ayemthewarden

[ayemthewarden]

All I want is butter noodles and queer Solas fic. It’s my dream.

[ayemthewarden]

Honestly this is just an excuse to write in elgsr'nan's voice which is so so so fun to write and also to have elgar'nan say the absolute wretched line "You remind me of my wife" to Dáire

(very very slightly implied elgar'nan/male lavellan, otherwise mentioned solas/male lavellan) (spoilers up to the isle of the gods)

---------

Maferath went to his wife and said:

"In the hills lies a silver pool where they say

The Voice of Heaven can be heard most clearly.

Let us go together and hear the Maker's Will."

[...]

With neither blade nor shield, Andraste gave herself up

To her enemies. And Maferath bound his wife's hands

And delivered her to the Archon to be put to death.

“Garas lasa, da’len.”

The drawl of the voice reverberated in his mind. What had been but a whisper in the Lighthouse was now the beat of a drum in the Crossroads.

Before him a forest of red-leaves opened their branches to him. A false fade sunrise burned his eyes and prevented him from seeing what lay beyond the path.

Nevertheless, he walked.

“What do you want?”

A laugh.

“To know what you would ask of me, da’len. Supplicants usually approach with requests. And I am feeling generous. Let us talk about your heart’s desire.”

“A trap, then.” He did not stop.

“It wounds me that you would think an ambush at my hand would be so simple, so obvious. Come, now.”

The trees opened to a clearing, in its centre an active Eluvian. Active but dark like a sunspot on his eyes. On the other side, barely discernible, the inky darkness of a beach at night.

On the sand, what at first looked like the striations of salt water, pulsated with the blight.

“You wish to speak with the Dread Wolf. To see him again. It's such a simple request. I can give that to you.”

Dáire did not move or respond. The sun became brighter. It did not burn, but it hurt.

“Let us talk openly. You know I could command you through. I would rather not.”

With a deep breath, Dáire stepped through.

The sound of waves and complete darkness welcomed him on the other side, as his eyes adapted to the dark and the stomach-churning effect of crossing the eluvian dissipated.

When he raised his head he found himself face to face with the All-Father, the Eldest of the Sun.

“Ah, I finally get to see the face of my child who subjugated the human believers, who impersonated their fables.”

“I did not-”

“And not only that. My wife’s servants, those who fell in sorrow after the fall of their protector. You have bound them to yourself.” Elgar’nan took a step closer. “To die the moment your brief life is over. Fascinating.”

The thousands of screams of terror and rage that rang through his head when the god got closer did not allow for a rebuttal.

Dáire clenched his jaw but refused to flinch at the clamour.

“Why you cry, whimper, and follow after someone already defeated is something I will never understand..” He tilted his head. “You are so much like her. That might be where he sees the appeal, as well.”

That made him recoil in disgust.

“I am nothing like Mythal.”

“Accept a compliment from your god when you are given it.”

“You are not my god.”

Elgar’nan turned and a sharp sting of pain shot through his legs, making him fall to his knees. But that was it, he was not holding him in place or commanding him.

But he was holding the threat of his powers over his head.

“You are smarter than that, storyteller.” Upon hearing the word, a cold shiver ran up Dáire’s spine.

“You said I could speak with him.”

“In due time.”

Elgar’nan walked away from him along the strip of sand. Expecting to be followed.

Dáire winced at the humiliation, but scrambled to his feet and followed. He walked fast and tried to pick up the pace next to him without outright running after the god.

There was something that felt familiar yet terrifying about him. It was similar to what he felt around Solas. He had felt like the embers of a hearth at night. Elgar’nan was a campfire burning too high and too close to an aravel’s wings.

And only now did he have words to describe it. Because they were both spirits taken form. And something inside him tugged and called at what it once had been.

“He hurt you.” Elgar’nan’s voice was soft when it broke the silence. “You wear the hurt on your face. It is not the first time I see it, the Dread Wolf has always only been loyal to his regrets. He left you behind just as he left thousands behind to fend for themselves. He even took your power for himself, that which made you stand over the rest of mortals.”

Dáire’s hand went to where his left arm was missing.

“I could give it back to you. Power over life and death, power to tear the Veil to shreds.” He laughed. “Power to slit his throat, if that is your wish. I would be witness to that. I am always loyal to those who remain loyal to me, da’len.”

“I do not want any of that.”

“Yes, you want a happy ending. These short lives of yours… That is all you think about, the end. I offered this to your sister and she spurned my gifts. You seem smarter in that regard. She thinks she can defeat me with brute force. You have heard of my victories. I have swelled with pride as you told the stories to the children of your clan. You know I will not fall in combat.”

He stopped and turned to Dáire, extending one hand towards him. Not in request, it was no invitation, it was an expectation that it would be taken.

“You know there is no happy ending. Unless it comes from my hand.”

“You want me to join you.”

“I would see you command those faithful to you in the southern continents. I would see you sit by my side in the new world I would bring forth.”

Dáire looked at him bewildered. It was one thing to dangle cheap promises of power in front of him, but… this?

Elgar’nan saw his hesitation.

