatures didn’t,” Yara said. “Nothing was alive on the land.”

“But why was the land alive?” he asked. “Why was the sun alive?” 

He looked so affronted, and Yara had to force herself not to laugh. “It’s a metaphor, Sten. Or – not a metaphor, but… look, it’s just a story. It’s just for fun.”

“I don’t understand,” he said. “Your culture is premised on stories that make no sense and have no meaning?”

She burst out a laugh. “Sten! That’s so rude! And besides, those stories aren’t what our entire culture is based on. It’s – it’s just a part of it. It’s our heritage, but it’s not how we live.”

He stared at her. “The stories you tell your children are not lessons, and you do not live by them? This is ludicrous.”

“There are different stories for different reasons,” she explained. “The ones that we tell around the fire at night are not the same as the ones that govern how we live our lives. We live by things like the Vir Tanadhal, which is the hunter’s code. But stories like the one I told you are just for fun. They’re… they’re like children’s stories.”

“But the stories you tell your imekari and the code by which they live should be one and the same,” Sten said.

She gazed fondly at him. “There are different ways of doing things. I was raised by the Dalish with our no-lesson children’s stories and I’m not so bad, right?”

He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, and Yara shrugged. “I don’t really know what else to tell you. All I can say is that sometimes a story is just for fun. It’s like when we’d sit around with Zevran and Alistair and the others and chat.” She pulled a little face. “Or, well, I guess you didn’t really join us when we did that…” 

“I did this with my brothers in the beresaad,” Sten said. “We… chatted.”

“All right, then it’s like that,” she said. “The stories are just something interesting to talk about. A way to entertain. Like that book,” she added with a nod to The Rose of Orlais, which still sat unopened in his lap. “There’s no lesson in there. It’s just for fun.”

He frowned pensively, and Yara idly swung her bare feet as she waited for him to speak. When he did, he surprised her yet again. “I would like to hear another story.”

She raised her eyebrows. “All right, if you like. Um… I can tell you about Andruil. She’s the goddess of hunting–”

“No, not a story of your gods,” he said. “A story about you.”

Her eyes widened. “About me?”

“Yes,” he said. “Tell me a story of yourself. For… fun.”

Yara stared wordlessly at him, thrown off by his request. She didn’t particularly like talking about herself, preferring instead to deflect people’s questions back to themselves so she could listen instead of talk. But now that Sten had asked, she was realizing that he didn’t know very much about her life before they’d met, despite the year they’d spent travelling together. 

She awkwardly ran her fingers through her hair. “I… um, I guess I can think of something.” She gave him a challenging look. “But only if you tell me a story about yourself after.”

He frowned slightly, then nodded. “This is a fair exchange. I agree.”

She smiled. “All right. Well, um… I guess I can tell you about a time that Fenarel and I almost burned down the Keeper’s aravel. It was a very dry summer, and this was about fifteen years ago…” 

Yara continued her tale, and when she was finished, Sten told her a tale of his own about one of his brothers cooking the wrong sort of mushroom and making their entire squad hallucinate. And for the rest of that afternoon, they exchanged small stories of their lives, and Sten didn’t even open The Rose of Orlais. 

The journey continued, and so did their new routine of talking about their lives and their cultures and even their respective languages instead of reading. Yara sometimes felt guilty about interrupting Sten’s reading, but she was enjoying their conversations too much to stop. 

On one particular occasion, about ten days into the trip, Yara was sitting beside him and idly twisting the front of her hair into a simple braided crown when she noticed that he was staring at her rather blatantly.

Her belly did a nervous little jolt, and she paused in her braiding. “Sten, is everything okay?”

“You are a redhead,” he said. 

Yara smiled uncertainly. She had absolutely no idea where he was going with this. “Yes,” she said.

“But your hair is not red,” Sten said. “I have been thinking about this term, ‘redhead’. It is inaccurate. Your hair is orange. Perhaps with a bit of gold when the sun is bright. They should call you an ‘orange-head.’” 

Her heart did a little flip at his flattering description of her hair colour. She was sure he didn’t mean to compliment her, but it felt good anyway. 

She smiled shyly and went back to braiding her hair. “That doesn’t really have the same ring to it. ‘Orange-head’ doesn’t sound quite as sexy as ‘redhead’.”

“Sexy?” Sten said.

She pressed her lips together. The word had slipped out without her thinking about it. She ignored her burning cheeks and shrugged as casually as she could. “You know, um… attractive. In a… sexual way.”

His frown deepened. “Sex has nothing to do with the colour of hair.”

For a split second, Yara gaped at him, flustered by hearing him saying anything about sex with such certainty. Did he carry that same certainty when he was actually in the throes?

Stop it, Yara, she scolded herself. Already a thrill of heat was starting to thrum through her blood. Embarrassed, she dropped her gaze and continued to braid her hair. “I know it doesn’t. But, um. There are just, um, common beliefs about people who have red hair.”

“What kind of beliefs?” he asked.

“They say we’re… hot-headed and temperamental,” she said reluctantly. “Quick to anger or to get passionate about things. And that we, um…” She swallowed hard. “That we’re, um, passionate sex partners.”

“I understand,” Sten said.

She darted a cautious look at him. “You understand what?”

“The metaphor,” he said. “Red hair is like fire. That is the metaphor.”

“Oh,” Yara said dumbly. “Yes, that’s – yes, exactly.”

Sten grunted, apparently pleased to have sorted out the linguistic mystery. Then he gave her an appraising look. “You are not like this. You are not fierce-tempered or quick to passion.”

Her heart sank a bit at this. Sten didn’t think she was fierce or passionate? Did that mean he thought she wouldn’t be a good lover, either? 

Oh, what in Sylaise’s name was she even thinking? It’s not like Sten was thinking about her sexually at all. She let out a self-deprecating little laugh to hide her dismay. “I know. I’m kind of a disappointment that way.”

He frowned. “That is not what I said. What I mean is that you are not like a flame. You are more like an ember.” 

She frowned curiously as Sten went on. “An ember is steady. It retains the warmth of the hearth rather than dying out in a flash of light and heat. It is no less hot than the flame itself. And when one attempts to blow the ember out, it only flares brighter.” He gave her a frank look. “That is not disappointing, kadan. The ember is superior to the flame in its own way, and just as useful.”

She gaped at him. What he’d just said was so… so nice. So thoughtful and… well, rather  romantic, really. 

Creators save her from herself, she wanted to straddle his lap. 

She suppressed the lewd thought and smiled at him despite her burning cheeks. “Sten, are you flirting with me?”

His eyebrows leapt up. “Flirt–? No. It’s–” He scowled. “Vashedan. Let us speak of something else.”

She laughed and patted his knee. “I’m just teasing! It was a really nice thing to say. Thank you.”

His scowl deepened. “I did not mean to flirt. I was speaking the truth.”

“That’s what makes it so nice. Thank you,” she said softly.

“You are welcome,” he grumbled. He cleared his throat, then opened his book for the first time that day, and Yara watched with a thrill of nerves and hope as he read his book with a more focused sort of attention than usual. Maybe Sten hadn’t meant to flirt, but he had complimented her, and not on something relating to her combat form or her leadership skills. And he had said that other nice thing about her hair being golden in the sunlight…

Maybe it didn’t mean anything. Maybe she was just reading too much into it because she was so attracted to him. 

Or maybe it meant that her feelings weren’t completely one-sided after all. 

****************

Later that night in their cabin, Yara combed her hair and watched Sten surreptitiously as he washed his face in the basin in the corner and brushed his teeth. The muscles in his broad shoulders were rippling as he bent over the basin, and her eyes traced along the smoky grey expanse of his back to admire the scar on his left flank, as well as another smaller scar on his right shoulder. When he turned around, she hastily looked away from him and continued combing her hair. 

Sten slid into the bedroll on the floor and folded his arms behind his head, and a spark of lust danced down her spine. The definition in his abs was easier to admire with his arms raised, and his biceps were as thick around as her thigh, and… 

And he looked content. His expression was neutral, but his forehead wasn’t creased or lined with a frown, and his gaze on her face was relaxed instead of its usual sharp focus. 

Oh Creators, he was looking right at her while she was ogling him. She dropped his gaze and combed her hair more quickly. “You look, um, happy,” she blurted. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a question?”

She smiled faintly at him. Of course he had to make her innocuous remark sound like she’d said something stupid. Which, in all fairness, she had. At least he wasn’t pointing out that she was staring at him yet again. 

“Not a question. Just a comment,” she said. “You look relaxed. Content. It’s… I don’t know.” She shrugged. “You’re usually all focused and on duty.”

“I am about to go to sleep,” he said dryly.

She smiled more broadly. “You even look focused when you’re asleep. Like you have to do a really good job of getting a good night’s rest.” 

He scoffed. Yara chuckled, and they fell quiet for a moment. Then Yara tilted her head. “I do have a question for you, though. If you don’t mind my asking while you’re trying to sleep.”

He turned his head to look at her more fully. “Ask, kadan.” 

She nibbled the inside of her cheek for a moment. She’d been thinking about this ever since their first discussion about the difference between a purpose and a mission. She rather envied Sten’s certainty about his place in the world, and his conviction in the Qun’s worldviews was undeniable. Even so, Yara had the sense that Sten wasn’t a typical example of a qunari citizen. He said things and did things and enjoyed things that weren’t in keeping with the Qun as he described it, and whenever Yara pointed out these inconsistencies, he found some way to change the topic, whether it was by questioning her culture or insisting that she train with him, or simply by saying he needed silence in order to read. 

“Are you going to ask?” he said.

“Oh,” she said blankly. “Right. I was just thinking… are you happy being qunari? Being a member of the Qun, I mean?”

Sten frowned, then slowly sat up in his bedroll. “‘Happy.’ You often use this word as though it has meaning. As though it is clearly defined and understood the same way by everyone. What does this word mean to you?”

She blinked. She hadn’t expected him to throw the question back at her so quickly. “It means… not being miserable, I suppose.”

“Misery is a choice,” Sten said. “You can choose not to be miserable.”

A little laugh escaped her lips – more of surprise than true mirth. “No you can’t,” she said. “Sometimes terrible things happen and they make you sad. That’s just… it’s normal to be miserable sometimes, Sten.”

“It is normal for terrible things to happen,” he said. “It is a choice to remain stuck in a state of misery instead of moving forward.”

She gazed at him with growing disbelief. “So you think people should just… stop being sad and move on?”

He studied her for a moment, then shook his head and lay back down. “I am not a tamassran. It is not my place to teach. Qunari do not transgress their roles.”

“Well, I’m not qunari,” she said. “And no one here is going to accuse you of stepping out of line.”

He shot her a suspicious look, and she gestured at him. “Come on, tell me. I like hearing what you have to say.”

He gave her one of those penetrating looks, and Yara waited with bated breath for him to respond. Then he sighed and sat up once more. “We have a canto in the Qun: ‘There is no chaos in the world, only complexity. Knowledge of the complex is wisdom, and from wisdom of the world comes wisdom of the self. Mastery of the self is mastery of the world. Loss of the self is the source of suffering. Suffering is a choice, and we can refuse it. It is in our own power to create the world, or destroy it.’”

Yara grimaced. “You’ll have to say that one again for me.”

Sten recited the saying a second time. Yara frowned pensively, and for a long minute, they just stared at each other in silence while she thought. 

“So… when we found you in that cage in Lothering,” she said slowly. “Was that… how was that in line with what you just said? If suffering is a choice?”

He leaned away from her slightly. “You are suggesting that I was choosing to suffer.”

“Weren’t you?” she asked.

He stared at her without speaking, and Yara winced. “I’m not trying to pick on you or make you angry. I just—”

 “I am not angry,” he interrupted. “I am thinking.”

Yara nodded, and they sat silently for a while longer. Eventually Yara cleared her throat. “Were you…” She trailed off. She’d been about to ask if he was happier after he joined her, but she realized now that that question would seem foolish to him. Before she could rephrase the question, he spoke.

“When you released me from that cage, you helped me to fulfill my purpose,” he said. “You helped me to find answers in a land that harbours little wisdom. And you recovered my asala.”

She nodded and waited for him to go on, but it seemed that he was finished speaking for now. Yara recrossed her legs and shrugged. “Well, I’m happy you decided to join us.”

He looked at her carefully. “This is what being happy means to you? Having strangers follow you?”

She snorted a little laugh. “No, of course not. But I do think being happy means being with people you love. People who love you.”

His gaze sharpened, and Yara realized with a horrified jolt that she’d basically just admitted that she loved him.

He was staring at her again in that way that felt like he was seeing straight down to her bones. “And if those people go away?” he asked. “If they die or are taken from you? If they leave your side? What then?”

Friends dying or leaving or being taken away? Her breath stalled in her chest at the bluntness of his question. She thought of Tamlen and of her whole clan, and of Morrigan leaving without saying goodbye. She thought of Alistair and Zevran and Oghren, whom she’d left behind in Denerim. 

A swelling of distress filled her throat, but she refused to dwell on it. She forced herself to inhale. “I don’t know,” she said.

Sten lifted his chin slightly. “This definition of ‘happiness’ based on love is not sustainable,” he said. 

Yara scoffed and dropped his penetrating amethyst gaze. “Don’t try and tell me that qunari don’t love each other,” she said. “I don’t believe that.”

“Of course we do,” Sten said, somewhat to her surprise. “I felt love for the brothers of my beresaad. But love is not purpose for qunari.”

She shot him a resentful look. “Well, I’m not qunari.”

“I am aware of that, kadan,” he replied.

Despite his harsh words, his tone was quite soft, and so was his expression. To Yara’s horror, tears were suddenly rising as a hot wave in her throat and at the back of her eyes.

She hastily lay down and rolled onto her side facing the wall. A moment later, the yellowish light of the oil lamp went out, and she heard the shuffle of fabric as Sten lay down in his bedroll. 

She closed her eyes, and a trickle of tears ran down the side of her face into her Sten-scented pillow. She breathed silently through her mouth to quell the weight behind her ribs, and eventually she succeeded at quashing the tears back into her chest where they belonged. 

When her face was dry once more, she carefully rolled over onto her other side.

“Sten?” she said quietly. 

“Yes?” he murmured.

She took a slow breath, then asked him the question that had been building at the back of her mind for the past few days. “Do you think I should join the Qun?”

There was a heavy pause before he replied. “All bas should join the Qun. This is the only true path to wisdom.”

That’s not really an answer, she thought. And her conviction that Sten wasn’t like a typical qunari rose even higher. If he was a typical qunari citizen, he would have just said yes, wouldn’t he?

Suddenly she remembered something odd that he’d said the first time they were in Redcliffe. He’d made a snide comment about the Chantry lacking in wisdom, which Yara had found rather amusing, but he’d finished his diatribe by saying something surprising. He’d said that someday his people would bring the Qun to all of Thedas, and that he hoped he would not live to see that day. 

She sidled closer to the edge of the bed and looked down at him. In the dim moonlight filtering through the porthole window, she could see that his eyes were closed, but his brow was creased in a tiny frown. 

“Sten?” she whispered.

“Yes?” he said.

“Tell me what you think,” she said. “Do you think I would be happier if I joined the Qun?” 

He opened his eyes to look at her. “Are you happy here on this ship?” he said. “Are you happy now?”

She gazed at him through the soft pale light of the moon. His rugged face was serious as always, but… sympathetic too, somehow. There was a subtle sort of softness in his expression — a softness to his beautiful violet eyes, perhaps, and gods save her, the piercing way he was looking at her…

She licked her lips nervously. “Yes,” she said. “I’m happy now.” 

“Then perhaps for now, that is enough,” he said. He closed his eyes once more. “Sleep, kadan. We can speak more in the morning.”

She smiled. “All right,” she whispered. She settled on her side facing the edge of the bed and let out a slow, relaxed breath. 

Then, after a long hard moment of thought, she reached down and gently squeezed Sten’s shoulder. 

A moment later, his big callused hand covered her fingers.

Her belly burst into a flurry of excitement. Sten gently squeezed her fingers, then released her hand. 

She smiled to herself, then closed her eyes. A minute later, with the salty-sleepy scent of Sten’s pillow beneath her cheek and his solid shoulder beneath her palm, Yara fell asleep.

@ma-serannas-vhenan

Update >:))). AND THIS IS RLLY LONG MY BAD DHWBD.

