#And my mahariel would be there holding her up as she smirks

[wylldebee]

I admit, in a majority of my past playthroughs I have Alistair as King (mostly with Anora because fuck you Eamon) because it never stops amusing me that Fereldan is being unknowingly ruled by a half-elf. An elf can save Fereldan from the Blight. An elf can save the world from the Breech. And a half-elf can be sitting on the throne of one of the biggest kingdoms in Thedas. It's hilarious, and a big fuck you to the anti-elf racists in the game.

[tarasylnin-lavellan]

Justice’s Decision

"You are not the hounds that I was expecting," balefully glowing blue eyes watched the pair from the trees.

"DIRTHAMENS SHADOWY BALLS DON'T DO THAT

!" Harel was near panicked by the sudden words. Cole turned to the source an exclaimed "Your here!" Tara stepped further into the weak dawn light painting her pale face in the washed out illumination. "You've come sniffing around for me, Da'len. Unfortunately, you've trekked all this way for nothing. You should leave before the inquisition truly comes bearing down its arms. I would not want to see you bloody your hands." Tara looked worn to the end of breaking and her hands shook as she rested one against a tree. "Because they will come, they will have too, they will come with dogs and armor; and I won't have them hunt you too you must run, run any direction but mine." 

Harel looked at the woman before her, eyebrows climbing in frank astonishment is this truly what she believed that a hoard of hunters was on her trail? "Are you daft? Mad? Tara we came here to find you to stop you from running away! No one is hunting you!" Tara's head snapped toward Harel and she flinched at the sudden movement 

"Not yet they aren't, not yet, you did get here remarkably fast however. I don't know how you found me so quickly, but for your own safety you have to run." Cole’s weak but insistent voice answered Tara's confusion "We found you when you didn't want to be found, we know you're hurting and we want to help. Please! Let me help!" Tara snarled deep in her chest an animal wounded near to madness " I didn't want to be found for good reason! You knew that Dalen, I won't have you hurt because of ME!" As the turmoil in Tara grew a deep blue light coiled out from her, darker than the previous time its darkness reflecting her own. "Just go..." the words were tired and sad. 

Cole and Harel stand side by side as Tara attempts to frighten the pair off, but they're stock still, their faces unchanging even as the blue wisps lick out at them threateningly. Harel watched the display meant to panic them "we're not leaving." Cole spoke softly hearing the desperate hurt in Tara the rents in her soul. "burdens break your back till your body aches. We will help carry. We must..." Tara face goes blank as she thinks of returning the pain too much. "I cannot go back, and I cannot stop them from hunting me you can't be in the path of danger not for me. No one else is dying because I was made into a weapon No one I. will. not. allow. it."  Harel started to feel an indignant anger rising in her this damned woman "WILL YOU PUT THAT STUPID FUCKING SELFLESSNESS DOWN FOR ONE SECOND!!! her fists clenched tightly in frustration "you are not a weapon, YOURE TARA! You're so much stronger than you think, please, please don't lose yourself!

Cole could feel the choking fear the panic coiling its hateful tendrils around Tara. "I don't like this. It feels cold, like wind before the storm." Harel held her hands out to Tara in supplication "no one's going to hurt you, please, just come back. No one will get you, well make sure of it please don't run away." Cole felt it then the old memory the screaming of a child taken by Hate. "There are no templars! No voices screaming! You don't have to run, shouting mamae. You don't have to.....

Tara felt herself losing control and gripped her head in dread. " They will follow you here, I made a mistake, I am a fool. I never should have allowed a Templar to love me, just even think that I was normal, that I was even close to worthy of being normal! Just go..." The light of her bound soul swirled darker wrapping close to her. Harel called trying to break the hold of the panic "you're a lot of things but a fool isn't one. you need to calm down, you're scaring Cole. And me, just a bit. You're not going to hurt us and we're afraid but we're afraid FOR you. Please. Calm down" Tara's eyes closed and tears streamed down her face "my fault, I am too blame, I knew better" she fell to her knees "I knew better. Cole felt the hurt old and jagged wrapped in layers of walls now exposed and screaming monster, a monster I am a monster. "don't drown in yourself. The lion roars in grief not in rage. Please. Don't hurt yourself, it's hurting us, hurting him." Tara choked on the fear on the hatred she felt inside " His eyes I CANT no... No I can't I just hurt people I can't" she curled around the pain "this is my fault." Cole reached trying to tug on the pain but it was so old so omnipresent that he couldnt tug it loose. "you're a sword and a scalpel and a shield. You don't hurt because you want to, like Erimond and Samson, you hurt because you have to. You protect and pretend to step above the thing in you, to be more than just the breath and the purpose. Stop hurting yourself!" A ragged sob tore from Tara "I hurt everything I touch! I cannot go back not now not ever, I cannot bear to the see fear in his eyes.... I cannot watch him break inside."  

Cole felt it within her the desperate need to be accepted for this to be a bad dream. Tara wanted to stay but she was so afraid of it she ran away. But one person was there, a light shining in dark forest of her mind. "breathe. This isn't you. It's the fear, the forgotten one speaking. You can't let it talk over you and control everything. You're losing yourself to what you think will happen. Lions roar but they don't bite without reason, the serpent curls around his paws and he's silent." He conjured the thought of Dorian like a Talisman, trying to calm her down.

Tara latched onto the one person she knew didn't fear her with the desperate strength of a drowning person. "Dorian? What could he say? how could he" Her eyes began to lighten in color with her brothers mention. Cole reached for it pulling the threads in her "he shouts over the noise of the old songs, the trauma of the circle, the fires in Kirkwall. He screams instead of hissing, his love and his hate all so that the lion knows, knowledge dripping like sweat when you held him, shaking craving the blue song. He learned its name and now the lion has a shape on his tongue to call your eyes." Tara stares at the boy in desperate, sad, hope mute. But the light has returned to crystal blue and slowed curling around her like mist again. Cole reaches for the hurt and speaks "Put your sword down, the scales don't have to fill with blood. You fear the inevitable even when it isn't to be. It's ok to fear, to be afraid of what might happen, but it won't." Cole stares forward, ice blue eyes unmoving and unblinking as if he speaks to Tara and yet, not to her at all. As if he speaks to someone else entirely "Don't be afraid but don't be angry. You're safe, Da'len."

Tara wanted to believe, she needed to believe but everything she had ever learned told her otherwise. She whispers "How could he ever see past..." Cole watched her with sadness in his eyes "Monsters are real, he's seen them before. He needs to look again, like a mouse who's lost its tail to a trap, he needs to see, to know that it's not the same. Love is love and you'll give him back his tail." Tara knelt trying to pull the frayed pieces of her mind back together. Her mothers voice spoke in her heart, and she looked up "I cannot go back to the castle, not until I know,  I cannot trap myself there." Cole watches as she tries to accept a new path and his voice is firm for once "we'll protect you. You won't be trapped, I promise. And if you are then...." Harel stepped up next to Cole face still and stoic for once "then we'll let you leave for good and we won't follow you. We'll even keep those people off your trail. Just....trust us."  

Tara knew the path she had to take not returning and not fleeing. She had to try, she had to give him a chance, as terrifying as that was. "if he... wants answers that's his right but, he has to meet me outside of that place. My mother would kill me if I walked into a cage willingly." Cole nods feeling the old memories "Hands on my shoulder she raises her voice, but not to frighten to lecture. Don't let the shem keep you in submission. We are the People, and never again shall we submit. Eyes stern but loving, she would reprimand me if I allowed myself to be foolish." Tara nods looking at the pair decision firming in her eyes. "He can meet me, alone, in the Emerald Graves I will wait."

Harel watches as Tara breathes heavily, her purple eyes for once wide in fear instead of narrowed in disinterest. It was a shocking sight to see one so strong reduced to this mess but it was understandable. She walked this thin line, always keeping her guard up. Now that she was tired, it was only natural for her to regress. "You've chosen an interesting place, Hah'ren. May the grave of Mahariel give your conversation the strength to pull through this. Would.....would you like one of us to stay?" Tara shook her head staggering to her feet "No, no. This must be seen to alone. But thank you. I have to face him by myself."

Cole watches as he always does with his moping face drawn low, sad to leave Tara alone after such suffering. The Inquisitor could see the pain in his eyes like a wounded Halla. Tara looked at the young man "it has to be alone Cole if...if things go badly I want to.. I want it to be alone I will go there and wait This has to be done right."

Cole nods, his hat dipping down in a short stroke and never once turning upwards. Harel comforts the boy with a hand on his shoulder, trying to bring him back from his sadness of leaving the Inquisitor alone. "We're here" it is all he says before he shimmers a light green, disappearing into the darkness to find his way towards Skyhold.

Harel shakes her head, an eyebrow raised as she mutters, "Love how he expects me to keep up with his invisible ass." Its the last thing Harel says that barely draws a smirk from Tara. Just barely. The trees gather around the storm mage as she bids her companions goodbye, setting off with the same heavy heart but so much less apprehension. She makes her winding way to the heart of the vast forest feet silent on the ground. She is a phantom in this place, her path undecided. As night falls around her the shadows dull the sharpened edges of reality. she sets up camp on a high rock bluff in the great trees the song of the branches soothing and sad. Let this be the place she thinks if I have to go with Falon'din let it be here.

Cole and Harel return to skyhold quickly leading the disgruntled Hart with them. Dorian bustled through the crowd his face drawn and afraid. "please PLEASE tell me that you didn't lose her."

Harel folds her arms, appraising the worried Tevinter before speaking "She's fine and safe and super fucking rattled. But safe. She wants to meet Cullen in the Emerald Graves; her territory instead of here since you know....its kind of uninhabitable to her at the moment. Dorian lets a whoosh of held breath at the words of the half breed. "She is alive, and she is thinking at least." Cole interrupts the thought though pushing past Harel the Qunari-elf is confused at the sudden movement before he starts speaking as well. His voice is tinged with emotion as he mimics Harel's voice "I'll kill that curly haired bastard Ill shock his shit for what he's done the fucking templar!" Dorian lunged forward covering the boys mouth with his hand. Leveling a glare that could've frozen the sun at Harel he hissed "stop thinking in such vulgar terms!" Cole subsided and Dorian stood thinking "Now.....She wants to meet him in the Graves? Oh Isa'ma'lan, you make everything so planned, don't you. I've tried doing as much damage control as I can from here but...I suppose we'll have to trust what Tara will do next is the right thing. Kaffas, she worries me so."

Dorian strode alone heading for the Commanders Tower, better from him after all. Pushing open the door he sees Cullen standing behind his desk hands braced on its surface his face drawn and haggard. At the mages approach Cullen's head snaps up a worried flash in his eyes. "Is there word?!" Dorian held up a manicured hand "Pack you essentials, if you want to speak to Tara, she wants you, and you alone, in the Emerald Graves. I don't have to say do not try anything after that little talk we had, now do I?" Cullen blinks his brow furrowing "why didn't she come back here?" Dorian rolled his eyes in exasperation "The tactician that you are should know the reason. Come here, where you are? After your terrible reaction? She probably thinks you'll try to kill her and we both know how much that will hurt the both of you. At least out there, there's control in the place she feels strongest.

All right my lovelies one more chapter to this whenever I can bully my sad tired artists brain into making more ✨words✨

after that I will put all of them together into one continuous story line 

as always all the love and thanks in the whole world to @w-h-4-t for the dialog help Ir lath ma Da’len 

[goatsorcery]

Crossing Paths

Before their famous/infamous heroics, a chance meeting between the Warden and Hawke outside of Lothering.

Read on AO3

---

Morrigan insisted she knew the way to a small village not far from her mother’s hut, but as they crossed paths with a distinctive charred tree for the third time, it was clear they were going in circles.

“Are you sure this is the right way?” Mahariel asked.

Morrigan didn’t have to turn her head back to Mahariel for it to be clear she was rolling her eyes.

“Mother wouldn’t have sent along a fool as company. We only have room enough for the one.” Morrigan said, pointing her statement at Alistair.

Usually quick to retort, Alistair had been lost in thought since they left Flemeth’s hut. More focused on his feet than anything going on around him, his face haunted by what happened at Ostagar. Mahariel recognized her own sadness in him, regret for not doing more, wondering how things could have been different. It took all her strength not to let her mind be occupied solely on thoughts for Tamlen. She almost envied Alistair’s ability to allow himself to be weak, to face those emotions head on, instead of burying them deep down as she had done.

“You’re too hard on him.”

“Perhaps he was not the fool I was referring to,” Morrigan said with a smirk.

Mahariel began to speak, but knew Morrigan would twist any attempt to defend her intelligence. “We just seem a bit lost is all.”

“Lost? No… misdirected, perhaps. The last I traveled these paths they were not overgrown as such. ‘Tis all.”