“Or, if you are foolish enough to have no aspirations, I would let you run off to be with the Dread Wolf, disappear into the forests, and have his babies for all eternity, for all I care.” His hand lifted towards Dáire’s face and his fingers grabbed a strand of his hair.

He wanted to slap the hand away. He held the god’s glance instead.

“A shame if you ask me. You could be the new protector of the children that would blossom under my rule. She knew very well that they needed one. Worship tempers rage.”

“So you would see me worship you to prevent you from making irrational and violent decisions? Not very god-like.”

He braced for the rage. But Elgar’nan laughed with honest amusement.

“Da’len, that was your plan for dealing with the Dread Wolf.”

“I do not worship the Dread Wolf.”

“Love is just another name for worship. You were not planning to fight him in battle, do not make me laugh. Do not lie to me. You planned to appeal to his love. There is no difference.”

“He is no god.”

“In that, we agree. There is no need for battle, for sorrow and waste of precious life. He wants what I want. What you want, as well. I give you this: the Veil is torn, and Elvhenan returns, just as it was. All you have to do is talk with him and still his hand.”

This gave Dáire pause.

“It is truly such a small betrayal compared to what he has done. And he need not remember you have done it. I could erase it all from his memory, let him live a pitiful life with you. Or erase you from his memory if you wish to rule with me.”

A chill ran through Dáire at the thought. He could not do that to him.

A part of him tried to imagine what Solas would choose being offered the same choice by a gentler hand. He shook his head to dissipate those thoughts and turned to leave, but the All-Father’s hand still had a solid grip on his hair.

“Do not be selfish. Think about your family. Think about your sister.”

“Do not bring her into this. You would see her dead.”

“Not if you ask her to stop. I have no interest in a flea as long as it does not bite.”

“Let me go.”

To his surprise, Elgar’nan let go of his hair. Dáire held his glace for a second, then turned and walked towards the eluvian.

“It is so easy, I suppose. To plan to walk into the fade with your lover.” The last word was said with such disgust. “Or die. And not have to worry about those left behind, lost and in sorrow. What a match for the Dread Wolf.”

That made him stop and turn. Elgar’nan’s eyes glowed in the moonlight.

“And the dreadful future that awaits your niece. Someone with the blood of the ancients in her. Oh, do not look at me like that, you should ask your sister for that story.” A wave of his hand at Dáire’s confused expression. “At best, dying in obscurity. At worst, her life ended by someone who did not want one of my children in their land. She deserves to lead hunts, to grow into a mighty warrior and reclaim the empire that was.”

He was holding his hand out to him again.

It was a ridiculous idea. Nothing in those promises was something Ellara wanted. She would do anything short of killing him to stop any of this.

It was not like he liked her plan either.

When was the last time he had been allowed to make a choice?

He looked into the eyes of the All-Father. Softer than what they had been before. He had offered so much.

There was a weakness in that. A desperation.

It was something he could use. The voices from the Well hissed at the thought and told him to stab at this breach in the god’s armour. Wait for the time to be right, now or in a thousand years. Spill his blood on the waters.

As if reacting to his thoughts, blight tendrils had risen from the sand and were lovingly wrapped around his ankles. Dáire looked down at them, in disgust.

“You must have no fear of the Blight, child. It is a weapon, like any sword. It runs and boils through your sister’s blood. Oh she knows, though she might not have told you.”

He was lying, Dáire told himself. This was a desperate, final lie. It had to be, he needed to keep his distance from his words or else. He reached for his hand, and this time Dáire did not resist it.

“I can teach you to master it. To heal your friends. To destroy your enemies. To shape you into anything you want to be.”

Dáire laced his fingers around the gloved and armoured fingers of the All-Father, the Eldest of the Sun.

“I will consider your offer, All-Father.”

“You will. Come, we will soon have guests, and there is much to plan.”

[ayemthewarden]

boy got fucked up on that well juice, read my gfs fic,,,,,, imagine the crestwood scene but its gay and tender and no breakup

[ayemthewarden]

our surrender to the garden, to the weeds

(oldie repost. rewrite of the crestwood scene, no breakup on this one)

“I need to go for a walk.”

“Dáire, it is literally about to rain.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

He hears his sisters call as he stands and walks into the trees. She continues to call his name several times.

Dáire walks fast but treads lightly. He knows his sister could still track him with ease if she wanted to, but he hopes she will not follow this time.

The voices have been ceaseless, ever since they left the Temple of Mythal. When they are not speaking over each other, they are screaming. Not a moment of silence. In the last two days, Dáire has barely been able to sleep.

In this moment, all he wants is to finally arrive at Skyhold, close all curtains to his room, and lie there in silence. And hope they would go silent as well, or at least manageable. If he could at least be with Solas...

It didn’t help that he had not spoken a word to him since the Vir Abelasan.

It also did not help that every time he tried to talk to him or walk cloae to him, the voices screamed loud and shrill. Like someone screaming in pain but who will not tell you which bone is broken.

And Ellara was right.

It is raining.