I still love how Alistairs voice cracks sometimes when he’s in his goofy voice, how serious he comes at times, and how sometimes his voice is soft and not loud but,,confident in a way?? Even if he himself isn’t confident. I love him,,,

Yo I’m such an idiot. When they say “Lady” I expected like a human but it’s just werewolves.

OH WAIT NO ITS NOT THERE IS A SPIRIT (?) AND SHES THE LADY OF THE FOREST!!

Hnnng,,the keeper (forgot his name) is not willing to talk to the werewolves even though HE IS THE ONE WHO DID THE CURSE IN THE FIRST PLACE?!! I will force him to talk to them bc I’m an Empath™️ and WILL try to keep things peaceful >:((

YESSS I CONVINCED HIM TO TALK TO THEMM!! He better not harm them >:(. But I do see where he’s coming from. They did kill his son and then hurt his daughter all the same,,,that is terrible, but you shouldn’t give them an ETERNITY of pain. I wouldn’t like an eternity of pain, and so I wouldn’t be able to wish an eternity of pain on someone. Maybe a few years, but not eternity. But maybe I’m saying that bc I’m not him who knows-

NO!! I DONT WANT TO FIGHT HIM PLEASSEEE. I don’t want him to die,,the Dalish will not be on our side since we killed the keeper but like,,,making all those people suffer, even YOUR clan suffer because of your revenge isn’t right. They deserve peace now at least. They’ve sure learned their lesson and deserve a bit of peace,,,

OH. Alistair approves? I thought he would’ve disapproved just a little since I’m protecting wolves who have been cursed (for a good reason tbh even tho they don’t deserve it forever) and how they are dangerous. I’m happy then :))).

YESS! SPIRIT!! She can’t kill him since if they can’t show mercy then the keeper cant!! YES!! I LOVE HER!! I would LOVE for her to be my lady. I mean if I was under her rule lol. And I’m so happy I got to basically let everyone have peace. The keeper may have had to die, but maybe he’s at peace now with his kids. Idk if he had a wife but he may be at peace now,,,I’m happy it ended okay😭. What did you choose bc I’m curious👀.

Basically all my inquisitors approve of my Grey Warden since,,I’m terrible at making different inquisitors since they all just are Empaths™️. They have 100+ approval for my grey warden lol.

AYYY!! DANYLA’S HUSBAND GOT HER SCARF AND HES GONNA GO MOURN HER BUT HEY,,AT LEAST HE KNOWS SHE SENT HER LOVE.

YES!! Alistair came up like “(ɔ ⚈︣ ᴥ ⚈︣ )ɔ” bein shy and like a puppy and he asked her to sleep with himmm!!! I love him he was so awkward and shy but sO HONEST!! Precious baby🥺. Now it’s time to talk to my companions a bit more and such and lvl up before I do the landsmeet :)))).

OH NO,,OH NO,, in an Alistair walkthrough he said “King or no king I’ll find a way for us to work,” BUT TO ME HE SAID “Idk what it means for us. I don’t want to be king, but I will if it’s the best for our nation, and I don’t know what will happen to us. I need to think about it,” OH NO DBWBS. Don’t let me lose Alistair now no😭. If so, then I WILL pull a me when I made Bloom on DAI, not finish her, and do a human route for this puppy. I will do it bdbwbs.

I love Wynne and how she’s so nice😭. She apologizes for being harsh about Rose and Alistair and how she thought she (as in Rose not Wynne) would hurt Alistair, but now she realizes that they love each other so much. And I better be able to keep Alistair please,,

Ooh,,Zevran loved his mother’s gloves but they were never seen again,,I wonder if it’s possible to find them? Hmm?? If so, I’d love to talk to him more bc Ik he had a quest and if you don’t at least come a little close to him, then it will have an unhappy ending and ya know :))) I don’t like unhappy endings :((((.

OHH!! I already found his mothers gloves I believe!! Yesss >:))).

Leliana just starting singing and HNNG THE SONG IS SO BEAUTIFUL!!! And Leliana apologizing when she was talking about the elves and saying how they were looked upon if they were well trained and realizing her words were a little harsh-ish. I love Leliana here and in DAI🥺.

Leliana trusts me and says how she feels comfortable around me and HMMM LELIANA I LOVE YOUU!! I have so many conversations to catch up with people. But it’s mainly bc I’m dumb and keep taking Leliana and Wynne and Alistair with me lol. Maybe I should take Wynne (I NEED a healer since I’m dumb and sometimes don’t notice people need healing), Morrigan, and Zevran. That’s an interesting pair. Mainly bc I’ll get to talk to Zevran more since he’ll be able to go to new places with me and maybe get more topics to talk about with him :))).

OHHH. I DIDNT REALIZE THE “Andraste’s Grace” FLOWERS WERE MEANT FOR LELIANA DABSB. I tried to give them to Zevran to try and make him be a little closer but he said no and I was like “oh? Do they only take specific gifts?” And decided the flowers seemed to fit Leliana since she is from the chantry and such and she did like them!! Now I need to find Wynnes personal item and Oghren personal item. If they have one I mean-

Aww. Wynne’s apprentice was an elf and she was young and thought he was arrogant and stubborn because he was young and knew nothing of humans other than what he saw in the Alienage. She wasn’t patient and just saw him as another mage and he couldn’t learn since he was unresponsive and closed off. And then she betrayed him off a ridiculous at the time and they had his phylactery and they hunted him down,,AND HES DEAD AND THEY KILLED HIM WHEN HE WAS LOST AND A CHILD!!! AND WYNNE NEVER LEARNED OF WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM, ONLY THAT HE DIED😭. At least Wynne learned tho. Ik it’s a terrible terrible way to learn, but at least she learned.

AND SHE SAID HOW HE WAS THE TEACHER AND SHE WAS THE STUDENT😭. AND I GOT A QUEST FOR WYNNES REGRET!! If I can somehow find her apprentice (forgot his name) THEN I WILL LITERALLY WORSHIP THIS GAME.

Oh no,,OH NO HYDRA. WAS THE HERMIT HER APPRENTICE?? PLEASE DONT TELL ME IT WAS BC I HAD TO KILL HIM. HYDRA NO-

OH THANK GOD IT WASNT HIM!! I WAS ABOUT TO BE SO MAD AT MYSELF SNWBD.

WOAH,,this is rlly long my bad. But love уσυ ( ˘ ³˘)💙. I’m excited to get DA 2 soon😌. But right now in gonna finish this but like I said earlier, if I can’t keep Alistair then I WILL start over dbwbdb. I’m that stubborn when it comes to wanting to keep LI’s lol.

Taking In Strays

Pairings: None/Gen

Rating: G/Teen

TW: Implied/Referenced child abuse - Non-graphic detail

Characters: Morrigan, Maeve (my oc), Ella (HoF), Alistair, Barkspawn

Setting/Time Frame: Start of DAO

Summary:  Shortly after venturing from the Wilds, Morrigan is struggling with leaving her younger sister Maeve at the hands of their cruel mother. She is consumed by fear and worry till she hears the sound of a hound barking and a young girl’s giggle.

A/N: I always knew I was going to cover some backstory for Maeve and what her experience was during the fifth blight and before, and how these things shape her as Inquisitor. Also because Maeve’s existence along changes some relationship dynamic in my mind, which leads to Morrigan and Alistair getting together eventually…. Which has its own huge role in Maeve’s story. So I wanted to start writing a little glimpse into Maeve’s past to set up her overall story.

Huge thanks to my sweet friend @cornfedcryptid for her editing skills, listening to me ramble about Tamaris and Maeve and helping find all the plot holes! I would not have been able to get anything written without her!

Enjoy!

AO3 LINK

It had only been a few hours since leaving her little sister in the hands of their mother, yet fear and worry for her consumed Morrigan as she followed behind the two young Wardens. Even if she voiced her fears, these strangers wouldn’t understand. How could they? They saw her mother being helpful and almost kind. They didn’t see the real monster she could be. Morrigan's mind raced. With each step, Morrigan hoped that Maeve would be able to weather their mother’s torment alone. In the past, the child would crumble into tears as soon as their mother cast her gaze in Maeve's direction. It had been Morrigan who had shielded her sweet-natured little sister from everything. Their mother had never looked upon Maeve’s sweet nature kindly, to her it was a weakness but to Morrigan it was hope. A hope that Maeve would one day escape. Morrigan wasn’t listening to the conversation of the two young Wardens, too lost in her own thoughts. Trailing behind them she muttered, “She will not last the week…” the comment going unnoticed by the others as the witch glanced back in the direction whence they came.

The hours passed as they made good time. The Wilds were long behind them when the sun began to set. The distant sound of a child’s laughter accompanied by an unfamiliar bark drew Morrigan out of her thoughts. The sound gave her new companions pause. Such a sound has not or should not be heard. But it was one Morrigan knew quite well, and one she didn’t think she would hear so soon. Morrigan spun around, “Maeve…” She muttered as she set off in the direction of the laughter not even thinking to pay the Wardens a second thought.

A hand clasped around Morrigan’s wrist. “Where are you going?” The young Dalish Warden named Ella asked quickly. The elf’s deep green eyes focused on the younger woman’s face filled with questions.

Morrigan scowled. “Do you not hear that?” The dog barked again and the laughter continued this time a young voice called out for the animal to follow her. Ella let go of Morrigan’s wrist and let the taller woman storm off in the direction of the sounds.

“Good riddance…” The other Warden, a young man named Alistair grumbled watching Morrigan storm off, “We really do not need her… an apostate will just be asking for trouble.” His Chantry based views blinding him to the situation at hand.  A moment later Ella gave chase, an exasperated Alistair not far behind.

They didn’t have to walk far till they stumbled upon the scrawny little creature that was Morrigan’s younger sister. With her messy, poker straight, chestnut brown hair twisted into a knot on the top of her head. In her hands, she was waving a stick trying to get the attention of a Mabari that was a few yards away in the woods looking right at the child. Maeve was so preoccupied trying to get the hound’s attention, she didn’t notice that her sister had walked up behind her till she placed a hand on her shoulder. “What do you think you are doing?” Morrigan questioned sharply.

Maeve slowly turned her head to glance over her shoulder, her bright golden eyes wide. For a moment a small relieved smile crossed her lips that she had found her elder sister. “Oh, hi…” She stuttered nervously as she noticed the two Wardens behind her sister. Alistar was trying to glare at her but couldn’t maintain his scowl and ended up cracking a small smirk at the child. Ella, kind and compassionate as always just smiled warmly at the child.

“Answer me.” The sharpness in Morrigan’s voice made Maeve jump, something Morrigan instantly regretted. “Please, Maeve…” She corrected her tone making it less harsh, less sounding like their mother.

Maeve laughed nervously once more as she dropped the stick and was turned around by her sister. The child took in a sharp breath and looked up at her sister. The chlid’s whole demeanor changed. Guilt slumped her shoulders and dropped her gaze to her dirt-stained hands “I could not stay there…by myself...with her...” Maeve muttered, each pause punctuated by the scuff of her boot in the dirt. Her eyes darted back and forth between her sister and the strangers. She had been taught to fear anyone unknown. But her sister was not afraid or uneasy. Did that mean she could trust them?

Morrigan snapped her fingers to get Maeve’s attention, her younger sister’s eyes darted back to her. “What did she do? Did she try anything?” Morrigan began frantically looking over her sister, pushing up the sleeves on the patchwork tunic she wore looking for any sign of harm. Maeve fought against her sister’s fretting, trying to push her sister back but Morrigan was bigger and stronger than Maeve. “I swear, I am gone hours…” The elder sister muttered as she pushed up the bottom of the tunic to see a fairly fresh cut just bellow the young girl’s ribs, one mark of many that covered the young girl’s back and stomach. Morrigan drew in a sharp breath and pulled her sister close. “I should have never left you, I am so sorry…” Morrigan whispered against her sister’s cheek as she held her tightly. Morrigan wasn’t going to let Maeve be sent back. Morrigan silently resigned herself to taking Maeve and leaving if the pair of Grey Wardens did not approve. “You are not going back..” Morrigan whispered again reassuring Maeve.

The two Wardens shot each other a confused look as they watched Morrigan. In the limited experience they both had, they had seen little compassion from her and even less affection. Yet, there she was. Kneeling next to her sister. Arms wrapped around her tightly. It was touching, confusing,  and a touch alarming to them both. Alistair was the first to voice his confusion. “What could your mother have done to her in a few hours?” His flippant comment, spoken in ignorance, caused a rage to bubble up in the young mage.

Her head snapped around as stood up placing herself between Maeve and the Wardens. “My mother could do quite a bit and none of what she could do is the concern of yours. My sister, however, is not going to be sent back…” Morgan declared firmly. “If you do not wish to take her on during your mission, I understand. But I will not send her back to Flemmeth.”

Alistair started to laugh as he bent down to speak to Maeve directly. “What are you going to do fight dark spawn, little witch? Can you even cast a spell?” He asked raising a questioning eyebrow. She was a scrawny child, looked no older than eleven if Alistair was to guess. How was she going to manage where they were going, even if she could actually cast a spell?

Maeve peeked out behind her sister and smirked. “Not really, my magic is still… unpredictable…” Maeve mumbled looking up at her sister, who for a brief moment let her mask fall and smile at her sister as she patted her cheek reassuringly before Maeve looked back at Alistair. There was a twinkle of mischief in her eye. “But I can cut your throat in your sleep and take all your coin.” The way she said it, trying to sound older and tougher than she really was, drew a chuckle from Alistair and Ella.

Morrigan tutted softly. “You have never killed anyone or anything in your life…” She pointed out sharply, before turning back to her new companions. “She is, in fact, a good little thief, her magic needs training but if she applies herself I have full faith she could defend herself and at very least stay out of the way…”

“I already found you a Mabari… he was how I found you…. He was tracking you…” Maeve pointed out to Morrigan as Alistair walked around them to go catch the hound in the woods. Maeve turned back to Ella and smiled. “He walked past the hut and mother was distracted… so I gathered what I could and followed.”

Morrigan shook her head. “You don’t even have proper clothes.” She picked up the bag that Maeve had packed in her rush and looked inside. It had a few books, one change of clothes and not even an extra pair of socks. “Maeve,” Morrigan groaned.

Maeve smiled sheepishly at her sister and the elf across from them chuckled. “We will buy her proper clothes,” Ella responded kindly as she took a step forward and placed her hand on Maeve’s cheek. “You will listen to us if we tell you to hide? Yes?” Maeve nodded enthusiastically as Ella continued. “I am a Mage too, so it is not just going to be your sister getting on you about your training.” Maeve nodded solemnly as Ella slipped her gloved hand away from the young girl’s face. Ella shifted her gaze to Morrigan. “It is rather telling when a child would rather face a Blight than stay with her mother.” Morrigan nodded solemnly as she clutched Maeve to her side.

Alistair returned a moment later, the mabari close on his heels. “It’s the one from Ostagar, Ella…The one you helped cure from the taint. I’m amazed he made it out alive.”

Ella smiled brightly as she saw the beast. Recognition dawned on the two of them, giving Ella just enough time to brace herself. The excited hound crashed into her and licked her face in a frantic excitement. Alistair let out a low amused huff as he glanced down at Maeve who had her arms wrapped tightly around her sister. He noticed the way that Morrigan had her hand placed protectively on the side of her sister’s head, holding her again her. Letting out a low laugh he thought briefly about making a comment about taking in strays but thought better of it.

With a warm smile, he glanced down at Maeve who was watching the two Wardens with a nervous eye. Alistair remembered what it was like being a child, leaving everything he knew for the first time. Alistair knelt down so his head was level with Maeve’s and whispered, “Do you want to learn how to fight like a Templar?” He kept his voice low, a mischievous twinkle to his eye, as if he was letting her in on a secret.

Maeve’s eyes grew wide, a smile played on her lips, as she pushed herself away from Morrigan turned towards Alistair. “What’s a Templar?” She whispered.

Alistair laughed as stood back up and offered his hand to the young girl. “Come with me, half-pint. I’ll tell you all about Templars and what it takes to be a great Warrior. Unless… you don’t.” The corner of his mouth turned upwards as he smirked, making him look like the 18-year-old young man he was for just a moment.

Only Morrigan had ever looked at her with such warmth and kindness. Her curiosity overshadowed her fear as she reached out and placed her hand in his. The worn leather of his glove was smooth against her palm. There was a nervous twitch to her fingers as she waited for the trap to spring. But there was none.

“Do they have magic like my sister? Do they wear armor like you?” Questions tumbled out of her mouth as she stepped away from the safety of Morrigan’s embrace. A reassuring nod from Morrigan when she looked back added to the confidence that had taken root within her.