Mahariel didn’t buy it but nodded her head anyhow, “Lead on, then.”

The sun sunk lower in the sky, from blazing overhead to its light now caught between the twisting branches of the trees. Mahariel said nothing but noted to herself when they passed the charred tree again for a fourth and then a fifth time.

Morrigan kept her icy exterior cool. If she was frazzled by her lack of a sense of directions, she didn’t show it. Though, Mahariel could still sense her latent frustration.

The howls of wolves drove all three of them from their thoughts.

“Get back!” a voice in the distance commanded.

Morrigan began to lead them in the direction opposite howls, but Mahariel felt compelled to help, starting towards the voice.

“So you would openly walk towards danger when there is an easier, safer path?” Morrigan said, folding her arms, and planting her feet firmly.

“Better than continuing to walk in circles,” Mahariel said, walking forward, not stopping to look back.

Alistair followed closely after Mahariel, “It’s what we do. Help people,” he said, with a clear distain for Morrigan’s attitude.

Morrigan huffed but ultimately followed as the other two raced off.

The howls and shouts lead them to a clearing, where a handful of wolves had encircled a young farmer, not much older than them. She held a small dagger clumsily in one hand, while the other was outstretched in front of her, as if it commanded an invisible barrier between herself and the wolves. That was not the case however, as one of the wolves lunged towards her, the quickness of her feet was her only saving grace.

An arrow pierced the air and sunk itself into the thick fur of the wolf, pulling its attention from the young farmer to Mahariel, her bow ready with another shot.

The young farmer used the distraction to her advantage, striking at the wolf with her dagger, burying the blade in its skull.

The other wolves surrounded Mahariel, but she was shielded by flanking attacks from both Alistair and Morrigan, the wolves’ attention quickly dividing between the three of them. The young farmer was clearly not adept with a dagger, swinging it without intention, wielding it like Mahariel had seen Merrill hold her staff.

A wolf took advantage of a gap in their defenses, and jumped up onto Mahariel, pinning her shoulders down with its paws. The only thing keeping its jaws from closing over her face was her bow which she held under its jaw, pushing back with all her strength.

The smell of singed fur overwhelmed Mahariel as the wolf leaped off her, rolling on its back in a desperate attempt to put the fire out. Mahariel turned to Morrigan for a nod of thanks, but found her dealing with a different wolf, freezing it in its tracks, and shattering it with a bolt of lightning.

With the wolves dead, Mahariel took a sigh of relief, but she was surprised to see the young farmer still uneased. Morrigan turned from the scattered ice crystals to see the wolf that attacked Mahariel dead on the ground, still smoldering with whispers of flames. The young farmer tried to avoid Morrigan’s gaze as she began cleaning up the mess the wolves had made of the supplies she was carrying.

A smirk grew across Morrigan’s face, “Well, well. It would seem I’m not the only witch in these woods.”

“You’re not just a farmer, are you?” Mahariel said, pulling her bow back over her head, resting the string across her chest.

“Trying to be,” the farmer said as she tossed the rest of the scattered items into her crate. “Though, I don’t get the impression you’re just humble travelers either.”

Mahariel, Alastair, and Morrigan wore their journeys on their faces, the farmer didn’t have to look deep to get a sense of what they’d been through. “You’re coming from Ostagar, I take it.”

“How’d you—?” Mahariel started.

“You’ve got that look in your eyes. Seen it before.” She stood, lifting the seemingly heavy crate with ease, and balancing it on her shoulder. “Is fighting off wolves in the forest how you plan on continuing to serve the late King?”

“Just passing through, to Lothering.”

“Lothering?” the farmer almost seemed amused by the suggestion.

“What’s wrong with Lothering?”

“Well, you’re only person I know seeking out Lothering instead of fleeing in panic.” The farmer shifted her weight, moving the crate from her shoulder to her hip. “They say the horde’s on it’s way, that Lothering is right in its path.”

“We’re just in need of supplies.”

“You and everyone else. You might need to fight for it, but you seem more than capable it that department.” She moved the crate back up to her shoulder and pointed her thumb behind her. “There’s a path that’ll lead you to the King’s highway. It’ll be hard to miss.”

Mahariel gave her a nod, a short thanks, then began to follow the farmer’s direction.

“Can I assume you won’t be turning me in to the templars, then?”

Mahariel stopped and turned back to her, “The templars are no friends of ours.”

“With darkspawn approaching, it would seem you have bigger concerns than righteous men with swords.” Morrigan added, crossing her arms.

“You would think. Doesn’t seem to slow them down.”

“You do seem the sort to give them pause, at least. Most templars I’ve faced could hardly injure a fly.” Morrigan said, throwing a glance at Alistair.

“Hey! I never even took my vows. Besides, I can hurt a fly. I’ve killed many, actually.”

“I am so gladdened by your proficiency at murdering insects. Unfortunately that seems to be the extent of your talents.”

Alastair glared at Morrigan, and began to throw her insult back at her, but Mahariel ended the bickering with a hand raised in their direction. “Thank you for your help, we should get going.”

Mahariel tilted her head toward the path the farmer pointed out, motioning for Alistair and Morrigan to follow.

The farmer started down the path in the opposite direction but stopped and turned to Mahariel once more. “Glad to see not all the Wardens died at Ostagar.”

Mahariel turned to respond, to ask how she knew, but was met with the farmer’s back to her. Mahariel watched a moment as the farmer disappeared down the forest path. A strange feeling in her gut telling her it was not the last time their paths would cross.

[blightarts]

Blades of Order & Chaos

Chapter Title: 1 - Awakening

Previous Chapter: Prologue

Word Count: 4375

Disclaimer: All rights belong to Pixelberry. This is my version for the upcoming sequel of Blades of Light & Shadow. I am not claiming this to be the canon story of the book. This is only written to increase the hype for the actual sequel.

MC/Pairing: Kite (Blue Elf Male MC) / Kite x Nia

Taglist: @princessstellaris @mechaspirit @brightningstar @cal-north @mahariel-theirin @lxdy-starfury @tyrils-star @imturaxamara @kelseaaa

Everyone in the throne room stare in awe as the last surviving member of the Shadow Court, Sir Laundsellyn, reveals his true identity.

Sir Laundsellyn: Well, if you must know… My real name… is Lucius Nightbloom.

Kite grits his teeth, equipping the Bow of Gal’dariel in hand and drawing an arrow towards his supposed relative.

Kite: As if I’d believe such a superstition!

He lets the arrow loose as it rides the wind, making its way towards Laundsellyn’s head, but the shadow knight quickly parries it with the Blade of Light.

Sir Laundsellyn: You’re quick on your hands, I’ll give you that…

He smirks maniacally.

Sir Laundesllyn: …But not quick enough…

Laundsellyn brandishes the Blade and coats it with darkness, transforming it back into the Blade of Shadow, again leaving everyone appalled.

Mal: After all of Nia’s efforts of purify that thing…

Tyril: …Gone, in an instant…

Kite and his friends seethe in rage.

Imtura: Okay, that’s it!

Imtura charges forward, followed by Mal and Tyril. King Arlan’s guards do the same, but Laundsellyn remains unfazed. He sighs and snaps his fingers, letting his hovering swords loose. While Laundsellyn clash with Kite’s friends, his swords fly across the room and towards the guards. The swords easily pierce through their armor and their hearts, killing them instantly. As the dead soldiers collapse on the floor, the swords make their way towards King Arlan next.

Kite: Not on my watch!

Kite quickly stands in the way between the swords and the King while equipping the Blade of Sol and the Shield of Castiel. One by one, the elf parries and shatters the hovering blades, but unsuspectingly, one bolts past his face, leaving a wound on his cheek, and pierces through King Arlan’s heart.

King Arlan: Ack!!

Meanwhile, in the prisons of Whitetower, Aerin clutches his chest and crouches down, as it starts paining.

Aerin: What… is… this…?!

He turns to the barred window in his cell, showing the castle under attack, and wonders anxiously.

Aerin: Father…

Back in the throne room, as King Arlan collapses, Kite quickly runs to his aid.

Kite: NOOO!!!

Mal, Tyril and Imtura turn for a moment to witness what Laundsellyn had just done. They then face him with deadly glares.

Mal: You bastard!

Tyril: You’ll pay for that!

Imtura: AAAAAAAARRRRRGGHHH!!!

As the three recklessly attempt to land a strike on the shadow knight, who just yawns at them, Kite gets on his knees and tries his best to help the King.

Kite: Your Highness, it’s okay. You’ll live.

King Arlan coughs up blood and gives Kite a reassuring smile.

King Arlan: It’s… too late for me now, Kite…

He reaches for the elf’s hand and grips it tight while both men are in tears.

King Arlan: Save the Realm… Save every… one…

The light fades from the King’s eyes as Kite grits his teeth in pure rage. He closes Arlan’s eyes and gently lays him on the floor, before turning to Laundsellyn with a glare.

Kite: I’ve had enough…

Channeling an Orb of Light in his hand, the elf stands up and walks towards the shadow knight, who knocks back Mal, Tyril and Imtura with a blast of Shadow magic from the Blade of Shadow.

Kite: Laundsellyn!

Laundsellyn notices Kite approaching him and smirks.

Sir Laundsellyn: Oh, are you approaching me? Instead of running away, you are approaching me. Even though with your allies incapacitated and your strongest weapon now in my possession, you still muster the courage to face me, the most powerful Shadow being?

The Orb of Light in Kite’s hand glows brighter as he gets closer.

Kite: I cannot slay you without getting closer.

Laundsellyn chuckles.

Sir Laundsellyn: Oho! Such foolish bravery. Then come at me as close as you like.

He approaches Kite at the same pace. When the two are only a meter apart, Kite drives one of his open hands, surging with Light energy, towards Laundsellyn. However, the shadow knight dodges in time, gets behind Kite and hits him on the back with the hilt of the Blade of Shadow. The elf gets knocked down on the ground.

Sir Laundsellyn: Too slow! Even with the power of the Light on your side, if your speed cannot match mine, you have no chance against me. You would’ve been dead by now.

Kite persistently stands up and faces Laundsellyn once more.

Kite: Are you sure you want to give pointers to an opponent?

Laundsellyn shrugs.

Sir Laundsellyn: Weaklings bore me. I’d like to have a challenge, and seeing how you’re the strongest among your friends, I figured you’d at least entertain me. But you’re just as disappointing as them.

Having enough of the shadow knight’s insults, Kite channels another Orb of Light in his right hand and Cleansing Fire in his left hand.

Kite: You have no need the right to talk anymore.

He clasps his hands together, fusing the both magical spells together into a more powerful one, which surprises and almost blinds everyone else in the room.

Tyril: Amazing! Kite is performing Coalescence Magic.

Mal: What is that?

Threep: A rare concept of magical where two spells are fused together to create a stronger spell.

Imtura: That’s awesome!

Loola: What makes it rare is that it requires two or more mages with incredibly high magical affinity to perform such magic, but since Kite is able to perform it on his own makes him a very powerful magic caster.

Kade grins and raises his fist up high.

Kade: Go get ‘em, brother!

While Kite’s friends cheer him on, Laundsellyn smirks and claps.

Sir Laundsellyn: Yes, that’s it! You’re growing so quickly. Now…

Laundsellyn puts his left hand forward, channeling Shadow Magic on his palm.

Sir Laundsellyn: Let’s see how strong you really are.

Kite turns to his friends while continuing to channel his spell.

Kite: Get everyone else behind me!

Mal, Tyril and Imtura nod in agreement before splitting up. Mal helps Kade carry Nia, Tyril and Loola use their magic to transport the guards’ corpses, and Imtura lifts King Arlan’s corpse and taking him behind Kite. Cleared of casualties in front of him, Kite is ready to fire his spell.

Kite: It’s time!

Laundsellyn grins.

Sir Laundsellyn: Nothing holding you back now, eh? Well, if you are giving it your all, perhaps I should too.

The shadow knight opens his hand wider, channeling Light Magic along with his already channeling Shadow Magic, astonishing everyone.

Loola: How can that be?!

Tyril: Light and Shadow Magic should not be able to coalesce with each other, since they erase each other when channeled together!

Laundsellyn laughs at the comments made.

Sir Laundsellyn: Did you fools forget that I am the descendant of the one who can channel both Magics together?!

The Light and Shadow energies merge into a far stronger type of magic while Laundsellyn continues his explanation.

Sir Laundsellyn: When the Light and Shadows become one, they create the most powerful type of magic that has ever existed; Chaos Magic.

White and black sparks begins to surge across Laundsellyn’s arm as he is ready to release his spell.

Kite: Brace yourselves!

Both Kite and Laundsellyn unleash their magic.

Kite: Coalescence Magic: Blinding Brilliance – Radiant Inferno!