Dáire still makes his way through the trees. He does not have a destination. At least the sound of the storm is louder than the voices, and the warm summer rain soaking his clothes is strangely comforting.

Lightning flashes across the sky. Dáire stops and closes his eyes, waiting for thunder, but is met by another collective scream from the voices. Holding his head in his hands, he falls to his knees.

“Just tell me what you want!”

They waver for a second as if thinking, trying, but the yelling continues. Dáire opens his eyes just to see a shadow off the corner of his vision, between the trees.

Maybe this time they are trying to warn him.

He gets up, feet and knees covered in mud, turns and runs.

Some of the words in ancient elven, he can make out: Run. You’re in danger. You will be hurt.

They are not very helpful, as he still does not know what he’s running from. Or if he should be running at all. The storm, the thunder, the voices, the trees zooming past him. It is too much, and he runs like following an instinct. Away from danger. Away from the voices.

As he tries to look back, his foot catches on a root, and he falls, face-first into the mud. He pulls himself up, breathing heavily.

And sees the shadow through the trees again.

He is ready to stop running and face it, magic crackling in his hand. But the voices roster yet again. You're in danger. Get up. Turn and flee.

And run.

And-

He stops on his tracks as he comes face to face with a wolf.

Dark, billowing fur. Impossibly big. With eyes like stars.

His jaws open and Dáire closes his eyes, awaiting the tear of the teeth on his skin.

He feels, instead, two warm hands on his shoulders.

“Dáire! Dáire open your eyes. You still belong to yourself, no matter what they tell you.”

When he opens his eyes, he sees Solas, holding him, a concerned expression on his face. Dáire looks over his shoulder, trying to find the wolf, and then tries to turn around to look behind his own back. Solas' hands firm on his shoulders.

“No, Dáire. There is just us here. Please, look with your own eyes. Look at me.”

When he does, the voices scream again, but Dáire fixes his eyes on Solas’, his arms shaking.

“Good.” Solas lets go of his shoulders and wraps his arms around them instead. “Now look past me, and tell me what you see.”

Resting his chin on Solas' shoulder, Dáire looks at the forest. In the darkness of the storm, a sudden flash of light far away, barely visible between the trees.

“Lightning.” His voice sounds hoarse.

“Good. Now tell something you are thinking. One of your own thoughts.”

Dáire stays silent for a few seconds as his thoughts become clearer.

“One summer, Ellara taught me how to count the seconds between lightning and thunder to know how close they are.”

“Can you do that now?”

Dáire nods. Solas steps back and holds his hand, leading him onwards as he counts out loud.

Solas leads them to a small group of rocks off the side of the forest. Not really a cave, but big enough to provided shelter from the rain. Dáire sits next to him, and rests his head on his shoulder, counting as the storm slowly recedes and the lightning falls further away.

“I cannot hear them anymore.” It is a sudden realisation. That it is not just the thunder that has gone silent.

“You will have to learn to push their thoughts under yours when you don’t need them.” He is silent for a moment. When he talks again, his voice is harder than before. “You should not have drunk from the Vir Abelasan. I begged you not to.”

“Solas…”

“You gave yourself into the service of an ancient elven god.”

“You… You don’t even believe in them. I myself, don’t know what to believe after what we saw at the Temple. So, what does it matter?”

“I don’t believe that they were gods, but I believe that they existed. If not gods, then mages, or spirits. And you are bound to one of them now. Anything you do will be for her, whether you know it or not.”

His voice is so sad it knocks the air out of Dáire's lungs. It takes him a few breaths before he speaks again.

“This is... clearly very important to you. Is that why you haven’t talked to me since we left the Temple?”

“And because you seemed to be in pain whenever someone made a sound near you.” He stayed silent, watching the rain drip from the rocks in front of them. “Why did you offer yourself so readily for it? Was it for power?”

The reply comes to Dáire faster than he was expecting:

“Because it was what I had to do to be able to save everyone. All other options were worse than this.”

Solas does not reply, but he feels him tense up at his response. One of his arms wraps around Dáire's shoulder and holds him close. Tight.

In silence, they watch the rain stop, and the evening sun start to pool through the leaves.

“There is a river nearby. We should at least wash the mud off your face and hair.”

Dáire touches his face, suddenly aware of the mud now caked and solidified on his skin. He rubs it with the palm of his hand and laughs.

Solas holds his hand as they walk towards the river. It’s not often that he is the one to reach for his hand, and it has happened twice today. Dáire entwines his fingers with his. Solas tightens his hold.

The river runs wide and shallow and slow in here. Dáire walks in, knee-deep, welcoming the cool water. He kneels on the river to wash his face, rubbing the mud off his cheeks.

Solas walks into the river and kneels behind him. Dáire feels cold water and then his fingers on his hair. He feels water pour over his hair, washing away the mud, the swear and the rain. Careful fingers undo knots with so much gentleness that tears threaten to well up in his eyes. He closes them instead, feeling that he could fall asleep right there, in the arms of the river, under the warmth of the summer sunset. And the blessed silence in his head.

It is Solas' voice that breaks the silence.

