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barbex · 3 months

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Happy Friday! For Fenders I'd love to see the prompt: ''i'm not in love with you.'' ''good.'' Only if you feel inspired to of course x3 Happy creating <3

Thank you for this prompt for @dadrunkwriting. This was a lot of fun to write!

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Varric crosses out the last section he wrote yesterday. It doesn't quite work right, with fade breaches and an Herald of Andraste with a green glowing hand, dragons are just too much. Even if they're true. Maybe if he introduces them earlier on, letting the readers get used to this madness. Playing with the quill in his hand, he doesn't notice someone approaching him.

"Varric."

He flinches and the quill goes flying and he barely catches the inkwell to stop it from shattering on the floor. "Andraste's flaming arse!" He looks up. "Fenris. What the fuck are you doing here and why are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"It was not my intention. Not yet."

The dry wit is so familiar that Varric gets hit with an intense bout of homesickness. What he wouldn't give to go back in time and sit at the Hanged Man again with Hawke, Merril, and Isabela, with Anders and Fenris. Just playing Wicked Grace, instead of running away from darkspawn and dragon attacks. With a sigh, he stands up and goes over to Fenris. "What are you doing here? Skyhold isn't exactly a favourite travel destination."

"You wrote to me." Fenris produces a folded paper from his thick coat. It looks like it has been unfolded and folded many times. "You wrote that he is here."

"Last I heard, you two didn't exactly separate on the best terms." Snow drips from Fenris coat and a puddle forms around his boots. "You're wearing shoes!"

Fenris frowns at him. "I'm not an idiot."

"I know. Always been too intelligent for your own good. Take all that stuff off and sit here by the fire to warm up." Varric picks up a woollen blanket and drapes it over the stuffed chair. "Make yourself comfortable, I'll go get him."

"Do I not have to kneel in front of his throne?" Fenris' voice has that hard edge he remembers from his first year in Kirkwall. Angry suspicion laced with fear.

Varric stops at the door and turns around. "Really? You think that's how he would act? Don't make me rethink your intelligence." He walks out, closing the door quickly behind him before the cold can creep into the room. He hurries over to the infirmary, slipping into the main hut. There, under several lanterns, the Herald of Andraste kneels in front of a child, healing magic glowing in his hand as he heals an injured foot.

"There, that feels better, doesn't it?"

"Yes, thank you, Herald."

Shaking his head, he brushes over the boy's head. "Don't call me that, just call me Anders."

Behind Varric, the door slams shut. Before he can say anything, Fenris storms past him, stopping just in front of Anders, pointing his finger at him. "You!"

Anders looks up at him with icy calm. "You're scaring my patient."

Fenris looks at the boy and takes a step back. "I apologise."

With a little flair, Anders pulls a hard candy from his pocket and hands it to the boy. "Go back to your sister now. Come see me again tomorrow, alright?"

The boy looks at Fenris and then quickly looks back at Anders. "Thank you, Healer Anders."

The boy leaves and Varric wonders if he should follow him or if he should stay to stop these two from killing each other. It would certainly give him great material for his next book.

Anders slowly stands up, flinching as he straightens his knees. "Hello, Fenris."

Glaring at him, Fenris' gauntlets creak as he clenches his fists. "You left."

"Yes." Anders wipes over his robe. "I'm flattered you noticed. I didn't think you would care."

"Why wouldn't I?"

For a moment, Anders' eyes light up in blue. "Because you couldn't wait to be rid of me. Just because Hawke told you to get me away from Kirkwall, doesn't mean you had any desire to keep me around."

"You know that is not true." Fenris' voice is low, dangerously low.

And of course, Anders has no sense of self preservation. "It isn't? You've made your point quite clear, how did you say it? I should be ashamed for my misplaced sense of righteousness causing wars and suffering." He tries to get past Fenris, but he grabs his arm and glares at him.

"I tried to keep you safe."

"As if," Anders snarls, shaking off Fenris' grip. "Just think, I almost exploded at the conclave, you would have been rid of me once and for all. Instead I got this shit on my hand now." He holds up his left hand with the green glowing mark.

Fenris stares at his hand and then looks at Anders. "I was not trying to get rid of you. Never."

Turning away, Anders shakes his head. "And what? You suddenly discovered your love for me?"

"I don't love you."

"Good."

The air in the room seems to go still. They both stare at each other. Just when Varric thinks he should interfere, Fenris' markings light up and blue sparks jump over Anders' arms.

"Fuck," Anders breathes out.

In a blur of lyrium white and blue magic, they both crash like two glowing stars, kissing each other as if the world is ending. And maybe it is.

Fenris' gaze snaps to him. "Leave, Varric."

"Yes, yes." By the time he closes the door behind him, Anders is half naked and Fenris presses him against an empty cot. Varric takes a deep breath of clean mountain air. "I'm gonna have to rewrite the last ten chapters, at least."

#fenders #Fenris #Anders #dragon age #fenders fic #Fenris x Anders #Varric Tethras #dragon age fanfiction #my writing

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the-eldritch-it-gay · 2 years

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The hanged man was never a quiet place, really, largely because it was never empty. Sure, afternoons and evenings were the busiest times, but plenty lingered in their night of drinking until the wee hours of the morning. And once morning came around, folks started trickling in for breakfast and conversation once more. There were always people coming in and out, travelers, locals, all sorts of people who brought noise, conversation, music, it was part of why Varric liked living there.

It was also why Varric could tell something was off that night, because he could no longer hear the din of conversation from the pub below.

It was late into the evening, usually, the number of patrons would have dwindled a bit by this point, but silence at this time of night, or at any time, was something Varric had never come across.

Putting down his quill and reading glasses, Varric walked over to his doorway, peering down into the tavern. There were still people, a scant few at the bar, a couple posted up at various tables, but something was off. Even from there, he could feel a strange tension, an unease in the way everyone sat, in the hushed whispers and worried side-eyed glances.

Varric wasn’t certain what exactly drew him down the steps into the tavern.. It could have been anything, morbid curiosity, concern, perhaps simply the anticipation that this could be a story to tell. If it was curiosity, he didn’t have to wait long, as he saw what everyone was avoiding the second his feet touched the tavern floor.

Sitting alone at a table in the corner was a Dalish elf. That in of itself wasn't too uncommon, what was uncommon was everything else. Blue, gold, and silver robes with intricate embroidery, countless gold piercings, a cloak, and a headscarf made from fine brocade. Their vallaslin itself was gold, glittering against their dark brown skin in the torchlight, there was even gold thread even woven into the thick braid of theirs that was so long it pooled on the floor.

Even that, though, likely wasn’t what put everyone off. What put them off, Varric had to assume, were the bones. Animal bones hanging from their belt, a deer skull on the table next to their leather bag, the bag’s straps beaded with vertebrae. Leaning on the wall next to them, a gnarled wooden staff, wood twisting around more vertebrae, branches with teeth hanging from golden thread, teeth that looked too human.

What caught Varric’s eye, though, was the silver Grey Warden pendant hanging at their waist.

“You’re scaring people, there, Bones,” Varric chuckled as he approached their table.

He could almost feel a collective sigh of relief from the other patrons as he sat across from them. The elf, on the other hand, hardly reacted aside from slightly raising their eyebrows.

“What can I say, it’s amusing,” They shrugged.

Varric couldn’t help his surprise at their accent, faintly Orlesian of all things.

“We don’t tend to see many Grey Wardens around here”

They laughed slightly, not even looking up from the papers on the table in front of them.

“I wouldn’t think people saw Grey Wardens much anywhere, now the Blight is over. Much less Kirkwall, the Blight didn’t reach this far north aside from some ghouls.”

“Well, I didn’t think the Blight spread west enough to bother Orlais, either,”

“Grey Wardens don’t care much about borders. I spent the early parts of the Blight in Ostagar as the Ferelden Warden commander’s left hand.”

“I suppose you would know a lot about darkspawn and the warden, then,”

They paused, finally looking over to him after a moment.

“We don’t have to do this,”

“What do you mean?”

“All of this,” They gestured vaguely, “Cut the sweet talk, you’re only talking to me because I’m a Warden and you want something from a Warden,”

“Come now, what makes you think that? I just thought I might talk to some traveler sitting all alone,”

“Nobody talks to me willingly, what gave you away is the fact that you’re speaking to me at all,”

“Well now, it’s not just that you’re a Warden, you’re quite the interesting character, a Dalish elf dressed like a nobility walking into a dingy lowtown tavern? There’s gotta be some story there.”

They were quiet now, seemingly ignoring Varric for a minute before they spoke again.

“Perhaps I’m nothing more than a story.”

With that, they stood in a flourish of fine fabrics. They limped out the door, a glint of metal visible under their skirt, the torches dimming around them as they passed.

Varric looked back at the table, and their mug still sat there, full, untouched, filled with an inky black liquid.

They returned the next night, around the same time, at the same table.

Varric wasn’t one for writing ghost stories, he never really saw the appeal. He preferred mystery, intrigue, drama, crime, a spooky specter floating around didn’t quite cut it.

Perhaps, though, Varric realized, that was because he only thought of ghosts as some apparition, a cheap scare. Maybe they could be more than that.

If Varric were to describe the Orlesian Warden, he would call them a ghost.

They weren’t malevolent, they didn’t torment any poor souls. But they showed up every night, bringing an unsettling aura and leaving silence in their wake. They sat alone at that table, with a drink they never touched. They would leave the tavern at the same time, whether Varric spoke to them or not. When he spoke to them their answers were vague or cryptic, but most of the time they were simply silent. Their voice was flat, face stoic, and impossible to read.

There was something off about them, something that haunted every other patron in the Hanged Man.

One night, Anders stepped into the Hanged Man while the Warden was there. As soon as he noticed them, he had paled, frozen, like he had seen a ghost. He turned on his heel and left in a hurry.

“They have a lot of names, really,” Anders said, when Varric asked about them.

“So what’s their story?”

Anders was quiet for a while, looking off in the distance, “If you asked them, they would tell you they’re nothing more than a ghost story,”

Varric couldn’t help but find truth in their words.

“Varric, a letter,” The barkeep nodded at the counter.

The letter itself was a deep pine green in color, thick parchment folded neatly, stamped with an ornate white wax seal and dried flowers. Before Varric could reach for it, though, the barkeep spoke again.

“Not for you, though,”

Turning the letter over, Varric read the address. The Elf in the Corner, written ornately in white ink. There was no name, no return address.

“They’re already spooking my patrons,” the barkeep continued, “I don’t want more spooky characters and dealings scaring off any more customers. You tell them that!”

“Right, no more spooky characters and dealings are off, only shady characters and dealings,”

“They’re scaring everyone half to death!”

“No, no, I hear you, I’ll let them know, no problem,” Varric said, waving his hand dismissively as he took the letter and started towards his room, “No more spooky business, I’m sure they’ll listen.”

For the rest of the evening, the letter sat on Varric’s desk. There was no way he could find the Warden himself, he didn’t know their name, Anders wasn’t keen on talking about them. Varric wasn’t even sure where they disappeared to when they weren’t at the Hanged Man. He had asked around a couple times, as to whether anyone had seen a Dalish Warden, an Elven mage dressed in fine robes, an unusual Orlesian character. People would mention the Warden who ran a clinic in Darktown, the friendly Dalish mage in the Alienage, the tattooed elf living in Hightown, but never the person Varric was looking for.

They might as well be a ghost, an apparition that only appeared briefly in the dead of night.

At a quarter past two in the morning, like clockwork, a silence fell over the tavern below. Putting down his work, he grabbed the letter and descended into the tavern area.

They were in the corner again, still as a statue, staring off into the distance, mug untouched in front of them. As Varric approached, they didn’t react, didn’t even raise an eyebrow as Varric sat at the table. Pulling out the letter, he was about to speak, but before he did their hand snatched out to grab the letter. Varric was nearly startled, he had never seen them move so quickly, and as he watched them open it, he saw their usually inexpressive face soften, their whole body change. For the first time, they seemed just like a person, eyes warm, a faint smile visible behind their hand as the read the letter.

Learning over slightly, Varric could make out the first line.

My love,

And suddenly the story shifts in Varric’s mind, away from horror, from ghosts, hauntings, and instead to one of love. No longer was the Warden before him a ghostly apparition haunting a tavern, but a traveling, lovesick knight waiting anxiously for letters from their love, desperate to send back tales from their travels and their affection--

“Thank you,”

The Warden had folded the letter closed once again, straightened their posture.

“Oh, no problem, I mean I figured you might happen to be the Elf in the Corner it was addressed to, “ Varric smiled as they scoffed, “Be sure to give them my regards--”

“I won’t.”

Varric paused.

“The Templars would kill them if I ever went home again,” Their voice was flat, face stony and emotionless, at odds with the words they spoke, “Their letters are the closest I get to being with them. I appreciate you delivering it.”

They began carefully folding the letter, gathering their things.

“So, what are you going to do now? There’s not much Grey Warden business in Kirkwall, and I imagine you could spend your days writing love letters and lurking in shady taverns before Templars take notice.”

“I can’t write, but I am good at keeping out of the Templars' sights. As it stands, though, I do indeed have Grey Warden business here,” They paused for a moment, head tilted slightly as they looked into the distance, “It’s not something I plan on completing, though. Do give Anders my regards,”

They stood with practiced grace, their staff suddenly finding itself in their hand.

“I never got your name,”

The Warden froze, their robes swaying around them gently as if being pushed by a breeze, silk and embroidery glimmering, vallaslin glittering in the low torch light.

“When is one deserving of a name? Where does story stop and personhood begin, does such a line even exist? Are some things too blurred and ephemeral to have a name? What people know me as is a story, not a person. even in their stories they don’t give me a name. Is it out of reverence? Fear? or is it the careful and deliberate erasure of my personhood, an abstraction that allows room for cruelty? In my lives I’ve been called a great many things, I’ve been given a great many names,” They paused for a moment, “For you, I shall leave you with a name of my choosing: N’Abjidynen Za’arslu,”

As soon as they spoke their name, all the torches flickered, the tavern going dark for a split second. When the lights returned, they were gone as if they had never been there. The only evidence of their existence, the mug left on their table, filled with the same, strange inky black liquid. As Varric watched, something white broke the surface. A single, bleached animal bone.

When Varric thought about it, there wasn’t a difference between a love story and a ghost story.

#Eldritch IT Speaks #DA Abjid #plz be gentle i havent written in ages and by brain is Bad(tm)#but heres the varric and abjid meeting thing #fun fact theyre like the same age

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trvelyans-archive · 4 years

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tentative

a commission for my king @sexysideoftheforce of his oc evangeline and her Bae zevran <3 thank you so much for commissioning me andy ! i hope you enjoy <3

“Can I confess something, Zevran?”

He shifted his head to glance over at her. “A fine question,” he said with a smile. It was a warm smile – it always was at this time of night, especially once she had stripped her shirt off and he had been tempted to remove his pants and gone through with it – but it seemed warmer in the soft orange glow of their shared tent, and her heart lurched a little. “Is there something stopping you?”

Evangeline pushed herself up from her bedroll and bit her lip, looking down at him. “I don’t want you to think any differently of me,” she responded, a half sigh of her own frustration. “Or… well… us.”

“My dear Warden…”

“Shh.” She held her hand up, closing her eyes tight as she considered what she was going to say. “I just… I need to be honest with you.”

“Then do so.”

How did he sound so calm? If someone told her that, she would be losing her mind. It did make her feel slightly better, though… maybe he wouldn’t be as mad or as upset as she had been telling herself all day that he would be. (She was just trying to prepare herself, in the event he did react poorly, but it definitely made things a lot scarier.)

“I just… I… I really like you, Zevran.” She swallowed hard, and even then she still felt like she was choking on the quickly growing lump in her throat. “I do, and I really… I enjoy being with you, of course.”

“Of course.”

She smiled, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear before he caught her wrist and pulled it towards his face, pressing a kiss on the heel of her palm. It was kind of hard to gather her thoughts when he did – well, that. She had had the whole speech planned out that morning when they were walking through the forest, but she felt it slipping away from her faster than she’d thought it would. Maker, help me, she thought as a furious blush rose on her cheeks.

“Apologies, dear Warden. I did not mean to distract you.” Even though he let go of her hand, she decided to leave it pressed against his face, cupping his cheek gently while she inched closer across the bedroll.

“Sure you didn’t,” she retorted, smiling.

“Alright, perhaps I did.” Zevran smiled back. “However, you still have something important to tell me, hm?”

“Yes, I do.” Evangeline cleared her throat, looking skyward – even though it was obscured by thick canvas walls and a thick canvas roof – and letting out a long, slow breath to try and calm herself (to no avail). “I enjoy being with you,” she continued uncertainly, finally drawing her hand away to wring them both together, “and I appreciate that you… supposedly… enjoy being with me, as well.”