Sir Laundsellyn: Chaos Magic: Rejection Pulse!

Kite thrusts his hands forward, releasing a wave of bright, yellow flames towards Laundsellyn, who in turn, quickly clenches his fist, unleashing a shockwave, infused with both Light and Shadow Magic. Both spells clash furiously, while both casters maintain their stance to keep their spells intact. However, Kite is struggling to keep himself standing.

Kite: I can’t… hold it… much longer…!

Mal, Tyril and Imtura immediately rush into his aid by placing their hands on his shoulders and back.

Mal: We got you, kit!

Tyril: Keep fighting!

Imtura: Show that coward not to mess with us!

Kite turns to his friends.

Kite: Everyone…

The elf nods with a grin before turning back to Laundsellyn. Together, the four scream with determination while the shadow knight smiles.

Sir Laundsellyn: Ah, yes. The power of friendship… how admirable. However…!

Laundsellyn thrusts his spell-casting arm forward, adding more force into the push of his Chaotic Pulse, causing Kite’s flames to be driven back.

Sir Laundsellyn: It’s all for naught!

In a panic, Kite and his friends push further and yell their hearts out louder, but it is all a waste as Laundsellyn’s spell eventually reaches them, throwing everyone back. Kite lands and skids across the floor while Imtura crashes against the wall, before landing on the ground, unconscious. While Mal is thrown back, Tyril collides with him, rendering both unconscious as they collapse on the ground.

Kade: Guys!

Kite struggles to stand up but is unsuccessful. Laundsellyn shrugs and shakes his head.

Sir Laundsellyn: My goodness, that was really tiring. As much as I love a good challenge, I really don’t want to stay in a fight for too long, or else it would get very dull.

He then turns to Kade, holding an unsconscious Nia in his arms.

Sir Laundsellyn: Now, hand over that elegant priestess, if you please? She’s worth more than what the Dreadlord believes.

Kade grits his teeth and glares at Laundsellyn while Threep and Loola gets in between them.

Kade: You won’t get near Nia. Not again, you Shadow Court scum!

Threep: She has been through a lot. Leave her alone!

Loola: We won’t allow you to harm our dear Priestess anymore!

Laundsellyn sighs and swings the Blade of Shadow, letting out a strong force to ward off Threep and Loola. They land next to Mal, Tyril and Imtura.

Sir Laundsellyn: This is boring me. Will you just hand me the priestess? It will be easy for everyone.

Kade looks around and spots one of the guards’ swords. He grabs it and points it towards Laundsellyn.

Kade: S-Stay back…!

With a flick of a finger, Laundsellyn easily disarms Kade before kicking him on the face, causing a nosebleed and letting the bard’s grip on Nia go as he is thrown back by the sheer force of the kick. Kite despairs at the sight of his brother’s pain.

Kite: KAAAAAAADE!!!

Laundsellyn marvels in his victory before crouching down beside Nia. He starts to reach for her but not before being struck by a fireball at his back. He turns to Kite, annoyed. The elf has his hand out, just finished casting Cleansing Fire at the shadow knight.

Sir Laundsellyn: You’re starting to get in my nerves, boy!

Laundsellyn hurls the Blade of Shadow and it pierces the ground, just right in front of Kite. The floor starts to crack then collapses, causing Kite to fall bellow.

Sir Laundsellyn: Tch! Good riddance.

With no further interruptions, Laundsellyn reaches for Nia once more, however…

GLEAM!!

…Nia’s eyes burst open, glowing brightly, as overwhelming amounts of Light energy surges through her, taking Laundsellyn by surprise as he steps back.

Sir Laundsellyn: This is…!

Nia raises herself from the ground, beginning to hover, before turning to Laundsellyn with rage in her Light-filled eyes. The shadow knight grins.

Sir Laundsellyn: Well, well, well… It’s been two thousand years… Priestess of the Light.

Laundsellyn takes a stance, ready to face Nia while she starts speaking and behaving like someone else entirely.

Nia: Lucius Nightbloom, you have done enough. Prepare to repent for your sins.

Laundsellyn pulls his swordarm back, preparing to stab Nia.

Sir Laundsellyn: Not planning too, milady. I’d rather slay you a second time.

More knights of Whitetower enter the throne room.

Knight 1: Halt!

They spot King Arlan, dead on the carpet.

Knight 2: The King is dead!

Knight 3: Slay the shadow dweller!

The knights begin to charge towards Laundsellyn but he was more focused on Nia as he dashes towards her, thrusting the Blade of Shadow forward, but the priestess evades the attack in the nick of time. Laundsellyn cannot stop his momentum as he continues to advance forward.

Nia: History shall not repeat itself this time, foolish deserter.

Nia blasts Laundsellyn with a large Orb of Light, propelling him outside the castle and into the sky. She then turns to the knights.

Nia: Tend to the wounded. I shall handle Laundsellyn myself.

The knights nod in confusion and do as they are told while Nia follows Laundsellyn outside.

Sir Laundsellyn: Ah! That hurt a lot!

Unfazed by the painful attack, Laundsellyn stops his trajectory by conjuring wings made with Shadow Magic and hovers in the air. Nia follows him and floats in front of him, putting her hand forward, ready to blast him once more.

Nia: Surrender and face punishment, Lucius. You have nothing else to do.

Laundsellyn chuckles and pretends to lay down, like he’s on a hammock.

Sir Laundsellyn: I would rather not. Besides, you are not my only goal here. What’s more important to me is reclaiming this.

He brandishes the Blade of Shadow as it hovers in front of him. Nia, realizing what the Blade can do, fires another Orb of Light towards Laundsellyn, who easily evades it this time.

Sir Laundsellyn: You cannot stop fate, Priestess, especially when it’s the return of the “Fateseeker”!

Laundsellyn channels Shadow energy in his hand.

Sir Laundsellyn: Shadow Magic: Relinquish!

He then snaps his fingers, fueled with Shadow magic, creating four duplicates of the Blade of Shadow.

Nia: I won’t let you!

Nia advances forward, trying to reach out to Laundsellyn with an Orb of Light being conjured in her hand.

Sir Laundsellyn: Too slow!

Laundsellyn uses the original Blade to block Nia’s attack while he hurls its duplicates in different directions.

Nia: NOO!!

The first duplicate Blade flies to the north, beyond Morella and towards the snowy mountains. The Blade lands on one of the peaks, breaking a seal, causing it to crumble and summoning a blue beam of light which pierces the sky. From the debris, a figure walks out, with the body of a human, the head of a hawk, and large feathered wings on his back. The figure takes a deep breath and spreads his wings, as if he’s waking from a very long nap.

Winged Figure: Millenia had passed… How are you faring after all this time, my love…?

The second Blade ventures to the  distant west, past Flotilla and toward the uninhabited volcanic island of Kel’Dhana, the former home of the orcs. The Blade plunges itself in the core of the volcano, breaking its seal, causing an eruption and summoning an orange beam of light which cleaves the sky. From the mouth of the volcano, an abnormally large orc clad in obsidian climbs out. Steam escapes his nose as he attempts to speak.

Obsidian Orc: It has been… too long… I crave for some destruction!

The third Blade glides to the far east, past the poison fields then towards the ruined and cursed city of Necropolis, home of the vhampyrs which is surrounded by a magical barrier. The Blade pierces through the barrier, shattering it, and opening the world to the city and its inhabitants. Each coffin inside the city bursts open, letting out the imprisoned monsters, and their leader, the Beast of Blood.

Beast of Blood: Hungrrryyyyyyy….

The fourth and final Blade flies to the south, in the barren wastelands of Zaradun. The Blade buries itself in the sand, searching for something underneath. Soon, it reaches the treasure room of an ancient dungeon and plunges itself in front of a decrepit machine. A seal breaks and a yellow beam of light drills through the ceiling and the sand before finally reaching the sky. The machine begins to move but then collapses, leaving some sort of golden cocoon in its debris. The cocoon then cracks open and from inside, unveiling a short woman inside with a sadistic smile.

Woman: My, my… after thousands of years… I’m finally free.

She fiendishly licks her index finger before spreading her arms wide. Golden webs begin to shoot out from the tips of her fingers, latching onto the walls of the dungeon.

Woman: I wonder what marvelous treasures the future has brought for me!

The women pulls the webs and the dungeon begins to collapse in on itself.

Back in Whitetower, Nia notices the four beams of light in all directions before turning to Laundsellyn.

Nia: What have you done?!

Laundsellyn pulls out a devilish grin before quickly floating upwards, avoiding Nia’s attack. The priestess glares at the shadow knight.

Sir Laundsellyn: Unleashed the Lieutenants of the Empire upon this realm!

Laundsellyn aims the Blade of Shadow towards Nia and hurls it at her, but she quickly evades it.

Nia: You cannot kill me again, Lucius!

Sir Laundsellyn: Who says I was aiming for you?

Realizing that the missed attack was intended, Nia turns to the Blade which is currently opening a portal to the Shadow Realm. Before she could act, Laundsellyn swiftly zooms past her, entering the portal and closing it immediately.

Nia: This cannot be…

Nia looks back at the beams of light in despair as they vanish.

Nia: The Empire… has returned…

The glowing light in her eyes start to flicker while the aura surrounding her begins to fade slowly.

Nia: This vessel’s companions… They are the key…

As Nia hovers towards the castle’s throne room, she speaks to herself through telepathy.

Nia: Nia Ellarious, your friends. Protect them. They are essential to the Empire’s defeat.

Once she reaches the room, she uses her Light magic to heal everyone who is still alive while lifting an unconscious Kite from the hole that Laundsellyn made. The knights, on the other hand, mourn the death of King Arlan and their fellow soldiers while they kneel by their corpses.

Nia: Protect Kite Nightbloom most of all. He carries the blood of the one who once defeated the ‘Fateseeker’.

Once Nia completely heals her friends, she gently lands on the ground and returns to her former self.

Nia: Huh? Where am I?

She turns to her friends groaning and coming back to their senses.

Nia: Everyone!

The priestess tends to each of her friends, making sure they are okay, especially Kite, but sees that the wounds they sustained during the battle against Laundsellyn were all gone.

Kade: Urgh… what happened…?

Mal: Did we win…?

Loola: I’m afraid not.

Tyril: My head hurts…

Imtura: My back hurts…

Threep: My stomach hurts… I’m famished…

Kite sits up and looks around for Laundsellyn.

Kite: Where’s that bastard?!

Nia gently and worriedly grabs Kite’s arms while she thinks back to what was said to her when she was not herself earlier.

Nia: Kite, it’s okay. He’s gone.

Kade: Like “dead” gone?

The priestess shakes her head in disagreement, disappointing the others and Kite most of all.

Kite: He stole the Blade of Light, and turned it back into that blasted Blade of Shadow.

Tyril: We have to reclaim it.

Nia: That is not our main concern now.

The group turns to Nia.

Mal: What do you mean, priestess?

Nia: I don’t know what happened but… when I was facing Laundsellyn…

The whole group was surprised that Nia had to face off against the shadow knight alone.

Imtura: Wait, you fought him while we were out cold?!

Mal: And you even sent him packing. Nice work, Nia!

Nia’s friends praise her for fending off Laundsellyn, however, she looks down, more concerned with what he has done.

Nia: That’s not important right now…

Kite notices uneasiness in his beloved’s eyes to which he responds by wrapping his arms around her.

Kite: What did he do, Nia?

Nia gulps and looks into Kite’s eyes.

Nia: He has unleashed the Lieutenants of the Empire…

Silence fills the room as Threep and Loola’s furs stand and shivers run down their spines.

Kade: Who are the Lieutenants?

Loola hovers on top of Kade and sits on his head.

Loola: The Lieutenants are considered to be the strongest soldiers of the Empire of Ash and the most trusted associates of the “Fateseeker”. After the Empire’s fall, they were sealed away, frozen in suspended animation.

Threep sits on Nia’s shoulder and helps Kite in comforting her while explaining who the Lieutenants are.

Threep: They are a total of four Lieutenants, but with Laundsellyn serving the Empire, you could say that he is now the fifth Lieutenant.

Everyone tries to process everything that just happened to them ever since the night before.

Tyril: This is just…

Imtura: …a lot to bear…?

Tyril nods at what Imtura said. Everyone turns to Kite.

Mal: What do you think we should do, kit?

Kite gulps, struggling to think of a plan, before looking at Threep.

Kite: Where were the Lieutenants sealed away?

The nesper shakes his head.

Threep: I am not certain, but they were imprisoned outside the borders of Morella; one in the north, somewhere in the mountains; another is in the east, in the cursed city of Necropolis…

Tyril is surprised at the mention of Necropolis.

Tyril: The home of the vhampyrs?

Threep: Yes.