“There is something you said earlier. That you did not know what to believe anymore." He pauses. "You said something similar before we went to the Temple… Something about the ancient elven gods not being here.”

One of Solas' hands is still running over his hair, the other has come to rest on the spot between his neck and his shoulder, his thumb rubbing gently at the back of his neck.

“When we were talking about the Dread Wolf, yes…” Dáire’s voice comes soft and mellow. “I said that maybe what he did, fooling the Elven Gods, was not... so simple. That we could not say for sure it was something bad. That the creators made.this world and they are not there anymore to hear us, but essentially Fen'Harel gave us the world as we know it. Made it our responsibility. And now watches and listens." Dáire stops, trying tonput his thoughts in order. "Maybe there is more to it now, knowing what we saw at the Temple. Maybe he’s not here to listen to our prayers either…”

As he speaks, Solas stands and walks around him, to kneel in front of him, cupping Dáire’s cheek in his hand.

“Maybe there is more truth on that than you think… Dáire, there is something I wish to tell you. The truth.”

He goes silent after that, running his thumb over his cheek. Dáire reaches out to rest his hand on Solas’ cheek too.

“Yes?”

A breath shakes Solas' chest as he looks into his eyes. For a moment, Dáire thinks he is going to break into tears. He opens his mouth.

Then Solas breaks eye contact, briefly, looking down at his cheeks, rather than his eyes. He takes another breath.

“Your face. The vallaslin. In my journeys in the Fade, I have seen things. I have discovered what those marks mean.”

“They honour the elven gods.”

“They do now. And they did back in the time of Ancient Arlathan, but in a different way. A noble would mark his slaves with the symbol of the gods he worshipped.”

Dáire looks into his eyes. He does not think Solas would lie to him, but he is not sure if this is all there is to it. He runs his thumb again over Solas’ cheek. He, ever so slightly, flinches.

“Is this… Is this why you don’t have any?”

“Yes.”

Trying to get Solas to speak about his past had always been difficult. Dáire lowers his eyes.

“Why tell me now?”

“Because, after all that has happened, after seeing the memories of the slaves branded against their will in honor of a god for the rest of their lives… You deserve better than that. You are already bound to Mythal. You don’t have to have her brand on your face.”

“I don’t have to?”

“I know a spell. I can remove the vallaslin, if you wish.”

Any questions he might have had freeze in his throat.

A million thoughts reel on Dáire’s head.

Days spent meditating and purifying.

The pain as the hours passed, and the Keeper applied the lines with care and reverence. His sister holding his hand.

Ellara, embracing him with pride, pressing her forehead to his, the branches meeting their copy on each other.

But also Ellara’s anger at the Temple of Mythal. Her faith reinforced, while his wavered.

And the voices in his head. In there forever. Pulling and pushing, whispering into his ear. Muttering secrets and showing him visions he does not want to see.

And Solas deciding not to get his vallaslin? Or having it removed? So many things Dáire has always wanted to ask about his past. And so many of them that have been met with silence.

“Dáire.” His voice brings him back to reality. “You do not have to decide now. You do not have to agree to this at all. I am sorry.”

He stands, water dripping off his clothes, and heads towards the river bank. Dáire stands after him and holds his arm. When he turns to face him, Dáire holds his hands and brings them up to his cheeks.

“Do it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am bound to Mythal now. I don't regret the choice I made." He adds before Solas can say anything else. "I wish it didn't have to be me, but it was my choice."

He lowers his hands to his sides. Solas' hands remain cupping his face.

"But knowing this now, knowing… what I saw at the Temple, I don’t think I can be comfortable with this. With the vallaslin on my face. Call it a small rebellion, I guess.”

Solas smiles and nods. He places his hands on Dáire’s forehead.

He closes his eyes.

It does not hurt. As Solas runs his hands down his face, a faint light glows behind his eyelids. It feels cold like the water lapping at their knees.

When it’s over, Dáire opens his eyes, but resists looking at his reflection in the water. Rather, he looks at Solas, who is now staring at him with a fondness he has never seen before.

Knowing it’s not over, Dáire reaches to undo the laces of his shirt, but Solas’ hands reach for them.

They have undressed each other many times before, but this time it’s different. Solas undoes the knots on his shirt slowly. He slides the wet shirt it off his shoulders with reverence and carefully lays it on the river bank, over dry, sunlit stones. He does the same with his undershirt, with his pants. It feels almost like a ritual.

Slowly, his hands trace the ink lines over his chest, his back, his legs, his arms, glowing as the lines disappear under his fingers. Yet he also traces the rivers of his veins on his arms, the scars on his chest, imaginary lines between his freckles.

“Ar lasa mala revas.”

You are now free.

We have done this before. A stray, nonsensical idea that flies through his mind like an arrow.

Dáire looks up at him and reaches for his face with his hands again. And he kisses him, deep and desperate, as Solas wraps his arms around his waist.

Without breaking the kiss, Dáire reaches for the hem of Solas’ shirt. Slowly, he also starts to undress him.

With as much reverence.

With far more unsteady fingers.