Fear bred from their past made Morrigan want to keep her close, to never let her out of arm’s reach. Though she had only traveled with them a short while, she knew no harm would come to Maeve. The young Warden may very well not have a brain in his head. But he made her sister smile, few people had ever been able to do that.

Ella smirked over at Morrigan as she patted the dog’s head. “I think this is going to be good.”

“You are not worried that she will get in the way?” Morrigan asked trying to hide her own fear.

“ It’s a Blight, she was not going to avoid violence and death in the Wilds. At least with us, she can learn to have a fighting chance and we can protect her…right?” Ella smiled softly. She wanted Morrigan to be at ease. The short time she had spent healing from her injuries in their home, told Ella everything she needed to know. That home was thick with tension. It was the same tension and fear her clan felt any time a human settlement wanted them gone. That was no place for anyone to be, least of a child. Ella knew that their fates may not be better, but at least they would not make either Morrigan or her little sister feel unwanted. Morrigan nodded sharply agreeing and Ella reached out and placed a tender hand on Morrigan’s forearm, “She seems like a bright girl.”

“She is.” Morrigan noted, sounding more like a proud mother than a protective big sister.

“Then she will be fine. I promise you.”

Mythal’s Mark

“And about— About where I come from—”

“Please don’t tell me,” Lavellan whispered. “Not if it’s not the truth.”

Solas thought about it, for a moment, narrowing his eyes, looking grave. “The truth, lethallin, is… complicated.”

“Yes,” Lavellan said. “And lies are very simple, are they?”

“No,” Solas murmured. “I suppose not.

My Ask | My Ko-Fi | My Ao3 | Requests always welcome!

It was grating, in a way.

Morrigan explained element after element: the depictions in the mosaics, the puzzles, even the statues. It was well enough for the benefits of Iron Bull and Dorian, but she kept catching Lavellan’s eye, as if she thought he needed explanation himself.

“Strange that Fen’Harel should be depicted here,” she said. “It’s like… I don’t know, like depicting Andraste naked in a Chantry.”

“Your ignorance becomes you,” Lavellan said tightly, and Morrigan turned to glare at him, surprise glinting in her amber eyes. “Fen’Harel is depicted everywhere. No, we don’t worship him, not as we do the general pantheon, but he is everywhere.” Lavellan took a step closer, and Morrigan kept his gaze, not flinching. “The god of misfortunes, a trickster, and yet the one we ever offer to. Why? Because we seek his protection. Because he offers protection that other gods will not, would not.”

“I thought the ancient elves above such quaint superstition,” Morrigan said.

Lavellan laughed. It was jagged to his own ears: he was exhausted. When would Corypheus come? Did they have time for this? The puzzles were making his headache, and he only wanted to lie down and rest, but they didn’t have time, not at all. When would it end?

He thought of the diary of the Grey Warden, the Hero of Ferelden. Morrigan was the daughter of Flemeth – Asha’Bellanar, Witch of the Wilds. She was a powerful witch, always wanting more, and the eluvians… Lavellan hadn’t allowed himself to let on that he knew what they were already. He’d asked Varric about them, too, about Merrill of the Sabrae’s attempt at restoration…

“You should know as a mage,” Lavellan said softly, “that superstition comes from myth – myth from history, lost long before. The context goes, but we cannot possibly know how Fen’Harel was viewed, precisely, in the time when this temple flourished. You ought show more caution. You know not where you tread.”

“And you do?” Morrigan asked, arching her eyebrows. “Tis a wonder I missed it, the staff on your back – or has that mark of yours made you an expert in all things magical?”

Lavellan landed on the last stone, and the thrum of magic in the air sung directly through his core, making his skin tingle, making the mark give an answering rush of heat that ran up his arm. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it wasn’t pleasant, and he exhaled.

“Come,” he said, and led the way back toward the petitioner’s entrance.

He didn’t let himself flinch as he heard the elves come up behind them, and he put up his hand in a silent gesture for the others not to react either, not to lash out. He could feel Solas on his left, Morrigan on his right: behind him, Bull and Dorian.

“Lift your hood,” said the elf standing at the outcrop in Mythal’s Temple, and Lavellan hesitated, one hand still on his daggers, ready. The weapons were trained on them, but the elves didn’t even move from their places even minutely: they were utterly still in their rows, their armour not even clinking against itself. “That I might see your face.”

“I’ll lift mine if you lift yours,” Lavellan said. He spoke quietly, but his voice carried in the room, and he saw the other elf’s eyes narrow underneath the shadow of it, but he pushed back his hood. In the same moment, Lavellan copied him, and his hair, loose beneath the hood except for two braids to keep it in place, came half-free about his shoulders.

“You wear Mythal’s vallaslin,” the elf said slowly. “Why?”

“Why?” Lavellan repeated. “We still wear vallaslin – this hasn’t changed.”

“Yes,” the elf said impatiently, “but why hers? Does all your clan wear Mythal’s vallaslin?”

Lavellan glanced to Solas, silently looking for the ideal answer to give, but his lips were pressed tightly together, and his gaze was on the foreign elf, not Lavellan himself. Lavellan inhaled, raising his chin.

“We pick our vallaslin, based on the qualities we seek to embody, to pledge ourselves to. Care was always high in my regard; justice, wisdom. When I took my vallaslin, I sought to be my clan’s protector. I wanted to be the clan’s keeper of lore, as a hahren.”

“You’re a hahren?” the elf asked, tilting his head.

“No. I’m too young, I— I left my clan because greater things are at stake – Corypheus marches now, as you kow. We need to stop him. What is this place? What…?”

“We guard Mythal’s Temple,” the elf began to explain. Always the explanations, and yet…

--

“Sounds rather like destiny,” Dorian said, as Lavellan stared down at the smooth surface of the Well of Sorrows, feeling as if he was about to vomit. “Mythal’s Temple, Mythal’s wisdom, you with Mythal’s ink on your face.”

“There is something in what he says,” Abelas said. “Destiny, here—"

“No,” muttered Solas, and Lavellan took a step forward.

When Morrigan tried to catch his arm, he lashed out with the mark’s power, and gritted his teeth when she hissed in pain. It didn’t make him feel better. Why should it have? Hurting people was never the way to satisfaction. He wished, sometimes, that it was.

--

At Skyhold, Lavellan held a pack of ice against the side of his head, and tried to keep his breathing even. The whispers were constant at the edges of his consciousness, but they were beginning to settle into place. It was like he was digesting them, he supposed, allowing himself to understand them better – it was an overlap of languages, of elvish and the common tongue alike, and even pieces of Tevene, of Orlesian, of Antivan, of Nevarran… So many languages, criss-crossing over one another, and the scant words he knew in one language overlapped with others, clumsy, complicated.

He’d make sense of it.

He’d have to.

“You foolish child,” snapped the voice coming into the room, and Lavellan pressed the ice harder against his temple, not looking up to meet Solas’ gaze. He’d never heard the other man sound so angry, his voice cracking with desperate fury, and he watched Solas’ wrapped feet pace on the ground.

No one ever told Solas to wear boots.

“I told you!” he growled. “And you ignored me. Has my advice meant nothing to you? You’ve given yourself to the service of an elven god!”

“I couldn’t let Morrigan do it,” Lavellan said lowly, trying his best to keep his breathing even. The whispers grew quieter, at least – that was some mercy. “She’s power hungry. You can see it in the way she is, radiating from her, she—”

“And you aren’t?” Solas demanded. Lavellan looked up at him. “You scarcely hesitated! You’re so curious about everything, so eager for knowledge, and that’s respectable, lethallin, but you were so blinded that you—”

“You think,” Lavellan whispered, astonished by how coldly angry his own voice was, “that I wanted this? How dare you?”

He stood on shaky feet, dropping the ice to the side, and he took a step forward. Solas was taller than him, but Lavellan didn’t let that stop him, moving forward and shoving his hand hard against the other elf’s chest, and Solas stared at him as if it was something baffling for another person to touch him.

“Every time,” Lavellan said. “I don’t know why I bother. I don’t know why I bother with you! I didn’t want this. I didn’t want this mark on my hand, I didn’t want to drink from the Well of Sorrows, I didn’t want any of this! Do you know why I drank from the Well of Sorrows? Because I knew I couldn’t let Morrigan! I knew she was untrustworthy, and when I asked you, you said no – so what else was I to do? Ask Bull to drink? Dorian?”

“Your imagined destiny—”

“I didn’t say that!” Lavellan snapped. “Dorian did! And he can’t fucking tell a halla’s brow from a mabari’s backside, so don’t attribute his enlightened elvhen commentary to me! Must you always be like this? Everything I do, you pick me apart, everything, everything! You remind me to be vigilant when I couldn’t be moreso if I had eyes in the back of my head – you are so concerned with the Fade it sometimes seems you can’t even see the trees in front of you!”

Lavellan exhaled hard, rubbing his hand over his eyes.

“You treat me like such a child, Solas, and what is it, I beg of you, that I’ve done to earn it? Every time I think I have your respect, you turn around and remind me I’m not worthy! Every time you say my people, Solas, instead of ours, it cuts me like a blade!”

Solas was staring at him, stunned, his mouth open, and Lavellan wished he could stop his own tongue moving, but it wouldn’t. It was like everything was pouring out at once, and the whispers were loud again, now, drowning out the sound of his own voice so that he only heard the roar of it all in his ears.

“Do you really think so little of me?” he asked, all but shouted the question. “Do you really think I wanted this wisdom, this power, when it came with such a price? When it hisses in my ears like I have my head beneath a waterfall, and makes my head ache like someone’s driving an axe into it?

“It’s not like it is for you, for me. I wasn’t born with this, I didn’t grow with this, I got this crammed into my body with no warning, had my memories ripped out of my head, and now I’ve had a few hundred other voices crammed in as well, and you have the audacity to act like it’s something I’ve done on a whim for a bit of weekend fun!”

The room felt like it was shaking. Was it? Was the ground quaking under his feet, was that him…?

“Lethallin—”

“And you must think I’m so fucking stupid,” Lavellan went on. His hand was aching, the mark burning, rippling up his arm. “You, whose name is pride – you tell me you were just an elf, wandering around, not a city elf, not a Dalish elf. What, you expect me to believe that? You expect me to think you just came into existence in the middle of the woods, got trained in magic by some mysterious travelling elves that are neither Dalish nor otherwise, and just existed in the Fade? Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“What you think—”

“I don’t want an explanation,” Lavellan snapped impatiently. “I’m not asking you to tell me lies, if you fled your clan or avoided your vallaslin or even left a Circle, because I know that’s what you’ll do if I press, you'll lie – it’s none of my business, and perhaps you don’t trust me well enough to tell me, and that’s alright. That’s why I don’t press. Because I try to respect you, and you, you treat me like a… You’re not my keeper!” His own voice was roaring above the noise in his ears, and there was so much green—

“Calm down,” Solas said, his hands clapping down on Lavellan’s shoulders, and it was like it all stopped at once. Silence hit him like a lightning strike, leaving him dizzy: the whispering stopped abruptly, the green glow fizzled away, and he realized how he’d been holding his fist, the room had been shaking—

“I’m so sorry,” Lavellan whispered.

A little dust shook down from the rafters, and he heard the noise on the stairs as Dorian and Fiona ran down from the library on one side, Vivienne running in from the balcony on the other. They were all staring at him, held tightly in Solas’ hands as if Solas thought he was about to explode, and he needed to keep his palms on the fuse.

“We heard the shouting,” Dorian said, looking between the two of them. “Bit of a tiff?”

“So rude of you to do all that in elvish, dear things,” Vivienne said softly, looking alarmed, although not much of it showed in her face – only a little in the wideness of her eyes, the set of her jaw. “How ever will Varric make his notes?”

“Debating literature, I take it?” Dorian asked.

Lavellan’s mouth felt as if it was sizzling. He didn’t say anything, breathing heavily.

“We’re fine, thank you,” Solas murmured. “Arguing about history, in fact, not literature. It was my fault – the Inquisitor has a headache, and I oughtn’t have so needled him when he needs to rest.”

“The Temple of Mythal?” Dorian asked.

“Mmm,” Solas said.

Hot humiliation burned up Lavellan’s spine. Losing his temper, screaming like a child, but worse than that – with all this power, Gods, his hand ached, his arm ached, as if he’d shot something molten through his veins.

“We’ll leave you be, then,” Fiona said.

“Quite,” Vivienne said, from the other side of the room, and when they retreated, Solas gently took his arm, leading him across the room. Lavellan went easily as Solas led him to the door to his quarters, hesitated for a moment, and then began to walk with him up the stairs.

“I’m sorry,” Lavellan said again, when Solas brought him into his bedroom, gently pushing him to sit on the padded chest at the end of his bed. “I’m so sorry, Solas, I didn’t mean… That was so— I hope you understand I don’t think—”

“Peace,” Solas said. “You…”

He dropped into a crouch in front of Lavellan, holding Lavellan’s hands very gently between his own, and Lavellan pressed his lips together, staring down at him. He wasn’t prone to crying, really. Bull brought him to tears sometimes, and at times he was so frustrated his eyes watered slightly, but he wasn’t naturally tended toward crying, not really…

He wished he could cry, now. There’d be a catharsis in it.

“I’ve been unfair to you,” Solas murmured, keeping his gaze. “I’m sorry. Is the mark causing you much pain?”

“Only some,” Lavellan said. “It happens when I overtax myself. S’my fault. I didn’t mean those things I said to you.”

“You did,” Solas said softly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t think of myself as being very hard on you. But you’re right – often, it must seem I think the worst of you, when I only mean to help you. And what good is help from someone you feel doesn’t respect you?” Solas sighed, squeezing Lavellan’s hands, and he looked so ashamed, so ashamed that Lavellan actually felt awkward about it, he couldn’t possibly have made Solas look so… “And about— About where I come from—”

“Please don’t tell me,” Lavellan whispered. “Not if it’s not the truth.”

Solas thought about it, for a moment, narrowing his eyes, looking grave. “The truth, lethallin, is… complicated.”

“Yes,” Lavellan said. “And lies are very simple, are they?”

“No,” Solas murmured. “I suppose not. But I worry for you, lethallin, pledged to one of these gods…”

“You don’t even believe in them,” Lavellan said, indignant, desperate.

“Do you?” Solas asked. “You were praying, weren’t you, after the business at Adamant – to Mythal, I imagine. Did she answer?”

“It isn’t about answering,” Lavellan said. “Our prayer isn’t like the prayer the Andrastians do – it may as well be a focus for meditation. You know that, you know…”

“I worry for you,” Solas repeated. There was something desperate in his eyes, and Lavellan looked away from it, uncomfortable with the depth of the feeling he saw there. It was upsetting, to think that Solas didn’t care, but seeing him care this much was overwhelming. “I’m so sorry. You didn’t want any of this, I know that, I… Please, Mahanon, believe me when I tell you that if I am impatient with you, if I am… It is no personal slight. I am too much in my own head, as I’ve heard some of you say, and in the Fade – you’re correct.”

“I shouldn’t have shouted at you,” Lavellan said. “I’ve never… I’ve never shouted at anybody like that before, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry,” Solas murmured, giving him a small smile. “I’ve weathered far worse than a bit of shouting in my lifetime. You should sleep, you look exhausted. Shall I send for the Iron Bull?”

“If Bull comes, I won’t sleep at all,” Lavellan murmured, and he was slow about moving to lie down, not even removing his clothes – he drew off his jacket and kicked off his boots, and that was it. He watched, silent, as Solas hung up the jacket. “Do you have children, Solas?”

“No,” Solas said. “Once, I…” He trailed off. He didn’t say anything, for a long moment, and then, “Your vallaslin, lethallin. Do you know why they wore the same, at the Temple of Mythal? Do you know what it represented, in times past?”

Lavellan didn’t answer. His eyes felt so heavy, and the whispers were soothing, somehow, like waves beneath a boat.

“Never mind,” Solas murmured, his voice distant. “Do you still dream, sometimes, of the Dread Wolf?”

The whispers overtook him, and Lavellan slept like a stone.

Lineage - part 1 -

for @alistairappreciationweek day 2:  King of Ferelden

She had promised to stay by his side, and for those first few months, that’s exactly what Kaedence had done and they were happy. When rumors started coming in that Morrigan was sighted – possibly with child – Alistair understood her need to look into it. When the Grey Wardens were finally establishing a proper presence in Ferelden and were ready for their commander to take the reigns both over the group and the alring itself, Alistair understood their need for her. They had discussed it before she left, weighing the pros and cons before ultimately deciding it would be better for Kaedence to lead instead of an Orlesian they knew nothing about commanding a military force and making political decisions in the still recovering country.