Zevran laughed. It was low and rumbling in his chest, and she felt the cracks in her heart threatening to break it open even further. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath in, ignoring the urge to get up and run out of the tent as fast as she could and as far as her feet would take her.

“But I… I think that I have feelings for Alistair.”

There was a long, long moment of silence. Evangeline cracked an eye open to see Zevran looking up at the roof with a thoughtful expression on his face, eyebrows gathered together in the middle of his forehead, bottom lip stuck out in a slight pout.

“I see,” he said slowly.

“But… I still have feelings for you, too!” she exclaimed, which drew his eyes back to her before she realized that that was exactly what she did not want. “Strong ones! I like being with you, like I said, and I like – um – well, I like most things – every thing – about you.”

He gave her a small smile, but his eyebrows were still furrowed. “But you like Alistair.”

“…Yes.”

“I see,” Zevran repeated.

Evangeline’s chin fell to her chest, and she bit her lip so her eyes didn’t fill with tears. She felt horrible, like she had led this poor man on when she actually had feelings for her friend. Even though she had feelings for Zevran, too, of course, she still felt… horrible. Rotten. Evil.

“Do you want me to go?”

His eyebrows furrowed as he sat up, reaching over to place his hands against her waist and tug her closer to him. “No, my dear, that is precisely what I do not want,” he said softly, pulling her towards his chest. “I admit, I thought perhaps there was something between you two… I have been thinking about asking for a while. It’s something that has kept me up many nights.” Despite the tension in the air, he winked at her. “Besides other things, of course.”

Evangeline was scared to lean her head towards him. Her cheeks were burning so hot that she thought the tent would catch fire if she touched anything.

“But it is something I have also… considered… in a different light,” he continued, rubbing small, soothing circles against her back with his thumb.

“What do you mean?” she asked, tilting her head and peering at him curiously.

Zevran huffed, leaning his head back so she could see the lump in his neck bob as he swallowed. “I have had feelings for Alistair as well,” he answered under his breath. “Against my better judgement, of course, but…”

“You have?”

He nodded, removing a hand from her waist to run it through his own hair. “I did not see them coming, if you were wondering,” he told her. “But… it is not fair for his arms to look like that when he chops wood, hm?”

She giggled, ducking her face to look at their legs, lazily tangled up with each other’s.

“And it is not secret that he has feelings for you, as well,” Zevran said, “and that he finds me attractive. Perhaps we should consider offering him a… proposition of sorts.”

“Like what?”

He smiled at her. “I do not see why you should have to give one of us up for the other,” he said, “and vice versa. Considering that have reason to believe he is interested in the both of us, perhaps… perhaps that is an arrangement that would work for all of us.”

Evangeline raised an eyebrow. “What, like… all of us? Together?”

He nodded. At first, she was a little taken aback, but the more she thought about it, the more the idea grew on her. She had to admit that the thought of being with both men at the same time made her stomach flutter like it had never done before, and she’d feel much safer if she knew she did not have to fight her feelings for one or the other – that they were both aware of them and maybe even delighted by them, too.

That is, of course, if Alistair would say yes. Evangeline couldn’t help but think that he might not.

“Tomorrow,” she murmured, “should we ask him?”

“Yes, amor,” Zevran replied, “I think we should.”

Alistair was the last one awake in camp the next night.

Evangeline and Zevran had disappeared into her tent a while before, and Alistair had watched them go wistfully. Wistfully for which one, he wasn’t sure. That was the big question, wasn’t it? The one weighing on his mind? Of course a man his age wasn’t concerned about the Blight or the Darkspawn or his dead mentor or potentially dead father figure – no, it was which one of his friends he had feelings for, and what he was supposed to do about them considering the two friends were already involved with each other and didn’t seem to want to change that anytime soon.

Sometimes it felt like the Darkspawn were easier to deal with. At least he understood them and what they wanted (which was to kill him). At least he knew how to deal with them.

He didn’t know how to deal with these feelings.

He was willing, at first, to ignore the feelings he had for Zevran and just focus on how he felt about Evangeline. He had this whole thing planned, a speech and a gift and everything, and the day he was planning on telling her he saw them sneaking off together to her tent, just like he had done tonight. It was… disappointing, to say the least. To say more than that, he was heartbroken, and on more than one front, too, just to make it worse. He would have been fine if Evangeline wanted to be with some other man or woman - at least Alistair still could’ve considered eventually telling Zevran how he felt. Instead they decided to get involved with each other, and… well, that was about as much as he wanted to think about that night. He went into his own tent, which was cold and dark and smelt of sweaty socks and roses, and sat there on his bedroll, knees pulled up to his chest, breathing heavily, trying not to cry.

And then, of course, he cried. But only a little!

He tried to paste on a smile around them the rest of the time, but at night he let himself feel it. The disappointment, the sadness, and how stupid he was. There was a time he thought Evangeline was interested in him – that they were both interested in him, how laughable – but it was just another thing that he got his hopes up about only for them to be dashed on the ground like… like… Darkspawn shit.

He felt himself starting to cry that night, too, but he told Wynne he was taking first watch, so he couldn’t. And then he wondered why he did that in the first place when he knew he’d just have to watch them retire to bed together.

Probably just to rub it in his own face, a reminder that nothing was easy and he shouldn’t expect anything good in the world anymore. Probably a failed attempt to get himself to focus all his energy on stopping the Blight and killing the Archdemon since there was nothing else to focus on, right?

He was so focused on not focusing about it and wallowing in his own Maker-damned pity that he didn’t hear them leave Evangeline’s tent and approach the campfire where he sat, looking down at him with eerily friendly smiles.

Alistair blinked a couple of times, convinced he had fallen asleep and they were some sort of trick of the Fade, but after a couple of awkward seconds he realized that they were definitely real and waiting for him to smile back.

So he did, but it felt a little more like gutting open a fish than actually smiling.

“I thought you two had gone to bed for the night,” he commented as they sat down beside him, Evangeline on the other end of the log with Zevran in the middle.

“We did not,” Zevran replied, smiling. “There was something we wished to speak to you about. We have an, ah, proposition of sorts.” He turned to Evangeline. “Yes?”

“Yeah,” Evangeline breathed, looking tense.

Alistair breathed out softly. “Okay,” he said. “What sort of, uh, ‘proposition’? Are you sure you wouldn’t be better off asking Wynne or Morrigan?”

Zevran laughed. Evangeline giggled. “No, no, we only need you, Alistair,” Zevran said.

Alistair’s breath caught in the back of his throat, and he let out a nervous laugh. “Okay, well… What is it?”

It had to be about their whole Warden business, right? He probably wanted to undergo the Joining or something to officially become a Warden. Alistair wouldn’t be surprised, nor would he turn him down. They needed as much manpower as they could get, after all, and having him join the Wardens officially would definitely help.

And then he remembered that he’d have to spend even more of his life with them, together, and he couldn’t help but prepare him for the backlash he’d get when he told Zevran ‘no’. If he’d be stuck alone in the Ferelden Wardens with just the two of them, he might as well offer himself up to the Darkspawn on a silver platter right now. At least he’d be doing something more useful than moping, which is what would happen if he had to be around the two of them together for a second longer.

Zevran pursed his lips. “Evangeline and I had a discussion about you last night,” he began slowly. “About our… ah… feelings for you.”

Evangeline winced. Alistair could see her do it. He furrowed his eyebrows, leaning back in his seat.

“O… kay?” he said, blinking. “What ‘feelings’ are these? Hatred, annoyance…?”

“Alistair, no!” Evangeline leaned forward in her seat, reaching across Zevran to place her hand on Alistair’s knee which just about made him dissolve into a puddle. “Feelings like… you know…”

“We are both interested in you,” Zevran finished. “In a more… intimate way.”

Alistair’s heart was thundering so loud in his ears he could barely believe what he had heard. “Sorry, what?”

“We were wondering if you wanted to be with the both of us,” Zevran clarified. “Together.”

None of them said anything for a long, long moment. Alistair’s mind was spiraling very deep into a gutter so quickly that he was scared his mouth would open and sewage would fall out. “At the same time?” he asked.

Zevran laughed. “Yes, if you would like,” he said. “Perhaps at different times, if that would make you more comfortable. We do not wish to overstep…”

Alistair looked over Zevran’s head at Evangeline, who hadn’t said anything. “Evangeline…?”

“I really like you, Alistair,” she murmured, smiling softly. “If you’re interested… I’m interested.”

“Of course I’m interested,” Alistair replied, “I’d be a fool not to be. But… I’ve never…”

He bit the inside of his cheek, frowning at himself. He would have felt embarrassed enough about being a virgin with one person, but with two…?

“That does not matter, my dear Warden,” Zevran offered quietly. “Evangeline was inexperienced, as well. But you couldn’t find a better teacher than me, hm?”

Alistair felt his cheeks reddening. “No way,” he confirmed.

“That’s what I thought.” Zevran looked over at Evangeline and tilted his head. He must have given her some sort of comforting look because her rigid shoulders quickly relaxed and, when her eyes met Alistair’s, he felt his heart melt in his chest, dripping heat into the bottom of his stomach as Zevran placed his hand on Alistair’s leg and gave him a gentle squeeze. “If you’d care to join us, tonight, in Evangeline’s tent, you can. If not…”

“I can,” Alistair breathed, mind spinning. “Absolutely.”

If this was a trick of the Fade, he never wanted to leave.

Zevran was the last of them to fall asleep.

Alistair had pulled the elf against him and tucked him underneath his chin. Evangeline, on the other hand, rested her head on Zevran’s chest and fell asleep with her face buried against Alistair’s stomach, where he had pulled her, too, with the hand that was still splayed against her cheek. Zevran smiled, looking down at it, pulling his own hand free from where his arm was wrapped around Evangeline’s shoulder and beginning to smooth gentle circles over the skin of Alistair’s knuckles.

There was no better way to fall asleep than this, he thought, closing his eyes and brushing a kiss against Alistair’s collarbone. None at all.

#my writing #my commissions #zevran x warden #zevran x alistair #we do have to STAN i fucking love alistair and zevran together i be CRYING #also um i've never written for a poly relationship before so um i hOPE THIS IS OKAY ????????? UH #I'M NERVOUS SDKLFJLSDKJFLS IF SOMETHING IS WRONG SOMEONE TELL ME PLEASE #okay that's it okay love you guys bye

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johaerys-writes · 4 years

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Dorian Pavus/Trevelyan

A World With You, Chapter 23: Traitors and Tales

Tristan finally meets Hawke’s Warden contact, the infamous Loghain Mac Tir. Everyone knows him as the Traitor Teyrn, yet he isn’t the only one whose loyalty is in question.

Read here or on AO3!

----------------------------

“You’re Loghain Mac Tir?” Tristan breathed, blinking in disbelief. “ The Loghain Mac Tir?”

The man before him stood tall and proud in his Grey Warden uniform. The uniform itself had seen better days, worn at the cuffs and its metal buckles dull with time and wear, but one wouldn’t know it by the way the Warden held himself. He rested his hand on his sword hilt, his unflinching gaze fixed on Tristan. He had an imposing presence, seeming to take much more space in the room than a man of his size should, and the look of someone that expected his commands to be obeyed, no matter who he was talking to. And they probably would.

Still. Tristan could not possibly be talking to the Loghain Mac Tir.

“The Traitor Teyrn?” the man said. His brows drew down in a frown, the lines of his forehead deepening. “The very same. I assume you’ve heard all the names. I’ve been a Warden for ten years, yet I’ll never be considered anything else.”

So. It really was him. The man that had risked losing Ferelden and the rest of Thedas to the darkspawn, that had doomed King Cailan and the vast majority of the Grey Wardens to death at the battle of Ostagar. The man that had plotted and schemed to keep himself in power, even when most Banns were against him. The man who had been forced to join an Order he had betrayed, and for all intents and purposes was now about to betray again. That was the man that Hawke had brought him to meet, that would give him answers about the state of the world.

Tristan frowned. They would have a lot to say after this.

“Hawke here tells me that you know why the Grey Wardens have disappeared,” he said, crossing his arms before his chest. “You believe that Corypheus might have something to do with it.”

“That is correct,” Loghain replied, his voice calm and steady. “It is my belief that Corypheus is the key. After Hawke killed him, Weisshaupt was content to forget the entire affair. But if I’ve learnt anything from all those years of being a Warden, it’s that blighted creatures can survive even seemingly mortal wounds. Why not Corypheus?” He turned away, taking a step towards the old desk, where maps and scrolls were laid out. “I began to investigate. I found evidence, but no proof. Soon after, all the Wardens started hearing the Calling.”

“The Calling?” Tristan asked. He didn’t know much about the Grey Wardens, at least not as much as he would like. The Order had a way of keeping their affairs firmly behind the doors of their fortresses, and with the Blight having ended all those years before they had slowly but steadily faded into a state of semi-obscurity. Yet, that “Calling” definitely sounded ominous to him.

He glanced at Hawke, whose face had taken on a sickly pallor.

“So, the Wardens think their time has come,” he said slowly. “That they are being called into the Deep Roads, to make their final stand against the Blight before the Taint takes them. They think they’re… dying.” His fists tightened, and the muscles in his jaw clenched. “You never told me.”

“I didn’t believe it concerned you.” Loghain looked at Hawke over his shoulder, and Tristan thought he saw something akin to compassion flashing in those icy blue eyes, pale like the morning sky on a frosty winter’s day. Hawke’s gaze remained cold. Cold and angry.

A ball of apprehension settled in Tristan’s stomach. From the little he had seen of Hawke, he seemed like a man that was phased by very little. What was it about the Calling that could make him so angry?

Loghain let out a soft sigh as he turned around to face them. “The Calling is a portent, like crows circling the battlefield before the fighting. First, come the dreams. Then the whispers, just at the edge of hearing. That is when the Warden goes to the Deep Roads, to die with honor. But few people, even amongst the Wardens, know that the Calling is simply a sign of the Taint taking over. A Warden that hears the Calling can’t think clearly. All of the Grey Wardens hearing the Calling at once… that’s madness.”

“So, that’s why they’re hiding. They’re all in a panic,” Varric said. He was a little way away, leaning against the wall of the cave, his features obscured by the dancing shadows of the torch above him.

Loghain nodded. “They are.”

“Corypheus is imitating the Calling to scare them. And the Wardens are playing right into his hand.” Tristan shook his head, his frown deepening. “We need the Warden’s help, now more than ever. This is the worst possible time for them to be falling for a trick like that.”

“This is no mere trick, Inquisitor,” Loghain said. “I can hear too, at the back of my mind. Sometimes I catch myself humming it under my breath. I know it’s false, but that doesn’t make it any less real. The Wardens believe it is real, and that is all that matters.”

Tristan rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his blood pounding at his temples. This was bad. Oh, this was very bad.

“Can you hear it, too, Blackwall?” he asked, turning to the only other Warden in his party.

Blackwall drew himself up, his eyes darting to Loghain and then to him. “I do not fear the Calling. Worrying about it only gives it power.”

Hawke’s gaze snapped momentarily to him, before returning to Loghain. His brows were drawn in a thoughtful frown, his lips pinched in a tight line.

Loghain gave Blackwall a look that coming from any other man would have looked like a glare, but the Warden just seemed... perplexed. He was watching them all carefully. At times, it felt as though not a single movement went unnoticed by his pale blue eyes. It probably didn’t.

Tristan pinched the bridge of his nose and took a breath, hoping to ease the pressure of the headache that had started taking hold, an iron cinch around his skull. What Loghain was saying was outrageous. If Corypheus did indeed have that much control over the Wardens, they were all probably doomed.

That was… If what Loghain said was true. And Tristan still had little proof of that.

He fixed him with a hard look. Time for more questions, it seemed.

“We met some Grey Wardens just before coming here,” he told Loghain. “They wanted to take you back to Weisshaupt for questioning. Apparently, the Warden-Commander of the Grey Wardens herself has ordered your capture. Why?”

Loghain returned his inquisitive gaze with a calm and composed one of his own. “Warden-Commander Clarel ordered an urgent meeting with all the Warden Commanders after it became known that all Wardens hear the Calling. She insisted, and most Wardens agreed with her, that a new Blight, perhaps the more devastating to date, is close at hand. She proposed a ritual involving blood magic. A desperate measure to prevent further blights. I protested the plan, called it madness. They tried to arrest me.”

Tristan opened his mouth to speak, but Solas was faster. He took a step forward, straightening up to his full height as he came to stand next to Tristan.

“What sort of ritual is this?” he asked Loghain. “What are the Wardens planning to do?” His voice was… not panicked. Not exactly. But there was the sort of urgency that was now gripping Tristan’s breath, too.