The elf thinks back to his dream about his ancestor, Farin Starfury, facing off against her supposed brother and leader of the vhampyrs, the Beast of Blood. Threep continues to tell the group where the other Lieutenants were sealed away.

Threep: As I was saying, the third is located south of Morella, somewhere in the Zaradun Wastelands. This Lieutenant was sealed by the dwarves in an ancient dungeon but it costed them their lives, which ended with the dungeon being buried in the sands.

Mal freezes at the mention of an ancient dungeon underneath the Zaradun Wastelands. He speculates and worries if that was the same dungeon he explored prior to his retirement a few years ago. Threep goes on.

Threep: And lastly, the fourth is sealed deep within the volcanic island of K’ell Dhana, the former home of the orcs. Whoever was sealed there was believed to be the cause of the island’s destruction, prompting the orcs to relocate to where Flotilla is now.

Imtura recalls her nightmarish vision, regarding Flotilla’s destruction, and starts to wonder whether its linked to whoever was sealed in K’ell Dhana. Kite notices the disturbed expressions of some of his friends.

Kite: You guys okay? You’ve been having the same anxious faces since this morning.

Mal, Tyril and Imtura look at each other, understanding that each of them had seen something horrifying the previous night. They all turn to Kite and the rest of their friends.

Mal: Well, you see, kit…

Imtura: You weren’t the only one who had a weird dream about something related to the Empire of Ash.

Tyril: I believe that what Mal and Imtura are saying… The three of us must’ve dreamt or seen something related to each of the Lieutenants.

Kite is about to ask them about what happened but the acting leader of the knights approach the group.

Knight Leader: Brave heroes, the King is gone and the citizens are panicking because of the appearance of the shadow dweller and the beams of light that occurred in the horizons. We must act quickly. What do you suppose we should do?

The group turns to Kite.

Kite: What?

Kade: We trust your intuition, Kite. What should we do?

Kite shakes his head.

Kite: No, no, no. I may be the best among us, but I’m not a leader.

Nia: Well, we trust you in these situations because you’re the bravest among us as well.

Mal: Yeah, you were still the only one to keep pissing off Laundry Boy when he was about to abduct Nia and the one to receive the “drop you down the floor” treatment.

Tyril nudges Mal for ruining the moment.

Kade: Point is that we’ll follow you to the bitter end.

Imtura: Aye!

Kite looks at his friends and nods at them with determination.

Kite: Alright, I’ll think of something.

He turns to Threep and Loola.

Kite: Which do you guys think is the closest Lieutenant to Morella?

Loola: We believe it is the one sealed in K’ell Dhana.

Kite then turns to Imtura.

Kite: Imtura, get a ship ready. We sail as soon as possible.

Imtura: Spoken like a true captain, landrat!

Kite grins as Imtura points to one of the knights.

Imtura: You!

Knight 3: Eek! Y-Yes, ma’am?

Imtura: Take me to your harbor!

Knight 3: U-U-Understood!

The knight frantically runs and leads the orc towards the Whitetower Harbor. Meanwhile, Kite turns to the knight leader.

Kite: Keep the citizens safe in one location. If we do not return in a day, evacuate the whole city. As of now, we are dealing with a threat far worse than the Shadow Court.

The knight salutes in understanding.

Knight Leader: Understood.

He signals his underlings to move out as they carry King Arlan and their comrades’ corpses. Kite and his friends hurry to the port. Nia smiles at him.

Nia: That was amazing, Kite.

Kite: Thank you, Nia.

The group reaches the harbor with Imtura and the knight readying one of the ships. She spots her friends.

Imtura: Ah, just in time!

The knight gets off the boat while the group gets on it.

Knight 3: Fortune favor you, brave heroes. May the Light be with you.

Kite nods at the knight as he and his friends set sail towards Flotilla.

Imtura: Next stop, Flotilla!

The group stares into the vast ocean, bracing themselves for what’s about to come.

Meanwhile in the prisons of Whitetower, Aerin sits clumsily in his cell, still clutching his heart while screams of panicking citizens flood his ears.

Aerin: What… What is happening? Why is my chest still paining?!

He jumps in surprise when a portal to the Shadow Realm opens on front of him. Laundsellyn steps out of it.

Sir Laundsellyn: Ah, there you are.

Aerin recognizes the shadow knight and glares at him.

Aerin: You!

Sir Laundsellyn: …Was it something I did?

Laundsellyn shakes his head.

Sir Laundsellyn: Doesn’t matter.

Aerin clenches his fist and attempts to land a punch.

Aerin: Stay back, heathen!

But Laundsellyn catches his fist and knocks him unconscious with the hilt of the Blade of Shadow.

Sir Laundsellyn: We have much to discuss, Prince Aerin. I hope you are willing to listen.

The shadow knight drags the prince towards the portal, entering the Shadow Realm, before it closes.

––––– END OF CHAPTER –––––

[mothergayselle]

Damsel? Me? Never // Mahariel/Zev/Alistair

words: 2k rating: T summary: mahariel is stubborn and zevran loves a damsel. when you overwork yourself, who else would you want to sweep you off your feet? (alistair disapproves +15)

 (( read on ao3 )) 

xxxxx

It wasn’t an unusual occurrence, the fainting. Neither were the unending, incessant patrols at night. Mahariel must have rounded the camp a hundred times, and still she slithered along the shadows of the Brecilian forest like Death, except, she needed the sleep.

Zevran’s accent was curled, a midnight rose unfurling in the fragrant air. “May I suggest we return to camp soon?” he prompted. “You’re looking a little…”

Mahariel’s subsequent glare teased a smile from him.

“Well, radiant as always, of course. However, fatigued would also be an accurate description.”

During patrols, Mahariel always insisted on taking point — which, the group noticed, as a duelist — put her in the direct line of fire. If she wasn’t always so utterly silent, it would’ve been a matter of contention.

Still, her persistence to spend each night patrolling often drove Alistair to pace the entire camp until their inevitable return. And they had returned, every time, although this did little to ease his worrying.

Mahariel continued to slink through the brambles of the forest, folding each footstep into quarters as she padded with the side of her feet. “It’s not my fault I can’t sleep,” she hissed, rounding the trunk of a redwood. “I have, uh, what did Zathrian call it—”

“Post-traumatic stress—“

“—Yeah. Exactly. I didn’t ask for a troubled childhood.”

Their breaths were waifs spilling out of their throats. “Ah, yes. The plight of the wounded child,” he mused.

“You would know.”

The remark didn’t hurt — on the contrary. The vitriol of Mahariel’s words was intoxicating, like a fine wine laced with the sweetest poison. Zevran’s mouth tingled at the taste. “Indeed, I would. In fact, I used my childhood quite often when working with the Crows. Women love a broken man.” His tongue lingered on that last part.

Mahariel’s cadence never stuttered. “Yeah, all right. Same old story. Men and women, drink and sex. Money. Blood splattering onto your boots. More sex. More money. Blah blah blah. Shut up,” she murmured. “I’m working here.”

The jests laid hollow, and Zevran frowned. Throughout her babble, it’d been clear. Even in the dark, Mahariel’s grip on her daggers was slack. Too weak for the flourishes she favored. If a darkspawn or a werewolf were to ambush them now, the blades would slip through her fingers.

Nevertheless, he made a conscious effort to respond in turn. “I’m waiting for your imminent unconsciousness, my dear. Judging by your posture and the shuffling of your feet, you have but minutes.”

Mahariel scoffed, and he watched as she momentarily paused their scouting. She rolled her neck, wincing, and turned to face Zevran’s nimble frame. “I’m tired, Zev. That hardly makes me a damsel in distress.”

When he grinned, the corners of her mouth spasmed. It was impossible not to smile at such a mischievous expression. Like a wolf, Leliana had said. Minus the canines.

Zevran tilted his head at an angle that exposed the hard, fine line of his jaw. The dimple on his cheek, as wily as he, winked at her. “If only, madame. However, should you ever change your mind—“ His grin only widened at the slight narrowing of her eyes. “—Allow me to be the prince who, helplessly allured by your beauty, sweeps you off your weary feet. I should want for nothing more.”

He added a bow for effect, and the full moon calcined his hair into silver.

“Do you ever tire of monologuing?” she teased, chewing the inside of her cheek.  An exercise to control the smile assembling beneath the surface. “It must be a lot of work, lying so often.”

The next exhale was long, a release of something hard. When Mahariel proceeded to sheathe a dagger, Zevran’s gaze was drawn to the way its point scraped against the holder before plunging in. A wave of exhaustion seemed to visibly tug at the Warden, and he inched forward, returning his own weapons to the scabbards behind his neck.

“Okay,” she said. Her eyelids fluttered, and she swallowed nervously as she sheathed the other dagger. “I’m ready to head back now.” Mahariel sneered at Zevran’s advancement. “I’m not going to collapse, idiot.”

The forest itself seemed to catch the guile. Her words were snatched away by its perfect darkness, beckoned out of her throat by its lull. The animals were quiet — save for the owls. No monster trudged their way. Camp was safe. Camp had been safe, but Mahariel chose to toil regardless and they all knew it was futile to stop her.

In her defense, there were many nights where she had intercepted shadowy villains, berserk-brained and intent on attacking their lodging. Mahariel was diligent, and that diligence was why they turned to her as their leader. On nights like these, though…well.

Mahariel grimaced. The tattoos on her face shimmered when her head lolled and greeted the stars. The Creators. The Maker. Zevran didn’t know. One of those, perhaps. Her copper hair fought the moonlight slicing into it, holding onto a sliver of color before it could be bleached completely.  A rumble of defiance purred out of her, and she swore a string of oaths that surprised even Zevran. He only stalked, one half-foot at a time, until a respectable amount of room lay between them.

“Zevran?” she asked, bringing a clean hand to her face.

His face remained smooth as he replied. “Yes, dear?”

Mahariel’s eyes snapped open once more to shoot him a withering glare. “I hate you.”

Contempt in the face of exhaustion was impressive. Zevran’s lips arced, the smirk pulling at their fullness. His eyes, though. Did she see how they tightened? How they remained untouched and cold?

“Zev,” she said, scowling, her mouth loosening open. “Catch me.”

It was, unfortunately, a dance they’ve performed before. A dark routine, of sorts. Mahariel reached for him as her knees failed, though she was unconscious by the time she sank into his chest. Zevran huffed in disapproval. Silly woman. Stubborn woman. This wasn’t dramatic at all.

The velocity made it easy enough. With one hand he cradled the Warden’s head while the other, yes, swept both feet off the forest floor. Zevran felt the impulse to glower, to physically express the criticism he felt brewing inside his belly, but the desire quickly evaporated. Mahariel, limp and haunted, was hard to accuse. Even when a damsel.

It wasn’t just the blue half-moons etched beneath her eyes, or the small cut on her lip that she picked at. A few fainting spells hardly compared to the friendship she’d so easily offered, even after their objectionable meeting. With the Warden inert in his arms, Zevran trudged back to camp.

<-----------------------------------x------------------------------------>

They always slept in shifts, but there he was, circling the fire, stomping a trench into the Earth.

Honestly.

Alistair intercepted them as they emerged from the shadows.  “Again?” His voice was breathless as it echoed across the campsite. It was a good thing they’d secured the perimeter, then.

Mahariel stirred in his arms. “Mm?” It took her a moment to recognize that it was his face, and not Alistair’s, peering back at her. She swore something filthy, a curse Zevran frequented on his own — had he rubbed off on her? Glee registered in the back of his mind. He’d save that for later.

He couldn’t help but grin at her confusion. “Hello, my dear.”

By then, Alistair had approached with long, anxious strides. Poor bastard. He’d covered the span of the whole campsite in a matter of seconds. “Lyna?”

Zevran ignored the annoyance flashing across Alistair’s face upon greeting him with a nod. “She's only been out for a bit. The coast is clear, by the way. We made sure many times.” That last part was for himself.  

“Don’t be passive,” Mahariel slurred out. She turned her face away from his chest and breathed deeply, although her eyes remained closed. The lashes on each undulated as they sought for something to help them open, perhaps. Brambles of blackness. “It’s unworthy of you.”

Mahariel eased into Alistair’s hold easily. Zevran gently deposited the Warden as soon as he’d reached for her. A poor bastard he was, yes, but the stress carved so deeply into the man’s jaw evoked a modicum of sympathy.

“Is she hurt?” he asked. Zevran shook his head in an answer.

Mahariel, meanwhile, was beginning to revive. “She is not hurt, thank you.” The belligerence in her voice softened Alistair’s panic somewhat — his teeth finally unclenched and the air was filled with the sound of the subsequent sigh. The noise drew her attention upwards, and she frowned.

“I’m sorry. I’d planned to take it easy tonight but I just kept seeing things in the dark.” The frowned deepened, tightening her brows. “Or so I thought.”