Over all, it hadn't taken long for Kaedence to find and speak with Morrigan and Amaranthine hadn't been far from Denerim – their parting, though difficult for both of them and far too soon into the 'newly wed phase' for either to be happy, was doable. They wrote letters nearly every day and the time apart made their reunions all the sweeter and finally, finally, things started to calm down for the royal couple.

Kaedence was immensely helpful with the day-to-day tediousness of ruling that Alistair had never been groomed for, using both her own upbringing as a teyrn's daughter and the skills she'd honed being arlessa in Amaranthine. Eamon was always close by to offer suggestions or assistance during the awkward transition from nobody to king, but for any instance that his wife and sort-of-uncle disagreed, Alistair sided with the woman who had saved his life more times than he could count. That is to say that she'd done it a lot, not that he couldn't count very high.

Years passed and though they were happy and in love, gossip began to move through the court that it was all an act, some ploy by the Grey Wardens to quietly take over the nation. Kaedence brushed off the accusations at first, but as more people chimed in with 'evidence' to support the claim, she couldn't help but feel affected by it.

If they are truly as in love as they pretend to be, then why do they have no children? Alistair had told her after that fateful Landsmeet where they'd taken down the Mac Tirs that the taint in their blood made it difficult for one warden to have a child and two wardens conceiving was just unheard of – perhaps even impossible. At the time, Kaedence didn't care. All she wanted was the rightful person watching over her homeland and to be at his side while he did it and that was the end of that. Until it wasn't. Kaedence saw every healer and apothecary she could find, hoping there was something mundane wrong with her that they could correct, but each time she returned with no answers and more burdens.

The researching she'd been doing in her down time on trying to find a cure for the taint increased to the point of obsession. Where as before the queen would send vague inquiries to renowned healers and alchemists, claiming it was for treating her recovering country from Blight Sickness, she now sent vassals to personally inspect even the faintest glimmer of hope for a cure. She wrote to Enchanter Fiona, a former Grey Warden who had been miraculously cured of the taint and left the order, but never got any responses.

Her dedication was simultaneously concerning and heartwarming, as Alistair knew she was doing it for the both of them. Without the taint, they could have more time together – an actual life – and they could have children of their own – a full life. As much as he wanted those things too, he'd much rather have his wife in the present with him. Kaedence began to suffer nightmares but wouldn't speak of them and all Alistair could do was cradle his wife as she mumbled her failures as a woman and cried in her sleep. He tried to convince her it would be alright, tried to appeal to her reasonable side that if there was a cure out there, then it would have been found at some point over the centuries. He tried to make her smile and laugh, but Kaedence seemed to have lost the ability to do either some time ago.

It was a pleasant surprise then when Kaedence joined Alistair for the mid-day meal with a radiant expression on her face. She stayed by his side through meetings and audiences, displaying a level of open affection that brought her to the very brink of improper and made the king blush or stutter more than once. When night fell and the couple retired for the evening, neither hesitated before falling into each others embrace and falling into bed. They made love like their first time – needy and desperate – then slowed to gentle kisses and explorative caresses, mapping one another out all over again. There was no sense of urgency, no pressing matters of state, no rumors or ridicule or Maker-forsaken ridiculous notions of inadequacy for either of them. They were, in each others eyes, perfect.

–

“The bannorn has been slow to recover from the Blight and much of the once fertile farmland is still poisoned by the darkspawn's, though long absent, presence.”

Alistair slouched forward in his throne, chin resting in his hand as he listened to what felt like the fiftieth issue that day.

“While the harvest yield has been on a slight incline, with the return of many Fereldan citizens and new ones being born each season, we will soon be unable to provide for their needs.”

That was a familiar sounding problem by now. As the country recovered and tried to get back on its feet, those who had fled to avoid the darkspawn were coming back home and finding it wasn't exactly as they remembered it. Of course it wasn't – there had been a blasted blight AND the beginnings of a civil war. They should all feel lucky the nation hadn't imploded on itself long ago.

“Ferelden is already at its limit of what it can import from the Free Marches,” Eamon added quietly at the king's side, just in case he couldn't recall the budgeting meeting from the week before.

“And so you see, my lord, White River simply must extend its boundaries eastward into the Brecilian Forest.”

At that, Alistair finally lifted his eyes to meet the ambassador's. “That forest is ancient and angry. Tending farmsteads there would be difficult, not to mention the inherit dangers of clearing the trees. There are some pretty feisty beings living there.”

The representative dipped his head respectfully. “Yes, Your Majesty, the Dalish, of course.”

“Actually, I was talking about the walking trees.”

A nervous laugh escaped the minor noble, but he tried his best to mask it. “It would seem Bann Reginalda's request for military support from the crown is all the more vital, my lord.”

Alistair sighed heavily and leaned back in his throne, dropping his hand to plop flat against the armrest. “Right, because what Ferelden really needs to help it recover is a military strike against the Dalish so we can kick them out of one of the last places they hold precious. That's a brilliant idea.”

His tired sarcasm did not go unnoticed by Eamon and the advisor tempered his expression and response to keep from publicly chastising the ruler. “The Brecilian Forest is in Ferelden, your majesty. The Dalish rarely camp on the outskirts, so is there any true harm in farming underutilized land belonging to our nation?”

The king shot a mild glare at the older politician before rising from his seat with another sigh. “Send a few diplomats to meet with the Dalish clan and have them explain our situation.”

“Would not an armed regiment be far more successful?”

“In starting a fight? Oh, definitely.” Alistair frowned heavily, looking directly at Eamon as he addressed the room. “We can at least be smart enough to attempt negotiations before we start hitting things, can't we?” He followed his rhetorical question with silence, letting everyone know his decision had been made. “That will be all for today.”

The room quickly emptied, but Alistair held Eamon in place with his gaze. When they were finally alone, he let out a tired groan and leaned away, breaking eye contact and the tension between them. “Did you really have to criticize me in front of everyone like that?”

“I wasn't criticizing, I was advising,” Eamon responded with a slight, sympathetic smile. Despite the years of ruling now under his belt, the king was still unused to the long days. “Frankly, I'm rather impressed you decided to go the diplomatic route.”

Alistair chuckled and scratched at his chin. “Yes, well, it only takes getting your butt kicked by a plant once to make you take nature just a bit more seriously.”

“I dare say you are finally maturing,” Eamon continued cautiously, “perhaps taking future generations of Fereldan's into account?”

“Well wouldn't that make your job easi-” Alistair stopped abruptly, catching on to what was really being said. He switched from lighthearted to deadly serious in a flash. “No.”

“Alistair.”

“Eamon, no. We are not talking about this again.” The king began moving towards the hall to the living quarters, anger keeping his back straight and shoulders squared.

“According to your own words, you will not be ruling into old age.” Eamon followed close behind, keeping his voice low to prevent the shadows from hearing. “You need an heir.”

“Sure, fine. You want the job?”

The older man reached out and grabbed Alistair's arm, forcing him to stop. “This is serious. The heir must be of Calenhad's blood – your blood. Even a named successor could be challenged and Ferelden would find itself on the brink of civil war once again in a matter of decades.”

“What you are suggesting wouldn't even work, Eamon!” Alistair turned to face the man, tearing his arm free. “Grey Wardens can't have children – the taint prevents it.”

“Which may have only been the case because you are both inflicted! There are methods and remedies you have tried already that may yet be effective with a different partner.” Eamon looked around once again to ensure they were truly alone. “If you were to take a concubine-”

The fist was flying before either man registered it, Alistair only able to stop his punch mere inches from the wrinkled face. He retracted his hand and uncurled his fingers, using a level of self-control that, on any other day, Eamon would have been impressed by. Alistair took several calming breaths before speaking, irritated by and tired of having the same idea thrown at him again and again. “If an heir is really so important, shouldn't it be a true heir? When Kaedence comes back with the cure, we will try again.”

Eamon shook his head and sighed soundlessly. “It has been many years since your wife left your side with nothing but a note on your pillow. She writes you letters, but tells you nothing of progress because her search is hopeless.”

“When Kaedence comes back-”

“She is not coming back!” Eamon snapped, louder than he intended. The older man tried to soften his expression and convey the importance of his words. “Alistair, you must produce an heir.”

The quiet of the hall was deafening, the king's expression difficult to read as he traced the grout lines in the cobbled floor with his eyes. Without looking up, he turned around and continued his lonely walk to his cold bed chambers. “When my wife is once again at my side, we will try again.”

After Landsmeet

OK, so I finished landsmeet and was highly disappointed/upset with the lack of Alistair and Warden fluff afterwards. What do you mean you're only going to have three lines of dialogue (and yes it's adorable and amazing) and then have Alistair peace out?? Then to top it all off, he's not even in Eamon's estate afterwards even though everyone else is (unless I missed him) and talking to him in camp is completely pointless since it's pretty much like nothing ever happened. Absolutely not. So fueled by rage I decided to try and fix it. Hope you enjoy and sorry about the title - I can't think of anything else right now! (And also just bad at titles in general)

Also, if you prefer to read it on ao3. Here’s the link !

After the landsmeet, Faelan finally felt her heart resume its normal speed. It had been stressful and at times, she had doubted their success, especially when Loghain spoke. Fortunately, she had been able to win the debate and persuade the room of her decision regarding the throne of Ferelden. However, her heart had felt as if it was going to explode out of her chest. She had made a decision that affected her future and Alistair’s. They were both abandoning their oath as wardens and taking on the responsibility of the throne.  And she had no idea how Alistair felt about this decision. That is why when Alistair entered the room; Faelan felt her heart resume its furious pace. She eyed the newly appointed king to see if she could discern his mood. He walked with a new air of confidence, but uncertainty seemed to plague his eyes as they looked at their companions and then at her.

Faelan felt her heart drop. She desperately wanted to be alone with him so she could explain herself and perhaps, to calm him down. How many conversations had they had about his desire to renounce his claim and remain a grey warden and she had thrown caution to the wind. Her heart pounded in her ears as her nerves coursed throughout her body. There was so much she wanted to say, but not in front of their friends.

In that moment, his gaze seared into hers and she felt rooted to the spot as he began to speak. “So strange story, this fellow is made king and then engaged all on the same day,” said Alistair sheepishly.

A chorus of raucous laughter greeted this. To celebrate, their friends, suggested and encouraged by Oghren, had decided to pass the time by drinking Eamon’s wine. By now, all of them had become quite inebriated. Bent over with mirth Oghren’s mouth was wide open and he slobbered on the expensive carpet. Zevran’s eyes lit up and he started to tell a story about a foolish king, who he assassinated a couple of years ago. He added hastily that Alistair had nothing to worry about, which only made Oghren laugh harder. Morrigan looked disgusted, whether it was Alistair or Oghren’s drool, it was hard to decipher as she rolled her eyes and leaned in to hear a comment from Leliana about the king’s wardrobe. Sten was preoccupied with Kirothius, who had decided to chew on the table legs. But Wynne caught Faelan’s eye and smiled knowingly.

Without thinking, Faelan moved towards Alistair and grabbed his hand. “Do you mind if we talk alone,” she asked, pulling him away from the cacophony of the room. The pair began to stroll down the hallway towards Alistair’s room when Faelan tentatively began, “You’re not angry are you?”

Alistair squeezed her hand. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about the king bit, but I never considered the engaged part... especially to you,” he added, then paused in the hallway to look at her, “tell me, are you sure about this?”

He looked at her earnestly, his eyes were hopeful but guarded as he searched her face. In that moment, her heart stopped pounding and she squeezed his hand back as a grin spread across her face. “Being married to you is the only thing I’m sure of.”  

“You know with you ruling by my side, it will make being the king less scary. Whatever happens, I know you’ll be there to warm my bed,” he teased, raising his eyebrow before stopping, “and of course, give good counsel when I ultimately don’t know what to do. However, there is something on my mind. I want to know what you were thinking? Were my remarks about not wanting to be king not clear?”

Faelan bit her lip, took his hand once more and began to stroll down the hallway towards the privacy of a room.

Her thoughts bowled into her but her noble instinct told her that she did not want anyone to witness the newly crowned king and his betrothed in the midst of a shouting contest. Luckily, the pair made it to their new quarters and she was able to calmly shut the door. Suddenly her nerves returned. Perhaps Alistair was not happy with her decision. She faced the wooden door for a couple of seconds, aware of Alistair’s gaze, and drew in a couple of breaths before turning around to face him.

“To be honest, I was not thinking. It was of course clear to me that I would choose you. However, when I was standing there in front of the crowd of nobles, Anora gave me this look. I recognized it as a look that noble women give another when they think they’ve won-

Alistair interrupted and said, “It must have been difficult to tell from her normal demeanor.”

Faelan let out a short chuckle, but was still too nervous to truly appreciate his humor. “Anyways, there I was standing in a room of people, who had supported Howe, and in front of a person, who would seize the throne as soon as she was able. And it made me so angry because until that very moment I had been slighted every chance to redeem my family’s name and before I knew it, I had turned around and declared to the entire room that you were to be king and I was to rule at your side,” finished Faelan quickly, before collapsing on the bed with her head in her hands. “If you’re angry I understand. I acted selfishly in my decision, but I did not want those traitors to be anywhere near the throne.”

Two things happened before Faelan could understand them. First, she began to cry and second, Alistair sat down next to her and pulled her against his chest. The tears came and she realized she had never cried until that moment. There hadn’t been anytime after her parents’ death and then she had been thrown in the Warden initiation and never looked back with the blight pressing at their backs. Alistair leaned his head against hers and did not say a word as he held her. She blubbered and knew that her face became blotchy and red. Eventually, she couldn't breathe and panted out of her mouth so very attractively...

After she calmed down, Alistair started to murmur to her. “There is no need to be sorry. I know I have denied wanting to be king, but in the last few months, I’ve seen the troubles in Ferelden, such as a powerful family slaughtered and no one avenges them, individuals sold into slavery and no one knows any better. And I’ve seen the actions of someone trying to stop it all from happening,” he paused, tightening his grasp on her, “Some may say you acted selfishly, but I know you and the pain you have endured holding to the warden’s neutrality. Maker, all you’ve done is laughed and smiled through this all and then deemed your actions to be selfish. We have started to change Ferelden for the better and now we can continue to do so.”

Faelan wiped her eyes and tried to clear her nose before sitting up to look at Alistair. “That was quite the kingly speech.”

In response, Alistair shrugged and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “What can I say? I’m starting to like my new role,” he paused, then leaned against her head to whisper, “We’re not going to be like them, Loghain and Anora. We’re going to be good ones.”

With those words, Faelan moved away and gazed at Alistair, placing her hand on his cheek and stroking it. In those few moments, she realized how much she loved the man before her. He stared at her with unflinching devotion despite her appearance. His eyes softened when he put his hand behind her neck and drew her to him. She had advised him to take what he wanted and he had learned well. Of course, she leaned forward to meet him and soon their lips met in a ravenous interlock. In all their time together, they had truly never been alone or been on a real bed together. Unfortunately, they had to stop quickly enough because Faelan couldn’t breath and she took the moment to evaluate him, her Alistair and now, her king. He may no longer be the innocent grey warden, who had sworn to uphold until his death, but he was still her facetious Alistair, who could make her smile even in the worst of times.

“Now that we’ve settled that nasty business. It’s time to talk about another. I’ve heard that’s what kings do,” said Alistair, pulling Faelan back to reality. “We will need an heir and the taint… I’ve never heard of a grey warden, who had a child after the joining except for the ones who had children before…”

“My dear Alistair,” smirked the warden shaking her head, “You do know how to spoil the mood. Lucky for us, it won’t be for a lack of trying. And now that we have a real bed… well, you haven’t even seen me at my best. Whatever happens, we will make do, whether we have to adopt or find a way to end the taint. I swear that I will find us a way.”

“My dear lady, we will find a way,” corrected Alistair.