Loghain stared at Solas in confusion for a quick moment, then shook his head. “I do not know. Clarel wouldn’t say how she planned to do it, or where she had gotten the idea for it. Even had she said, I am no mage. Any details would be lost on me. But I know that tampering with blood magic is never a good idea. I wasn't the only one to oppose it, but my voice rings the loudest, I suppose.”

Sola’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing more.

“Where are they planning to do this ritual?” Hawke asked. Straight to the heart of the issue.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Loghain said. “I still have some informants in the Wardens, but they’re getting harder and harder to track down. I need time.”

“Time that, unfortunately, we do not have,” Solas replied quietly, and Loghain shot him a sharp look, his lips tightening visibly.

“Solas is right,” Tristan agreed. “If Corypheus is using them, things are infinitely more dire than originally thought. The Wardens cannot fall into Corypheus’ hands. If another Blight breaks out, there will be no one to stop it.”

"I'll do what I can," the grizzled Warden said, his expression stony and unyielding. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, Inquisitor, I have work to do. There's too much at stake to waste time with idle talk. "

*** Tristan was seething by the time they left the dark cave. Almond was chewing on a patch of sad and rain-soaked grass when he approached her. For a moment, he wished he was as untroubled as she was.

“We should water the horses,” he said, running a palm over her neck. “We have been riding them non-stop for hours.”

Blackwall nodded, and untied his own bay gelding’s reins. “I saw a small a creak on our way here. There were no darkspawn that I could see, but we should be wary.”

The brook that Blackwall led them to was narrow and bubbling, running swiftly over flat and slimy rocks. It was at the bottom of a small ravine, and finding a way around the large stones that seemed to sprout from every bit of ground was tricky, but in the end Blackwall was able to spot a path that would lead the horses there safely. By that time, the light drizzle had turned into proper rainfall, pattering on the hood of Tristan’s coat, running in small rivulets down his leather breeches, slithering into his boots and soaking his socks. If there was a place more miserable than this, Tristan didn’t know of it.

Cursing, he took out his flask from his coat pocket. Thankfully, he had remembered to bring it with him this time. The brandy -Antivan, earthy and aromatic- did work somewhat in warming him up. It didn’t do much to calm him down, though.

Loghain’s information had unsettled him to his very core. If everything he had said was true, then Corypheus had full control of one of the biggest military orders in Thedas, and the only one that could stand against a Blight. And if the Wardens were indeed preparing a blood ritual…

That had given Tristan pause. Why did it suddenly seem like everybody and their aunts were doing a blood ritual of some sort?

His fingers tightened around the mouth of his flask until his knuckles went white. Everything was so complicated and convoluted, that no matter how hard he tried to pick the threads apart, they kept getting tangled. If Dorian were there, he might have been able to talk through all this mess with him. He always seemed to have some brilliant insight to offer that Tristan hadn’t even thought of, no matter the subject at hand. And he always did have a way of asking all the right questions. Had he been there during the meeting with Loghain, he would have pressed the old Warden in a way none of the others could, gleaned every bit of information he held.

That was, if Loghain could be trusted. Something that was still very much in doubt.

The smell of burning smoking leaf reached him, and he glanced beside him at its source. Hawke had come to stand next to him, the soft orange glow of his pipe illuminating his face from within the darkness of his cowl. It unnerved Tristan more than he cared to admit that he never heard him walking up to him.

Hawke exhaled a thick, silvery cloud of smoke, then extended the pipe to him. “Want some?”

Tristan wrinkled his nose and looked away. “No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” Hawke replied with a shrug.

He might have been mistaken, but Tristan thought the rain was falling harder now, making him shiver and retreat further into his cloak. Or perhaps it was Hawke’s presence that was making him uneasy. There was something about him, something nagging at him, like an itch at the back of his brain that he couldn’t scratch. He took another sip of brandy to steel himself.

“How do you know Loghain?”

His question was abrupt, and his tone a tad sharper than he had intended. He felt Hawke stiffen beside him.

“I was looking for a friend when I learnt about the Grey Warden’s disappearance,” Hawke said simply. He brought his pipe up to his lips. Inhaled. Exhaled. The smoke blew past his lips, dispersing in the rain and wind around them. “I contacted Weisshaupt under an assumed name. Loghain happened to be in charge, and asked me to meet him. He already had his doubts about the Order at that time, so when he learnt who I was and what I had done, he offered to help.”

“I… see.” Tristan took another sip of brandy. Hawke’s answer had given rise to more questions, none of which would help enlighten him in the slightest. There was something missing still. Something in Hawke’s tone that he couldn’t put his finger on.

“Does my answer not satisfy you?”

Tristan bristled at his curt tone. He opened his mouth, then closed it, thinking.

“I suppose it comes as a surprise that you would trust someone like him for information,” he said carefully after a short while.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

His gaze met Hawke’s in an unabashed stare. “Was that a serious question?”

“I’m not sure. Was yours?”

Tristan frowned with the challenge in the other man’s voice. He took a deep breath, preparing to go straight for the offensive.“Loghain is known across Thedas as a traitor. He has betrayed country and king, and not just once. Now he’s willing to betray the plans of his own Order, an Order he has betrayed the past. You must be able to see my reservations,” he spat, making sure his words packed as much derision as he could fit into them. He turned to gaze at Almond, calmly drinking water, oblivious to the tension that had settled thick around them. When he threaded his fingers through her thick mane he realised they were trembling slightly, and he quickly shoved his hand back within the folds of his cloak. “You’ll be hard-pressed to find a person in the whole of Thedas that he hasn’t crossed.”

Hawke huffed a laugh. “The same could be said of me. Or you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Every time I hear news of you, you’ve made a new enemy. After your support of the mages, half the Templars and the Chantry would want nothing more than your Inquisition declared a heretical organisation and your head on a pike. Does that mean you can’t be trusted?”

“That’s hardly one and the same,” Tristan retorted, his irritation flaring hot and bright. “I had reasons for doing what I did. I did it to make people’s lives better, the only way I could at the time.”

“Anyone you ask will give you the same answer. I did what I did to make people’s lives better, or so I thought. And so did Loghain, I’m sure.”

Tristan scowled at him. “You can’t possibly believe that.”

Hawke turned around to face him, his expression very serious all of a sudden. “You forget that I’m a Fereldan first, Inquisitor, and then a Marcher. I know very well what he has done, and what his actions have cost the world. Still, he’s the only one that can help us at this point. What he has done in the past is irrelevant, compared to what he is willing to offer now. Sometimes, you have to suspend your disbelief in the face of utter chaos. Especially when you have no other options. Which I’m sure you don’t.”

Tristan gaped at him, his pulse beating madly against his throat. He tore his gaze away when he realised he had been staring, clicking his tongue in disgust. Almond whickered softly when he pulled her away from the creek and placed his foot on the stirrup.

“Let’s go,” he called to the others, deliberately steering his horse around Hawke, as if he were nothing but a tree trunk in his way. “It’s getting dark.”

No one spoke a word as they got on their horses. A deep, pensive silence had fallen over them all, the clop of their horses' hooves one the stony ground and the pattering of the rain the only sounds for a long while. They passed through empty villages and abandoned huts, their thatched roofs rotting on sopping wet beams.

The Grey Wardens they had met were not lying about the darkspawn either. Their eerie, guttural sounds and the hollow clanking of their decrepit armours echoed in the grey darkness that spread around them as the day rolled on. They took care not to venture too close to any of the abandoned settlements, staying clear off the main road. The darkspawn, oddly, left them alone. Soon, Blackwall started talking with Varric, and Hawke joined in their conversation, and it almost - almost - felt like things were back to normal. Only they weren't.

As he swayed rhythmically on his saddle, Tristan's head felt as if it were about to burst.

He let out a soft sigh and rubbed his eyes with his free hand, wishing for a miracle that would somehow end his troubles. The lightning strike that fell just a few feet away, making a sad, leafless tree explode, would have been ideal. Alas, his luck didn’t extend so far.

“We should look for the nearest Inquisition camp,” Varric said, his voice muffled from within his hood. “I’m not staying in this rain for much longer.”

“Ah, how I’ve missed this,” Hawke said with a wide smile. His earlier somberness seemed to have completely disappeared, as though he and Tristan had never exchanged a word.“Still haven’t found your love for the outdoors, old friend?”

Varric huffed a laugh, that was broken up by a shiver. “Don’t think I ever will, Poppy.”

“Poppy?” Blackwall asked. “Where did that come from?”

Varric opened his mouth to speak, when Hawke interjected. "Something that happened many, many years ago. I'm sure Varric will spare us all from hearing it.”

“No way I'm leaving our friends in the dark, Hawke!” Varric chuckled. “It's Captain Poppy, to be exact. Do you want to tell them the story, or shall I?"

Hawke rolled his eyes. “I had hoped we would avoid that, but some things are just too much to hope for, aren’t they?”

“You’re damned right they are!” Varric said cheerfully. “I’ll say it if you don’t want to. I’m a far better narrator anyway.” The dwarf straightened up on his saddle and cleared his throat, taking on a serious expression. “It was a dark and cloudless night in Lothering. Our hero - Hawke- was returning from a night at his favourite pub, The Frisky Minstrel-”

“The Tipsy Minstrel, Varric,” Hawke corrected. “She was tipsy, not frisky.”

“Let the writer embellish his stories in the way he sees fit, will you?” Varric protested. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes. It was a dark and cloudless night in the dead of winter when Hawke was approached by a nefarious stranger. “Greetings, young master,” the man said. “I am looking for someone to undertake an important quest.””

“What was the quest?” Blackwall asked. He seemed enthralled in Varric’s story.

“I was just getting there,” Varric said, shooting him a pointed look. He cleared his throat again, making his voice deep and raspy. “”Smuggle five sacks of poppy seeds on a small boat, under cover of darkness, from Lothering to a secret port in Redcliffe,” the stranger said. “That is all you need to do.” Hawke, as you can imagine, was intrigued. The quest was simple. The reward was handsome.”

Blackwall let out a short huff. “I bet you five sovereigns there were way more than ten sacks on that boat.”

“Hold on to your gold, Warden,” Hawke said somewhat gruffly, but the amused smirk on his lips hadn’t faded.

Varric made a dramatic pause, eyeing his audience. Even Solas had shifted slightly on his saddle to listen. Pleased, he continued. “Without hesitation, Hawke took up the man’s offer. “Aye, nefarious stranger,” said he. “I’ll do as you ask. I may be young, but I sure am brave.” Thus, our brave, young hero, still wet behind the ears and hanging from his mother’s skirts-”

“Alright, I think that’s quite enough,” Hawke stopped him, laughing. “You’re still as terrible a storyteller as you’ve always been, Varric.”

Varric’s eyes widened dramatically, and he looked at Hawke with an expression of wild affront. “Well, then why don’t you go on more interesting adventures so I don’t have to embellish as much?”

Tristan didn’t realise he had been listening attentively to their conversation, until Hawke turned towards him. “Don’t listen to him, Inquisitor,” he said affably, his smile dripping with barely concealed mockery. “Varric has a way of coming up with the most extravagant tales. You should hear what he says about you when you’re not around.”

Tristan rolled his eyes and looked ahead of him, scowling. How he wanted to wipe that smug grin off Hawke’s face. With his fist, preferably.

“Now, now, I’ve never talked about Blondie behind his back! Well. Perhaps only once or twice. And when my audience asked for it. Quite insistently, I may add,” Varric replied with a laugh. “Even Chuckles here has been known to enjoy my stories from time to time.” His wide smile didn’t falter an inch when Solas snorted derisively.

“It’s fascinating how whatever interest I lack in your stories, you’ll invent for me,” the elf retorted.

Blackwall let out a loud guffaw. “He’s got you there, Varric.”

The sudden din of battle in the distance cut everyone’s laughter short. Tristan pulled on Almond’s reins and glanced around him, trying to locate the source of the sound. A cloud of smoke rose towards the darkened sky, and it did not look like the smoke of a campfire.

“That must be coming from Crestwood village,” Hawke said, drawing his steed next to Tristan’s. “It looks like they’re under attack.”

“From whom?” Tristan asked, and felt foolish for asking.

Hawke gave him a wry, arrogant smile and kicked his stallion forward, its large hooves splashing in the mud as it picked up its pace. “We won’t know until we get there, will we now?”

#dorian pavus #dorian pavus fic #dorian fic #dorian x trevelyan #dorian x inquisitor #dorian/inquisitor #dorian/trevelyan #pavelyan #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #dorian x tristan trevelyan #aedan hawke #loghain mac tir #a world with you #johaerys writes

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heckinhacker · 5 years

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Blood Moon!Aatrox x Demon!S/O - Insane between crazy.

word count: 1,608 requested: Yes! - By Anonymous: “ Can I ask for Blood moon Aatrox fanfic plz? When he met the demon s/o but they're different from the other demons because instead of killing mortals, they tried to save them plz. “ warnings: Curses, violence, Aatrox being Aatrox.

You were standing on the podium, your arms raised to red as blood heaven, shouting at your own kind.

“And WHY do we have to sacrifice human lives for our own sake? Why is it everything about bloodshed?! Humans aren’t bad, they’re innocent, they can do no harm to us, so why do we kill them like animals?! They’re just like us - NO. They’re even better. THEY have emotions, they can be reasoned with, they connect with each other and we only have ability to think, but what do we get from thinking when we don’t use it! Everything we do is just kill, stab, get those guts out and make a new scarf, this is stupid!”

You preached, you shouted to heavens and other demons looking at you like you’d lost your mind. There was solid moment of silence, before you heard this hoarse laugh. Pyke. It’s almost always Pyke. After his laugh which usually makes you go insane, every other demon burst in mad laughs too. Even The Kalista, this smart Kalista. You felt disappointment rise in your chest. You really wanted to hide right now. Somewhere, anywhere. You jumped off of podium and tried to fast-walk out of there. With no luck, of course, demons are really, really...jackasses.

Thresh stood in your way, his mask and “hair” floating above you. You furrowed your eyebrows behind your mask. - What was that, [y/n]? I couldn’t quite understand because of your whines, you weren’t clear enough! - Right. You’re sure it’s because of me? You forgot your head from home, maybe that’s why.

Thresh’s red flame erupted around, eye-holes of floating mask filled with red light. Well, someone can’t handle being roasted. Thresh aimed his hook pretty quickly to your direction, but you gracefully jumped away, huffing. You wouldn’t like to fight with this sadist not now nor anytime, it’s better to flee and wait until he calms down. You heard behind you screams of Thresh and louder talks of other demons. They’re stupid. Too stupid to understand. They never get through they thin skulls that thanks to people they exist. Kinda. God knows about “The First One”. Does he even exist? The progenitor every human and demon fear, The first demon ever who landed his feet on human’s ground. Funny. He sounds like some kind of “Adam and Eve” from human’s religion, like, you know? “The first one” ! But he’s alone, and he was made by blood moon itself. If he’d only show up...anywhere. Not like It’d be a good thing for you. We all can imagine he’d be an ass too, like everyone else was.

The plan for the rest of the day was to lay down on some tree and take a nap, maybe find some animals to play around with, then wait ‘till the night when the monsters go apeshit. You just climbed up, took mask off so it covers only your eyes and managed to close them to rest, but then, loud explosion, maniacal laughs, terrorizing screams of your beloved mortals. No, not that again. You groaned, fixing your mask and jumping down to run to the village. Why are they on the streak again? Do they ever fucking rest?? You were there almost immediately, trying to protect the defenseless. Good thing your fighting weapon was shield. You did as much as you could, but little did you know - Aatrox was there.