Zevran watched their exchange politely. Alistair may have more questions after he’s put her to bed like the damsel she really wasn’t, but sometimes made herself to be.

Every word she spoke visibly dissolved the worry from Alistair’s body. It was a bit sickening to watch, but he couldn’t say he wouldn’t do the same in his place. “Yes, well, who knows what could’ve swooped in from the treetops?” He then realized the stupidity of his words. “Uh, um, that probably… was not helpful.”

Zevran felt like rolling his eyes.

“Let us retire, shall we? I’m beginning to get the feeling that the others feel as if they are missing out.” He moved his chin in the direction of the site, where Leliana and Wynne had gathered together. The rest were asleep, although Morrigan looked suspiciously rigid and alert in her supposed slumber, even from the far edge of the campsite, where she holed up.

Lyna made a small noise of complaint and shot Alistair what Zevran thought to be a very persuasive expression. “Can I at least walk?” she asked him. Her voice was much sweeter than its prior timbre. “No need to cause more of a disturbance than I already have.”

Alistair’s first reaction was to gaze at her adoringly, but then the love-sickness faltered and he returned to her face with a narrowed, probing stare. There it is, Zevran thought. He’s finally catching on.

Lyna flashed him a grin as he set her on her feet. “We’ll talk about this… later,” he said.

She stood on her own well enough. Alistair didn’t let go as she fanned out her hair. Glints of auburn were teased out from the fire several yards away. He continued to eye her with suspicion, and Lyna sighed. They all began a slow walk to the tents.

“Maybe if you hadn’t forced blood down my throat,” she said to Alistair, who promptly looked stricken with shock, “You wouldn’t have to wait so long to go to bed.” There was an awkward emptiness among them, but then she grinned, every bit as wolfish as Leliana accused him of being. Alistair’s expression of surprise melted at the wink she threw at him afterwards. Zevran smiled to himself.

“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t have met me,” Alistair teased back. There remained a slight strain in his voice, so Mahariel reached up and tussled his hair. He proceeded to swat her away. “And Maker knows, that is a fate much worse than anything I can imagine.”

Gag. Zevran made a mental note to help the ex-templar with his lines. Just as he was about to abandon them to their ill-timed, puppy love, Leliana had flitted to them, as graceful as an Orlesian, summer breeze.  Her lips were roses in the darkness. Lovely.

“Next time,” she said, raking them over with her gaze. Zevran came last, and there was a very obvious tautening of the upper planes of her face. “I’m going with Lyna. You enable her too much.”

Only her temper was more lovely than her mouth. “Leliana, this is Lyna.” He gestured to her without looking. “It seems as if you two haven’t met. In case you were wondering, she’s the boss.”

Leliana harrumphed. “Which makes you…?”

“I’m so glad you asked, gorgeous. I—“

“Nevermind.”  

[chaotic-good-hawke]

Words Unspoken

Part 3 of my “A Family of Crows” short fic. 

Ciembe Mahariel x Zevran, 1690 words

Warning: Angst, and kinda nsfw? 

Read Part 1 here and Part 2 here! (Link to AO3 in the comments, so tumblr doesn’t eat this post). 

The castle is still around them, quiet actually filling the room, blessed quiet. Carmen was asleep in the adjoining room, content to lay in the royal crib.

They actually had a moment alone together.

Mahariel had been planning this for some time. Since leaving Kirkwall, they had returned to Amaranthine, to Vigil’s Keep. They were greeted with hugs and questions, Sigrun and Velanna cooing over the babe, and Nathanial actually smiled when he held her. Ciembe and Zevran slipped into a form of domesticity, Ciembe still building her strength back up from the pregnancy, both of them dotting on their daughter.

But, after 6 months there, Ciembe was getting restless. Instead of heading off on adventures, Zevran convinced her that they should visit the royals.

Thus, they were in Denerim, guests of the King and Queen of Ferelden, in the best guest rooms. A luxurious bed waiting for them, wine, food, a fire burning bright in the hearth. It was perfect.

Zevran held a glass of red wine in his hand, the firelight painting shadows across his face.

Creators, he is so beautiful.

Ciembe’s eyes traced the lines of his face. The little scars, his proud nose, the way his lips cupped the glass…

Setting her own glass down, Ciembe moved, quick as a flash, until she was straddling her love. He quirked an eyebrow at her, smiling, his hand moving to rest on her back.

“Amor, you look quite determined.”

“I am, Zevran.” She kissed him playfully, the taste of wine on both of their lips. She reached her hand behind his head, angling it up towards her, deepening the kiss, warmth and wine and tongue. Her other hand reached for the wineglass, still in Zevran’s grasp and moved it to the side, out of the way. Both hands free, he moved them to her waist, caressing and teasing, her nightdress ridding up to give him access.

She felt light and content. Kissing Zevran was all warmth and care and passion. Like a summer day you never wanted to end.

Grinding against him just so, he grasped, just enough for her to smirk and bite at his lip, fingers twining into his hair, silky and long.

She had missed this closeness. With the baby, nights were just for sleep, to get what little sleep they could before Carmen woke. Zevran still held her close on those nights, but the passion was held off, anytime things started to heat up, he would push back, murmuring concerns about her health, that she needed her rest, Carmen would wake soon.

Ciembe agreed each time, content just to be close to him. But now, with Carmen sleeping through the night and in the safety of the capitol, Ciembe intended to remind Zevran how good they were together, how much she loved him.

Her fingers pulled at his shirt, loosening it until she could feel his skin, his lean muscles. Breaking the kiss just long enough to remove the article, diving back in for more, nipping at his now swollen lips.

Zevran had been busy, too. Her breastband had mysteriously disappeared, the ties on her dress undone, and Zevran was skillfully making use of this fact, his palms cupping and kneading, sending waves of desire through her.

Ciembe rocked against him, feeling him beneath her. Moving to untie his leggings, deft hands reaching-

“Amor, perhaps we should call it a night.” Zevran said, tensed and pulling back suddenly. Ciembe froze, her eyes questioning, confused.

“Zevran, is something wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing. I just think we should use the bed while we can.”

Ciembe smirked, pulling him up with her, “So concerned with the bed, are you? Hmm.” She kissed his palm. “It has been some time since we had a proper bed.” She flashed a wanton smile to him.

Leading him towards it, she tugged at his waistband, sitting on the edge, starting to pull him on top of her.

But he resisted, pulling back and just placing a kiss on her head. “Amor, we should rest.”

Ciembe raised her eyebrow, conflicted emotions playing across her face. “Zev, what is going on? If you are not in the mood, fine, but it has been 9 months. I thought…” She didn’t know how to put into words what she was feeling. Lonely? Unwanted? So much of their relationship was filled with passion and intimacy, the last several months had left little room for such things. It left her feeling unsure about them. Did having a child really change their relationship so much? 

“I’m just tired. We should both get some rest.” He was evading. She could see it in his eyes. He was hiding something from her.

She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Zevran, what aren’t you telling me?”

“There is nothing to tell-”

“Fen'harel's ass there isn’t! I can tell you are hiding something!” She pushed him away, not violently, just enough to give her space to stand up, to pace. She ran her fingers through her long black hair and retied her top. She paused when she reached the fireplace, wrapping her arms around her. “You haven’t touched me since Carmen was born, not like before.” She hated the uncertainty in her own voice, the inconceivability of the thoughts she was having. “Are you not attracted to me now?” She whispered the question. She had heard of such things, men who lose interest after the child is born. But she never thought that was how it would be with Zev...

Gone was the confident woman who faced down an archdemon. Gone was the woman who quipped and flirted. She felt adrift, her foundation, her love, uncertain.  

She felt his arms encircling her, his breath against her shoulder. “Amor, how could you ask that?” She could hear the sincerity in his voice, but her worries were still there. She didn’t understand.

Ciembe pulled away, turning to face him, his own distress matching her own. “What am I supposed to think?”

“Ciembe, I love you.” He looked stricken, helpless.

“Then why?”

“It’s not that I don’t want you.” He was deflecting.

Creators, I can’t-we can’t go on like this.

Ciembe reached up and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her, to look her in the eyes. “WHY?”

“Because I don’t want to lose you!” Zevran exclaimed, hurt and worry thick in his voice, his accent thicker than usual. He stumbled back, as if struck by his own outburst.

Ciembe stood shook still. This was not the answer she was expecting. Stepping closer, her hand reached out to his cheek, gentle, soothing. She could see tears in his eyes now.

“You aren’t going to lose me, Zevran.” She keep her voice even, delicate, as she puzzled through his reaction.

He gave a rueful chuckle. “Oh my dear warden, so fearless, so sure. I almost lost you once, I won’t risk it again.”

The pieces fell into place then. Her near death experience when Carmen was born, the exceedingly gentle, but distant affections from her love…

How could I have missed this?

Moving right up to him, she hugged him tight, pushing as much affection as she could into the motion. “Zevran, I’m not made of glass.”

The muffled sound of cries reached them then, their outburst having woken their daughter. They separated, but both moved to the side room. Opening the door, they found Carmen crying for attention, her little fists waving in the air.

Zevran reached her first, pulling her gently up into his arms. “Shh, mi Corazon, no llores.” His gentle murmurs eased her cries, her bright golden eyes captivated by his face. Which of them was more captivated by the other, who could say.

Ciembe leaned against the doorframe, watching her family. Zevran continued to whisper words of comfort to her, but he wasn’t looking at Mahariel, he wouldn’t look at her.

How do I make him see? What do I do? Creators…

It was not long before Carmen had drifted back to sleep, lulled by the soft words of her father. He gently kissed her forehead and set her back in the crib, placing her blanket over her.

He finally looked at Ciembe. His expression was masked, but his body had gone tense. She just took his hand and tugged him from the room, quietly shutting the door behind them.

They stood there, awkwardly, neither saying anything.

“Vhenan,” Ciembe said, stepping close. Zevran’s shoulders were still tense, showing his anxiety clearly. “Ir abelas.” She ran her hands down his arms, intertwining her fingers with his. She leaned forward, a familiar motion that he met, their foreheads touching, tension slowly easing from his body. “Ar lath ma, Vhenan.” She ran her thumb over the back of his hands. “I didn’t realize how you felt.”

“I didn’t realize that you worried. I should have, but I didn’t.” She leaned back, looking up into his eyes. “It was a miracle that we have Carmen. With the taint, I didn’t think having children was possible, not without intervention.” Ever so slowly, she started leading him to the bed. “It is unlikely that it is even possible for me to become pregnant again, Zev.” Closer still, he started to speak, but she stopped him with a look. “But, there is still a chance. So, we will be careful. I will talk to Cousland tomorrow about getting some Witherstalk extract. That will keep me from pregnancy.” Having reached the bed, she pulled him closer to her. “Don’t push me away, Vhenan.”

Zevran held her, the final bits of tension leaving his body as he wrapped his arms around her. “Amor, Ciembe, I didn’t mean to push you away. I did not want to make you feel unwanted. Perdoname.”

“Te perdono, Zevran. I will always forgive you.”

With those weighted words said, they curled up together on the bed, Ciembe holding him against her chest, combing her fingers through his hair.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. They had talked. They would heal. They would be stronger together. They would be a stronger family.

Thank the Creators. I love him so. I can't lose him.  

[red-wardens]

Late to the party but for the mistletoe kiss... I'd wanna kiss them all. Some platonically (Ronan, Cassian, Blue), some others less so. I'd ask for permission, though. I'd stay away from Kieran, since I am, after all, a human female... XD Das would smooch them all mercilessly (*especially* Kieran). Except for Blue. He'd be very gentle with Blue. Because she may be the most badass warden of the squad, but as far as *he* is concerned, she's made of snowflakes, rose petals and glass.

[And I’m late to the party for answering, it might as well be a New Year’s kiss now xD Jk, thanks for the ask my friend! Here we go. Cassian Cousland is so enthusiastic about platonic affection he’d be absolutely delighted. Blue Surana and Ronan Aeducan would be fine with it and they greatly appreciate being asked first. Good call on Kieran Tabris though. Now for Das… I can’t not write something for this so MERRY BELATED CHRISTMAS]

Mistletoe Kiss ft. Das Davarris + Warden Squad

Words: 1792 (holy moly i got carried away)

The liveliness of the party was felt all throughout Vigil’s Keep, the Satinalia celebration in full swing, unperturbed by midnight’s passing. All the Ferelden Grey Wardens and their friends and family, including the friends and family of the newer recruits, were present and festive. Even a majority of Soldier’s Peak Wardens was there, leaving only a skeleton crew at their castle interchanged by shifts. Warden Davarris, as he often was in any room he entered, was the life of the party.