Survivors of Ostagar

Mina Cousland, Clea Mahariel, Alistair, and Morrigan

word count: 2912

It was early afternoon before the remaining two Ferelden Grey Wardens along with Morrigan, a Witch of the Wilds, left Flemeth’s hut in the Korcari Wilds after she rescued them from the Darkspawn at the Tower of Ishal. The battle at Ostagar was two days lost by this point after Teyrn Logain’s men abandoned the king’s army and the Grey Wardens and leaving them at the mercy of the Darkspawn who laid siege to Ostagar and took out everyone, extinguishing all hopes of ending the Blight then and there. The only two Wardens to survive only did so because they were sent to light the signal fire instead of joining the battle on the ground, it was there in the tower that Flemeth rescued them after the Darkspawn broke through stating that the Darkspawn threatened everyone including her and only the Wardens could stop them and that is why she saved them and sent her daughter Morrigan along with them to aid them in their quest to recruit an army, slay the archdemon, and save all of Ferelden.

               Of the two Wardens left alive, one was a new recruit who knew hardly anything of the order and the other was still only a junior member. Alistair was the more senior member of the order. He was a young man of 20 who was raised in the Chantry and was formerly a Templar before Duncan recruited him into the Grey Wardens. He was still reeling over Duncan’s death as he was like a father to him and felt like he abandoned him but not being on the battlefield. He had been silent most of the walk causing the other Warden to watch him carefully as he had not been this silent the whole time that she had known him which admitted wasn’t more than a couple weeks.

The new recruit, the now junior member of the order was a young woman also of 20 by the name of Mina Cousland. She was the youngest child of Teryn Bryce Cousland and was recruited into the Warden’s once Arl Howe murdered her entire family and she alone escaped with Duncan. Duncan had come to her home hoping for more recruits for the coming war and was taken by Lady Mina who had been trained from a young age by her father and brother to be a warrior and that she was, outdoing many of the men in her father’s army. Mina’s father had originally forbidden Mina from joining the order since he didn’t want her to join her brother Fergus in the war to come. His mind was only changed once Duncan promised to take Mina to safety and her father promised his daughter aid in fighting the Darkspawn, Mina’s joy was only overwhelmed by her sadness at the loss of her parents and possibly her brother. Duncan made good on his promise and took Mina to safety and then on to Ostagar while Arl Howe destroyed her family’s home. There at Ostagar was where she met Alistair who oversaw her joining much as he had done for the weeks before with all the new recruits. Everyone at Ostagar seemed to take notice of Mina as she was just as beautiful as she was powerful. Mina had short thick hair that hung down to her shoulders and was the deep rich dark brown of chocolate. Her eyes were a deep piercing ocean blue that seemed to suck in all who caught her gaze and appeared all the brighter for her dark hair and her light skin that seemed to hardly ever seen the sun despite the time she spent outside training. The only thing people seemed to find more shocking than her beauty was her skill with a blade, or two blades as the case was for her. Mina’s weapons of choice were a longsword and a dagger with a twisted blade. She was fast and she was deadly and she struck hard. In the short time she had been at Ostagar, she had bested many soldiers while sparring and caused many others to refuse to engage her. Many people looked to her to eventually take a general’s position once everything was settled but the chance was never given. Everyone fell leaving only her and Alistair to recruit an army and defeat the Blight as well as outing Logain for the traitor that was he and keeping him from the throne that was left vacate by King Cailian Theirin’s death at the hands of the Darkspawn.

“Alistair, you can’t brood forever. It’s getting rather dull.” Morrigan quipped soon getting bored of hearing nothing but their footfalls and the sounds of the Wilds as they made their way towards a small town on the outskirts of the Wilds called Lothering at Morrigan’s suggestion.

Alistair chose to ignore her instead of fighting with her as he would have under other circumstances. Mina glanced to him and saw the sadness in his hazel eyes and decided to leave him to his grief for the time being. Morrigan was about to open her mouth to say something else when Mina reached her hand out and shushed her. “Did you hear that?” She reached behind her back and withdrew her sword and dagger. She heard Alistair do the same as she looked around for the source of the noise that she had determined was a human voice.

“It sounds human to me.” Morrigan commented as she raised her staff.

Mina nodded. “I agree.” She scanned the treeline looking for any signs of life.

Alistair began walking towards what appeared to be the source of the noise. “Over here!” He yelled, the first words he had spoken since leaving Flemeth’s hut. He sheathed his sword as Mina approached him and also sheathed her dagger but still held her sword as she followed Alistair’s gaze to what appeared to a woman hunched over on the ground at the base of a tree partially hidden by some bushes. They would not have noticed her if she hadn’t moved.  Mina lightly kick the woman’s leg and she twitched and groaned in pain. Mina sheathed her sword and instead crouched down to look over the woman.

The woman wasn’t human at all but was actually an elf, most likely Dalish due to the gold tattooing that framed her delicate face. She was also most likely a rogue due the bow and quiver of arrows strapped to her back and the dagger that Mina noticed on her back at the waist. She had long black hair that had originally been tied into a tight bun but was now falling loose and tumbling down her back. Her eyes were barely open but Mina could see that they were a vibrant green and her pale skin contrasted greatly with her black as night hair. She was wearing what Mina guessed was traditional Dalish armor because she had never seen anything like it before.

“Help me.” She coughed. She had a very light voice with a somewhat mystical quality to it that many elves seemed to hold, light and airy.

Mina followed the elf’s arm to where her hand rested on her bare stomach covered in blood no doubt from the wound that she was protecting in her side. “What happened to you?” Mina asked her as Alistair crouched down beside her and pulled bandages from his pack to bandage her wound and stop the bleeding. Mina also noticed some more much smaller holes in the woman’s shoulders and upper chest and one in her thigh, no doubt left from arrows that she had pulled free herself.  

“Darkspawn. I was at Ostagar. I’m a Grey Warden”

Mina looked shocked as she looked into the young woman’s face. She couldn’t be much older than Mina herself was and she knew that she didn’t recall seeing a beautiful raven haired elf at Ostagar, let alone even a single Dalish elf. Alistair’s hands stilled at her words and he looked up from his bandaging and caught her eyes instead.

“I remember you. Duncan recruited you from a Dalish clan to the north, said that you had the sickness and brought you to us to save your life and also cause you were the best hunter in your clan according to your keeper. She’s telling the truth. I oversaw her Joining weeks ago, back when Duncan and Cailan first started to amass their army at Ostager.”

“She was there for weeks? How come I never met her then? I was there long enough to see many people but never her. I think I would have remembered seeing one of the Dalish.” Mina still seemed skeptical despite Alistair’s insistence she was telling the truth.

“I stayed with the soldiers and never ventured out into the main camp after my joining. I stayed and trained and engaged no one. Even being one of the Wardens, the soldiers would give me looks like I didn’t belong. I kept to myself.” The woman spoke up.

“You were new to the Wardens and wouldn’t have been allowed to make camp with the rest of our soldiers because Duncan still had much to teach you and much to tell you. Same with all new recruits. The difference was that Darkspawn came, the battle started, and there was never a chance.” Alistair finished her bandages and helped her to her feet.

Mina nodded. It all made sense. So her and Alistair weren’t the only remaining Wardens after all, not that she thought one more of them would make much of a difference anyway, they were hardly an army. “I’m Mina, Mina Cousland. This is Alistair in case you never caught his name and this is Morrigan.” She gestured to where Morrigan stood outside their little circle just watching but saying nothing.

“My name is Clea Mahariel, adarin atishan.” Clea greeted them in elven, showing that they were friends, welcoming them.

“Hopefully this one shows more promise than Alistair.” Morrigan told her in greeting earning her a glare from Alistair and a look that told her to be nice from Mina.

“You were in the battle then?” Mina asked, slowly coming to the realization of exactly what that meant.

Clea’s bright green eyes grew dark and sad, her face shadowed. “Yes I was there.” She stated simply, not volunteering anything else.

Alistair perked up this, his eyes gaining a light they hadn’t had since waking up in Flemeth’s hut. “You were in the battle and you survived! Did you see what happened to Duncan?! Did he survive?!” Alistair probably would have grabbed her shoulders in his desperation if Mina hadn’t reached a hand out and lightly touched his forearm.

The elf’s face told him all he needed to know and just as quickly as the light returned his eyes, it vanished.

“Tell me what happened, please I have to know.” He almost begged her.

“Trust me Alistair, the battle was a bloodbath, you don’t what to know the details of what happened out there.”

“I do! Duncan was family to me, I have to know.”

“If you’re sure, if you’re both sure, I’ll tell you what happened.” Clea said sounding resigned. Ostagar wasn’t something she wanted to relive and it certainly wasn’t something she wanted to talk about to someone who had cared so deeply for someone who died there. The horror of the battlefield of Ostagar was something that would haunt her dreams for as long as she lived.

Clea Mahariel signed and pulled her long hair loose letting it fall down her back and around her face, almost as a curtain against the story she was about to tell. “It started out just as we all knew it would, King Cailan sent out the hounds and gave the order to loose the arrows. Darkspawn started to fall but it seemed that just as quickly more came from the wilds. It was then he called for the attack, his army and the Wardens to charge the darkspawn ranks and that we did. Intially we appeared to have the advantage, each one of us took out a slew of those monsters but every one we killed, there were two more who would appear. We all waited anxiously for the signal fire that seemed to take ages to light, everyone covered in sweat and blood, most of us thinking the next parrying would kill us.”

By now the small band had stopped walking and even Morrigan seemed focused on the tale being told. Mina’s mabari, Lucifer, also sat attentively at her feet watching the elven woman with his large dark eyes. Clea lifted her eyes from Lucifer and instead raised them to meet Alistair’s for the first time since starting her tale. The anticipation she found there brought a small lump to her throat knowing that what she knew would break his heart all over again and Clea didn’t take joy in being cruel.

It was with a heavy heart that continued her story. “When the signal fire finally went up, the relief was evident on everyone’s face; some people were even smiling. Loghain’s army was joining the fight, we stood a chance again. Except they never came. As the fire continued to burn and the army didn’t show themselves, the hope slowly died on everyone’s face and was replaced with despair and a sense that we all knew we were doomed.”

Clea paused and drew a deep breath to steady herself for what she needed to tell next, the hard part of the story. “That was when the ogre grabbed the king from the field. He roared in his face, like an act of defiance and then crushed his body in his fist. Your king was already dead by the time his body hit the ground; even his heavy gilded armor held the imprint of the creature’s fist. Duncan saw it all go down and moved his attack in the ogre’s direction. He leaped at the creature and buried both of his blades into its heart and twisted. The creature in its dying rage threw him aside. When he hit the ground he didn’t get back up, he was too badly wounded from injuries he had already taken. I ran to him, even called for a healer, but there was nothing anyone could do, he was already gone. He died avenging his king and killing darkspawn, I don’t think he would have had it any other way. When I looked around I saw much the same every where else on the field, soldiers dying, fewer and fewer still able to fight. Then I took a darkspawn arrow to my shoulder and another to my chest. One pierced my thigh as I was attempting to pull the others free and I just missed one shooting through my hand before my shoulder. It was only feeling the slice of a darkspawn sword against my side that took my mind from the arrows. It burned red hot for only a second before it was too much and I passed out. When I finally came to, the battle was done and we had lost. The darkspawn had quit the field but I could hear them not far off. The majority of the horde had moved off together but I still heard others back at the ruins of the camp. I wrapped my side as best I could and stumbled into the wilds just trying to put as much distance between myself and that place as I could and I made it here to where you found me.”

Alistair was trying his best not to cry but his efforts were in vain as the tears fell silently. Mina’s eyes were misted over as well as she placed a comforting hand on the young warden’s arm.

“I’m so sorry Alistair, I told you that you didn’t want to hear it.” Clea told him softly finding it hard to look at the pain in his face and turned her gaze to Mina instead.

“You were right, I didn’t but I think I needed to. Can we just move on now? I don’t want to think on it in this dreadful place any longer.” Alistair was already continuing on their intended path as he spoke, not waiting for any of the others to join him.

“I’ll go to him.” Mina said shaking the sadness from her face. Her admission wasn’t necessary as neither Morrigan nor Clea were going to volunteer. Instead the two of them continued further back and out of earshot.

“Tis remarkable that you survived at all without a healers aid.” Morrigan remarked once Mina was gone.

“The Dalish know quite a lot about bandaging and healing wounds, especially hunters. You don’t want to be stranded in the forest after taking a wound from a wolf or bear and not know how to bandage it enough to keep you alive for a couple days. I wouldn’t have lasted much longer had you not come along though. I had accepted my fate.”

“It seems that fate had not accepted your death.”

“So it does. I’m sure there will be many more things to come that will give fate a chance to change its mind.” Clea said, feeling lighter now that Mina and Alistair had moved on ahead and a dark cloud no longer hung over her.

Morrigan chuckled at that, thinking that she actually liked their new companion. “Of that I have no doubt.”

  ?

Every time I send in an ask and learn more about Orest I love him more x) On the Dragon Age Asks: Warden + Companions, can you do 5 for Zevran, 1 and 4 for Alistair, 2 and 5 for Wynne, 5 for Leliana, 2 for Sten, 3 for Oghren, 2 for Morrigan, 2 for Shale, and 1 for Dog for Orest? (Sorry there's so many I just couldn't decide on one or two of them but I figured it's okay since it's Orest's birthday x))

I absolutely loved doing these!! 

((From this post~!))

Feel free to send in more!

Zevran:

5. How well did your Warden keep in contact with Zevran after the Blight? Did they ever see him again?

He tried his best to keep in contact with Zevran after the Blight, as they were really good friends during it! He made sure to take every opportunity to ask Zevran in letters (that Morrigan had to write for him) to visit him, Morrigan, and Kieran in Skyhold, and to bring the best brandy he could get his hands on! And yes, eventually, he came around for a visit, and after a couple of bottles, and when Kieran was put to bed, they had quite a bit of ~adult time~

Alistair

1. What sort of attachment did your Warden form with Alistair, if any at all? Were they close due to their shared experiences as Grey Wardens?

He actually formed a really close bond with Alistair, despite being in love with Morrigan. He really did think of him as a sort of brother-in-arms, and a really close friend. After the Blight, they remained by each other’s side often, as Orest refused to crown him, letting Anora take the throne to keep Alistair a Warden with him. He and Alistair shared that special Grey Warden bond, and especially after Tamlen died, Alistair was the first one he ran to for comfort.

4. How did your Warden respond to Alistair’s dislike of Loghain? Did they share Alistair’s sentiments or disagree?

Orest certainly shared Alistair’s hatred of Loghain. God, Loghain was what was wrong with shems, in Orest’s mind; he kept old hatreds alive, and sacrificed his own people just because he was so spiteful and bitter against the Orelesians. Not to mention, he really talked down to Orest, and he did not appreciate it at all.

Wynne:

2. How did your Warden respond to Wynne’s comments if your Warden romanced someone? Did they tell her it was love or that the relationship was purely physical?

Well, this one is tough, since he ended up lying to her, claiming that he knew she was a distraction, and that it was just a physical thing, despite the fact that he knew he was falling for her. He wasn’t rude to her, and did actually appreciate her concern, but he didn’t hesitate to laugh it off, and, in true Orest fashion, joke about how She seems to have tied me down quite tight!

5. What did Wynne choose to do after the Blight was ended? Did your Warden stay in touch with her?

After the Blight, Wynne decided to help Shale find a way to become squishy again, and Orest was certainly delighted to hear it, even if he really did like Shale when she was big and made of stone! Orest made sure to send Wynne letters, always asking about how she was doing, since during the Blight, he’d grown to really look up to her, even if he wasn’t the biggest fan of her Circle Stockholm Syndrome.

Leliana:

5. How well did your Warden get along with Leliana? What was their relationship like?

Okay, Orest really loved Leliana, and honestly, if Morrigan hadn’t caught his eye first, he would’ve ended up with her. They were really good friends, though Orest, being a little stupid, nearly slept with her after the whole “hair conversation” (because, yes, my hair is wonderful, thank you for noticing Leliana!) But yes, he and Leliana got on quite well, and despite their different religious views, they respected each other, and even learned quite a bit about the differing views on the world.  

Sten:

2. What did your Warden think of Sten’s beliefs that people’s roles are determined at birth? Did they agree?

Well, Orest certainly respected what he had to say, but he didn’t agree. He pointed out that he used to just be a hunter, and now he was a Grey Warden, asking if Sten thought that by changing his role in life, it made him more valuable, and that if he hadn’t changed his role, Alistair would be the only Warden left in Ferelden. The conversation ended there, but Orest knew that he got somewhere.