You pushed Talon away from this poor man who had pass out from fear, shouting at him to ‘fucking stop’. When Talon wanted to jump up with a dangerous growl, Aatrox shouted with this demonic, echoed like by some other dimension voice who scared everyone around.”ENOUGH.” You, demons, people who tried to run away but fell down because they knees got weak because of terrifying shout that pierced their souls and minds. Your shield was dropped to the ground as you looked at this tall form of majestic horror in human representation. He was The Progenitor, The First One, That demon from which everything started. You gulped loudly, and he stared directly at you, his eyebrows furrowed. He’s a born leader, general of darkspawn army, leading for mortal’s extinction. - I… - What does you attitude mean? You’re not even that old demon. What were you thinking? - I just… - Enough of this nonsense. I’ll teach you a lesson, novice, while others can- - N-no, they cannot. - Can you repeat yourself? - They just can’t! CAN’T! - you shouted, looking amazingly dangerous while bending down to get your shield and furiously tap it with your little sword you promised never to use. - I won’t let this madness continue, no more! Aatrox threw his sword aside, which created thud way louder it should be. You could promise ground had shaken at this exact moment this enormous peace of ancient iron and brutally murdered souls had fallen down. He makes few steps towards you, you don’t move even inch, only take deep breaths. He brutally rips your mask off to look at your countenance. He squeezed your cheeks with one hand without problem, your faces way too close, your foreheads touching. - Do you still have courage to open your filthy, pathetic mouth? - I. Am. NOT. Afraid. Of. You. You didn’t even stutter, twitch, anything. This demon was not afraid, the youngest demon known was not shaken by mighty Aatrox. He was, indeed, surprised. How could you. How could you DARE to talk back to him. He was now holding you up by your throat. Even though you were already dead, you could feel suffocation. Your little coughs and struggling looked entertaining for other demons, but Aatrox told them off with one single glare. They vanished as soon as they appeared. - Apologise. - Not...in this...afterlife…- you coughed furiously. - and not...in the next...weakling…

Aatrox threw you like a ragdoll across empty field, your flight was over when you hit the wall, making deep hole in it. You-shaped hole. He approached you, took up his sword and looked down at you, like you were some bug. He put his surely oversized foot on your shoulder, pushing you deeper into building’s wall. - You’re brave. I like that. I expect more submissiveness next time, but consider yourself lucky. Now perish. - he threw you your mask back.

No matter how much you wanted to snark back some backfire, but only bit your bottom lip, stood up slowly and went away, limping.

Aatrox would lie if he’d say he didn’t picked up any interest in you. Furthermore, he was thinking about you. He had no clue what has gotten into him, but it annoys the fuck out of him. Your pathetic face when he was choking you, desperate gasp after you were released, hateful look you shot at him when he stepped on your shoulder. The thought of this image sent shiver down his spine, he purely hated that. With passion. He decides to see your unmasked face again, to fight his own thoughts. To fight himself. He can prove he’s more than some human attachment.

He got up, fixed his clothes, tightened up his man-bun and went off to the hardest war he had ahead of himself.

You can sense his presence right away, so his big figure heading to you was really no surprising, his aura was strong and steps pretty loud. He draws his sword in front of your face and you raise your eyebrow in amusement, as he demands the fight. - Draw your weapon. - Why…? - It’s a war, [y/n]. There’s no turning back. - Why would I start the fight I’ll for sure lose? But he forces you to take up your shield to protect yourself from his strong swing with the sword which is probably heavier than you with your shield in hand. You block the attack, pushing him back slightly, groaning. You feel the vibration off that hit in your bone, unpleasant feeling. You are angry at this moment, grabbing your little sword into your second hand. Not like it’ll help much against gigantic sword, but well, you didn’t thought straight. It’s like...you are against demon’s nature, but you’re one anyway, you have something from them, and anger had blinded your common sense. Aatrox was the first one even in this case. He was the first to trigger your demon nature.

You charged at gigantic monster with such force he lost his balance for a moment, but helped himself with his sword. You use that moment to try and stab him under his ribs, but he kicks you so hard you fall back with loud thud. He takes a deep breath, rushes to you and kicks off your shield. After that, he steps on your wrist, forcing you to drop this imitation of a sword. He throws his weapon away, kneels down, grabs your collar and kisses you forcefully. There was no hint of gentleness or pureness. It was pure - pure wildness and domination. You gasp in surprise, trying to kick him off or push him away, but there’s no use of that.

No matter how much you try to fight it, he kisses pretty damn well. You finally give up, closing your eyes and reciprocate the passion he somehow shared with you. When you were over - not because of breath loss - he looked at you, his eyes not full of aggression or fighting spirit. They were...as normal as they could be, not fully but had that hint of something else.

“I lost the war between us. I lost with the insane between crazy.”

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jayie-the-hufflepuff · 4 years

Text

I recently learned that there are actually three possible ways to recruit a Mabari companion in DAO - play a Cousland and bring along the Cousland family dog, heal and recruit the wounded Mabari from Ostagar pre-battle, or return to Ostagar after the battle and feed and recruit an abandoned Mabari you find there. Since I used the previous two routes for acquiring a Mabari as an excuse to have two Mabaris in my multiple Wardens world, I decided this third route was the perfect excuse to add a third Mabari to the group!

This pup right here is a young (7 months old) female Mabari named Isseya. She was still in training to be a proper war hound when the Darkspawn attacked Ostagar, and through sheer luck was one of the few to survive the assault. Scared and confused and with nowhere else to go, she remained in the ruins of Ostagar, scrounging for food and scrapping with other scavengers, bandits, and the occasional Darkspawn, to keep her meals. It was a harrowing existence, and the pup lived in fear. Her hind leg was wounded in one of these scraps, leaving her even more fearful and timid than ever.

That was when the last of the Grey Wardens finally returned to Ostagar. The young Mabari was still wounded and very wary of all other animals, people included, at this point, so she bared her teeth at the Wardens and tried to hide her injury from them. But one of them, a quiet elf with kind eyes, approached the Mabari. He offered her food, he offered his kind words and magical healing from his gentle hands, even as she growled and threatened to snap. He waited, patient, respectful of her space, until she had calmed down enough to let him work. His magic was able to heal her leg completely, leaving only a scar behind, and no trace of the limp the injury had been causing since she'd gotten it.

The Wardens left, and after a brief hesitation, the Mabari followed. She was still scared, but Ostagar was too dangerous to stay, and the elf had been kind, and really, what other choice did she have? It took some time, but Cayden Surana was able to forge an unbreakable bond with the untrusting young dog. After a lifetime of abuse and fear in the Circle, and living under suspicion from his fellow traveling companions on account of his blood magic, Cayden knew all too well the feeling of fear and mistrust the young dog felt. Over time, he was able to calm her fears and rebuild her trust, and the dog became a strong, confident war hound, a match for any Darkspawn. Cayden named her Isseya after something Duncan had said to him after recruiting him - a brief anecdote he'd related about another elven blood mage who'd managed to do great things for the Wardens, despite the mistrust of others. (I haven't read The Last Flight, so I don't know how accurate it would be for Duncan to know about Isseya, but I like the name and the reasoning behind it so I'm running with it).

Overall, I'm really happy with how this turned out. :D I based it really heavily on this photo: www.pinterest.com/pin/27563443…

#Dragon Age #Dragon Age Origins #DAO #Mabari #Warden Surana #Surana #Cayden Surana

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trulycertain · 4 years

Text

Morgana

For @unofficialdragonageday, my first venture into Dragon Age fandom... with a slight redux of eight years’ more writing practice.

Another one. And this one’s embarrassing. That’s the word around the dormitory, and everyone burrows further under their blankets. Maker’s sake, it’s the eve of Satinalia, and we’ll all get punished if she can’t shut up, one of the older apprentices mutters.

Jowan should burrow and ignore it, too. Usually he prefers to stay quiet and in corners, not be any trouble. But something makes him creep to the door and look.

The girl’s kicking, screaming, sobbing, yelling for her parents. Trying to wriggle out of the templars’ grasp like she has a chance of succeeding. Even Jowan, who’s never had to be disciplined by the templars, can see that a small girl against several fully-grown men in heavy plate armour doesn't stand a chance of... doing whatever she’s trying to do. Escape? Everyone knows that’s impossible.

Her face is red and tear-stained, and there are red burns on her hands. Suddenly small sparks fly, and -

“Stop,” a templar orders. “Stop that.”

She’s still crying. “I can’t. I hurt them, I, I can’t make it stop, make it stop...”

The smite nearly knocks Jowan off his feet; he has to catch himself on the door. He knows templars don’t feel it as much, but he wonders how. She slumps in the templar’s arms, and she almost looks like she’s asleep.

It’s quiet, then. Nothing more to see. He goes back to bed.

He’s half-asleep when the door opens. She’s carried into the dormitory and placed gently on the bed next to his. The templar creeps out again, with the quiet clanks of plate, and then it’s silent, the door slightly ajar for the corridor's candlelight to slip into the room. Ser Bran does it; he knows that some of the very young apprentices, including Jowan, are scared of the dark, but tonight it feels like it’s needed even more. Jowan remembers the screams.

He rolls onto his side, pretending to be asleep, to sneak a look at the new arrival.

She’s facing away from him, but he can see brown hair that clashes with the blue of her new apprentice's robes. Even though they’re a children's set - she’s lucky; he had to wear men's robes for his first few weeks in the Tower and had looked even more ridiculous, and he heard people laughing at him - they quite obviously don't fit her. And she’s still crying. Why? The templars let her go, didn't they?

He’s nearly six, and he’s seen a lot in the Circle, but this he still doesn’t understand. The templars let her go, and it’s Satinalia tomorrow. What does she have to cry about?

He’s too scared to approach her, but her crying keeps him awake all night. He stares at the wall, sick and… sad? He’s not angry like the others.

Later, when he’s older, he’ll realise it was pity.

Every child in the Tower looks forward to Satinalia, even though all they receive is an orange from a scowling templar. A simple gift is better than nothing, after all. He’s sure the templars hate giving them - he's heard them grumbling about "Irving and his bloody oranges. Giving the little monsters gifts. Making them feel special..."

He wakes up in the morning, which means he must have got to sleep at some point, even with the crying. The girl’s sitting on her bed, rubbing her still-red eyes.

She looks up when she sees him stir and get out of bed. Frowning, she watches him reach to the bottom of his bed and pluck an orange out of the sock hanging off his bedpost.

She does the same, only to find nothing there. Her face falls just a little more, and his heart sank.

Later, it’ll occur to him that she was new to the Tower, and not on the phylactery list yet. But now, he’s five, and his reasoning is simple: every child gets a gift at Satinalia. That’s just how the world is. No gift was just... wrong. He reaches out and offered her his orange.

She takes it gingerly, offering him a tentative half-smile. He's never seen her smile before; it’s nice.

"I... I'm Jowan," he says, wanting to kick himself for sounding shy. Apprentice Leorah always says he’s a mumbler. Speak up, boy!

"M’ n’m ‘s Morgana," she said, through half an orange. She swallows it. "How old are you?"

"Nearly six," he says, proudly.

"Nearly five," she replies equally proudly, and they share another smile - a proper one, this time.

"My mother always used to give me Satinalia gifts," she says. After a moment, she adds, quietly: "She cried, too."

She was lucky - her parents loved her. When they found out what he could do, his treated him like a monster. They called the templars immediately, keen for him to be shipped off to the Circle as soon as possible. Of course, he’ll only grow to resent them for it when he’s old enough to comprehend it - for the moment, he’s just sad, and sometimes cries when he thinks of his family. Everybody does, sometimes. You pretend not to hear, or the other apprentices yell at you.

She looks up, and her face brightens. "You're... quite nice," she says, in wonderment. "Will you be my friend?"

He nods, and goes to sit on her bed, the way dorm apprentices all do when they’ve made a friend. The templars yell at them about bed-swaps, but the templars yell at them about everything.

For that half-hour in the early morning, before breakfast and lessons, they aren't two mages - they’re a shaggy-haired, awkward little boy and a smiling little girl, sitting sharing an orange on Satinalia morning.

Morgana returns to herself with a sword at her throat, and all she knows is panic. She freezes and then the blade’s gone, and she’s falling to her hands and knees.

She looks over her shoulder. There’s nothing following her.

She tries to stop the fear, tries to breathe, but there’s powdered lyrium caked under her fingernails, softly glowing in the half-darkness of the chamber, and that only reminds her of where she’s been, what she’s been forced to do...

She looks up and they’re there: swords drawn, advancing on her. She has the brief, sharp thought that at least the demon pretended to be human; the templars show what they are immediately, no matter how much they try to do otherwise.

She stares at them, defenceless, and still they’re coming. Her mana is gone, and while she may be afraid now, if she tries to strike out it is certain they will kill her. “Please,” she manages, her voice cracking. A sob is beginning to rise up from her chest, and she has to work to hold it in. She’s not sure exactly what she’s asking for: let me go or get it over with.

Greagoir is at the head of the pack, and he reaches her first. The plate creaks and scrapes as he crouches. He looks into her eyes, assessing, and then he calls over his shoulder, “It’s her.”

“She’s passed,” Irving adds, like this is some sort of victory.

She looks back at him, too numb to even be relieved. The stone of the floor is cold under her hands. She retches, her head swimming, and then... and then there’s only darkness.

“Jowan.” It’s the first thing she says when she wakes up. It often is, they’ve shared a dormitory long enough, but… this time is different.

He’s there. He’s always been there. He puts a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her, and it feels like an anchor. In the fading fear and the increasing fury that the templars would send them to this, bait them to the deaths, he’s there: afraid but gentler, when all of her is so focused on the pain that she feels that anything she touches, she might cut. He’s softer. She needs softer.

He asks about the secrets of the Harrowing and she tells him everything, without remorse. She knows that she shouldn’t, but that doesn’t stop her.

The templars call her quiet, well-behaved, the Amell girl simply lives in the library even if she does talk to the Anders boy. They can’t see the anger simmering inside her, clawing at the walls of her. She’s relieved for that. She used to be sure that they could, when she was a child; that it must show in her face, that it must change the way she looked, somehow, that a rage demon had found her in the night and she hadn’t even known…

She realised eventually that it was just this place. She tries so hard to accept it, but some days she realises that she can’t remember a sunset and she’ll never see another, or the rumours about templars spying on the apprentices, and those days… those days, it feels like if she opens her mouth, she’ll scream. So she avoids the other apprentices, the templars; both scare her, even if the templars scare her more, and books are safer.

Quiet, the templars say. Stuck-up, the other apprentices say.

But she can talk to Jowan. She can always talk to Jowan, somehow.

But now she’ll have to be a mage, and she’ll have to take new quarters, and what if she can’t see him? There’s Anders, but Anders is gone again, in solitary. It isn’t the same.

Irving gives her the robes and clasps her on the shoulder, so proudly.

“I… Thank you, First Enchanter,” she manages. When he can’t see, she runs her fingers over gold silk and wonders why they feel like they’re made of stone.

She looks up, and the Warden’s watching her. His eyes are steady, curious. She stops like she’s been stung. He notices that, too.

She inhales, quietly enough Irving can’t hear it, when she’s asked to escort the Warden to his quarters. He’s a steady presence at her side, armour and thoughtful silence; there’s a stillness about him that’s unusual in a tower of fidgeting apprentices, scowling templars and absentmindedly casting enchanters.

At least, until he says with a hint of amusement, “You may ask, apprentice.”

She realises with a flush of embarrassment that her own curious glances have been caught. “I… Ser?”

“It seems you have questions.”

She swallows. “The war… the darkspawn have returned?” She thought they were just a legend, something to frighten apprentices into eating their porridge, the same sort of story as The Nose Monster. She realises with shame that she barely remembers what she read. Intellectual laziness, Irving chides gently, in the back of her mind. I thought better of you. She tries, “You think there may be another Blight?”

“For now, I can only hope not. There has been no trace of the Archdemon.” And at her look, he explains that an Archdemon is a great, tainted dragon that leads the horde.

It all sounds, still, like some sort of story. But then so do lakes, and sunsets, and families. She’s questioned enough. She can question one more thing.

And there’s something else, too. “You’re recruiting mages?”

She’s ashamed of herself for even asking. She’s barely-Harrowed and wet behind the ears. Irving says she’s fine in every school, but she and Wynne both know that her strength lies in Creation, and she’s still terrible with a staff. (You can’t cast with your hands like a child, Sweeney reprimanded her last week, for the hundredth time, and she has a horrible feeling that’s why Sweeney’s fudge stash disappeared and Anders started grinning the next day.)

Besides... she doesn’t want to hurt anybody. She’s never wanted to hurt anybody.

And yet. The darkspawn aren’t anybody.

That doesn’t change the shrewd look that the Warden gives her, and she wants to sink into her shoes. She shouldn’t have asked. It was arrogant. “Yes,” he says, “I am. For the king’s army, and for the Wardens. Would you like to join us?”

She can’t look at him, then. She tries to find a diplomatic answer, too aware that he can see her choosing her words. “I doubt I’d be allowed. I’m only an apprentice. I’ve only just been Harrowed.”

“A green mage is far, far better than no mage,” he says with a frightening certainty. “But let us keep moving.”

She trails after him, and tells herself not to hope.

#my fic #dragon age day #morgana amell #dragon age origins #dragon age #armour 'verse

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dragonologist-phd · 5 years

Text

Every Road Never Taken

You're an outcast. Or you're a noble. Or you're a criminal. Or you're lost.

Whatever you are, you're in trouble. And Duncan isn't here to save you.

(Also on AO3)

You do not go quietly into the dungeons.

At one point you manage to get an arm free and very nearly make an escape, only to be brought to the ground moments later. It’s a wonder the guards don’t simply kill you then and have done with it.