“Chug another one, Davarris!” “Quit flapping around like a dandy and get yer ass over here!” “It’s your turn for the Satinalia mistletoe game!” came the friendly jeers and shouts that pulled him from his enthusiastic if not eclectic dancing. Not one to turn down a challenge, he marched jauntily over and took up the bottle from one of the new recruits.

“A mistletoe kiss, eh? Maker’s tits you buggers still play this game?” he laughed but twirled the bottle in his hand readily enough. “Alright I’ll have a go at it, Maker knows you blighters need to be shown how to pucker properly. Like you, Mason. Last time you got yer cheeks smooched was probably yer mum, wasn’t it?”

“Up yours, Davarris!” the new recruit answered back, but raised his glass to show it was all in good fun. He took another chug of his ale before shooting back. “Besides, with yer mug this might be the only way you’s getting a kiss.”

“Just spin it already!” called an impatient voice before Das could joke back. A snicker responded to it along with the jibe, “Are you that eager to kiss him, Tabris? Haven’t you two already gone at each other enough?”

“What can I say Nora, maybe I want an audience.”

Grinning, flattered and more than a little buzzed, Das made a show of dramatically placing the bottle in the center of the table and with the hilt of one of his blades, gave it a good spin. The small crowd that had abandoned dancing and drinking and socializing to watch, pressed in curiously. Drawing suspense, the bottle came to a slow stop, pointing not at one person, but at the painting on the nearest wall depicting the Heroes of Ferelden.

There was a brief uproar of laughter and arguing about how the results were to be played out before it was unanimously decided that all the Wardens of the Hero Squad present must be kissed. After making sure none of them were against the idea, Das picked up the sprig of mistletoe on the table. “To work!” he announced, imitating the Commander of the Inquisition’s armies.

Leaping to one side of the crowd, he bent forward to throw an arm around each of his favorite dwarves. Raising the mistletoe between him and Ronan Aeducan, he promptly gave the man a long smooch on the cheek. The warrior made a huff of amusement before running a hand over the side of his slightly ruffled beard. “Too much to drink, Davarris?” he joked.

But Das had already tossed the mistletoe to his other hand and held it up over Nora Brosca. The short woman was already grinning and poking her own cheek expectantly. “Plant ‘er there, Das!” And he did, with enough enthusiasm to send the woman into a fit of laughter before she gave him a surprisingly strong shove toward the tall human gentleman.

“Good evening, Das.” Warden Cousland greeted, ever friendly. The former-inquisitor laughed at his nonchalance before replying “It sure is, Cassian.” and reaching up to take the lanky man’s stubbly face in his hands, still holding the mistletoe in one. To his surprise, Cassian was the one to close the distance. Not one to ever put a damper on party games, he gave Das a short but surprisingly passionate kiss on the lips. Cheers and hollers surrounded them, and one friendly “boooo!” from their favorite elven reaver.

“Maker’s holy balls!” Das cried out, placing a dramatic hand on his chest at the end of the encounter. “You kiss like an Antivan!” he told his friend who laughed, looked both flattered and proud, and assured Das that so did he. They were then interrupted by an indignant yelp as Kieran Tabris picked up the petite woman beside him and carried her over.

“Oi, Davarris! Kiss Mell first, you and I are gonna be a while.” the dark-haired elf suggested, grinning and presenting his mage friend who looked thoroughly embarrassed. He set her down before Das who took her hand and kissed it gently. Alyss Amell’s face was already turning pink but she met Das’ pale eyes and smiled demurely. Her shyness was clearly due to having the eyes of a crowd on her and not their proximity. Das was good at drawing her focus from all of them though, and it was warmly appreciated.

“May I, Princess Amell?” he inquired of her and she suppressed a little laugh before granting him permission. He smiled back brightly, raised the mistletoe and gave her a soft peck on the lips before drawing back to return her personal space. Alyss had turned red- and there were more cheers- but before Das could perceive any of this, a hand had grabbed his and raised it over his head along with the mistletoe. Das couldn’t even laugh at his enthusiasm before Kieran’s mouth was on his, the other gripping the upper part of his arm as he walked him backwards into a pillar.

As his back hit the stone, Das returned the kiss in earnest, free hand traveling up into the other man’s long hair. The whole room was in an uproar now with their hollers and even some applause. Snickering, and not being able to help himself, he tugged at the thin leather cord holding up Kieran’s bun and the cascade of raven-colored hair poured down Kieran’s back nearly to his thighs. Warden Tabris made a grunt of protest but would not break the fierce kiss- until a hand reached out and yanked him back by his robes.

“Quit hogging him, Tabris. It’s my turn.” the beautiful and intimidating Arlessa ordered sharply. With a friendly ‘You bitch, Mahri.’ at her and a wink at Das, Kieran yielded. Das looked surprised but intrigued- Isseya Mahariel hadn’t been in the room when he’d first spun the bottle so he hadn’t imagined she’d be on the proverbial menu.

“My Lady!” he exclaimed. He bowed to her nobly, and was delighted at the brief but clearly amused tug in the corners of her lips. She walked up to him purposefully, in her tall heels she was slightly taller than him and it was oddly thrilling, but paused an inch from his face. The crowd had quieted down slightly but looked more excited than ever. Isseya raised her large goblet of wine by one side of their faces and took his hand to hold the mistletoe up next to the other side. Their lips hidden from prying eyes, she leaned in and pressed her mouth to the corner of his, not truly kissing him, not intending to.

“Guess who returned early from her visit to Orlais?” she whispered, lips brushing against his skin. “She’s in the rookery. Hurry.” She pulled back and raised her goblet, smirking and announcing loudly, “Not bad, Davarris!” to a host of wild cheers. But Das could hardly hear them anymore; the breath had left his lungs and a lost look wavered over his mask of a party-face. She was here?

Excusing himself hastily and ignoring the protests, he escaped the party and made his way up the castle. By the time he’d ascended the final staircase he was terribly out of breath, but threw the door open anyways. A few of the ravens squawked, startled, but the woman sitting on the windowsill only looked up and smiled. Das fidgeted.

“You’re home!” he cheered, smiling then cursing at himself because yes that was very obvious but his damned bloody mouth operated faster than his bloody thoughts. But Warden Commander Blue Surana nodded once, rose to her feet and approached him. She looked into his eyes, the small smile still on her lips, and brushed her gloved hand against one of his. .

“I’m home.” she agreed, staring at him to convey that the idea had little to do with location. Das felt his chest tighten. Maker how did she always do this to him? Before he could muster up another not-well-thought-out reply, she tugged curiously at the plant still in his hand.

“Mistletoe?” she inquired. Das chuckled, the heat rising in his face a bit before he raised up the sprig and carefully explained what had gone on downstairs. She was going to hear it from someone eventually so he figured it might as well be him. She nodded, face unreadable but eyes clearly enjoying the story.

“I see. Did you come up here to kiss me too?” she asked, mildly, as if inquiring about the weather. Das nearly choked on his heart as it sprung up to his mouth. Well, not really, but it bloody well felt like it. He opened his mouth to respond when she continued with. “You may, if you like.”

A few moments of silence, then she shifted slightly and added, “Unless you’d rather not.”

Rather not? Great burning Andraste, of course he wanted... He regained himself, forcing himself to smile despite the nerves. She was looking doubtful now and there was no way he was allowing that. He assured her in enthusiastic and somewhat colorful language that he abso-fucking-lutely did. He raised up the mistletoe one last time, cursing the sudden shakiness of that hand. He’d kissed hundreds of people- maybe, he didn’t really count- but seldom did doing so make him this nervous. Das tried to remind himself she was not in fact made of roses and snowflakes and glass, but when he finally raised his other hand to cup her cheek he certainly held her like she was. He leaned in-

“Should I close my eyes to kiss?” she asked tentatively. He froze, blinked in surprise.

“You can if you like.” he replied chuckling. “Do you not usually?”

There was a long pause before she averted her eyes. Das paled.

“You’ve never..?”

“Nora kissed me once.” Blue answered, meeting his eyes again. “She was drunk and I don’t think she remembers. And Cassian and Kieran… sometimes kiss my cheek when they greet me.”

Das squatted on the floor with his head between his legs and hands on top of said head. Sheer panic washed over him. He was going to be her first real kiss? He didn’t deserve this honor- holy fucking shit he-

“Did you change your mind?” she asked, sounding a bit disappointed.

“Just give me a minute,” he requested hoarsely.

[super-ultimate-fangirl]

Sacrifice

Rating: Teen and up

Paring: Zevran/Male Mahariel, Alistair/female Cousland (mentioned)

Summary:

With the final battle approaching and knowledge of the Grey Wardens fate a decision must be made, but first the Warden needs to speak with the one who holds his heart.

Keir Mahariel POV

Morrigan and Ailsa leave my room, closing the door behind them. I needed a moment to think before I made any decisions. Today was too much. The knowledge of a Grey Warden’s fate lingered in my mind. In War, Victory. In Peace, Vigilance. In Death, Sacrifice. Those last lines haunted me. So far much of my journey as a Grey Warden had been surrounded by death. From the very start, when I had thought Tamlen dead after we found the mirror, then learning of my own sickness. I wonder what would have been worse, dying of the blight with my clan around me or being responsible for so many lives with so much blood on my hands. There are four wardens now, Ailsa, Alistair, Riordan and myself, and yet I can’t bring myself to ask them to do this for me. I promised Ailsa. She had said she could speak to Alistair about it, but I can’t imagine Morrigan and him in such an intimate situation, nor do I want to.  

I know if I do this, we all could still die horribly painful deaths, but if we stand a chance then we have to try. Riordan said he would strike the final blow to the archdemon, but there is no guarantee that he will succeed. If I do this whoever kills that monster has a chance to live. Ailsa’s to be queen alongside Alistair and without Morrigan’s help there’s a chance that Fereldan’s newest rulers will never make it to the throne. Those two are so in love its almost excessive, only a monster would separate them now. I go through my list of reasons why sleeping with Morrigan is the right thing to do. People are dying, the dead will stay dead but there are still lives at stake. Shem or not they don’t deserve this.  

There is one person I have pushed to the back of my mind. For, I know as soon as I do, I’ll feel nothing but guilt. Despite my efforts I cannot ignore it. I pull the earring out my pocket holding it between my thumb and forefinger. A gift from someone dear. Ma Vhenan. Either way a sacrifice must be made. One deadly, one not, and yet the latter is far more painful. I push myself up from where I am leaning against the wall. Tucking the earring away I quickly make my way to his room, walk turning into a run. I must speak with Zevran, I can’t lie to him.  

I knock and I hear a faint, “come in.”

I push the door open. Zevran is sitting on the bed, amour gone and a cloth in hand wiping down his daggers. He looks up at me.

“Mi Amor ”  

His eyes soften as he speaks the endearment. I walk toward him and he quirks an eyebrow. Without hesitation I pull him by his tunic into a kiss. I close my eyes and for a moment nothing else matters. I need this one last time. If he hates me after this I want to be able to remember what it feels like. He must have put his knives down, as I can feel his hands come to rest on my hips. He pulls me forward and I fall on the bed on top of him, lips still moving against his. His hands tangle in my hair, and he pulls the tie from my braid, hair now falling loose. I stop myself before this escalates and push myself up and on to the bed beside him. He chuckles softly rolling on to his side, his head propped on his hand.  

He smirks at me, and I know what he’s thinking. As much as I would love to roll around in the sheets with him and take advantage of a real bed for once, I only have so much time before I must return to Morrigan. That along with the sickening feeling in my gut from leading him on like this keeps me from letting it escalate.

“Are you in the mood for a little fun before we march out to face the archdemon tomorrow?”  

Zevran’s tone is light but I can’t quite suppress the flinch his words cause me. I try to maintain a smile but I doubt it reaches my eyes. It takes less than a second before it’s clear that he notices something is wrong. I sit up against the large wooden headboard and I keep my eyes focused on the bed in front of me. A spot soon filled by the Antivan as he moves closer.  

“You are not yourself tonight my love.” His brows crease in concern. His hand reaches out and gently lifts my chin. My eyes following suit.  

“This might be our last night together” The words escape my mouth before I realize what I’ve said.

Well I guess that’s one way to start this conversation. He opens his mouth to respond but I’m faster.  

“Riorden told us earlier that for an Archdemon to be killed, a warden must also sacrifice their life.”  

I can see as the words sink in. His eyes widen.

“What does this mean? That you will die facing the Archdemon?”

My mouth is dry. “Possibly.” I watch his face change from sadness to hope. The gnawing in my stomach increases. “There is a way that a warden can survive killing an Archdemon.”

“What is it? Tell me and it is done” He stands up off the bed and for a moment I’m fully convinced that if it were something as simple as collecting a rare element he’d go and hunt it down tonight. I can see the conviction in his eyes.