---

Later, as they lie on their warm clothes on the riverbank, Solas looks up at the sky, as the first stars appear through the canopy.

“We should head back to the camp.”

Dáire shakes his head, eyes half-closed. Face buried in the crook of Solas' neck.

“I don’t want to go back. Not now. I want to be with you. I don’t know how much time we will have together before this is all over.”

Solas smiles and places a kiss on his lips, light as a feather, before he stands and reaches for his clothes.

“I will go back and tell them you are okay. And that we’ll make out way back to Skyhold on our own. At our own pace."

Dáire’s face lights up as he sits up. “There is nothing I would like more.

Solas chuckles.

“Your sister is not going to be happy. I don’t look forward to it.” Once he is dressed, he walks back to Dáire and kisses his forehead. “Wait for me here. I will be back soon.”

Dáire throws his arms around his neck, keeping him closer a little longer.

“I will wait. Come back soon.”

As Solas’ steps fade into the forest, Dáire looks up at the sky.

The voices are a soft murmur at the back of his head. The sound of ocean waves. Some of them are louder than others, and once they are noticed they rise to meet him as if he has fallen asleep before the tide. He tries to remember what he did before.

Tell me what you see.

“The stars. Constellations Eluvia and Solium.”

Now tell something you are thinking. One of your own thoughts.

“I love him.”

One of your own thoughts.

“I love him.”

[ayemthewarden]

i can't promise you fair sky above, can't promise you kind road below

Blessings and good wishes. Smoke in her eyes, dance, cards and dice on the tables. More good wishes.

Once the banquet and the ceremonial dances were over, Almalexia made some excuses and sneaked out to the palace gardens. Her eyes fixed on Hopesfire in her hands, feeling like a child that was just given a new toy and couldn’t wait to try it.

Hanging her wedding cloak over a tree branch, she took a step back and lifted the sword, swinging it around her. The sword was light and cut the air like a bird in flight. The blade gleamed in the moonlight, and fire danced and leapt over the steel edge.

Soon, this blade would be used to repel the Nord invasion. She imagined swinging against tall, armoured men. Their faces obscured. Falling to the ground under her fury. Fire and blood arcing in the air before her.

She tried not to think of the swordmaster that taught her how to use a blade. Or the old man she had met on the road once who taught her a Shout. These weren’t them. These were faceless, angry, and out for blood.

She twirled and swung behind her, freezing. Her blade just a few centimetres from-

“Vehk? What-? How long have you been there?”

“Since I noticed you were gone. Sorry, I didn’t say anything, I like wayching you while you practice.”

She smiled, brushing away the hair that had fallen loose from her braids and stuck to her forehead. Vehk was all but glowing in the moonlight, wearing the earrings and necklaces she had gifted him. The stole whose light embroidered fabric she had chosen.

“Is anyone asking for me?” she asked, sheathing Hopesfire and sitting on the cold grass.

He shook his head and sat next to her.

“The new Hortator is enjoying taking over all the attention.”

She laughed and rested her head on his shoulder. He was quieter than usual, sitting with his back upright, not leaning onto her. She raised her head, wondering if she had done something wrong. They sat next to each other, shoulder against shoulder, until he finally spoke.

“I am very happy for you.”

“This was all of us working together. I should thank you too.”

“I mean your marriage. Nerevar. You seem to love him very much.”

Almalexia opened her mouth, then closed it and laughed again, though this time it was shaky and tinged with disbelief.

“We went through this. We both agreed to this as something political. Nothing more.”

“You said you loved him during the ceremony.”

“I can’t believe it. Vehki, you’re jealous! You know this is all for show. You know how I feel.”

He avoided her eyes, but he didn’t seem angry just… Confused? Despondent?

“How am I supposed to know if you mean it, then? You just said it to him earlier today.”

The words cut like a blade through her heart

She rose to her feet, pain swelling in her throat.

“Do you think I lie to you when I say I love you?”

He stood too, but where her hands were closed into fists, his were clasped together. While her eyes blazed, his remained downcast.

“Ayem… No. I’m sorry. I just… I don’t understand. I am nothing. I am less than nothing.”

His hands wrung together. She reached towards him and held his face between her hands. Tears brimmed at the corners of his eyes, and her heart broke.

“Vehk. Vehk. You are summer rain, and sunlight at dawn. You are beautiful, your voice is beautiful. You have the gift of prophecy. You’re the beginning and the end. I’m not the poet, Vehk. You know I can only repeat that I love you.”

Vehk's eyes widened as she spoke. When she went silent, he blinked back tears.

“You shouldn’t be in love with your courtesan.”

“You are not my courtesan, Vehk. You are not.” Ayem's voice was firm, a sharp edge to her words.

“But I am now.”

“You are not. I do not own you. You are free to come and go as you please. To love me or not. I want you here, with me. But I will not force you to stay. Not if it hurts you. But that doesn’t change that I love you.”

Ayem kneeled on the grass in front of him, holding his small hands in hers, like many had done before her today. She looked up to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you cry on your wedding day,” he whispered.