Your crime requires something grander, you suppose. A trial before the arl, public execution. There is no other end to this story, and that dark truth hangs over your head like a heavy cloud. Still, you don’t, won’t, can’t accept it. You fight even as you are thrown into the arl’s dungeons and left in the dark.

For a long time, the only sounds are the distant dripping of water and your own heavy breathing. You wait in exhausted anticipation for the guards to return. The arl’s son lies dead by your hand. The shems will want justice swiftly.

Justice. Ha.

A chill sets in, and you realize you’re still in your wedding clothes, the simple finery now tattered and bloodstained. You sink to the floor and let out a single delirious laugh that echoes across the dungeon halls.

One elf with a stolen sword fought through an army of trained soldiers. It sounds like the sort of story that the Alienage children would dream up and whisper to each other. The sort of story that would make your father worry and your mother smile. The sort of story you and Shianni would reenact with play weapons fashioned from the branches of the venedhal.

At least you have one comfort. Whatever else happens today, Shianni is safe.

You don’t know how long it’s been when the dungeon door opens with a resounding clang. The sudden noise brings you to your feet, despite your protesting body. You are in no condition to fight, but you prepare to do so anyway.

To your surprise, it is not a guard who approaches but an elf, older and dressed in servant attire. He greets you with an easy smile as if you’re simply crossing paths at the market rather than inside a prison cell.

“You must be the one who caused all the fuss upstairs,” he says lightly.

You can only stare in surprise. “And you are?”

He smiles. “Right now, what’s important is that I’m a Friend.” From the way he speaks, you can tell he’s capitalizing the word in his mind. “And I believe you have the potential to be one as well.”

“Friend… to who?”

“Friend…,” the old man takes a dramatic pause and bows deeply, “of Red Jenny.”

The name is unfamiliar. “I don’t-”

Voices ring out from a nearby room, and you fall silent until they fade into the distance.

“There will be time to explain further,” the man says brusquely. “We must leave before the chaos subsides.” He fishes through his pockets and produces an iron key. “Are you ready for an escape?”

This must be a dream, you think, but a smile spreads across your face anyway. “I’m in.”

Everybody knows that you don’t go into the Deep Roads alone. Even scouts that travel ahead of expeditions are sent in twos or threes. The dangers are simply too great- collapsing tunnels, wild deepstalkers, and of course, darkspawn.

To enter the Deep Roads alone is a death sentence.

You stagger through the tunnel, trying desperately to make as little noise as possible. The breastplate you wear is too large, and the rattling of metal echoes unnaturally through the cavern. The armor, along with the sword you carry, belonged to a man whose name you will never know, some poor soul who died here and was never recovered.

His bad fortune is your good. You were stripped of equipment before your exile. Surviving a day in the Deep Roads without protection or weapons is impossible. Surviving with a pilfered breastplate and sword is… slightly less so.

Footsteps echo down the tunnel, and you bite down a curse as you press yourself against the wall, praying to whatever Ancestors are still listening that the darkspawn pass by. You’re strong- strong enough that both of your brothers saw you as a threat- but even you can’t keep this up forever. At some point, you will be overwhelmed.

The mental image of your brother, smug and secure, sets your blood boiling. He thinks he’s won. But you’re not dead yet, and you plan to keep it that way. Somehow.

The footsteps grow louder, and you grip on your stolen sword tightens. Before you can attack, however, you hear the last thing you expect.

“Less darkspawn than usual. Don’t know whether I should be relieved or worried.”

“Let the commander worry. I’m enjoying the quiet.”

The shock of the voices- not just the garbled noises darkspawn make, but real dwarven voices- has you moving before you even know who is speaking. You don’t know if these people are friendly, but you’re already in the Deep Roads alone with no supplies. You don’t see how things can get more dangerous.

You leave the shadows and find yourself facing two dwarves, a man and a woman. The man yelps in surprise at the sight of you, and the woman draws her weapon. In a panic, you throw your hands up. “Wait! I just need help!”

The woman pauses, and you can sense her confusion. “How the blazes did you end up here?”

For a moment, you don’t know what to say. How much should you explain? Would these people offer aid to disgraced royalty? Finally, you just shrug. “I was sent here to die.”

Oddly, the man’s face lights up. “Us too!” He studies you. “I don’t know why you’re here, but you’re still walking, so I assume you can use that sword. The commander will want to meet you.”

“Who?”

“That’s not a bad idea!” Now grinning with excitement, the woman motions for you to follow and begins leading you down the tunnel. “Whoever you are, the Legion of the Dead is always accepting new members.”

Against all odds, it turns out to be a good thing that they placed you in the cells. It means you’re sequestered away when the demons come.

Keeping track of time is difficult as a prisoner. You’re not certain how long it’s been since the incident with Jowan. Despite everything, you don’t quite regret helping him. You really only had two friends here, and he was one of them. But after his scheme was uncovered, Jowan had fled, leaving you and your remaining friend to be carted to the cells.

And here you remain while Irving and Greagor argue over what to do with the two of you. Whatever they are planning becomes irrelevant once the commotion above splits the silence around you.

It starts with screaming- screaming that you recognize from Templars and mages mixed in with unnatural noises that you can’t place.

“What’s going on!?” You shout, but no answer comes. The Templars that normally stand just outside the doors are gone. You stand helplessly in your cell for a few moments, but as the noises above increase, your desperation peaks. Summoning your mana, you reach out with a burst of energy that sends the bars of your cell flying against the wall.

It’s not like you can get in much more trouble, anyway.

A similar burst from across the hall lets you know that your friend has followed suit, and soon both of you are pounding on the thick dungeon door. The cacophony beyond the door is too chaotic to decipher, but you know in your bones something horrible is happening.

At last, you are able to make out the voices of the Templars. But what you hear is not comforting.

“Come! We’re sealing the doors!”

“Wait! Surana and Amell are still locked below!”

“We don’t have time! We need to contain the demons!”

The voices grow dim. You lock eyes with your friend as the realization hits. Nobody is coming for you.

At first you can do nothing but stare at each other in shock, but soon enough your friend shakes themselves off and grabs your arm. “I have an idea.”

The two of you make your way to the only source of light in the dungeons- a barred window overlooking the lake. It’s small, but not too small for an elf or human to squeeze through.

The metal screeches as it is bent away by your magic, but nobody is around to hear. Outside that window, beyond the gray lake, waits a world you barely know. You look to your fellow mage, soon to be fellow apostate.

“They have our phylacteries.”

“They’ll think we’re dead. Whatever’s happening, there’s going to be a lot of bodies left behind.”

“Can you swim?”

“Probably.”

“Are you scared?”

The two of you fall silent. You look out the window again, and you know such a chance doesn’t come twice in a lifetime. “We can do this if we stick together.”

Your words are met with a smile. “Let’s go.”

You shuffle your feet as the guards lead you through the streets, hoping to delay the journey as long as possible. The nobles will want a public execution, and you hope that’s something that takes a lot of preparation. Even now, there must be a way for you to escape, just like you escaped the Carta hideout.

At least Leske managed to get away. You don’t blame him for running- he would only get himself killed trying to free you. But your hope isn’t completely gone, and you’re contemplating escape plans when the sound of running footsteps draws near and the guard leading you forward stops dead in his tracks.

“What-”

“A message from the prince!”

Your head snaps up in surprise at the familiar voice. Rica stands in the middle of the road, looking terrified and holding out a scroll.

The guard regards her with disdain. “A royal message would never be delivered by a Casteless. Get out of the way or we’ll bring you in, too.”

“Just look!” Rica insists, and although her voice shakes she stands her ground. “These orders come directly from Prince Bhelen himself.”

The guard sighs and swipes the scroll from her hand. His eyes narrow as he takes in the official-looking seal, and then widen with anger as he reads the words. “Impossible!”

“Take it up with the prince,” Rica says, and you grin at her nerve. Then, miraculously, the guard lowers his weapons and signals to the others to do the same.

“I plan to,” the guard growls. “And once we sort this out, we’ll be back for both your heads.” The guard turns with a huff and begins unlocking your shackles.

As they march away, you think you must still be locked in a cell, and this is some sort of desperate hallucination. Then Rica is hugging you, and you realize it’s real.

“How did you that?!”

Rica laughs wildly. “I have… connections, now. I told you about my patron.”

“He did this?”

“Well…” Rica blushes. “I might have stolen a seal he keeps in his desk…”

“You’re amazing.”

“And you have to leave before they realize what I did.”

But you can’t go home. Everyone in this city wants to kill you. There’s only one place left. “I’ll go the surface.”

Rica bites her lip, but nods. “It’s the only safe option. I’ll delay the guards as long as I can. Can you get out of here alone?”

“Of course. But I can’t just abandon you.”

“I’ll be okay.” There’s worry in Rica’s face, but determination, too. “My patron won’t be pleased, but he wants to keep me around.” She gives one last, tight hug, then turns away and hurries after the guards.

Despite the concern you still feel for your sister, you know she’s right. She’s a Brosca, and Brosca’s are tough. With that knowledge, you head the other direction- away from the city you’ve known all your life, and towards the doors that lead out into the sun.

Never before has the road from Highever felt so long.

Of course, you’ve usually made the journey by cart, or at least on horseback. You’ve usually had food and a change of clothes. And you’ve usually been with-

You bite your lip hard and focus back on the road, not allowing your thoughts to stray. You can’t afford to break down now. You need to be strong, like your father would have wanted.

“What is it, dear?”

Your mother’s words rouse you from your thoughts, and you angrily blink away the tears that have begun to form in the corners of your eyes. You drop your gaze to the mabari at your side, focusing instead on scratching his ears as you walk, finding a small amount of solace in the familiar action. “It’s nothing.”

Your mother does not push. Perhaps she is lost in her own memories, her own grieving. If so, she does not show it- she has not cried a single tear since the two of you escaped.

You had to leave. Otherwise, Howe’s men would have killed you, just as they killed your father and your nephew and your soldiers and servants. So much death- your first real battle, in the last place you would have ever expected.

But it still feels wrong. You’d wanted to stay, to stand beside your father and fight to the death. And you could tell by the hard anger that burned in your mother’s eyes that she did, too. Still, your father begged you to run, and your mother could not let you go alone.

After hours of walking in pained silence, you reach a fork in the roadway. Your mother nods towards the eastern road. “This way.”

You hesitate. “To Denerim? But the king is at Ostagar.”

“We won’t arrive there in time. Not on our own, and not with Howe’s forces on the road searching for us. In Denerim, we can appeal to the queen. Anora wields more power than her husband, anyway, and has always respected me; once she learns the truth of Howe’s crimes, she will see to it that we have our justice.”

There is an edge to your mother’s voice that you have never heard before. There is a strange comfort to it, an echoing of your own pain that you haven’t yet been able to fully process.

Listening to your mother speak of justice, you let that pain-the grief, the betrayal, the anger- wash over you. And you know there is only one form of justice that you can possibly accept. “I want to kill Howe.”

For a moment you think your mother will admonish you; she has always tried to keep you away from the battlefield, has always encouraged you to use diplomacy before picking up the sword. But instead she puts a steady hand on your shoulder and looks you in the eyes, and for perhaps the first time you see clearly why she was once known as the Seawolf.

“We will.”

It is a routine hunting trip, just you and Tamlen tracking deer and scaring away shems. Even the ruins you stumble across are a source of curiosity rather than caution. Until you find the mirror.

Tamlen moves towards it, entranced, even as your instincts warn you to get away. When Tamlen reaches his arm out, as if to run his fingers across the surface, you act without fully realizing what you are doing. Your arm takes hold of his to wrench it away, but not quickly enough. You don’t know what happens next- there is light, and a tugging sensation in your stomach, and a dizzying fall, and then you are in darkness. There is pain, and something burning within your veins, and then…

Nothing.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you wake up. You don’t know where you are- it’s not the ruins, but it’s not the forest, either. It’s dark, and damp, and the ground you’re laying on has the cold smoothness of stone.

And Tamlen isn’t here. You stagger to your feet, calling out into the darkness.

“Tamlen?”

You strain your ears for any sign of response, praying to whichever god might be able to hear you from… wherever you are. Echoes of your voice fill the cavern, and the faint response is almost masked. But you hear it.

You follow the voice until at last you find him, pale and sickly but alive. He rushes to you, frantic. “There you are! What happened? Where are we? What was that mirror?”

You shake your head weakly. “I don’t know any more than you do.” Up close, Tamlen looks even worse- all the color has drained from his face, and his movements are slow and weak. “Are you okay? You look…”

Tamlen interrupts your statement with a hacking cough. He looks up at you with a sheepish smile. “About as good as I feel, I assume? You don’t look so well, either.”

He’s probably right. You’ve been fighting off the weakness ever since you awoke. You knees wobble unsteadily beneath you, and your entire body is sore and feverish.

“Maybe we… fell through the floor of the ruins or something,” you say, trying to push the sick feelings away, “We have to find our way back.”

With both of you weak on your feet, the going is slow. All you can do is trust your instincts and pray you’re not moving deeper underground. In time, however, your movements become more confident. You still don’t know where you are, but you feel something… calling to you.

The feeling gets stronger until you turn a corner and see a towering creature in your path. You freeze, terrified. The… thing before you is decayed, inhuman, unnatural. But when it speaks, its voice is calm and intelligent.

“Do not be afraid. I am the Architect.” It reaches out a hand, and you shiver at the sight of its long, spindly fingers. “You have been tainted. I can help you.”

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dao #fanfic #all origins are true and theyre all alive no matter what canon says #my writing #aeducan #brosca #tabris #mahariel #surana #amell #cousland #just a reblog of something i did a while back

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midnightprelude · 5 years

Note

Congratulations, dear! Also, you know what I want! Eris Hawke/Fenris first kiss. Make it as awkward as possible, because these two are complete dorks! :D

Remember when I said this would be ~100 words? Well... It turns out that I lied. There’s a little Fen/Eris sweetness for you, my dear friend. :)

Swinging his blade overhead, Fenris slashed through the last pack of gunlocks in a single sweep. Darkened blood sprayed the cavern walls and coated his sword. He glanced around to ensure that the enemies had been dealt with, but he already saw Varric strapping Bianca to his back and Eris’s flames winking out. A sudden silence enveloped him.

He found a relatively dry rock to sit on to clean off his blade. Varric had gone off to check for any unseen treasure. He heard soft footsteps approaching, splashing in the shallow puddles. Eris Hawke had come to sit next to him, glowing magelight torch in her hand.

He looked away, focusing on the work of removing all the darkspawn blood from his weapon, but felt his skin prickle under her gaze.

She’s always doing that…

He felt a hand, soft but calloused at the edge of her palms where her staff was gripped, against his cheek. He bristled, turning to her, taking her hand from his face, firmly.

She turned her head, facing him. “Fenris, why do you always look at me like that?”

“What are you referring to?” he said, worrying over her answer.

Did my features betray me?

She smiled, slightly, softly. “Like you’re more afraid of me than the genlocks.”

“Nonsense.” He laughed, lightly.

She gives me a different kind of pause. I could never… but then again…?

She took her other hand, placing it gently on the other side of his face. She was smiling, looking into his eyes. “You’ve blood on your face, Fen. All over. Let me help you.” She took a corner of her robe, tearing it off and using it to dab the inky black blood from his skin. “We should get this off of you as quickly as possible, Fen.”

He shivered at the nickname, a tingle running down his spine.

Eris was staring at him. “You’re… you’re doing it again. What is it? Is there something wrong?”

“No… nothing at all.” He smiled, ever so slightly.

“Then why do you act like you fear me?” she asked, sighing.

He shook his head, taking her hand. “It is not you I fear, but a great many other things.”

“You?” She laughed. “That I can’t imagine.”

“Oh, but my greatest fear is to misstep.”

When she met his eyes, her smile was larger than it should have been given that they were half soaked and covered in darkspawn blood in a cave in the middle of nowhere.

It was though, despite everything, she was pleased to be here just because he was.

I cannot… It is better to do nothing than push her away.

He frowned.

“You shouldn’t be so scared.” She laughed. “If it makes you feel better, I’m terrified.”

He cocked his head, brow furrowed. He had rarely seen Eris frightened—she always seemed to know what to do. Perhaps not always the right thing, but she was at least decisive.

“I wanted to tell you how I feel. And to show you. But I’m afraid that you won’t let me and even more afraid that trying will hurt you. Are you willing to try regardless?”

His eyes must have spoken the words he could not find.

She leaned in, pressing her lips to his. He sighed against her body. Despite everything, he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her back. She was so soft, so gentle against him. Eris was trying to do everything to keep from hurting him. He could sense it in her very breath.

Perhaps…

He pulled away, slowly. It pained him to leave. But then he noticed a dark spot on her nose.

“Now you have blood on you. Allow me.” He took a cloth from his belt pocket and dabbed at her nose.

She scrunched it in response.