“It’s not that easy. Morrigan has a ritual, but if I were to go through with it you’d never forgive me”

Zevran’s face shifts to hurt. “I don’t think you are the one to tell me what I will and will not forgive. What does this ritual entail?”

My gaze drops to the bed again.  "I would…“ No holding back “I would have to lay with Morrigan and conceive a child with her” There it’s out. I await the yelling, the storming out. It never happens.

Instead I feel weight on the bed. I lift my eyes. Zevran is in front of me again crawling towards me. He doesn’t speak. He simply takes my face in both hands and presses a soft kiss to my lips. It feels like a weight has been taken from my shoulders. Zevran was a smooth talker but his actions often spoke louder.  

He was the one to pull away. His thumb stroking my cheekbone. “That is what you meant?” I nod.

“I care for you Zevran. I don’t like the idea, knowing I’d be betraying what we have” my eyes begin to sting. “But Alistair and Ailsa don’t deserve to die.”

Zevran forces me to hold his gaze “I see no betrayal in this. You have come to me with guilt, and yet no act of passion has occurred.” Zevran sits back. “If I must give you to Morrigan for one night so that we may have many more together I will gladly do so!”

He smiles at me and I cannot help but return it.  Zevran takes my hand in his and kisses my knuckles “Now you run along. If you are not too exhausted after your encounter with the witch then perhaps we can still enjoy each-others company, if you know what I mean.” He winks.

I can’t help but chuckle at his inuendo. It’s certainly milder than I’ve heard from him before but the knowledge that he isn’t done with me lifts my spirits. I squeeze his hand. “I will return. Meet me in my quarters after.” I say as I stand. His hand slipping from my grasp as I walk away.

I waste no time going back to Morrigan. I knock on the door to her room. A moment later she appears. Jewels and shawl removed. She looks me up and down, taking in my ruffled hair. A knowing smirk forms on her lips.

“Have you decided?”

I nod, “I’m ready”  

Morrigan opens the door wider gesturing for me to enter. My hand drifts to the outline of the earring in my pocket and I walk inside.

Morrigan can be a kind lover despite what one might think, though it was quick, not the love making I treasure with Zevran. We both finished and washed. I sit on the bed after it all, at a loss for words. What do I say to her? ‘Thank you for helping me not die’? Do I just leave now? No that would be rude. I dress in just my leggings, my tunic still in a pile on the floor. I sit heavily on the bed. Ever the observant one she sits next to me, only a sheet wrapped around her body. Then, she smiles at me, it’s an understanding smile, however brief.

“Go back to him.” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “I know ‘tis not I you wish to spend the night with.”

“Are you sure?”  

“Fear not, I can take care of myself. Now go” Morrigan nods toward the door.

I get up from the bed, sliding my tunic over my head. Before I leave I go back to Morrigan. I bend down and place a soft kiss on her forehead and whisper “thank you.”  

When I pull away I have to hold back a laugh. For a split second Morrigan looks content, happy even, but as quickly as it appeared it vanishes and she now resembles an unimpressed cat.  

“Goodnight Morrigan”  

“Goodnight Keir.”

I slip out of the room. I pass by a servant who is still awake. I ask her to bring new bed linin and some tea from the kitchen for Morrigan. It seems inadequate compared to what she has done for me. I slip the servant a silver and apologize for keeping her up longer. The rest is a blur until I’m standing in front of my door. Part of me fears I’ll open the door to find the room empty. I honestly wouldn’t blame Zevran.  

My worries are dashed when I find the other elf sprawled across my bed. He has stripped down to his small clothes, his hair fanned out around his head. I shed my clothing till I too am in my smalls and climb onto the bed beside him. He wakes easily.

He blinks sleepily, and props himself up on his elbows. “I am sorry Amor. I must have fallen asleep. We can still-”

I bend over him and capture his mouth in a kiss before he can finish his sentence. It’s seems like forever before we pull back for air and I rest my forehead to his. I relish in the intimacy. “Can you just hold me?”  

His hand, calloused from battle brushes the hair from my face and cups my cheek. I mirror him, my thumb running along the dark tattoos that rest on his cheekbone.

“I am yours.” I relax at the words. Zevran reaches over and blows out the candle beside the bed. We fall back to the bed and slide beneath the blanket. His arms hold me tight to his chest, my head above his heart.  

I feel a warmth in my own chest. Reminiscent of when Zevran confessed his feelings after we encountered Taliesen. I want to say those words. It’s probably too early for such confessions but one cannot wait when we both face death on a daily basis.

The words come out easier than I expected but I can’t bring myself to say them in common for fear of scaring him off.

“Ar lath ma vhenan.” I say quietly but with as much meaning as I can muster.

I feel a hitch in his breath beneath my head. I don’t know if he fully understood, but he squeezes me tighter. He doesn’t say anything, but he never has too.

We lay there in the dark simply enjoying each-others presence as we drift into the fade, and for a moment I swear I hear the soft words “Te amo” before I fall into dreams of a different time.

[a-gay-bloodmage]

She’s an Excellent Marksman (Who Shot an Arrow Through My Heart) by Fall Out Boy

Pairing: Morrigan x Female Mahariel

Pairing Type: F/F

Words: 990

Warnings: I made this Warden up in Thirty Seconds, Whoops, Teaching a Witch to Shoot a Bow gets Gay, Morrigan Catches Feelings, Mahariel is a Cutie who Knows What She’s Doing, A Swamp Witch has a Thing For Muscled Gals 

"Is something wrong, Morrigan?" Mahariel asked, looking up from her bow. Her short bob of silver hair reflected the setting sun, her tan, freckled skin looking like it was meant to be in the orange glow of the sunset.

"I couldn't keep myself from admiring your marksmanship today," she said, sitting down next to the Dalish elf.

"My marksmanship?" She asked, a shy smile on her face. "It's hardly anything compared to magic."

"Well, I believe it to be impressive," Morrigan said, turning her nose up slightly. "I am trying to pay you a compliment."

"Thanks, Morrigan," she giggled. "Do want to ask me anything?" Morrigan's black brows pushed together. "I can tell you've got a question." Morrigan huffed slightly.

"I wish to know how you do that," she said quickly. "How you direct those arrows without magic."

"Want me to show you?" She asked, looking coy. Morrigan scowled, nodding.

Damn those eyes! She thought angrily. How dare this sly little elf knot my stomach like this? She felt Mahariel grab her hand, pulling her to the edge of camp.

"So, Morrigan," she said, looking up into the witch's yellow eyes. "Hold out your arms, please."

"I don't see the point in this," she said, doing as Mahariel asked nonetheless. She jumped slightly as the elf ran her hands down her skin, bow-worn fingers ever so gentle.

"Not too muscled," she remarked, smirking. "That staff must be light."

"I'll have you know magic is taxing on the spirit, and that my muscles have nothing to do with my talent."

"I didn't say that," she said, shaking her head with a smile. "Can I see something else?"

"Why not?" Morrigan answered, rolling her eyes. "Are all Dalish this touch-y feel-y?"

"Depends on who we're with," she smirked, making Morrigan's stomach flip. "I guess magic is centered at the core, then." Morrigan swallowed a gasp as she felt Mahariel's gentle hands on her stomach, feeling the lean muscle.

"Are you quite done?" Morrigan asked, feeling flustered. "I only asked to see how you shoot, elf."

"Of course," she said, shaking her head and removing her hand. Morrigan soon realized how cold the air was without her touch. Mahariel took her bow off her back, handing it to Morrigan. "Here, hold it how you think you should." Morrigan took the Dalish longbow in her hands, feeling the smoothness of the wood.

"There's a smugness in your voice I do not appreciate, elf," she said.

"It's just us, call me Mahariel."

"If you so wish, Mahariel." She loved the way the name felt on her tongue. Mahariel seemed to, as well. She held the bow up, turning her body to be in line with the shot. Her eyes narrowed as she heard Mahariel giggle. "Something amusing?"

"You're holding it upside down, for starters," she laughed. Morrigan quickly turned the bow. "Better," she nodded. She handed Morrigan an arrow, guiding it to the arrow rest. "Now, try to draw it back." Morrigan frowned when she realized how difficult it was to pull back the string. Her eyes flickered to Mahariel, and she noticed for the first time how sculpted her arms were.

"How is it?" Morrigan asked, feeling her arm shake slightly.

Mahariel shook her head, moving to stand behind the witch. She stood on the tips of her toes, pressing her front against Morrigan's back.

"Your elbow is a little too high," she said, whispering. There wasn't any need to talk loudly in such close proximity. Her right hand gently moved Morrigan's arm, her left hand resting on the witch's shoulder. "Much better, Morrigan." Her laughter warmed the back of Morrigan's neck, making her shiver. "And keep your forward arm steady-" She moved her left hand along Morrigan's arm, gently guiding her aim. "- and relax." Morrigan was anything but relaxed. "Ready?"

"Of course I am," she lied.

"Perfect," Mahariel said. Morrigan knew she was smiling that coy smile of hers, her freckles all bunched up on her cheeks and her brown eyes sparkling. "On the count of three, let go." Morrigan held her breath. "One... two... three." The arrow left the bow with surprising force, sticking right into the middle of a tree.

"Was that the intended target?" She asked. Mahariel nodded, staying pressed against Morrigan's back.

"You did well," she said, draping her arms over Morrigan's shoulders.

"Perhaps I could teach you a little of magic in return," Morrigan said dumbly, unsure of what to say. The elf's close proximity rendered her unable to think.

"I know magic," Mahariel said smugly.

"Really?" Morrigan asked, raising an eyebrow, not at all convinced.

"Want me to show you?" She asked, gently turning Morrigan to face her. 

"As if you could-" She was cut off by Mahariel, who had placed her lips onto the witch's. She slowly closed her eyes, gently dropping the bow onto the soft earth of the forest floor. Mahariel's strong arms were ever so gentle as they wrapped around the back of Morrigan's neck. The kiss was both as Morrigan imagined kissing a girl would be and completely unexpected at the same time. Mahariel's lips were soft and supple, angled just right to fit against Morrigan's, her flat little elven nose tickling her cheek. But there wasn't any deviant feeling about it, no wrongness in the feeling, even as she rested her hands in the small of Mahariel's back. Men became obsolete. This elven girl was all she wanted. The gentle breeze on her cheek of Mahariel's breath through her nose made her smile into the kiss.

"I don't believe I could teach you anything better than that," she whispered as they pulled apart. Dark purple lip stain coated Mahariel's full lips, which were pulled back into a smile. The elf shrugged, smiling.

"I'm sure you could could teach me something," she said. She pulled Morrigan down for another quick kiss.

"I can certainly say the same about you."

[marquis1305]

Modern Au Kaili Tabris’ version of meeting Nico Mahariel. (owned by the dear @hoehoehoelt) because this modern au is now a thing. 

Kaili had chosen to spend her down hours sitting on the roof of their barracks.  

She knew that if she were caught, she would get a demerit, or worse; but couldn't manage to bring herself to care.  

After all, anniversaries deserved special recognition. She had managed to push back the memories throughout most of the day. Facing the Warden's drills, tests, and training with an easy smile. The smile that she had chosen to wear since the day she had been forced to enlist, rather than face jail time.

Here, where she could hide away from the other recruits, she let the smile fall.  

There were no tears, it had always been difficult for her to let enough of her walls shatter to allow for tears. She hums the lullaby that Nelaros had once taught her, in what feels like a lifetime ago.  

"I don't think I have heard that tune before."

Kaili jolts back, hand to her boot knife. Ears flat in warning. Snarling.

"Whoa! Down girl!" Nico Mahariel, Staff Seargent, laughs at her sudden reaction. Hands help up as an offer of peace. "No wonder they warned me not to bother you, and here I thought they were just afraid of a pretty girl."

"As they should be, after all, haven't you heard the rumors about me?" Kaili slowly shifts back to how she was sitting. Body still tense and ready to attack as needed, but hiding behind a calm veneer.  

"Might have, but I won't say which ones unless you tell me the rumors you have heard about me." He plops down beside her, offering up a flask pulled from one of his pockets.  

When she takes it, he moves to let his hair down from the bun it had been forced into during duty hours. Kaili eyes him, then takes his cue, letting her own curls free to form ringlets about her face.  

"Damn, now that's a sight," Nico raises an eyebrow, and a jaunty smirk.

"Don't get used to it staff seargent," she says before taking a swig, then offering the flask back.

"Oh, using ranks, ouch," he laughs and takes his own drink from the flask. "So, are you gonna tell me what you have heard?"

"Only that you seem to spend more days in a sickbed than in the field. And that you are one of the fasted rising enlisted within the Wardens." Her voice is flat, hiding any emotions she might feel towards either account.

"Yeah, debilitating disease," he shrugs, brushing off the implications. "And there was a reason that I was assigned to the Warden Squad despite it. One of the best shots in my clan. Definitely the quickest draw. Was tied for most accurate."