So she was crying as well. She had not noticed the wetness on her cheeks until now. She wiped them with the back of her hand, a croaky laugh leaving her throat, and looked up at him again. Vehk's eyes had not left her face.

“If it was within my power, Vehk, I would have married you today.”

The words bubbled out of her heart, out of her mouth, like water from a fountain.

“Ayem…” His hands gripped hers tightly.

“Would you?” she asked.

“What?”

“Would you have married me today?”

Breath caught in his throat, then he laughed, too. His laugh came shattered by the tears that had been welling in his throat, but to her ears, was like crystal bells. Then he fell to his knees in front of her, holding her hands to his chest.

“Yes! I would marry you a thousand times if I could, Ayem. I would.”

“Because I am the queen, and I have asked you?”

“Because I want to. Because I love you, Ayem.”

The night seemed to have gone still as they looked into each other's eyes in silence. Summer breeze quieted, the music from the palace ever so distant.

“Come with me, then,” she whispered.

She stood and grabbed her cloak, wrapping it arou dher shoulders. Vivec followed suit, his hand never leaving hers.

She led him around the grounds towards the kitchens. Crossing the gate that separated the ornamental gardens from the palace’s private plots of usable land and vegetable gardens.

“What are we doing here?”

“I’m trying to find something! Ah!”

She kneeled next to a bushel of bittergreens, ripping off two sprigs with one hand, as her other one was still holding Vehk’s.

“What-?”

“Come here!” she whispered.

She felt giddy tonight, like the times as a child, where she sneaked away from her tutor to play with the servants’ children.

Ayem led him into the kitchens, through the back door. The room was dark, lit onñy byt the dim moonlight coming from a sole small and narrow window. All the work had finished for the day, but the hearth still warmed the rooms.

Letting go of his hand for a moment, she reached for two chairs and arranged them facing each other. Then she found a bowl, some bread, some flin.

Vivec slowly realised what she was doing.

“You’re insane!”

“I am Mother Morrowind.”

He laughed again, a clear melody this time.

“The moons are up in the sky. Azura’s star is no longer here! It is too lat-”

“Shh!”

She tiptoed to the window and lit a small candle. Then, she placed an empty blue bottle in front of it. When she sat back on the chair, the candle flame looked like star hanging on the horizon.

“She will be here for as long I will it.”

“Your mother is back to dreaming sweetly in her slumber. She is not here to give her blessing.”

“I know my mother, I do not need her voice here to know what she would say.”

“I have no name or house. I cannot welcome you in my bloodline, because it does not exist. I cannot bring anything to yours. I have not forged a silver and ebony band with my own hands to give to you.”

“You silly songbird, you foolish poet! I don’t need any of that. Hold my hand tighter now, so I may always feel it when we let go.”

Vivec sat in front of her. She gave him one of the sprigs and held the other, pressing it against his heart. He pressed his against her chest.

“Do you know the words?” she asked.

“I must admit, I did not pay much attention to the ceremony.”

“Repeat after me then.”

And she spoke, echoed by him, the words she had learned by heart: “By Boethiah I will be the scourge of your enemies and the shield before you. May the poison that destroys them be sweet on your tongue. May the thorns that cut their fingers leave no blood on yours.”

She then tucked her sprig of bittergreen under the fabric covering his left shoulder, and he did the same with his, placing it next to the one she was already wearing and had forgotten about. When his fingers brushed her neck she closed her eyes and breathed in deep.

The twine came next. She did not have a golden thread so she unravelled the hem of her sleeve, carefully spinning it around her fingers like yarn. It was not gold, it was red like her hair.

Somehow it seemed more appropriate.

An elaborate cat’s cradle woven and tied around their fingers. A supplication to Mephala: “May the Webspinner entangle our lives together so that no one will undo these knots, so that none might be broken, so that I will always find my way back to you. May we only speak the truth to each other. May she strike down anyone who dares break these bonds.”

Then she reached for the bread and the flin.

Almalexia knew the priest said something at this point, but she did not remember it. Something about a blessing to ensure plenty. She did not need such a blessing. She was Mother Morrowind.

She would sooner die than let him ever go hungry or cold again.

He held her hand over his mouth after she fed him the bread. He ate like he had been starving for months.

When she took the bread from his hand and drank the flin from his cup, they tested sweeter than sugar, sweeter than a song.

Azura did not need many words. Just a request: “Let him be the past to my future: Let me be the sunrise to his sunset.”

"Let her be the past to my future. Let me be the sunrise to her sunset."

Then she moved the chairs and they sat side by side, holding each other. They stared in silence at the candle, as it consumed itself behind the glass bottle. A star dipping under the horizon. His head rested against her neck and she could smell honey and hearth. The room got colder, so she wrapped her cloak around them both and they watched. In the dim light, in the quiet of the kitchens. The only sound their breath, slow and deep, like lovers sleeping side by side.

When the candle died and the room went dark again, just lit by the faint light of the moons, it was Vehk who reached for her face and kissed her. With reverence and awe, that she returned.

“Do I belong to you now?” he asked when the kiss broke and they held each other close.