Before he could think, he was kissing that as well. And after a moment, he had found her lips again.

He heard a soft clapping from behind them and turned to see Varric had returned.

“Well done, you two. Never thought you’d get together. I owe a certain Rivaini a few drinks. I guess it’ll just come off the much larger number she owes me.”

Eris rolled her eyes. “You placed bets?”

“Of course!” Varric laughed. “We’ve got a bet for just about everything you can think of. Actually a little hard to keep track of, actually. Which one of you did it?”

They looked at each other.

“Oh, it was Hawke, wasn’t it? Of course it was. Ugh, now I owe Anders some money too. And he’ll be much more irritating about it.” He winked. “But congratulations. You deserve it. Both of you."

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elerosselavellan · 4 years

Text

TAGGED BY : stolen from @pcrseverance TAGGING : Everybody! Do the thing!

— BASICS.

▸ IS YOUR MUSE TALL / SHORT / AVERAGE ? Elerosse is 5′3″, so is pretty short compared to most other humans, and on the short side of average for elves.

▸ ARE THEY OKAY WITH THEIR HEIGHT ? He usually doesn’t mind it so much, but it often gets rolled up into all his other body issues about being weaker and smaller than other people he’s comparing himself to.

▸ WHAT’S THEIR HAIR LIKE ? El’s hair is very thick and near perfectly straight. It appears black and glossy in most lights, but does tend to pick up reddish/auburn highlights in direct sunlight. As of the start of the game he’s in the process of growing it out, but it’s in something of an awkward in-between stage. By the time he fights Corypheus, it’s almost to his shoulders, and it’s significantly longer by Trespasser.

▸ DO THEY SPEND A LOT OF TIME ON THEIR HAIR / GROOMING ? While he’s not obsessive about it by any means, Elerosse does like to make sure his hair is clean and neat. It’s one of the few things he genuinely, consistently likes about himself, and that definitely comes across in how well he cares for it. Hair care is one of the few things he indulges in once he has the means, either as Inquisitor or as a companion with a more regular salary.

▸ DOES YOUR MUSE CARE ABOUT THEIR APPEARANCE / WHAT OTHERS THINK ? Appearance is a pretty big thing for Elerosse, both because of his own issues with self-image, but also knowing that as a leader figure (as a potential Keeper, and as Inquisitor) his presentation plays a huge role in how others perceive him. He worries a lot, especially early-on and doubly so after being named Inquisitor, about how his styling reflects on the Inquisition, but also not wanting to compromise the more traditional, Dalish styles he’s used to.

[More under the cut!]

— PREFERENCES.

▸ INDOORS OR OUTDOORS ? outdoors ▸ RAIN OR SUNSHINE ? sunshine ▸ FOREST OR BEACH ? forest ▸ PRECIOUS METALS OR GEMS ? gems ▸ FLOWERS OR PERFUMES ? flowers ▸ PERSONALITY OR APPEARANCE ? personality ▸ BEING ALONE OR BEING IN A CROWD ? in a crowd ▸ ORDER OR ANARCHY ? order ▸ PAINFUL TRUTHS OR WHITE LIES ? painful truths ▸ SCIENCE OR MAGIC ? magic ▸ PEACE OR CONFLICT ? peace ▸ NIGHT OR DAY ? day ▸ DUSK OR DAWN ? dawn ▸ WARMTH OR COLD ? warmth ▸ MANY ACQUAINTANCES OR A FEW CLOSE FRIENDS ? close friends ▸ READING OR PLAYING A GAME ? Reading a book

— QUESTIONNAIRE.

▸ WHAT ARE SOME OF YOUR MUSE’S BAD HABITS ? Above all else, Elerosse has a tendency to work himself into the ground and not ask for help until he’s dangerously close to his breaking point. He had an excellent support system with his clan, his keeper and his family nearby, but being on his own with the Inquisition really puts those bad habits into high-gear, and he’s definitely going to have to do some serious thinking about how he treats himself.

He fidgets near constantly, and if there is a loose thread or a peeling bit of paper, he will find it and he will toy with it. If it’s especially bad, and he has the presence of mind to use it, he has a small protection charm (against the Dread Wolf, of course) that he uses as a sort of fidget toy, running his fingers along the familiar grooves under a table instead of accidentally shredding his meeting notes.

That same anxiety often makes it difficult for him to sleep, and coupled with that same refusal to ask for help, makes it hard for him to request more traditional sleep-aids, instead turning to alcohol or what potions he can discretely make himself. Thus far it hasn’t become too much of an issue, but habits are starting to form.

▸ HAS YOUR MUSE LOST ANYONE CLOSE TO THEM ? HOW HAS IT AFFECTED THEM ? While she’s not actually dead, for all intents and purposes he considers his mother to be entirely out of his life and while I wouldn’t say it’s anything as dramatic as being “dead to him,” but they’ve been almost entirely estranged since Elerosse was about six. It took him a very long time to really conceptualize why she left, that it (mostly) wasn’t because of him, and to let go of a lot of that lingering resentment that bled into his attitude towards city elves, and especially those who left Dalish clans by choice.

▸ WHAT ARE SOME FOND MEMORIES YOUR MUSE HAS ? With his mother gone and his father often absent, Elerosse was raised primarily by his paternal uncle (and other clan members, but this isn’t really the place for Dalish parenting headcanons), the clan’s master craftsman. His workshop was always something of a safe-haven for El when he was feeling poorly or his studies with the Keeper were getting overwhelming, where he could go to vent without judgement. Some of his most cherished memories are either working with his uncle, or days just tucked off to the side of his shop, whittling to clear his mind, maybe talking about things, maybe not.

▸ IS IT EASY FOR YOUR MUSE TO KILL ? Alarmingly yes, though it’s definitely much easier the less it looks like an actual person--for example, the more mutated red templars, darkspawn or demons. It actually scares him a little, once he starts, how difficult it is to stop burning when the enemies in the immediate area are all downed. There’s a lot of pent-up rage that he, once again, hasn’t had the time or mental fortitude to deal with yet.

He has a lot more trouble with harming actual people. If they haven’t attacked him first, he’ll go out of his way to negotiate and try to reach some kind of agreement, though he finds that approach much, much more difficult with certain groups. He doesn’t like killing them, even then, for that same reason fear of what if he can’t stop himself, what if he goes too far?

▸ WHAT’S IT LIKE WHEN YOUR MUSE BREAKS DOWN ? Everything comes to a complete stop. The weight of everything pressing down on him and pulling him in so many different directions will drive him first to distracting himself, then trying to be numb to it, but when that inevitably fails, the panic attack will be debilitating. He’ll already be intentionally isolating, so who knows how long it’ll be before someone finds him, physically unable to move and oscillating between hysterics--sobbing, hyperventilating, even to the point of making himself sick--and being unresponsive as he tries to physically reign in any reaction.

▸ IS YOUR MUSE CAPABLE OF TRUSTING SOMEONE WITH THEIR LIFE ? In theory, yes. In practice, though, he’s absolutely going to sacrifice himself first, probably before someone could do that for him instead.

On the flip side, he trusts certain members of his clan to be able to put him down in the event of possession, one of those being his own father. It’s probably something he has a pretty long, in-depth conversation with Cullen about after a few months with the Inquisition, if he would be willing to do the same if such a thing were to happen, and what sort of checks they might have in place if that were to happen to the Inquisitor.

▸ WHAT’S YOUR MUSE LIKE WHEN THEY’RE IN LOVE ? He. Gets. Clingy. Oh boy, does he want to be close at all times. If he manages to get past the silent-pining and crushing phase to an actual, for-real relationship, he wants to be with the person constantly. He’s already a very tactile person with his affections, so it’s just going to get even more pronounced. At the same time, it’s a very casual sort of touching and closeness, even just quietly holding hands or brushing shoulders, just to have some part of them touching.

#ooc #meme #alcohol cw #about elerosse #headcanon #//It's very long so there's more under the cut!!#he has Issues with a capital i

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wardenari · 4 years

Note

"Come and find me." for Ari?

OK, Maker this got away from me and turned into something super long. Sorry about that. Hope you like it:

"Come and find me. -A"

That's all the note from Ari said. Alistair had found it on his door when he awoke this morning. He'd been in a funk since the disastorous reunion with Goldanna the night before. He hadn't even joined the others for cards, preferring instead to hole up in his room and lick his wounds.

Alistair ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. He supposed she was going to try to get him to talk, but he really didn't want to talk. She just couldn't understand, he didn't even fully understand. Fergus may be missing, likely dead, but she at least had happy memories of her brother. They'd cared for each other and loved each other. Goldanna, she saw him as the reason for his misery. Just one more person to blame him for being born, something he'd had no control over. Something sometimes he'd wished hadn't happened.

Still, he knew if he didn't look for her, she'd come looking for him, likely with her temper for him ignoring her request. Since she'd only signed it "A", Alistair was unsure if it was a formal request as the lead Warden, or just a friendly ask as his best friend. When it came to her temper, always better to err on the side of caution.

He headed downstairs to the Gnawed Noble's main room. Looking around the only member from his party he found was Zevran. Alistair tensed a bit. It wasn't exactly that he didn't like Zevran. He just didn't like him with Ari. He knew men like Zevran, and worried that he was a heartache waiting to happen for Arianna. She'd already been through so much, that he couldn't help but want to protect her from more pain if he could. Alistair just didn't see anyway things didn't end in hurt between those two, intentional or not.

"Zev," Alistair nodded to the elf.

"Ah, Alistair," Zevran looked up from the book he read, no doubt something dirty. "Did you sleep well, my friend?"

Alistair shrugged, thankful at least that he wasn't bringing up Goldanna. Zevran had been there for that embarrassment. "Only mildly. Any chance you know where Ari is? She asked me to find her."

Zevran gave him a knowing grin. "I do not, but my lovely vixen did order me to present you with this should you ask."

He handed Alistair a folded piece of paper and a small bag.

"I do so love when she get's bossy," Zevran chuckled as Alistair blushed. He did not need those ideas in his head.

"Yeah, uh thanks," Alistair shuffled away. He opened the sack first, in it was a sweet roll. He sniffed it, cinnoman, his favorite. Alistair bit into the roll, feeling slightly, only slightly, lighter as the sweetness of the roll delighted his tastebuds. He opened the note.

"Did you really think I'd make it that easy for you? Come look for me someplace 'Wonder'ful - A"

Ok, so she it was 'friend' Ari sending him on this quest. That at least took some pressure off. Alistair tried to figure out where she could be. He looked on the back of the note, nothing there. The bag was empty. He read it again, surely there was a clue. He walked as he tried to figure out just what she meant. When he came upon the "Wonders of Thedas" shop he figured the clue out.

The Tranquil behind the front desk watched Alistair as he entered the store. Alistair searched around for the familiar bushy red hair but didn't see his fellow Warden anywhere. He did, however, see Morrigan. Ugh.

"Morrigan," he nodded as he approached the witch.

"I do not see why you two think we should stop to play games when there is work to be done," Morrigan sighed as only she could and handed him a book and another note. "Be gone. Templars scare away the other mages."

Alistair was all too happy to get away from her. He exited and looked at the book. "Illustrated History of the Grey Wardens". Alistair smiled, but only a little. He put the book in his pack, finding he was feeling eager for when he had time to look through it. He opened the note.

"Sorry. I hope she wasn't too awful to you. I'm still 'Wading' around for you. -A"

Alistair rolled his eyes. Her puns were awful. At least this time he knew where to look, and headed off to Wade's Emporium. It was impossible to not notice Sten when he entered. The Qunari seemed to take up half the room as he looked over the weapons on display. The shopkeep looked more then a little uneasy at the giant in his store.

"Sten," Alistair hoped using his name might set the shopkeep at ease, upon seeing that he was friendly.

"Warden Alistair," Sten nodded. "I am considering a weapon, until we find mine."

Alistair looked over the swords and picked up a rather large one, one that even he struggled to hold up. "Try this," he grunted.

"You are Alistair," the shopkeep called.

"Er, yes," Alistair answered hesetently, well aware that they were still wanted posters around Thedas of them..

"I am Herrer," the man introduced himself. "Something was left here for you." He handed Alistair a rune and another note.

"What is the rune?" Alistair looked at the odd symbol on it.

"It is not one of ours, but it appears to be Master Cleansing if I'm not mistaken," Herrer answered.

"Uh, thanks," Alistiar waved goodbye to Sten and attached the rune to his sword. It lit up for a moment, embuing the weapon with extra skills against Darkspawn. That must have set her back a pretty silver, he thought as he placed the sword back in it's sheath.

"Look for Try to find Look I can't think of anything clever, just go to the Pearl. - A"

Alistair chuckled. Then blushed as he realized she meant for him to enter a brothel. Alone. Maker.

He entered the, well he was just going to pretend it was a regular tavern. There just happened to be a lot of barely dressed, good looking people in this particular tavern. Nothing out of the ordinary at all. Nope.

He looked around and spotted red hair. Trying not to look around because... Oh, that was definitely a breast... he knew he was blushing. He was going to kill her. He arrived at the table, and sighed with disappointment to find that it was Leliana and not Ari whose hair he had spotted. She was playing cards with a few others.

Leliana handed him a key without looking up. "Third door on the left, through there."

Andraste's ass, please tell me she didn't get me a whore. Alistair had never felt like running as much as he did at that moment. He walked in the direction he'd been told, his hands shaking. I'll just tell the nice woman thank you so much but no. I'm sure that's ok, she'll be paid anyway, right? He really didn't want this to be how his first time went.

He opened the door, ready to turn tail and run when he stopped in shock. What was before him was definitely not what he had expected. Ari sat at a table, reading something. On the table was a large plate filled with nearly every type of cheese imaginable. A carafe of wine beside it, and she took a sip from her glass.

"Ali!" she beamed up at him. "Come on in."

Alistair blinked a few times and then nodded, closing the door behind him as he took his chair. "Ari?"

"I wasn't sure which kind was your favorite so I panicked and got them all," she indicated the plate.

"I uh...Any cheese is fine really," he picked out a piece of Nevarran blu.

"So," he spoke around a bite, "what was with the having me running around town? Why not just bring the cheese to the tavern?"

Ari chuckled and shook her head, "Because that would have defeated the point."

"The point?" he thought back, but couldn't figure out what she meant.

"Since you got the note this morning, did you even once think about that bi... the unpleasantness from yesterday?" Ari raised an eyebrow.

Alistair's face broke into a wide grin as he realized she was right. "No. No I didn't."

"Well there you go. And now there's cheese and wine and we don't have to share it with anyone else," Ari laughed.

Alistair grinned and helped himself to the treats. He really was amazed at how something as awful as the Blight could bring him something as wonderful as a friend like Arianna Cousland.

#Love and Darkspawn #Zevran Arainai #midnightprelude

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daughter-of-the-prophet · 5 years

Text

Aveline Vallen

Race: Human

Gender: Female

Class: Warrior

Title: - Soldier

- Guardswoman

- Captain of the Guard

Affiliation: - Kirkwall City Guard

- Areida Hawke

Specialization: Guardian

Family: - Benoit du Lac (father)

- Wesley Vallen (first husband)

- Donnic Hendyr (second husband)

- Areida Hendyr (daughter)

Voice: Joanna Roth

Appearances: - Dragon Age II

- Dragon Age: Inquisition (mentioned)

- Trespasser (mentioned)

- Heroes of Dragon Age

Aveline Vallen (née du Lac, later Hendyr) is a human warrior. She was fleeing Ostagar with her husband Ser Wesley during the Fifth Blight when they were set upon by darkspawn and rescued by Areida Hawke and her family. Aveline is the first companion Areida Hawke encounters besides her siblings.

Background

Aveline is the daughter of a chevalier named Benoit du Lac, who fled from Orlais to Ferelden after losing his patron to assassination. Raising her on stories of knights and adventures, he hoped Aveline would be a knight, even naming her after Ser Aveline, the Knight of Orlais. He eventually sold everything he had to sponsor her into King Cailan Theirin's service.

Aveline met and married Wesley Vallen while in the Fereldan army, where she was an officer. Her company was part of the first charge. However, Loghain's betrayal at the Battle of Ostagar forced them to flee the darkspawn horde. She ordered a scattered retreat and told her people to make their way home. She and Wesley eventually made their way to Lothering's outskirts, where they met the Hawke family.

Involvement

Dragon Age II

Areida Hawke saves Aveline and her husband, Ser Wesley, from imminent death while escaping Lothering. When Flemeth indicates Wesley will die of the darkspawn taint, Aveline delivers a mercy blow to him. Wesley's death leaves Aveline with few options, and she accompanies the Hawke family to Kirkwall.