Oghren:

3. What was the fate of Branka? If she was killed, was your Warden regretful? How did they act around Oghren afterwards?

Orest killed Branka, but he felt really bad about it. Not that he liked her, no, he really hated how she wanted to make people into slaves of stone, he just really felt guilty for killing someone that Oghren obviously really cared for and loved, even if she didn’t love him back. He tried to repent by acting friendly around Oghren, not shying away, and eventually, the two of them actually became pretty close. Orest had never met a dwarf before, and he wanted to know all sorts about them, even if Oghren was reluctant to open up to him. (Not to mention, Orest really liked feeling tall again!)

Morrigan:

2. Did your Warden agree to help Morrigan kill Flemeth? Why or why not?

Of. Course. He. Did. As soon as he heard about what Flemeth planned for his beloved human, he strapped on his chest plate, tightened his bow strings, and grabbed Sten, Wynne, and Zevran to kick her ass. Sure, he may have gotten his ass kicked, but he did eventually “kill” the awful old woman. Just hearing about how the woman that Morrigan really did look up to and did love deep down was an awful, evil demon, he knew that he had to help her. There was no way he was just going to let Morrigan’s soul be ripped away from her, she was too precious to lose.

Shale:

2. Did the realization that Shale was once a living dwarf surprise your Warden? How did that change their views on golems?

He was really surprised, yes. He isn’t the best when it comes to magical knowledge, so he just assumed she was alive just because magic said so. But since she’d proven that she had her own thoughts, and ideas, and outlook on life, his opinion of golems didn’t change as in “Oh, now I have to look at and treat you like a real person” because he really did see her as an entity with a soul, even if he thought it was just a magic say-so. It was more of a “Your entire existence is even more a form of slavery than I thought, and though I know you don’t want pity, by the Creators I feel so bad for you!” Of course, he didn’t say that out loud, instead deciding to take the safer option of joking, laughing about her being squishy on the inside!

Dog:

1. Who’s a good boy?!

Anga is a good boy! Okay, seriously, Orest loves that dog to death. Being Dalish, he was really hesitant to take an animal as a “pet” at first, as he didn’t believe that any animal was for anybody to own or control. Animals are free spirits, just as people should be, and owning one was morally wrong in his mind. But, he made sure to heal him, not able to let the poor thing suffer if he could be cured. And, eventually, he put him out of his mind, until, after Ostagar, this lost warhound ran up to him, and then it was all over for him. He let the dog join them, and made sure to clean the poor thing off as soon as they could find a river, taking extra care to make sure the mabari was okay. So he named him Anga, which is Tolkien Elvish for Iron, and treasured him to the ends of the Earth. Sometimes, Morrigan would tease him when he would sit with Kieran in his arms and Anga’s head on his lap, wondering who was Orest’s favorite child. He isn’t sure if he could chose one or the other.

"Do not be alarmed. It is only I."

Okey… just don't let Leliana know it.

They two close enough to Erika making such joke and Morrigan won't kill her. And Leliana will giggling because her little nerd girlfriend grown up already.

Morrigan? Is everything all right? "I am well. 'Tis you who are in danger. I have a plan, you see. A way out. The loop in your hole."

David Gaider is a terrible gay writer he use "he" as the pronoun of PC in all comments of this line you see.

"I know what happens when the archdemon dies. I know a Grey Warden must be sacrificed, and that sacrifice could be you. I have come to tell you this does not need to be." Does not need to be? What do you mean? "I offer a way out. A way out for all the Grey Wardens, that there need be no sacrifice. A ritual...performed on the eve of battle, in the dark of night." Nothing comes without a price. "Perhaps. But that price need not be so unbearable, especially if there is much to be gained. All I ask is that you listen to what I have to offer, nothing more."

Just what sort of ritual is this? "It is old magic, from a time before the Circle of Magi was created. Some might call it blood magic, but that is but a name. There is far more to fear in this world than names." And from where did you get this ritual, Morrigan? "From Flemeth, of course. I have known about it for some time." So you knew about the sacrifice before Riordan told me? "I did. Would you have believed me if I had been the one to tell you? I have my doubts."

Why should I don't believe my BFF who have chance to backstab me thousands times, but some "fellow" from a narcissism, hypocrite order full of criminals, secrets, lies, I was being forced to join them. David Gaider? *Only* because you told me they are good man? Erika even don't believe Alistair will be perfectly honest to her, but she trust Morrigan with all her heart. So she feel some hurt now…

Very well. What is your plan? "What I propose is this: convince Alistair to lay with me. Here, tonight. And from this ritual a child shall be conceived within me. The child will bear the taint, and when the archdemon is slain, its essence will seek the child like a beacon. At this early stage, the child can absorb that essence and not perish. The archdemon is still destroyed, with no Grey Warden dying in the process."

WHAT?!!! You mean you will sleep a man you despises, to making a technical Grey Warden baby for save my life?!!! NO!!!

No. I won't agree to this. "Do not let your foolish pride condemn you!"

It's not about my pride, it's all about you! I won't let you and your baby make such sacrifices for me! I can't!

YES, I really love and trust Morrigan as a soul sister from my first play I just finished the prelude and even not meet Leliana. Tell me I'm a fool in the possibility future - when BioWare said Morrigan was a liar, but not now.

Dragon Age: Origins Screenshots 1920×2160

The Final Battle, Part 5 - 1: "I offer a way out."

DA:O Appreciation Week- Day 2

Questions of the Day:

What is your favorite area in Origins? (ex: Denerim, Haven, The Dalish Camps, The Deep Roads, etc.)

Idk if it counts, but probably the Party Camp. I loved coming back from a quest and getting to give everyone their gifts and try to get new dialogue. 

What is your favorite non-Warden pairing from Origins?  (ex: wade x herren, leliana x zevran, Anora x morrigan, etc.)  - the pairing does not have to be canon, it can be any pairing that does not involve the Warden.

Like I said for Day 1, Leliana x Morrigan for sure. Morrigan being stubborn and trying so hard to dislike the bard who talks about silly things like stories and shoes. And really, Morrigan doesn’t have enough experience with people before then to look further beneath the surface. So when she finds out about Marjolaine and Lelaina’s history as a bard, sees the harder surfaces underneath all of Leliana’s speeches about faith and second chances, she’s absolutely floored. And rather irritated that she didn’t suspect before. And she wants to dislike Leliana, she really does, but that bard just worms her way into her affections anyway. Even though it’s foolish. Even though it’s weakness.

She wore that dress in the Winter Palace just for her. 

Prompts of the Day:

How does your Warden respond to stress and the different places explored during Origins?

Ellie is typically good at handling the stress. She was poised to govern Highever, after all. That Fergus eventually takes her seat in the Teyrn because she was forced to become a Grey Warden causes unending friction between the siblings. Fergus may be older, but everyone knows their father planned for Elissa to succeed him. 

So she’s cool under the pressure, but angry throughout much of their adventuring. She makes the decisions (because Alistair wouldn’t, and Maker what is wrong with him? It’s his duty; he was the senior Warden, why must he place all the burden on her?) and leads everyone through, but she’s not happy to be there. 

That is, not until soft songs played on a lute by the fire start to cause warm feelings to prick at her stomach. Not until Morrigan’s barbed comments start to make her smile instead of putting her on edge. Or Alistair’s jokes actually become funny instead of something to grimace at. Not until Sten’s stoic silence becomes a safe harbor and Zevran’s unending flirtations put her at ease. 

Not until she finally has a family again.

Shipping of Non-Warden Pairings.  Write a drabble about a non-warden pairing, or draw them, etc.

(This is probably cheating, but I’m using the same drabble I wrote for yesterday because it counts. And I was late to yesterday’s anyway. So *shrugs*)

“Go away,” Morrigan demanded. Soft footsteps still came ever closer, the opposite of what she’d said. She glared over her shoulder with a huff. “Blast it, did you not hear me?”

“My hearing is fine, thank you,” Leliana replied, her lilting voice carrying through the sounds of the quiet eve. She settled herself on a rock a few paces from where Morrigan sat, and she began removing her boots to dip her feet into the river the group had chosen to camp beside.

“Then why must you irritate me so?” Morrigan asked.

“You got in another fight with her, didn’t you?” Leliana asked, knowing full well the answer. It was unlikely anyone in the camp hadn’t heard. “You can talk to me about it, if you want.”

“’Tis a fool’s errand!” Morrigan exclaimed, surprising even herself. “This Urn does not even exist, yet we must chase after fairytales and waste even more time than we did with that abomination child! I do not know why I should not just leave. T’would be better than following after a fool who will get us all killed.”

Leliana opened her mouth to argue, and Morrigan was ready, a barb waiting on her tongue. She knew Leliana agreed with the Warden, of course. They were too soft, weak, the both of them. Yet, Leliana’s lips then pressed shut, and she cocked her head as peered back at the witch.

“You don’t mean that,” Leliana argued, and Morrigan was about to reply that yes, she did, in fact, mean every word when her attention was distracted by the bard’s fingers beginning to undo the clasps of her leather chestplate. Her eyes were drawn to the slivers of pale skin now catching the moonlight, but she tore them away, frowning, when she saw the corner of Leliana’s mouth quirk up. “It is normal to disagree. Friends fight, Morrigan.”

“I do not need you to tell me the rituals of friendship. I hardly think you’re qualified to give advice in that respect,” Morrigan snapped. She referred to Marjolaine, of course, and Morrigan almost felt guilty when the barb landed and Leliana frowned. Almost. But by then Leliana had undressed completely and was standing, completely bare, in the river facing her, and Morrigan could no longer focus on anything except the overwhelming urge to curse away the foolish heat seeping into her cheeks. “And anyway, the point remains that I am right, and this is a horrid waste of my time.”

“Well, if we’re wasting time already, perhaps you’d like to join me for a swim? The water is quite pleasant,” Leliana replied, the corners of her eyes creasing as she smiled at Morrigan’s petulance.

“I shall not,” Morrigan retorted. “T’would only give you an excuse to stare at my breasts again.”

Leliana’s delighted giggle carried across the water. “But they are so nice to look at, no? Do you not like mine?”

“I-” Morrigan stuttered. It was true there was something…pleasing about the shape of the other woman’s features, the way the curves caught the moonlight and glistened with drops of water. “They are…adequate. I suppose.”

Leliana arched an eyebrow. “Adequate?” she repeated, then waded out of the water so that all of her was now on display. And decidedly close to Morrigan, close enough to reach out and touch, should she wish. Which she didn’t. Definitely not. “Perhaps you just need a second glance.”

“I’m not sure why you think looking twice would change anything,” Morrigan said slowly, warily eyeing Leliana’s hand as she reached for her own. She lifted the witch’s hand up, and surely she wasn’t going to…? No, she wasn’t because, instead, Leliana was yanking the both of them into the water. Morrigan spat out water in indignation. “Of all the fool things-”

Morrigan never finished her sentence, namely because a certain bard laid claim to her lips instead.

She decided wasting time wasn’t so awful after all.

allll the warden asks either nadia orrr ur fave dwarf warden of yours

Zevran
**1. How did your Warden react to Zevran’s failed attempt on their life? Were they amused? Angry**? - amused but in a "did u actually think that would work" kinda angry way, was v close to killing him 
2. **Did your Warden match Zevran’s lighthearted attitude or were they more serious? What sort of relationship did they have?** - started out lighthearted when they first met but she grew more serious as her depression started 
3. **What did your Warden know of the Crows before meeting Zevran? What did they think of the Crows afterward?** - I'd bet she'd never even heard of them before meeting them, she wasn't rly into textbook studying about history or... anything. Probably doesn't have much of an opinion on them after since he's like the only one she ever meets
4. **Did Zevran betray your Warden? How did they feel in the aftermath of Zevran’s decision?** - I think he did when I played her? Don't think it's canon tho
5. **How well did your Warden keep in contact with Zevran after the Blight? Did they ever see him again?** - probably not very well, they were good friends but not exceptionally close? They'd keep in contact sure but not very often Alistair
1. **What sort of attachment did your Warden form with Alistair, if any at all? Were they close due to their shared experiences as Grey Wardens?** - tbh i imagine she's super uneasy around Alistair for the majority of the blight bc of his Templar past & supportiveness and his comments during the broken circle. Honestly the only reason she'd wanna speak to him is about warden experiences 
2. **Did Alistair’s parentage surprise your Warden? How did your Warden’s feelings on the nobility affect their relationship with Alistair?** Surprise? Ye. Also piss her off? Very ye. She was stressed enough without having to lead a king's bastard
3. **Was Alistair reunited with his sister, Goldanna? What did your Warden think of her? Did they relate to Alistair with their own familial struggles?** She probably took him to Goldanna's house but stayed outside or quiet the whole time, agreed w/ her that him coming back expecting a happy reunion was too much
4. **How did your Warden respond to Alistair’s dislike of Loghain? Did they share Alistair’s sentiments or disagree?** - one of the few things she'd find herself agreeing with him on
5. **What became of Alistair after the Landsmeet? How did your Warden feel about their decision of Alistair’s future?** - left him as a warden cause the queen who's name has completely escaped my head is better than him in every way when it comes to ruling. Plus, in her opinion, a guy who can't choose his own life shouldn't choose for the life of an entire country Wynne
1. **What did your Warden think of Wynne’s views on the Circle? Did they have different experiences regarding the Circle?** - I// uh/// don't know Wynne's views on the circle//// I
2. **How did your Warden respond to Wynne’s comments if your Warden romanced someone? Did they tell her it was love or that the relationship was purely physical? ** - well Nadia is aromantic so
3. **How did your Warden feel about the Spirit of Faith within Wynne? Did they see it as possession?** - creeped her out a little but Wynne seemed in control, so it didn't bother her too much. Plus I imagine, in Nadia's mind, possession is when the spirit takes control of the Mage 
4. **Did your Warden go with Wynne to meet Aneirin, her one-time apprentice? What did they think of the encounter?** - okay I gotta be honest I never get enough friendship from Wynne & I have no idea what an Aneirin is
5. **What did Wynne choose to do after the Blight was ended? Did your Warden stay in touch with her?** - who even knows what Wynne did, but isn't likely they stayed in touchLeliana
1. **What was your Warden’s position on the Chantry? Were they wary of Leliana due to their religious beliefs or lack thereof?** - of the chantry itself? Very very wary if not actively disliking it. Of Leliana bc of her beliefs? A little, the whole vision from the maker think made her a little apprehensive
2. **Was your Warden curious about bards? If they had the opportunity, would they choose to become one?** - no to both tbh, but did enjoy listening to her stories 
3. **If your Warden received Leliana’s personal quest, what did they choose to do with Marjolaine and why?** - probably killed her tbh, she came to care for Leliana at least a little & she knew that Marjolaine might not leave her alone after so
4. **Did your Warden believe that Leliana was telling the truth about her vision from the Maker or were they skeptical? ** - v v v skeptical lmao, especially since most of what she's heard of the maker and andraste for most of her life is "we're gonna lock u away permanently bc of what u were born as bc they told us to in our religious books"
5. **How well did your Warden get along with Leliana? What was their relationship like?** - well enough in the end, listening to Leliana talk & tell stories was probably pretty nice & it turns out they agreed with a lot about how the chantry functions, tho not everything Sten
1. **Had your Warden ever met a Qunari before Sten? What did they expect?** - definitely not tbh? I'm not sure she'd ever even met a dwarf before either, idk if dwarves visit circles a lot or if lyrium trade is done outside a circle 
2. **What did your Warden think of Sten’s beliefs that people’s roles are determined at birth? Did they agree?** - reminded her a lot of how the circle told her she should live her life so. Did not agree in the slightest, but didn't argue cause it's an entirely different culture 
3. **Did your Warden retrieve Sten’s sword? Did your Warden’s choice to give it to him or withhold it affect their relationship with Sten at all?** - probably returned it to him, didn't rly see a reason not to especially when it wasn't hard to get
4. **How did your Warden speak to Sten? Did they fight with him often or were they more humorous in their responses?** - probably wouldn't wanna fight with him, so was either just curious or more humorous 
5. **Was your Warden amused by Sten’s love of cookies?** EhOghren
1. **What did your Warden think of Orzammer? Were they impressed or did they become disillusioned with the city, like Oghren did?** - probably a little disillusioned, likely not a fan of how badly the casteless are treated but impressed otherwise 
2. **What were your Warden’s feelings on berserkers? Were they frightened of them? Were they a berserker themselves?** - I don't actually imagine she had much of an opinion?
3. **What was the fate of Branka? If she was killed, was your Warden regretful? How did they act around Oghren afterwards?** - definitely killed her tbh, but wasn't very regretful. Was no fan of having to take lives to make golems. Probably didn't change around Oghren, he creeps her out still
4. **What was the relationship between your Warden and Oghren? Were they friendly or merely reluctant companions?** - reluctant companions honestly, she doesn't like his casual alcoholism or the creepy comments and looks he gives morrigan (& maybe Leliana? Idk)
5. **Did your Warden stay on good terms with Oghren after the Blight? If Oghren got back together with Felsi, did your Warden ever go to meet Oghren’s child, who was named after the Warden?** - definitely did not stay on good terms but was willing to work with him when he came to join the wardens. Might've gotten him back together with Felsi but never met the kid Morrigan
1. **What was your Warden’s first impression of Morrigan? Did they trust her or were they cautious around her?** This closeted & unawakened bisexual definitely thought morrigan was extremely hot, no doubt about it. But did trust her simply cause, as per her logic, if morrigan wanted them dead she'd have been able to do it far sooner than they'd met, but was a little cautious for the sake of her companions
2. **Did your Warden agree to help Morrigan kill Flemeth? Why or why not?** - agreed to help but didn't actually do it maybe? Or maybe she did do it but apprehensively, simply because she'd never heard of or maybe even didn't believed in magic that could let one human possess another 
3. **How close was your Warden to Morrigan? Did your Warden respect her abilities as a witch of the wilds?** - not sure if they were close, but she definitely liked Morrigan for sure & respected her, tho their views on helping people were totally different. Learnt shape-shifting from her
4. **Did your Warden attempt to find Morrigan after the Blight? Did they ever succeed in meeting her again?** - probably didn't try to actively look until she heard rumours about someone matching Morrigan's appearance being seen around, then she was curious. Probably found her at the mirror ye
5. **Was Morrigan’s ritual completed? What persuaded your Warden to go through with it or what caused them to refuse it?** - probably, if only to save her own skin. Like I said she was never super fond of Alistair but she doesn't think he deserves to die either? Plus preserving the soul of the old god sounded pretty interesting Loghain 
1. **Did your Warden respect Loghain’s experience as a warrior, if not as a ruler?** - she hated every part of him with a passion lmao & lost any respect she might've had for his warrior abilities after she beat him in 1v1 combat. Like a warden just a year outside the circle with only that year's worth of combat experience beating a supposed "hero" and Great Warrior??
2. **How did your Warden react to Loghain’s fierce love for his daughter? Did they share a strong sense of loyalty to their own family?** - by the end of the landsmeet she probably didn't even think he loved Anora, just wanted to use her to usurp the throne. Especially because he locked anora up & had her tortured for getting her out
3. **What did your Warden think of Loghain’s suspicion and dislike of Orlesians? Did they consider it to be ill-founded or accurate? ** - didn't give a single flying shit about it. She'd never met an Orelesian & in not sure she was alive during the occupation, so she just saw it as him showing off and using them as scapegoats 
4. **What was your Warden’s opinion on Loghain’s decision to abandon King Cailan and the Grey Wardens at Ostagar? What did they think of Loghain afterwards?** Honestly do I need to answer this one at this point lmao 
5. **Did Loghain survive the Landsmeet? If he did, why did your Warden choose to let him live?** - nooooooooope. Considered letting him join the wardens but changed her mind pretty quickly Shale (N/A if The Stone Prisoner DLC was not played)
1. **Was your Warden interested in golems upon meeting Shale? Did they think of golems as weapons or sentient beings?** - wasn't rly interested in golems as things but was interested in Shale. Shale was v likely her first experience with golems so thought of them as living things
2. **Did the realization that Shale was once a living dwarf surprise your Warden? How did that change their views on golems?** - definitely did surprise her, was the whole reason she destroyed the Anvil tbh. Never wanted to touch a control rod again
3. **Did your Warden aid Branka or Caridin? Did their choice affect their relationship with Shale?** - Caridin 100% of the way, was v pleased when Shale was happy with the choice
4. **How did your Warden’s relationship with Shale change during the Blight? Was their relationship maintained after the Blight?** - honestly if Corliss wasn't around, Shale very much may have been Nadia's closest friend during the blight. Was definitely maintained after the blight, tho I think Shale goes to Tevinter to try to regain her dwarf body? So they lose contact for a good long while & Nadia misses them
5. **What did your Warden make of Shale’s “bird issues”? ** "Same dude they'd shit all over the tower!!! And they're loud and ate the crops from our small garden, they're the worst"Dog
**1. Who’s a good boy?!** - Mutt is a good boy!!!!! She's sorry she named him Mutt