“You belong to no one. So badly you want to be owned by me?”

“If that is what it takes to never be parted from you. If we lose this war and the Nords push back and exile us, enslave us, or kill us. I wish to be exiled, enslaved, or killed with you.”

She stroked his face as he rested on her shoulder.

“Vehki… Are you scared of the war? You are the one that foresaw Nerevar’s victory.”

“What if I am wrong? I also foresaw his death. I should be wishing the third eye’s fire is lying to me.”

“You foresaw his death?”

“The sigil on his hand ended.”

“All our lives come to an end at some point, Vehk.”

“His sigil ended where mine starts.”

She went quiet and held him closer.

“We will win, I promise. I am the Warden-Queen of Mournhold. I have dreamed of our victory. Nothing will happen to you. To any of us.”

“Did you also dream about Nerevar?”

“No.”

It was a lie. And it was a horrible feeling to lie to him right after the ritual they had shared. But lie she did.

The night after they arrived at the palace, she had dreamt of Nerevar killing her. Of her body lying bleeding out in a dark tomb. That was why she had sent them away the very next day. The truth would do him no good now.

They walked out of the kitchens, still hand in hand. Queen Almalexia and her poet. Mother Morrowind, married once in legends and once in history. Married twice tonight. Married to war and married to peace. To present and future. To the earth and the wind. To fate and prophecy.

These words spun like thread in her head and she was not sure that she understood them. She just wanted to spin and dance and laugh.

As they approached the palace they came across Nerevar, scratching his head. He had leaves in hair and cloak. When he saw them, a smile lit up his face.

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you all over the gardens. Are you stealing my wife already, Vehk?”

Almalexia stepped forward, a grin on her face.

“As a matter of fact, he is.”

Nerevar stood there dumbfounded for a second, then he laughed. And his laugh was deep and sounded like war drums and victory. How could they ever doubt? How could they not win the war?

That night she dreamed. Of victory? Defeat? Death? Rebirth?

Of Nerevar?

She could not tell. In her dream, blood sprayed on her face, flowed over her eyes and the only thing she saw was Red.

[ayemthewarden]

Gonna be reposting some of my fav work and some new stuff little by little

[ayemthewarden]

(just for the pinned post)

Hi! This is my writing sideblog. Will probably start transferring stuff from my main and ao3 to here little by little.

I write mainly: Dragon Age, Morrowind (ESO in general also sometimes)

AO3: almalexiasgf

Asks are open and requests are accepted, plz be nice

Worldstates and general Headcanons for all games under the cut!

Dragon age worldstate/headcanons:

(shared with @littlegumshoe )

Origins

Warden: Waltz Surana (nonbinary, they/them)

Waltz is deaf and uses BSL

Romance: Zevran (and Sten technically as a mutual pining thing for years)

Waltz had the ritual baby with Morrigan

Alistair remained a Warden, Anora made queen

Waltz left for Antiva with Zevran, they adopt a child at some point, most probably a would-be crow orphan

Might or Might Not be dead by DATV times who knows

DA2

Hyacinth Hawke (trans man, he/him)

Mage

Romance: Anders

Sided with mages, remained close to all companions

Both Carver and Bethany alive (Carver warden)

Hyacinth left with Anders to a secluded cottage somewhere in Ferelden, they have a daughter called Lysandra

Other choices: Isabela saved, Fenris alive and well and free, Merrill gets all the support to repair the eluvian, Sebastian becomes prince of Starkhaven

Seamus and Ashaad are both alive and in love :)

Inquisition

Inquisitor: Dáire Lavellan (trans man, he/him)

Mage

Original Follower: Ellara Lavellan (Dáire's older sister)

Romance (Inquisitor): Solas

Bit of backstory: Ellara and Dáire's parents died after a human ambush when Dáire was 5 and Ellara was 14. Dáire was to be the First of clan Lavellan, and was sent to the Conclave. After the news of the explosion, Ellara followed and subsequently joined the inquisition.

At the start of Inquisition, Ellara has a 2 year old daughter, Andrale. She is 5 at the end of Trespasser, and 15 by the time of Veilguard.

Andrale's father is Felassan because these are my dolls and I do what I want :) She met him before his death during an Arlathvhen and thought he was just from another clan.

Dáire's original hair colour is black and eyes are brown - when gaining the anchor his hair turned opalescent (like the veil distuptions in Arlathan) and his eyes violet (like ancient elves) - both go back to their original colours after losing the arm.

Choices: Iron Bull stayed with the Chargers, Cole encouraged to be a Spirit, Dorian did not reconcile with his father, Blackwall left for the Wardens, Sera killed Harmond, Briala ruler with Gaspard as puppet, Dáire drank from the Well, Leliana as the Divine.

Trespasser: Dáire swore to save Solas and disbanded the Inquisition.

Ellara was in a brief relationship with Blackwall, cut short due to finding out about his true identity. Asked him to join the Wardens to attone, he died between Inquisition and Trespasser.

Dáire was close friends with Cassandra, Ellara was very close with Vivienne. All companions were generally close to both the Inquisitor and his sister.