Upon arriving at Kirkwall, the group finds the guards must be bribed in order for them to enter the city. Areida’s uncle provides contacts who can help them, in exchange for mercenary services from the Hawke family through the next year. With no other options, Aveline assists the Hawke family in entering the city; While the Hawke family helps Athenril in dealing with Cavril, the merchant's cheating ways incense Aveline, and she deals with him very effectively.

Act 1

After entering the city, Aveline joins the Kirkwall City Guard to make a living. She and Areida uncover a conspiracy involving Jeven, the current Captain of the City Guard, and the Coterie. Areida and Aveline discover that Jeven has been sending guardsmen on dangerous patrols with a satchel of valuable city information in order to sacrifice them to the Coterie so that the thieves could obtain the information with out looking suspicious. When Jeven's scheme is revealed to the authorities, he is arrested by his own guardsmen and Aveline replaces him as the new Captain of the Guard for her role in ending Jeven's corruption. Aveline's guard and Guard-Captain positions allows her to deal with certain people effectively, namely other guards and scoundrels.

Act 2

Three years later, when Areida visits Aveline, Aveline warns Areida that her new found wealth and influence has changed the fortunes of many people in Kirkwall; and not always for the better. When Areida asks her how she’s settling into her new position as Guard Captain, Aveline complains that they are spread thin and how the templars are unwilling to requisition a few of their men to fight for the city guard as it was considered "demeaning". Even so, many of the guardsmen seem to have rallied under her leadership.

Aveline later tells Areida that she needs a favor that she can only trust Areida with. First she asks her to deliver a package to Guardsman Donnic. The package turns out to be copper marigolds, confusing both Donnic and Areida. Aveline then asks her to post the duty roster. Areida does so and reports Donnic's negative reaction. When Aveline brings up the idea of bringing three goats and a sheaf of wheat to Donnic’s mother, knowing that that’s a dowary tradition, Areida realizes that Aveline is trying to court Donnic. Aveline finally confesses she was attempting to court Donnic, she just doesn't know how to do it. Areida suggests inviting Donnic to the Hanged Man.

As agreed, Areida visits the Hanged Man at night to meet Donnic so they can wait for Aveline. Aveline arrives without Donnic’s knowledge but becomes too shy to approach the table Donnic and Arieda are sitting at. This causes Donnic to think that Areida is interested in him, and lets her down by telling her he prefers women with a backbone. Afterwards, Areida speaks with Aveline who confesses that she was just too scared to approach Donnic. Areida then suggests that Aveline should go on patrol along the Wounded Coast with Donnic.

At the Wounded Coast, Aveline engages Donnic in conversation, blundering her way through her ideas of small talk while Areida and the rest of her companion clear the area of enemies. Fed up and knowing that this is not going to get Aveline anywhere, Areida confronts Donnic and Aveline and reveals Aveline's motives to Donnic. Donnic shocked by the revelation, abruptly departs, and Aveline becomes worried that he will file a complaint and will request a transfer. She orders Areida back to the barracks to head this off.

Back at the barracks, Aveline becomes frightened of what Donnic might do, but he later appears and reassures her that he has no intention of leaving or filling a complaint and in fact, he's interested in her too. Shortly after that, Aveline thanks Areida for all the help.

After Areida’s mother, Leandra, is murdered by a blood mage serial killer, Aveline consoles Areida and comforts her by telling her a story about her own father.

Aveline later enlists Areida's aid in trying to arrest two fugitive elves who murdered a city guardsman for raping their sister but have been granted religious sanctuary in the Qunari Compound for converting to the Qun. The Arishok takes offense to the attempted arrest of his new converts and counterattacks, marshaling his forces to conquer the city and convert it to the Qun. Areida saves the city by defeating the Arishok in single combat and is crown the Champion of Kirkwall as a result.

Act 3

Over the past three years, Aveline and Donnic married and honeymooned in Orlais. When Areida visits Aveline, she states that without a Viscount, the templars have been trying to influence the city guard more.

Since his fall from grace, Jeven has taken up with base types who hold prejudiced views against Fereldans like Aveline and Areida. He became the leader of a dangerous group of insurgents who attempted to have Captain Aveline expelled by forcing anonymous complaints that she was coddling her men. Jeven even attempted to coax guards into joining his cause. In addition to getting revenge for his arrest at Aveline's hands, the scheme was intended to reduce what Jeven saw as excessive Fereldan influence in Kirkwall, though the plan backfired when Captain Aveline confronted him in the sewers of Kirkwall. He was killed after attacking Aveline. Aveline becomes proud of her efforts in reforming the Kirkwall City Guard and is thankful to Areida for encouraging her.

Despite being against siding with the mages and knowing that it might strip her of her job as captain of the city guard, Aveline joins Areida and the others in protecting the mages from Knight Commander Meredith’s wrath after Anders blows up the Chantry. She has Donnic order the city guard in protecting the civilians, keeping them out of the fighting.

Pregnancy

Two years after Anders blew up the Chantry, Aveline became pregnant and gave birth to a daughter she and Donnic named Areida, named after Aveline’s friend, Areida Hawke, who brought Aveline and Donnic togeather.

Dragon Age: Inquisition

When Rosabelle Trevelyan asks Varric Tethras about Aveline’s fate, Varric states that she is still Guard-Captain and is responsible for a lot of Kirkwall's stability.

Tresspasser

Aveline is seen in Varric's epilogue picture, smiling, implying she is still the Guard Captain of Kirkwall.

NOTE: The names in the family members section of Aveline’s biography that are bolded and italicized are part of my own version of the Dragon Age timeline and are therefore in no way canon.

#dragon age #dragon age 2 #Dragon Age: Inquisition #aveline vallen #Warriors #Kirkwall City Guards #Captain of the Guard

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allisondraste · 5 years

Text

Convalescence (2/5)

Chapter 2: It’s Poetic

Story Summary: It has been four months since the Blight ended, and four months since Alistair and Lucia have seen each other. Relationships are hard, especially when there is no certainty that one still exists. (Sequel to “Let Me Go”)

Chapter Summary: It is a lot easier for Lucia to deal with the affairs of the wardens than to deal with the affairs of the heart. It takes a friend to help her care for herself.

Pairings: Alistair x F!Amell, Alistair x F!Non-Warden Cousland, Nathaniel Howe x F!Non-Warden Cousland

[AO3 LINK]

Chapter 1

The crisp morning air tingled against Lucia’s face as she stood atop the battlements overlooking the Keep, her Keep. Unable to sleep, as was her custom more nights than not, she had wandered outside in only her light linen leggings and tunic, hoping that the biting Fereldan wind would numb her heart and quiet her mind as it numbed her nose and fingertips. It was a foolish notion, but one that gave her some measure of comfort more than tossing and turning in a bed that was too large for one person. Lucia liked the cold, anyway. It reminded her of her travels, the Frostback Mountains, and campfires with songs and stories over them. It was the most at home she could feel at Vigil’s Keep.

Warden-Commander Amell. Hero of Ferelden Amell. She still shifted uncomfortably under the weight of her titles and the responsibility that they placed upon her. The Keep had formerly belonged to the traitorous Rendon Howe and his family, but was seized and gifted to the Grey Wardens to honor their sacrifices for the Fereldan people. It was a place to rebuild their presence and heal from the Blight that had nearly destroyed them. Since Lucia’s arrival multiple wardens had been successfully joined and those loyal to the wardens’ cause had volunteered their time and funds to insure that the fortress was nearly impenetrable . And it was. The Keep withstood a siege of sentient darkspawn and allowed Lucia and her fellow wardens to save the city of Amaranthine. Her Keep and her wardens were something of which she should be proud. Yet she felt nothing but guilt.

Lucia had read the tales of Blights past, of noble heroes riding their griffon steeds to slay the Old Gods whose awakening caused the darkspawn to rise to the surface. Five times in written history had this occurred, and in all but one instance, the Grey Warden who slayed the corrupted creature did so at the cost of their life. It was a hero’s sacrifice, one that Lucia did not make. No, instead she had allowed two people she loved more than herself to make a sacrifice for her. Everybody lived, but at what cost? It seemed that everything had only worsened since she had slain the dragon. There were days, like this one, when she wondered if the world would have been better off if she had died in the typical Blight Hero fashion.

Then she thought of Alistair. They had fought tirelessly under this same sky to gain the allegiance of the Dwarves, Dalish, and Circle of Magi. Together they won the support of the landsmeet, the favor of the queen, and ended a Blight before it really even started. Just the two of them alone had accomplished what it had taken armies and over a decade to do during the Fourth Blight. They had come to love one another during that hardship, an unwise decision, but one she could not bring herself to regret. Alistair would have never let her make the sacrifice. At least this way, with Morrigan’s ritual, he had been allowed to live.

Lucia leaned forward against the parapet, elbows resting on the cold, rough stone. She twirled the shriveled remains of a white rose between her thumb and index finger, and allowed herself a bitter, tearful laugh. There were more wardens now than there ever had been since her joining, more people who would risk life and limb for her and her cause, yet she had never felt more alone than she did in this moment. No matter how many bands of talking darkspawn into which she flung herself, nor how many duties she carried, she could not shake the memory of the last conversation she had with him.

She had been in a bad place, they both had. She knew that they needed time and distance from the pain to heal, and freedom to work through an enormous grief in their own ways. At the time, she had not been certain there was a future to be had with him. It was difficult to see past the demons in her head with whispers of an escape from the suffering and promises of contentedness. Whispers and promises that sounded more like screams to her desperate heart.

Without a doubt, her choice to leave had been for the best. However, the manner in which she left and the choice to not write him, not even once, were not. She didn’t know how she expected him to react when he found her attempting to sneak away without a goodbye. She didn’t know why she didn’t tell him she loved him before she left nor why she could not seem to remember how to write every time she picked up a quill and parchment. What was she to say for herself anyway? That she was sorry for ripping his heart out, stomping on it, and running away because she was scared of what she had done? Knowing Alistair, though, he would have simply appreciated notice that she was alive.

Hearing footsteps behind her, she wiped away a rogue tear that escaped down her cheek. She turned to see a dark-haired man approaching her carrying a heavy woolen blanket. She furrowed her brows in confusion, wondering what Nathaniel could possibly want this early in the morning.

“Some of the guards saw you leave your quarters in the middle of the night, and were worried when you didn’t return. I figured I might find you up here, attempting to freeze to death,” he remarked dryly as he draped the blanket around her shoulders. “If you want to die, I can think of a hundred more noteworthy ways to go.”

“I’m not trying to freeze to death,” she retorted defensively, “I just… couldn’t sleep.”

“Troubled?” Nathaniel’s tone changed, suggesting that he understood now was not a great time for banter. He joined her in resting his elbows on the parapet.

“I’m fine. Just… restless.” She looked straight ahead, not really focusing on anything in particular. It was a vain attempt to avoid his gaze. “You know, you’re an excellent commander, but a piss poor liar.” He offered her a knowing look and his eyes flicked to the mummified rose in her hand. “What’s that?” He nodded toward the flower.

“Its… my latest weapon of choice.” She said, sarcasm enveloping her as a defensive barrier.

“A withered rose?” His expression was a mix of amusement and irritation.

Lucia shrugged. “It’s poetic.”

“Right.” Nathaniel rolled his eyes in a display of insubordination that would have offended her had he not actually been more friend than fellow warden. “Permission to speak... candidly?”

“Always.”

“You think entirely too much.”

His remark caught her by surprise and she turned her head abruptly to look at him. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that I have seen you thumbing that rose with a sour look on your face every day since I’ve been here.” He was observant, she would grant him that much. Either that, or she had been indiscreet. “That is a lot of thinking and looking miserable without doing anything about it.”

“It’s unwise to act without thinking things through,” she offered in her defense. That was how she had always operated: consider all possible outcomes and make the best choice. It was logical.

“Maybe so,” the other warden conceded, “But it is stupid to waste so much time thinking about the possibilities that you lose something important to you because you were too stubborn to act.”

“I don’t know what to do, Nathaniel!” She threw her hands up in exasperation.

“Well, what does your gut say?”

“My gut? But that’s not how I -” “What does it say,” he interrupted, pressing her to answer.

“I need to go to Denerim, “ she stated definitively, surprised by her own certainty.

“Then we are going to Denerim,” Nathaniel ordered as if he were her commander now. He probably should have been, if she were honest. “Come on.”

“Now?” Panic seized her at the prospect of Denerim and Alistair. As much rumination as she had engaged in about what she could have or should have done, she was wholly unprepared to face him. She had no idea if he would even want to see her.

“Yes. Now.” Nathaniel whirled around as he spoke, waving for her to follow. “I’m tired of you moping about.”

True to his word Nathaniel insisted that they leave at that instant, allowing her a half hour or so to pack her things and collect her hounds as she refused to travel without them. It was morning, and a perfect time to embark, or so he said. It was a full day’s travel to the capital, and it was safer in the daylight. She wanted to resent him for pushing her to make the journey, however, she could be nothing but grateful because she did not think she could bring herself to do it alone. For all the things she had faced over the past few months, possible rejection from Alistair was the most daunting. What if he wasn’t even there? Would that be worse than him being there and not wanting to see her? She couldn’t be sure.

As they reached the city, Nathaniel rode on inside, but Lucia stalled by the gates as the feeling of dread overwhelmed her. Rune and Fang whimpered and growled at either side of her, causing the horse to stir anxiously. Mabari were indeed too smart for their own good. They knew that she was dragging her feet, and they knew that she was sad. She could no longer fool anybody into thinking she was okay. Not even the dogs.

“I know, I know,” she whined, not sure why she should have to explain herself to them, “I’ll talk to him. I just need to take my time.” Both hounds barked cheerfully, satisfied with her promise.

“Hurry up,” Nathaniel shouted from ahead of her, clearly not as satisfied by her words “I can hear you thinking back there.”

She groaned and urged her horse forward into the expanse of Denerim’s market district. It looked so much different than the last time she had seen it, although admittedly it had been immediately following the battle. Everything was burning and Darkspawn corpses littered the ground at every turn. It had taken days for the smell of carrion and smoke to leave her nostrils.

Now, the district was teeming with the life she had always known it to have. Children played in the streets and gasped in amazement as the wardens rode by. Judging from the whispers of “That’s her!” and “The Hero of Ferelden is here!” she knew that there would be little hope of reaching the castle before word did.

As she expected, news of the wardens’ arrival reached the castle ahead of them, as Queen Anora sent servants out to greet them. Stable workers took their horses as they dismounted, another servant took the dogs, and a young woman, who couldn’t have been more than fifteen stood by the door, a pleasant smile on her face.

“Her majesty is waiting for you in the throne room,” the girl said bowing her head.

“Thank you,” Lucia said softly and Nathaniel nodded.

The doors to the palace opened into an open vestibule that was attached to the main hall. Lucia and Nathaniel moved swiftly across the room and through the heavy wooden doors ahead of them. The hall was just as Lucia remembered it, only there were fewer people and less chatter. Sunlight filtered in through large windows near the ceiling and a contingent of guards stood by the throne. Queen Anora sat, posture erect and very proper, at the far end of the room. She stood when she noticed the pair of Wardens and began to approach them, leaving her guards behind to grumble.

“Warden-Commander,” she exclaimed, “This is a pleasant, if not unexpected surprise.” She paused, her eyes darting toward Nathaniel, an amused expression spreading across her face.

“It has been some time, your majesty,” Nathaniel said fondly.

“Indeed it has, my friend.” Anora nodded and examined his armor, “You are a Grey Warden now?”

“Apparently,” he answered sarcastically, “I came home from Starkhaven to nothing but rumors of my father’s atrocities. The commander saved me from the gallows. I owe her my life.”

“Don’t we all?” Anora and Nathaniel shared a smile filled sorrow that only the children of the two most infamous traitors in the land could understand. Then, Anora turned her attention to Lucia again, “I presume you did not travel to the capital to exchange pleasantries.”

“No.” She looked down, examining the grey stone floor beneath her, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. It wasn’t, but she didn’t want to meet Anora’s piercing gaze. “I’m here to see Alistair.”

“Alistair is not in Denerim at the moment,” Anora explained, her eyes expressing sympathy that crackled in her voice.

“Oh.” There was no hiding the disappointment that overwhelmed Lucia. It was foolish of her to assume he would be there waiting for her when she arrived. Time had not frozen in her absence, and she should have known better than to get her hopes up.“Where is he?”

“He left for Highever yesterday morning. It wasn’t to be a long trip, but he will not be returning for a few days,” Anora answered, quickly adding,“Of course, you and Nathaniel are welcome to stay in the palace in the meantime.”

“Thank you, your majesty.” Nathaniel bowed his head in the first sign of reverence Lucia had seen from him thus far. They must have known one another as children. There was a long-standing, mutual respect in the air between them that was wonderful to see.