Warden Reborn

Chapter 4: Origins

Beneath Nyx was the most comfortable mattress she had ever slept on. Above she was covered in heavy blankets, as soft and warm as a kitten. It was all too tempting to return to sleep, despite the horrid nightmares that had passed through her mind just moments ago. But a woman was calling her name, shaking her body gently to rouse Nyx.

At last, she opened her eyes to see a room she knew, but couldn’t help to think that she shouldn’t know it. She placed a hand on her head, shutting her eyes tight and hoping to shut out the other woman’s voice. Nyx had to remember something. She wasn’t entirely sure who or what she was. There was one life, names and faces of elves, then tragedies and losses. A Blight, which should have been unheard of.

In her mind swam other memories, however. A mother and father, plus an older brother. A human family. She’d lived in this estate all her life. She was trained as a warrior, despite protests from her father. Her father called her “pup.” Her brother, Fergus, had a wife and child, while Nyx had avoided any and all suitors. There was someone out there for her, and she knew him already. But she hadn’t met him yet.

“Nyx, please get up. You need to be dressed. Arl Howe and his men have arrived and your father wants us all together to greet them,” the woman, Nyx’s mother Eleanor, said.

“I’m awake. I’m sorry. My head aches something awful,” Nyx said. She opened her eyes slowly, but the room was so bright she had to shield them. It was as if she were stepping out of a dark cave to face the midday sun.

“It’s alright, dear. Maybe find a bit of elfroot to chew. It should ease the pain. But please, hurry. I’d hate to keep our guests waiting much longer. We’ve also just got word that a Grey Warden is here. He’s hoping to find a recruit,” Eleanor said.

Nyx nodded, but the mention of a Grey Warden seemed to clear her head somewhat. Wasn’t she a Warden? Or she had been? But no one stops being a Warden. That was impossible. But why did she remember the Joining and a man named Duncan?

Nyx dressed herself in her armor and grabbed a sword and shield. They felt wrong, for some reason, but it was how she’d trained, wasn’t it? Of course, she’d also trained in two-handed techniques, but the shield bore her family’s sigil, which made it important to present herself with it equipped. She pinched her cheeks to bring some color to her pale skin, then set out.

There was a name on the tip of her tongue she needed to remember. It was so hard to remember anything. It was as if there were two souls, two lives swimming in her head. For some reason, the life that was starting to feel like a fake was the one she was currently living. That couldn’t be right.

She stepped into the room and saw Howe and her father, standing together having a chat. They turned as soon as they’d noticed her presence, and her father beamed.

“Good to see you’re finally with us, pup,” Bryce Cousland cheered, wrapping his arms around Nyx in a bear hug. “How late were you up last night, girl?”

“Not too late,” Nyx said. She couldn’t recall. Last night felt like ages ago somehow. And she was still focused on trying to remember the name she’d forgotten.

“Ah, Lady Cousland, it has been a long time,” Howe said.

Despite having known this man since she was young, knowing him as a family friend, something about him suddenly disgusted Nyx to her very core. He seemed slimy and untrustworthy.

“You have grown into quite the beautiful woman,” Howe said, and Nyx barely contained her shudder. “Tell me, is your daughter still unwed?”

“Yes, it seems she doesn’t want to settle. She believes there is some perfect man out there. I tried to tell her there was no such thing, but she seems enamored with the idea of a knight or prince to take her away,” Bryce said through his laughter.

“Father!” Nyx said, now thoroughly embarrassed. “I am not a child.”

“And still you don’t see any man worth your time,” Bryce said.

“You’re starting to sound like mother,” Nyx said.

“I told you not to train her as a warrior. Now she probably wants to go off to war with the rest of us,” Howe said.

Nyx did not voice that she did want to leave. Not for glory or even the fight, but because she knew she had a purpose and it laid outside these walls. Her mind wandered back to the idea of becoming a Grey Warden. Her father would never approve, but perhaps she could seem important enough and be conscripted.

A few moments later, Bryce called the Warden that was visiting to join them. “I’d like to introduce my daughter, Nyx. Pup, this is Duncan, a Grey Warden. He’s here to observe Ser Gilmore to see if he is worth recruiting.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Nyx said. Why was it the name Duncan sounded so familiar? Duncan was important. Duncan meant a lot to someone. It was that person whose name she couldn’t remember. He had been so hurt when Duncan died.

Wait. That couldn’t be right. Duncan was here, living and breathing and making friendly small talk with her father. Duncan had not died. Not yet, came an intrusive thought. Nyx shooed it from her mind.

“What do you think of testing me, as well?” Nyx asked the Warden. It was where she needed to be, of that much she was certain.

“I am told you are a fine warrior with great strength, but I am not certain your father would approve,” Duncan said, glancing over to the Teryn.

“Certainly not. I already have Fergus marching our men into battle. I would not see my second child involved in this war as well,” Bryce said. “That reminds me, pup, I need you to deliver a message to your brother. He is to go with most of the men of Highever today. Howe’s men have not all arrived from Amaranthine just yet. I shall await the reinforcements here to make a second charge towards Ostagar.”

“And I am truly to be left out of the battle?” Nyx said.

“I told you hundreds of times, pup. I will not risk losing my whole family to this darkspawn menace. If it is truly a Blight, we will need you here to take charge. Were myself and Fergus unable to return, you would become Teyrn of Highever,” her father reminded her. She didn’t need the reminder. Though her memories were confused, this was something that remained clear. The role of Teyrn was better suited to Fergus. Nyx needed to be out in the world.

“I understand, father,” Nyx said. But I still disagree.

“Now, go hurry to your brother. And make sure that dog of yours isn’t causing any trouble,” Bryce said.

She split off for a moment, but watched silently while Duncan moved away from the group, looking at a small leather-bound book he had on him. Nyx was so curious about this man whom she felt she already knew. She couldn’t simply leave.

“Ser Duncan?” Nyx said, walking tentatively towards him.

“Just Duncan, please,” he said. He emitted such a warmth. It reminded her a lot of her father. He just had that feeling that he would look after you. Nyx couldn’t explain it, really, but she felt comfortable speaking with him because of it.

“I was hoping to talk to you a bit, ask a few questions,” Nyx said. “Is that alright?”

“I have a little time, I suppose. But you have a task of your own. I don’t want to keep you from it too long. Your father would not be happy with me if I did,” Duncan said.

“Well, I was wondering a bit about that book you have?” Nyx said.

“This? It’s simply a list of locations I’ve been meaning to investigate before returning to Ostagar and joining the King’s forces. I need to find recruits for the Wardens to bolster our forces. We are still so few, and if this darkspawn invasion turns out to truly be a Blight, we will need all the Wardens possible to end it. I would fear for Ferelden’s safety if we failed,” Duncan said.

“Are Wardens truly necessary to end a Blight? Couldn’t anyone kill darkspawn?” Nyx asked. There was this thing itching in the back of her mind. She knew they were needed, but couldn’t quite recall why. She wished these new memories were clearer.

“Yes, but as Wardens we possess certain abilities that make it easier for us. We are also immune to the taint, which makes us useful against them.”

“And you have the Right of Conscription? So if you really did want me to join-”

“Lady Cousland, I understand your eagerness. But I promised your father I would not recruit you, no matter how capable you seem to be,” Duncan said, shutting Nyx down before she could even make her suggestion.

“But if you could…?” Nyx said, voice half a whisper.

“You are strong, I can tell. But I cannot, and will not. I’m sorry,” Duncan said.

She stared at the man for a long moment, but knew he would not relent. She almost had the name now. It was on the tip of her tongue. Nyx felt like Duncan knew it, but it would be strange to ask him. These memories were so hard to decipher, like they were encoded and she had to figure out the trick to solving them.

Nyx left Duncan and her father, heading towards her brother’s room. As she walked, she forced out memories of names and faces. Leliana with the red hair and Orlesian accent. Zevran from Antiva with tattoos and blonde hair. Morrigan, the witch with bright golden eyes and dark black hair. Wynne, an older woman. Oghren, a dwarf. Tamlen. Merrill. Shale. Flemeth. Al-

“Lady Cousland!” called Ser Gilmore, hurrying towards her. “Thank the Maker I found you. Nan is about to have a fit. Your mabari managed to lock himself in the lauder again. She’s afraid he’s eating up all the food in there. It’s a disaster.”

“Slow down, it’s alright. I’ll go see what Perseus is doing. He knows better than to simply raid the stores for food,” Nyx said, laughing at the image of her mabari tormenting Nan.

“I’m not so certain about that, but as long as you’re willing to help, then we should go,” Ser Gilmore said.

On the way to the kitchens, Nyx asked, “Is it true you might be recruited as a Grey Warden?”

“Oh, yeah, apparently your father said that I’m the best his men have to offer. I’m flattered but I’m not certain I’m right for the job,” Ser Gilmore admitted, face flushed. He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’d be better suited, I think. You’re always saying how you feel like your place is elsewhere, outside of Highever. Don’t Wardens travel all over? You could see what’s out there.”

“My father has apparently forbidden Duncan from trying,” Nyx said. “He won’t even invoke the Right out of respect for my father.”

“You are his only daughter,” Ser Gilmore said.

“And Fergus is his only son, but I don’t see him being stopped from marching to war,” Nyx said.

Ser Gilmore argued no further. They’d reached the kitchens, anyway, and needed to take care of the scene exploding in there. Nan was shouting at the two elven servants.

Nyx felt an unusual amount of anger fill her at the sight. It was hardly their fault. She hated the idea of keeping elves as servants anyway. Sure they were paid, but she’d seen the Alienage. Nyx felt an unexplainable kinship with the elves. She was human and noble, to boot. Part of the memories from her other life were surfacing again. This time it wasn’t names, but just words. A language she shouldn’t know by any rights, but that she felt she ought to be using.

She calmed Nan down and apologized to the servants. The phrase “ir abelas” came to mind, but she didn’t say it. She wasn’t sure they’d understand it. After all, they’d lived in the city all their lives, and it was only the Dalish that held onto their culture. Keeper Marethari had explained when Nyx was young how those that came from the city were disconnected from their heritage. It pained her Keeper, Nyx had always been able to…

Wait. Nyx was thinking as if she were a Dalish elf! These memories or thoughts or whatever they were truly confusing. How did she know all these things about the Creators? How did she remember these Dalish elves like they were her family?

Had Ser Gilmore not laid a hand on her shoulder, urging her to get the dog like she’d promised Nan she would, Nyx would have been lost to her thoughts for hours. Nyx nodded at him, then opened the door to the lauder.

“Perseus!” she called, seeing her mabari sniffing the ground with fervor. “Come here boy!”

The hound bounded towards her, rising onto his hind legs and into Nyx’s open arms. She scratched behind his ears, just like he liked. He barked happily and fell back onto four legs, before bouncing around with excitement, circling around himself. Nyx had been so happy the day the mabari pup had bonded to her. The name Perseus was on her mind immediately, like it was meant to be his.

Apparently, there were giant rats in the lauder, which was why Perseus had gone there. He was just doing his job, guarding and protecting the Cousland family in every way possible. Nyx praised him for his good work, and informed Nan of the trouble they’d had exterminating the vermin. Nan seemed vaguely appreciative which was the best she could ask of her.

It didn’t last long though, as within moments she was right back to barking orders at the elves in her kitchen. Nyx grimaced. She would be sure to talk to Nan later about treating the servants of the house better. Maybe Nyx could also talk to her father about increasing their pay, since he was to stay behind until the next day.

Ser Gilmore left her side, but Perseus followed her as she made her way to speak with her brother. Nyx ran into her mother on the way, who went through the usual speech about settling down and having a family. The name Nyx had yet to fully remember (Al-something was as far as she’d gotten) was scratching at her brain again. She tried to tell her mother that she was just looking for the right person, but again it came off sounding like she was just too picky. She apologized to the son of her mother’s friend, whom they had tried to set her up with many times.