The Crestwood scene actually happened over around a week of complex explanations and conversations.

Inquisition takes places over 1-2 years

Ellara grew to consider Solas like a brother until the end of Trespasser :')

Between DAI and Trespasser

Ellara joined the Veil Jumpers (see where this is going) to find out more information about what Solas is planning, and where he could be hiding.

Dáire did meet up with Solas in person once or twice and a few times in dreams (just did not tell anyone :) because Dáire actually agrees with the "tear down the veil" plan)

Ellara is ready to Kill Solas if necessary (just doesn't tell Dáire :) because Solas ruined the communication in this family)

In my worldstate Andrale actually discovers the location of the Minrathous hideout by decoding an ancient elven ritual that allowed her to ask one (1) question from a fen'harel statue (because these are my dolls and i do what i want) (see where this is going)

DATV

Rook: Ellara Lavellan >:) (cis woman, she/her)

Rogue (Veil Jumper)

Romance: Neve <3

Neve still aids Ellara and Varric in traversing the city and trying to plan an ambush in the hideout, but the ritual happens.

Ellara KNOWS Varric is dead, what Solas hides from her memory is that he killed him. She believes he died from the ritual explosion (it just, works better for their dynamic)

Obviously the conversations with Solas are more based on familiarity because they are, at the end of the day, family.

The memories in the Crossroads are longer, spanning weeks. And there is more of them.

Ellara does find out about Felassan >:)

Neve and Andrale bond via Neve basically giving her a paid secretarial job

Companion choices: Neve becomes Dock Town's inspiration, Emmrich becomes a lich, Bellara retains the Archive, Griffons stay in Arlathan, Lucanis jails Illario, Taash embraces Qunari culture.

City choice: Minrathous saved (Dáire was in Minrathous at the time)

Other choices: Harding died at Tearstone Island, Neve is blighted and kidnapped by Elgar'nan (and then rescued)

Yes, Solas still traps Ellara in the Regret prison. Yes, it's messed up.

Ending: Solas and Dáire walk into the Fade together :') (and have a long conversation about the whole regret prison situation)

Other DA HCs and personal worldbuilding:

Elves are indeed spirits and they do keep reincarnating after death - this is my excuse to hc that both Ellara and Dáire did exist as well during Elvhenan times, joined the rebellion, and unfortunately died for it

Might be gradually stealing concepts from the datv artbook, including Reva as a character

I subscribe to Solas/Felassan 100% being a thing - when writing it I tend to separate it either in time or universe with Ancient Elven!Ellara and Felassan being a thing (because I am not comfortable with Ellara being part of a V that involves Solas lol)

Fine with whatever interpretation of what Mythal and Solas were, I love it all, I find it fascinating. I mostly subscribe to a co-depended, highly unbalanced, actually physical romance. But I am not like, married to the idea.

We have other DATV worldstates with other Rooks and love interests that I might write about

Morrowind worldstate/headcanons

Nerevarine: Moss (Dunmer) (nonbinary, they/them)

Never joined the Morag Tong, mainly part of the Temple faction

Married Vivec after the fall of Dagoth Ur <3

Also romantically involved with Varvur Sarethi <3

Disappeared into Skyrim once Vivec became mortal

They had twins (one dunmer, and one chimer, I do what I want)

Other Morrowind headcanons:

Almalexia/Vivec does things to my brain

I believe the first council were all friends :) I believe Almalexia's marriage with Nerevar was mostly political and I subscribe to the hc that she is just Not Into Men.

I think all versions of the Murder of Nerevar Happened At The Same Time :) And the Tribunal just happens to have all the memories of both being responsible AND not at the same time in their brains

she/her Kagrenac my beloved <3

the tribunal does become toxic and codependent after the whole nerevar thing and i wouldn't have it any other way

ESO Worldstate

Main Vestiges: Delyni Sarano (cis woman, she/her) and Elebrin (Brin) (nonbinary, they/he)

Delyni is a Buoyant Armiger. She was in an arranged marriage with a noble named Dethran. They had a baby boy called Azaril.

When Delyni was expecting Azaril she got a vision from Azura bestowing upon her the "blessing" that her bloodline would end the false gods.

Shortly (like, days) after the birth of her son, her husband was murdered. Unclear whether she or the morag tong did it. She reclaims the rumour that his death was her fault and twists it into different stories every time - it is intentionally left vague

She is the middle of 9 children, all named after the saints

At the time of ESO, Delyni's son Azaril is 11 and lives with her sisters. He will grow to be the ancestor of Moss :)

Brin was born in the Clockwork City and is technically a descendant of House Dagoth, which he finds out via being led to the Red Mountain and having to be rescued by Delyni

Brin is a Clockwork Apostle

Brin has several prosthetics, including two supports for his arms and legs (needed for his legs, uses a wheelchair for comfort when not out in the field) and a mechanical hand.

They both fall and free themselves from Choldharbour in a sort of Orpheus-and-Eurydice situation

They spend a year apart afterwards falling in love via letters <3

Brin absolutely Hates Darien Gautier because they have the same personality