The queen ordered for servants to show the two to their rooms, and Lucia just sighed solemnly. The anxiety of the moment lingered unresolved and buzzing about in her head.Several days of waiting was going to feel like a lifetime.

“Are you all right,” Nathaniel asked, placing a hand on her shoulder and drawing her to the present.

“No.” She shook her head, releasing tears that clung to her lashes. “No I’m not”. It was the first time she had been truly honest with herself since she left.

Nathaniel gave her a few pats on the shoulder, his typical demonstration of support and sympathy. In the midst of her emotions Lucia turned and embraced him tightly, both arms around his waist, and sobbed into his chest. He tensed, shocked by the abrupt contact, but eased and returned the hug. She would later demand that he never tell another soul about this moment, but for now she needed comfort and he was a friend.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #alistair theirin #warden x alistair #alistair x amell #alistair x cousland #nathaniel howe #nathaniel how x cousland #hurt/comfort #chapter 2

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a-gay-bloodmage · 5 years

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About the Character: Kiora Trevelyan

Tagged by: @red-wardens ((and here’s the post!))

Tagging: @thedisc0panda and @zeesqueere and anyone who sees this! Tag me if you do it so I can see!

———–

― your muse’s name:

Kiora Trevelyan

― a favorite picture / faceclaim of your muse:

— More under the cut! —

― two headcanons you have for your muse:

Kiora is the closest thing to a demonologist that Southern Thedas has to offer. Her “profession” isn’t approved by the Chantry, of course, but she’s far more knowledgeable about the inner workings of the Fade than most Circle mages, as she’s not only spent far more time asleep and observing the dream world than most, but she wasn’t shy in approaching spirits. Where most mages try to avoid spirits in the Fade—as they may be demons—Kiora wasn’t scared to introduce herself. She’s been possessed a few times, but not only was she able to distract the more hostile demons long enough to exorcise them, but she was often pleasant enough to convince them to leave before they turned her into an abomination.

She’s well-versed in the world of elfroot. Kiora loves almost nothing more than relaxing with a good elfroot cigar, a cat, and a horror novel. She managed to convince the Templars of the Ostwick Circle to let the mages grow elfroot inside the Tower, lowering the conflict considerably. Mages, when they’re just giggling and sleeping, require a lot less discipline—just more corralling.

― three things that your muse likes doing in their free time:

Smoking: Kiora loves smoking. Loves it. Despite already being a very calm person, she finds elfroot smoking relaxing, and loves the steady rhythm of inhaling and exhaling and feeling the warm smoke curl around her lungs. Smoking was one of the few things in the Circle she could count on to be non-stressful. Having another person to smoke with only makes it better.

Cuddling with her cats: Kiora loves her cats! So much! Socks, Duke, Duchess, Spook, Miss Match, and Patches all hold a special place in her heart. Trevelyan castle had no shortage of fluffy, pampered housecats, and the Ostwick Circle had the cutest little mousers. Her magic is infectious, and if she spends enough time with a cat, she can meet up with their spirits in the Fade, granted that they’re sleeping. Whether it be in the waking world or in the Fade, Kiora is always happy to have a sleepy black cat in her arms.

Reading horror novels: Even if her sweet personality convinces most people that Kiora is simply an innocent girl with an affinity for black and violet, her more Gothic appearance actually does reflect quite a bit of her innermost being. She loves to sit and relax with a good horror novel, enjoying the gory, graphic ones the most. She’s so passive and soft-spoken she just needs to read about a horrific murderer every once in a while...

― seven people your muse loves / likes:

Sera: Kiora is in love with Sera. So much. She could rattle on for ages about how much she loves her hair and her voice and her energy and her smile and her everything. Her and Sera’s relationship is an “opposites-attract” one to most looking on—what with their polar opposite looks, dress, energy levels, etc—but they’re actually quite similar, and agree on the fact that everybody deserves a chance to live free as themselves. And that nobles are annoying.

Anders: Kiora has a love for Anders that most non-mages could never even hope to understand. She was terrified of the idea of being free from the Circle at first, as she had no idea how to survive outside thick stone walls, but as soon as she got her first taste of freedom, she couldn’t have been more grateful. No more long nights consoling abused mages and shooing away all the persistent demons that dwelled in the Tower. She longs to meet him one day, to finally be able to thank the man that made it possible for her to breathe fresh air and fall in love. She knows she’d never be able to express her love and gratitude, but she would love to try.

Cole: Kiora loves Cole and Cole loves Kiora. She all but adopted him as her weird little spirit son the second she saw him, and he immediately grew to like her. She may not be stupid, but her thoughts are quiet and gentle, and he appreciates hearing the memories of a kindhearted stoner than some of the more... intense companions. Her cats love him, and they help ground him to reality when he gets too lost in the loud thoughts of the tavern patrons. Once he becomes more human and starts sleeping, she visits him whenever she can to talk to him in the Fade. Her and Cole are close enough to force Sera to interact with him, and, with enough time, even Sera came around to liking him. Even if he is a little creepy.

The Iron Bull and Blackwall : Kiora adores Bull and Blackwall the same! They’re so sweet to her, and despite the two of them being so different, they both care for her like a kinda simple, sweet little lesbian daughter. Kiora loves cozying up on Bull’s giant lap, and she loves sitting in the stables and watching/listening to Blackwall whittle. Sometimes, she’ll drink and play cards with Bull and the Chargers, and other times, she’ll paint the toys Blackwall makes. She’s got very delicate hands that are quite good at detailed little hobbies.

The Warden (Redren): Kiora, when first hearing about the Warden, was utterly terrified of him. An apostate mage who could rip darkspawn apart with a wave of a staff, known for being aggressive and unfeeling, getting into bloody conflicts with Templars, and who maybe killed the King of Ferelden? The eleven-year-old Kiora was utterly terrified of ever meeting such a man. However, as she got older, and especially once she got shipped to the Circle at fourteen, she came to appreciate the Warden more. How was it possible for a mage to stand up for himself like that? When she became Inquisitor, her respect for the Warden doubled. Leading an organization was stressful, it was a wonder he hadn’t gone mad...!

Dorian: Kiora loves Dorian very much. Of course, learning he was from Tevinter made her nervous—as such a fact makes most in the South nervous—but once she got to know him, she came to really like him. Of course, he can be a little too confrontational for her at times, but for the most part, he’s fun to be around. He’s certainly more flamboyant than her, but they both share a love for eye-catching fashion. As a very empathetic person, she could relate to being a family outcast, and took Dorian in with open and squishy arms.

Vivienne: She and Vivienne may disagree on Circle politics, but Kiora really enjoys the presence of another Circle-raised mage. They were both well-respected in the Circles, and they’re both willing to agree to disagree. They appreciate fine clothing, intricate magic, and a nice glass of red wine. Not to mention, Kiora’s cats love curling around Vivienne’s waist, and no amount of white clothing can keep those cats from cuddling a mage.

― a phobia your muse has:

Kiora’s incredibly terrified of being useless. She’s spent her entire mage-existence being used by others, and she’s been so indoctrinated into the fact the usefulness equals the right to exist, and being tossed aside because nobody needs her is a terrifying concept. Mages that weren’t useful were Tranquil. Kiora helps keep her fears at bay by not only throwing herself into situations where she could be used to help, but by making sure that she’s always taking care of her cats and making herself useful to them. Constant reaffirmation is the best way to keep her from doubting herself, whether that be through thanks, smiles, or happy little purrs.

#thank you so much for the tag!!#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da inquisitor #kiora trevelyan #original content #i love my sweet mage daughter #so goddamn much

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jchb32273 · 5 years

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Chapter 32 of Kylara’s Story is FINALLY up!

Took me almost a month... I know I was slacking... NO excuses! But I feel pretty darn good about it! Here is hoping that Chapter 33 won’t take as long! >_< Sigh...

Current Chapter

The whole shebang!

A snippet... ^_^

I searched up and down the streets of Denerim looking for Alistair. Finally, I found him in the narrow alleyway behind the Gnawed Noble. How he’d managed to get his tall frame in such a small space baffled me. I wedged myself in, sat down next to him, and leaned my head against his arm. I heard him sob softly.

“I’m so sorry Alistair… that your visit turned out that way.”

“This is the family I’d been wondering about all my life? That… bitch is my sister? I just… can’t believe it.” I took his hand into mine and gave it a squeeze. He sighed. “I… I guess I was just expecting her to accept me without question. I thought that was what a real family would do. I… I feel like a complete and utter fool.”

“You’re not. But most people are out only for themselves. You must really start looking out for yourself.” I gave his hand another squeeze.

“You mean… I should stand up for what I believe more often?”

“Yes, Ali. If someone says something to you that you feel is wrong, make your feelings known. Speak up. Don’t keep silent. This will really help you…” I couldn’t finish what I was going to say – when you become King… because I knew what it would mean for me… and I was afraid.

“Ali? You've never called me that before,” he gave a small smile. “I… I really like that.” He tenderly kissed the top of my head.

“You don’t need her,” I said softly. “You have other people who care about you…”

“Like… you?”

“Yes,” I whispered. I could deny it no longer. I was falling for him again.

“Thank you…” He was silent for a moment, then asked, “This may seem like a totally random question, but do we still have that crate of clothes that Isolde gave to us? You know… the ones she gave us as kind of a half-hearted apology?”

“I think so… Pretty sure they’re in the cart. Why?”

“I want to do something really special for you. But we are going to need some nicer things to wear.”

“Why do you want to do this?”

“Because you’ve been with me from the beginning… through good and bad. Thick and thin. You can also, if you like, think of it as a true apology for the way I treated you after Ostagar and West Hill…”

“You don’t have to- ” I started to say.

He put a finger to my lips. “But I want to. You are worth it… to me.”

I was quiet for a bit, then murmured, “If you really want to, then I guess that will be all right.” I stood up from the dusty alleyway and brushed off my robe. Then I held out my hand to assist Alistair in getting up from his cramped position. “Just… nothing crazy, okay?”

“It’s a deal, love.”

We both headed inside the inn and to our room. Once there, I grabbed the bag of crystals that I’d bought for Shayle. “Might as well give them to her, since I’m heading to the cart. Guess I can also check on the horses while I’m there too.”

“I’ll be here when you return then.”

I nodded. While Alistair busied himself with something in the sitting room, I quickly checked to make sure my other purchase from the Wonders of Thedas was still hidden under the bed. Why do I still have this?! I really should take it with me and return it on my way to the cart…

But when I left the room a moment later, the box was still under the bed.

“Hello Shayle,” I said as I approached. “Things are going all right for you?”

“Its spell is working wonders,” she gave me a grin. “Not a single bird has been able to come anywhere near me. As for its belongings, a few people have tried to come up and get into the cart, but then they see me… and quickly run away.”

“That doesn’t bother you?” I hoped she wasn’t going to be upset, but to my surprise, she laughed.

“It is concerned about my feelings? Thank you, but you need not worry. After thirty years of not being able to do anything about the humans of Shadmoor making fun of me, defacing me, or other not so pleasant things to me… I am finding much humor in scaring them away. What has given me the greatest humor are the ones who have come back in the middle of the night, thinking I’d be asleep!” She laughed – a sound akin to rocks grinding together. “Besides, I said I would protect its belongings, and I will do just that.”

“Thank you, Shayle. That means a lot to us.”

“But I also assume it did not come here to just chat with me, though I do appreciate it.”

“Actually, Alistair wanted me to come and get a few items from the cart. He… wants to do something special for me.” I replied quietly.

“Is it considering getting back together with the other Warden then?” Shayle cocked her head at me. “That would make me… happy.”

“Really? Why?”

“When it… had the fight with the other Warden, I remember how sad it was; how the crystal on its neck stopped shining… I really would like to see it smiling again.” She paused for a moment, then said, “The crystal necklace it shares with the other Warden… it is not shining now, but there are flecks of color in it again. Hmmm… that is interesting.”

Curious, I asked, “Why is it interesting to you?”

“Since I am a rock golem, and I use crystals to enhance my abilities, I am sensitive to the properties of them. Yet, I have never seen crystals like the ones it shares with the other Warden. They are… rather unique. Where did it find them?”

Omitting the part about how sex with Alistair seemed to have something to do with their magic, I simply explained, “We found the rock containing them on the shore of Lake Calenhad. My… magic may have altered the rock somehow, but that is all we understand about them ourselves. Even a master jeweler in Orzammar had never seen a crystal like it before… though he told Alistair that it seemed to share properties with lyrium, but without the negative side-effects.”

Shayle seemed to think about that for a moment, then said, “Would it mind if I took a closer look at it?”

“No, I don’t mind, but the clasp of the chain doesn’t want to come loose, so I can’t take it off.”

“Understood.” She held her large hands together and told me to sit on them. I did so and she lifted me up so that she could get a better view of my crystal. A moment passed in silence and then she lowered me back to the ground.

“Any ideas?” I asked.

She shook her stone head. “I’ve never seen a crystal like it anywhere before.” She seemed to pause in thought for a moment, then asked, “Besides reacting to its emotional state with the other Warden – which I do still find most curious – what exactly do they do for it?”

“Mine seems to hold onto any excess magic… and his seems to hold onto energy.”

“Is that why it occasionally put its hand on the crystal when we were fighting in the Deep Roads? It was accessing its extra magic and energy?”

“So you noticed that?” I asked with a smile. “Yes. The Deep Roads were especially hard on Alistair and me since we are the only ones who can sense the darkspawn from afar. As we were running low on potions, we had to rely on the power being held by the crystals.” I gave a sigh. “But even that ran out before we were finished down there. I am glad we had them, however. The fighting could have turned out a lot worse… had we not had access to that extra magic and energy.”

“Why did it not share these crystals with the rest of the group? It could have given extra magic and energy to everyone.”

“I had thought about that once or twice while we were down there, but something tells me – especially after seeing what happened to the crystals when we… separated – that they only work for us.”

“Because the chains will not come loose?”

“Yes. That too.”

“Very interesting.”

“It is just something that we will eventually figure out.” I then reached down and picked up the bag of augmentation crystals I had bought for her. “Besides coming to get some items from the cart, I got these for you at the Wonders of Thedas store.” I handed her the first one.

“Oh! I haven’t seen a crystal of this quality for quite some time!”

“What does this color do for you… and will it work with the other one you already have?”

“Sadly, no. They do not work in conjunction. Can it imagine how pretty and colorful I’d look if they did?” She sighed as I hid a smile. “As for this particular crystal, the will replace the fire with lightning. With a crystal of this quality, you will even see little sparks jumping from crystal to crystal on my wrists. The overall effect will be quite striking.” She plucked the crystal from my hand and eagerly swallowed it.

Bemused, I asked, “Does it… taste like anything?”

“Since I lack the ability to taste, no,” she chuckled, “I can feel the electricity, however. This crystal quality is quite potent. Thanks.”

“I have one other for you… I hope it is the other kind – the defense one? I have to admit, I couldn’t be sure when I purchased them. They both looked similar in color.” I handed her the second crystal.

“This is a defense one. This will provide ‘spirit’ protection… attacks against the mind. This should provide extremely useful for me since I no longer have a control rod.” She swallowed it. The green crystals that had been on her shoulders were now replaced with ones that pulsed with an eerie purple glow. “I thank it very much for these.”

“You are welcome, Shayle. Now… I need to get into this cart and find those clothes that Isolde left us.”

“Who is that?” she asked as she gave me a boost into the cart.

“Isolde? That’s right. You haven’t met her yet. She is Arl Eamon’s wife and together they rule Redcliffe. You remember me telling you once that Arl Eamon helped to raise Alistair, yes? That Eamon was like his father?”

“I believe so… yes, I do remember that. So the Isolde – she was a mother to the other Warden?”

“Hardly! She was actually quite hostile to him. Alistair told me she used to punish him for the smallest, most insignificant reasons… all because she thought her husband was his father.”

“But it is the son of the former King, yes? Which will make it King someday… so how could the Eamon have been its father?”

“This is true, Shayle… but no one back then was supposed to know that truth. So the rumors were that Eamon was Alistair’s father… and Isolde resented that.”

Shayle looked cross upon hearing that bit of news. “Do you think it may want me to squash the Isolde?” she asked.

I almost burst out in laughter. “Ah… no. As tempting as that may be, we need to keep Eamon on our side… Squashing his wife might not be a good idea.” I found the box and opened it. “Besides, she knows the truth now. She gave Alistair and I these clothes as a sort of ‘I’m sorry’ gift. A bit on the weak side for an apology… but there isn’t much else I can do about it since we are here and she is still in Redcliffe. I might have some words with her in private once we return to Redcliffe. We will see.”

#fanfic #ao3 #dragon age origins #alistair theirin #alistair x warden #female amell #my original character #love and angst #reunion

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