Nyx hurried ahead to see Fergus before her mother could hound her any further. At least he had found happiness with his wife, Oriana, and their son Oren. He was a sweet boy, only recently turned six. He still had trouble with the word “sword,” which Nyx found quite adorable. But she didn’t mention it or correct him too often, because she knew he was at the age where such a thing was already embarrassing.

Fergus didn’t seem worried in the least about heading off to Ostagar. He was proud, but Nyx also wondered if it wasn’t just a front to ease the worries his wife might have.

“I wish you were going to be with us, sister,” he said. “I think you’d fell a hundred darkspawn before I could even lift my sword.”

“Hardly,” Nyx said. “Maybe fifty.”

Fergus laughed. “See? We need you. If only father could see that you are capable enough.”

“I do see that,” Bryce said, appearing at the door. Eleanor was beside him. “But I need you here, Nyx. Someone has to look after your mother.”

“I can look after myself, you know,” Eleanor insisted. “I am not some wilting old rose that needs taking care of.”

Fergus held his wife and son tight one last time before he had to say goodbye. Oriana was unable to stop herself from crying, even though she wanted to appear strong in front of her son. Oren was still too young to fully understand where his father was going, but he’d been told Fergus was going to beat up bad men, so he cheered for his father to “fight good.”

Nyx was left to her own devices after that. She decided to wander the grounds a bit, checking in with the guard - a couple of whom she caught playing cards, though she promised not to tell - and with her old teacher. Perseus stayed at her side the whole time while she spoke with them.

The whole time Nyx went through Highever Castle, she tried to go over the things she was remembering. She couldn’t help but feel like she’d been asleep her whole life until just this morning, when this second life was starting to assert itself in her mind. She was starting to find more vivid pieces, just moments or instances, but it was enough that she could piece something together.

Her other self had been a Dalish elf and a Grey Warden. Though she remembered things like they were in the past, everything she remembered was actually in the future. Something, it was hard to remember what, went wrong at Ostagar. She and the other surviving Warden - he was the name she wanted to remember - had to travel with a group of allies to gather an army of elves, dwarves, and mages. They traveled all over Ferelden seeking aid.

Orzammar was locked in a political struggle. The Circle fell to blood mages. The Dalish clan they met struggled with a werewolf curse. And Arl Eamon of Redcliffe was poisoned, while the rest of his town fell victim to dark magic that raised the dead. In between all the chaos, Nyx made friends with the people she traveled with. With the other Warden, however, there had been something more.

She had memories that made her blush, of entering this man’s tent night after night. They would strip off their armor quick as they could, kissing each other hungrily. Nyx could almost feel this man inside her, and was suddenly very thankful that she seemed to be alone. Now she wished more than ever that she could remember the name of the other Warden.

Needing to get her mind off of anything sexual, Nyx went to watch Ser Gilmore train. Duncan was there as well, though this was just the start of his observation. Now she knew why she’d had that intrusive thought earlier. Duncan had died at Ostagar in her other life. Perhaps these weren’t memories, but premonitions? But that didn’t seem right. Nyx knew they were memories, even if it didn’t make sense to call them that.

“Duncan?” Nyx said, hoping he wouldn’t mind her distraction. “You said there were very few Gray Wardens left in Ferelden. Why is that?”

“Well, Lady Cousland, it wasn’t until King Maric that we were allowed back into Denerim. There had been a rebellion some years back, which caused the banishment of our order. But Maric understood the need to fight the darkspawn threat, and saw that we were allowed to return and gather our numbers once more,” Duncan told her.

“And you’ve recruited a lot yourself?” Nyx asked. Maybe he’d say the name of the other Warden. Maybe just hearing him talk would bring back more memories.

“Not so many, actually,” Duncan said. “Our importance has been largely forgotten since the last Blight ended. It was hundreds of years ago, back in the Exalted Age. No one alive now saw what the darkspawn could do when assembled as one force. Few have volunteered to join the Grey Wardens, and until the Right of Conscription was put into use, there was nothing we could do if a potential recruit did not wish to join us.”

“Are there any recruits of note?” Nyx said. How else was she supposed to get information out of him? Tell him she had memories of another life she didn’t understand?

“I… My lady, all Wardens possess great strengths and skills specific to their style of combat. No Warden is above another, save perhaps for a region’s commander. Even then, the best commander treats their allies as equals,” Duncan said.

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to offend,” Nyx said.

“And you didn’t. Of course, there are Wardens who have been inducted longer, who thus have more experience with darkspawn. But this does not make senior members any better than the newest recruits,” Duncan clarified.

Nyx nodded, trying not to appear dissatisfied. It seemed she would have to rely on her own memories for the name to come to her. She stood, deciding to distract Duncan no longer. Ser Gilmore deserved time for Duncan to see him in action.

“Thank you for entertaining my curiosity. I won’t take any more of your time,” Nyx said, preparing to leave.

“Not to worry, I am able to both observe and talk,” Duncan said, giving another warm smile. “I am sorry I cannot offer you a chance to become a Warden as well. Ser Gilmore did speak highly of your abilities.”

“Are you certain you couldn’t convince my father?” Nyx said.

“Even if I could, I’d dare not try. You are precious to him. It is understandable that he would keep you out of harm’s reach,” Duncan said.

“Do you have any children of your own?” Nyx asked. She knew she was supposed to be going, but curiosity was getting the better of her.

“No. There are few Wardens who ever do have children. The Grey Wardens themselves become your family, in a sense.” He was staring down at Ser Gilmore, following the motion of his sword with his eyes.

“I see,” Nyx muttered. She couldn’t ask him directly for what she wanted, and all her attempts to work around it had failed. She thanked him quietly then ducked out of the room. The sun was slipping from the sky, leaving the white of clouds against an orange hue. There wasn’t much day left, for which Nyx was grateful. Perhaps, when the next morning came, she would be able to make more sense of the patches of memories that came through.

Not that she wasn’t already trying to do just that. Nyx took her meal in her room. The quiet gave her time to think and focus. She wanted to draw out the earliest memories first, giving them a sort of order in her mind. Still, they returned in random splatters of images and sounds, feelings and tastes. Nyx clutched her head. There were so many things coming back to her all at once, it was hard to make sense of it.

Go over everything you know already, Nyx told herself. In the memories she was Dalish, with a best friend named Tamlen. The day things went wrong, they ran into humans in the forest. Then, they went to some hidden ruins underground. It was unclear what happened there. Tamlen touched a mirror, then there were pieces missing. Next thing she knew, she was with Duncan, walking into Ostagar. She met the King. Then…

Then she met Alistair.

Nyx inhaled sharply. That was the name! That was his name! She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten that, of all things. She said it over and over in her head, refusing to forget it again.

With that mystery out of her head, finally the question she should have been asking the whole time occurred to her. If Nyx had been so happy in her other life, what was she doing here as a human? And how? Surely that was a memory of hers, too.

Nyx fell backwards onto her bed, shutting her eyes tight to think. Unbelievable tales of her previous life filled her mind. They were coming quicker now that she summoned them up. Remembering Alistair was like opening a floodgate to everything else. It was coming almost too quickly, but the faster it came, the more familiar it felt. This was her life. These memories were not of some other version of herself, they were Nyx’s true memories. Her human life was a lie.

Finally, she watched Alistair die. It was like she was living it again, cutting the wound into her heart like it was fresh. But now she knew this was a wound she’d carried for months.

Nyx sat up quickly. The pain wrenched in her gut. The suddenness of the agony was unbearable. She was sobbing. She drew her knees in. Her face contorted into ugly shapes as she wept. She felt her nose starting to run and her eyes starting to sting after a while, but still she cried. The other Nyx had time to grieve, time to process this loss, but in her human body, she was going through those months without him in seconds.

Next, she saw herself traveling with Zevran, who only left her side in the end. She’d met Ariane and Finn, found Morrigan, then found him. The Changeling. That name sent chills through her. Yes, she’d searched for him, to redo everything. She’d just wanted to go back in time at first, to save Alistair’s life, but he offered her a chance to be human and noble. A woman fit to marry the King of Ferelden.

“Hera,” Nyx whispered to herself. That was the woman whose place she’d taken. Who was most likely dead after the ritual. Or worse, pushed into nonexistence. Nyx had killed people before, it was true, but those were on the terms of war and survival. Hera’s death was a cruelty. She could not excuse herself from that sin. She’d lead the woman to her death, and it was not a swift death either. The Changeling had tortured her to create the magic that sent Nyx back. Then, his spell went wrong.

That was where it stopped. Nyx remembered the mage became an abomination, then she woke up a human. There were slight gaps here and there, but Nyx felt exhaustion overcoming her. She’d demand to go with Duncan the next day, she decided. Perhaps Nyx could even save Duncan, this time. How much could she change to ensure lives were saved? She could do what she couldn’t before. Nyx could protect people like she’d wanted to.

Nyx fell asleep with optimistic thoughts. Something about being in this new body, this new life, it made everything seem more hopeful. It went beyond just knowing how to make sure lives were saved. Nyx simply felt less broken.

The was a crash outside before Nyx jolted up straight. Perseus snorted as he roused from sleep beside her. Sometime in the night he’d crawled up beside her to snuggle. Only now did she know he wasn’t the same dog she’d first given that name.

But that wasn’t important right now. Dammit, of all the times for crisis, she had to still be out of it. She got up quick, moving towards the door, when it flung open.

“There’s another in here!” the soldier called. One of Howe’s men, fully armed and dressed for battle.

“What’s going on?” Nyx asked. She searched her mind. Hera had said something about this. No.

Of all the warnings Nyx had failed to remember, it had to be this. By this time, at least half the household had to be dead or dying, slain on Howe’s orders. The bastard betrayed the Cousland family in every lifetime.

Still barely awake and dizzy from the next onslaught of memories, Nyx summoned up all the energy she had and rushed at the soldier, toppling him over. She brought her heel down on his throat and felt bones snap beneath her foot. Nyx cringed. The soldier gasped for air. She had broken his windpipe.

Another man tried to hit Nyx, swinging his sword at her wildly. For all his training, he had terrible form, announcing each swing very visibly. Howe must have thought he didn’t need his best men to kill sleeping targets.

She sidestepped a thrust, then kicked him back towards the wall. The man stumbled, then dropped his sword. Terrible grip, too. Good. The odds were in her favor as she picked up the blade and ran him through. Nyx left him pinned to the wall.

The story Hera had told was clear now. Nyx knew exactly what to do, but she had to be certain of one thing before she left. She took the weapon the soldier had been carrying before - a greatsword that required both of her hands to wield - and bolted across the hall. The door was already open, but still Nyx had to see.

Oriana’s body was already growing cold. Oren, little Oren who could never quite say “sword,” was sprawled on top of his mother’s body, like he’d been trying to help her. Nyx covered her mouth so she didn’t scream at the sight. Even if the memories of her human life were false, they still felt almost as real as those she’d just gotten back. Oren was her nephew and Oriana was her sister by marriage. They were her family and they’d been murdered in cold blood.

Perseus, who Nyx only just noticed at her side, nudged her hand. She patted him gently. Nyx knew he could sense her grief. It was a comfort to have him there, but nothing would change what had already happened.

Nyx tore towards the room on the far end of the hall. She could almost feel Hera, running with Nyx to find her mother. Nyx didn’t have time for the existential crisis that came at that thought. Whoever’s mother Eleanor Cousland was, Nyx prayed to the Maker that she still lived. Or maybe she should be praying to the Creators?

With the door open, Nyx saw that Eleanor stood proud, already in her armor with a sword and dagger at the ready. At least now there was an answer for the dead bodies in the hall that Nyx wasn’t responsible for.

“Nyx!” Eleanor gasped. She placed her weapons on her back, and ran to hug Nyx. “I was just about to see if you were alright, but with the men out there, I didn’t want to take any chances. I’m so glad you’re alright. Did you look to see-?”

“They’re dead, mother,” Nyx said, holding back a sob. Perseus whimpered behind her.

“Oh, Maker… If Howe has his men killing unarmed women and children, he must be serious about this. He won’t allow anyone to leave Highever alive. We have to get out, and fast. Get dressed and get a proper sword. One of your father’s,” Eleanor said, her eyes stared out towards the exit. “I have a feeling we’ll be fighting our way through. They intend to kill us, but we will not let them, understand? You cut down anyone in your path. We have to get to the servants’ entrance. Howe’s men won’t know where it is, so it should be unguarded. But before that, we are finding your father.”

Nyx nodded. She felt so hollow, moving like she was supposed to, fully aware there was no hope. Hera and Duncan were the only two who made it out that night. If only Nyx had remembered sooner, that could have changed.

Sure enough, they found Bryce Cousland lying injured, his blood coloring the floor. Duncan was beside him. They’d been speaking in hushed tones before the women arrived. Now, all was silent.

“Darling,” Eleanor said, falling to her knees beside him. “What happened to you?”

“We were trying to make it to you, love,” Bryce said. “I had to be certain that you and the others were safe.”

“Bryce, they killed Oriana and Oren. A child!” Eleanor said.

“Howe...that bastard,” Bryce growled. “We can’t mourn just yet. Duncan, take my wife and daughter out the servants’ entrance.”

“You are not staying behind,” Eleanor said.

“I have to. I can’t move, can’t even stand. I would slow you down too much, and we’d all die.”

“I am not leaving you!”

“My Lady Cousland,” Duncan said, “your husband is right. We’ve not much time before the rest of the soldiers find us.”

“You don’t need to tell me what I already know,” Eleanor spat. “I will not leave his side. I can fight them, keep them distracted and buy you and Nyx more time to run.”

Nyx was silent. She had failed to alter time. Even with knowledge of the future, the warnings came too late. Nyx should have warned them. But she couldn’t have.

“I understand,” Duncan said slowly. He turned his gaze upon Nyx, who met his eyes. Duncan looked back to Bryce and said, “If I am to take her with me, I must have your permission to recruit your daughter.”

“This is hardly the time to discuss this,” Eleanor said with a glare.

“It’s the only time, love,” Bryce said. He took her hand.

“We have already lost Ser Gilmore, and I must return to Ostagar with a recruit. Your daughter expressed an interest in the Grey Wardens, and she has displayed the skill and drive necessary to join tonight,” Duncan said.

“I’m in no position to argue, Duncan,” Bryce said through a half-hearted chuckle. “Just be sure to take care of her.”

“I swear to you that I will,” Duncan said, bowing his head.

Nyx did not argue. She simply knelt in front of her parents, holding them both close. It was like she’d both known them her whole life and only met them today simultaneously. It was odd to love them as much as she did, yet perfectly normal as well. Regardless of who they were in relation to Nyx, Bryce and Eleanor were good people who did not deserve this fate.

“I love you,” Nyx said. For all she had cried before, the tears wouldn’t even come to her now. She just felt cold.

“We love you too, pup,” Bryce said. “Be brave for us.”

“You have to go. Just know that we’ll see you again, someday. At the Maker’s side,” Eleanor said.

“I know,” Nyx said. But she didn’t. She wasn’t certain that she believed in any god anymore. This lie was a comfort, nothing more, nothing less.

Nyx moved herself before she could tempt herself into staying a moment longer for a goodbye. Long farewells was not something they could afford, under the circumstances. Nyx knew now why Hera had looked the way she did. I had meant to sink my own dagger into that bastard’s cold heart.

It was unclear who was leading who through the tunnel leading out. It deposited the two far from the castle. Nyx glanced back to see if anyone had noticed their absence, but it seemed none of Howe’s men were leaving the grounds. Only Perseus was at their heel. She and Duncan would be able to get a great head start before anyone knew.

When they were far enough away, Duncan had them set up camp. It was crude, given the lack of supplies from the rushed escape, but it was enough. Nyx needed to rest, as did Duncan, though he would remain awake to keep watch over her as she slept.

“Where will we go, when we leave again?” Nyx asked.

“We’re going to make our way straight to Ostagar. I had planned to look for more recruits, but with the news of Howe’s betrayal, I’d rather not delay your arrival. First, we will need to stop by a town for food and supplies. But that can wait until morning. Try to get some rest,” Duncan said. If his voice didn’t say enough for the pity he felt, his eyes certainly did.

Nyx did not want to see Duncan’s pity. She did not want anything but blame for what had happened. Nyx should have remembered Hera’s story. She should have prevented it.

Given the day, Tamlen might have already touched the mirror, too. Which would mean he was somewhere out there, kept alive as a ghoul, a puppet for the darkspawn to use. Nyx felt sick at the thought of seeing him again, having to kill him. How could she sleep with all this in her head? Still, Perseus curled up beside her. She could at least try to close her eyes.