"Makes sense, I suppose. You Dalish seem to favor guerrilla warfare. Don't like getting too close, might cut those pretty tattoos of yours," Kaili smirks over at the Dalish soldier.  

"And I suppose you are a cut purse like the rest of the flat ears?" Nico rises to meet her unspoken challenge.

"Close, but no cigar. I was in a gang, tended to favor black market sales over cutting purses. My own specialty was acquiring the goods." Kaili hugs her knees, looking off towards the sunset. Ignoring that Nico moves closer.  

"That doesn't sound like something that would get you placed in the Wardens?" He presses, genuinely curious at this point.  

"No. What got me placed in this unit was slaughtering every last member of our rival gang. Bunch of rich kids who wanted to play pretend, thought that they were hard. They managed to snatch me and a few girls from my neighborhood when I had my guard down."

Nico looks at her, horror slowly dawning in his eyes.  

"I had a fiancé. Nice guy. Was a senior, like me, but still trying to work and raise enough money to get us both out of the city, get me off the streets. He hated that I did what I did, but never tried to change me. Knew that I was working to support my family, only way that I knew how," she starts shuddering as the memories begin to flood her senses. Unable to even react as Nico places an arm around her. "When they snatched us, my fiancé ran and got my cousins. Managed to find the warehouse where we were being held."

She pauses, choking back the tears that finally come.  

"What happened?" Nico pulls Kaili closer, offering her support.  

She can only answer in the softest of whispers.  

"They shot him. I watched, saw every second of it. My cousin, Vis, finally managed to cut me free from the ropes. Handed me my knives. He and Soris provided cover fire while I cut them all down. Then I went and hunted down their leader and his little buddies. I slit each of their throats."

She takes a shudering breath, and looks up at Nico, finally noticing his closeness. "When the cops showed up, I took the fall. Kept them busy while my cousin's escaped. Had made sure that they passed me their guns before they took off. Prints. Heh. After that, it was either the Wardens or jail time. Figured I could take my chances fighting in the Shem's war, rather than waste my life behind bars."

Nico pulls her tighter to him. Letting her bury her face in his shoulder. He had been here almost a year longer than her, had seen her during her training drills. Had seen her laugh and tease the other recruits. Sure, there had been rumors, but nothing to this extent. If anyone understood how much it hurt to hold that kind of story inside.....  

"I lost someone too. When I caught my... disease. Tamlen,"He shrugs off the stab of pain in his chest with a chuckle. "But that is a story for another day. Wouldn't do for me to just make you feel worse by talking about my own sad tale."

Kaili nods, taking a deep breath to ease the shuddering of her chest. Then pulls back from his hold. Gaze held by his own.  

"It's been one year today."

Nico nods, "I knew it was the anniversary of when you were thrown into our lot. Didn't realize that there was more to it. Figured you were just up here thinking about all the time wasted this past year on drills."

Kaili breathes out a giggle. Then smiles playfully, "I didn't realize you had been keeping track of my time here?"

Nico blushes slightly, then lets his grey gaze heat up. "What can I say, it's not every day that a beautiful, smart, and apparently slightly psychotic recruit comes in; sweeping everyone of their feet."

"Flatterer." Kaili deadpans.  

Chuckling, Nico brings Kaili closer still. Completely wrapping her in his arms. "If you didn't like it, I have no doubt you would have been able to take me down by now."

Kaili narrows her eyes at him, then simply nods. Letting her head fall back against his chest. She just barely holds back the flinch as he runs a hand over her curls.  His other hand rubbing circles around her back.

Instead, she starts humming her lullaby again.  Playing with the ring hanging on a chain about her neck.

Nelaros had always told her she needed to learn how to accept the little things in life.  

Maybe, having Nico comfort her would qualify.

[katharaya]

DA Fic: A Novena to Any Gods Listening

A/N: Listen. Listen I will F I G H T for this ship. Bioware did them dirty and they didn’t deserve that. You know. That. Which is why I’m so glad I got to write them for @for-the-love-of-solas’s Black Emporium gift this year! Thank you for the wonderful prompt!

Pairing: Tamlen/Female Mahariel Word count: 3,678 Summary: Tamlen has never been particularly prayerful, but as the current state of things can attest, stranger things have happened.

---

I. Sylaise, Hearthkeeper, though we wander far from home, we keep your fire alive in our most secret of hearts. Keep us warm.

It feels like a funeral.

(It may as well be.)

Guilt overwhelms Tamlen as he and Mahariel walk away from the clan for the last time. It clings to the soles of his boots, weighing him down.

(He wanted to explore the cave, he went to touch the mirror, he had to drag an unconscious, feverish Mahariel out of the cave and into the waiting arms of the shem Grey Warden with suspiciously impeccable timing—)

He feels everyone’s stares bore into his back as they part to make way. The clan is somber, silent but for Merrill’s soft sniffling.

Tamlen hesitates at the edge of camp, wrestling with the urge to look back. Only Mahariel’s touch gives him pause, her hand slipping into his, and when he glances over her eyes are trained ever forward, staring almost defiantly at the gloom of the dark forest beyond.

Her grip is fever-warm; sweat beads on her forehead as her breath hitches unevenly—signs, Duncan had told them, of the spreading Taint. It's in Tamlen, too—like a constant buzzing at the back of his head, reminding him of how he'd tipped the hourglass, and now time is running out for both of them.

And yet, the set of her shoulders is resolute, the gleam in her eyes the same dauntless fire he’s loved for years upon years. He'd follow her anywhere, if only to keep that fire burning.

So he stands at her side, looking forward with her at last, and her touch is his only comfort now.

(Honestly? It’s the only comfort he needs.)

---

II. June, Craft-master, we honor you with every blade that strikes true and every arrow that finds its mark. May we never be without their aid.

When every day you see horror upon horror, it all starts to blur together after a while.

Tamlen keeps thinking it couldn’t possibly get worse, but somehow he’s never really surprised when it does. From Ostagar to Lothering to the Brecilian Forest, from feral darkspawn out for tainted blood, to shem who hate them for their ears as much as their blue and silver armor, to werewolves hunting Dalish of any clan, it comes to a point where Tamlen stops wondering at the strangeness of it all—choosing instead to focus his limited energy on the fight, on making every blow count, on protecting the one thing that still matters in this upside-down world.

He focuses on the things he understands—he knows that blades need to be kept sharp, that fletching needs to be renewed, that camp needs to be made in a defensible location.

Mahariel needs to keep her eyes on the horizon, on the next mission, on the big picture, so Tamlen helps by keeping his eyes peeled in the now: Lethallan, he tells her, we can camp here; or, Give me your blade, I’ll sharpen it for you; or, in the heat of battle, Mahariel, duck! as he steps in with his shield raised between her and an arrow aimed for her heart.

It helps, too, that he knows the rhythm she dances to, knows how each strike and parry and feint are timed to the beat of her heart. Alistair is a formidable warrior in his own right, and Morrigan knows magic that would astound even the Keeper, but Tamlen knows Mahariel in a way that means he is always precisely where she needs him to be—whether it's at her back in battle, fending off a hurlock, or beside her in the cold Fereldan nights, sharing body heat, just listening to each other breathe and thanking the gods they're alive.

(Whether in battle or in love, Tamlen knows her heartbeat as well as his own.)

And he knows, too, how she looks by the firelight, sleepy and warm; he knows how her vallaslin stretch and curl when she laughs, and he knows how much and how messily she can eat after a long day of travel and fighting.

He knows how the nightmares that plague her are worse than even his and Alistair’s, and he knows how she kicks in her sleep when they begin. He rolls expertly out of the way, waiting for her to settle down before he gathers her into his arms, wrapping the thin blanket around them both as she seeks out his warmth even in her sleep.

And the next day he gets up, he takes down their tent as she looks over their route for the day, he sharpens her weapons, he makes sure she has enough potions.

Mahariel keeps him sane; it’s only fair he keep her safe.

(As if he could allow himself to do anything else. As if it’s even an option.)

---

III. Fen’Harel, Dread Wolf, my foe is wily and shrewd. Lend me your tricks.

“So,” Zevran says, sidling up to Tamlen as he’s sharpening his sword—and though Tamlen has doubts about letting an assassin tag along, he's not going to bring it up with Mahariel, because the last time he'd insisted on doing things his way, they ended up chugging darkspawn blood in Ostagar.

"So?"

“I have noticed that you and the Warden share a tent," Zevran says, flashing his teeth when he smiles. "Does this mean that you two are also lovers?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that. Back with the clan, it seemed almost a certainty—to the point that everyone assumed they would end up in that direction anyway without further prompting. As such, neither of them had seen any point to rushing things, content to just be Mahariel and Tamlen, Tamlen and Mahariel—their future bright and secure and always just waiting patiently for them to arrive.

And of course, Tamlen loved her—loves her, still—but now, with the Taint thrumming through their blood and a Blight at their heels, suddenly that future doesn’t seem quite as certain as he thought.

Not that he can disclose all these things to Zevran, so instead Tamlen asks, “What’s it matter to you?” as he swipes the whetstone along the blade with vicious force.

“Oh, it is simply that I have noticed the Warden—” She has a name, Tamlen thinks venomously, but he keeps it to himself as Zevran prattles on, “—has seemed rather more tense as of late, so I figured I could offer my services, if you were not already doing so.”

A pause.

“What services?” Tamlen asks, eyes narrowed.

“As a bedmate,” Zevran replies nonchalantly, and Tamlen chokes.

“Wha—!?” Tamlen sputters. “You—how dare—why would you even—!?”

“As you must be aware, the Warden is not unattractive,” Zevran says easily, “although exhaustion is not a good look on anyone, if I’m being honest. And seeing as we need her in, pardon the pun, fighting form, I was merely suggesting that I could help alleviate some stress by warming her bed.”

(Oh, Tamlen could kill him, just for that.)

“I can warm her bed just fine!”

“Oh,” Zevran says, seemingly unfazed but for the feline grin that stretches across his face. “Well, that is excellent news. I leave her then in your capable hands.”

And then he has the gall to just walk away, as if Tamlen has not just been subjected to the most embarrassing conversation in his life.

Dread Wolf take him, Tamlen thinks. He’s not getting any sleep tonight.

(And not in the fun way.)

---

IV. Falon'Din, Friend of the Dead, we fear not death with your hand to guide us. Keep us brave.

The rest of the party meanders back to their own haunts, the excitement of the sudden attack dying down, replaced with a wary calm.

But Tamlen and Mahariel linger at the edge of camp, where they’ve piled the bodies of the shrieks for burning, watching the flames lick the tainted corpses. The acrid smoke makes their eyes water, but not so much that Tamlen fails to note the pointed ears—a marked difference from hurlocks—and the long, lean frame—the opposite of the short, stout genlocks. He’s certain Mahariel’s noticed, too.

Her whispered words confirm it—a prayer he’s heard a handful of times in what seems like a different life altogether: “Falon’Din enasal enaste.”

As if in response, the fire crackles brighter. Tamlen hopes the gods have heard them.

“If Duncan hadn’t found us,” he begins haltingly, “do you think we—?”

The light from the fire flickers in Mahariel’s eyes, making them glow in the darkness, feline and eerie.

“Best not to think about it,” she says, in that tone that Tamlen knows means she can’t think about anything else.

(Prayers for the dead have never tasted so bitter in his mouth.)

“Do you hate it?” he asks her quietly. “This life?”

She blinks.

“What brought this on?” she says, glancing over at him with a curious look.

He thinks of the way things are—bleak and danger-fraught; he thinks of the way things could have been—the both of them mindless ghouls as the Taint consumed them faster than it currently was, or dead.

“I wish we’d never found that cave," he sighs quietly. “I never should have touched that mirror.”

“What,” Mahariel says, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth, “you’re only realizing this now?”

He looks away, shame leaking out of every pore, until he hears a quiet “Oh, Tamlen.”

And then Mahariel is there in front of him, holding his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes.

“The only life I would hate,” she whispers, eyes at once fierce and tender in the dim firelight, “is one without you in it.”

He feels his expression crumble; his eyes soften as he presses his forehead to hers. “Ar lath ma,” he says. It seems like the only appropriate response.

“I know,” she says, rubbing the tip of her nose against his. “Ma vhenan.”

(For one moment, that word drowns out everything else; he can’t hear the crackling of the fire or the lonely wind in the trees or the ever-present hum of the Taint in his blood—only the echoes of that beloved word falling from her lips: vhenan.)

---

V. Mythal, All-Mother, though we bind out hearts in the secret night, our love is true and bright as day. Bless our marriage.

The night before they begin the long trek to Orzammar, Tamlen is kept awake by thoughts of uncertain futures and not enough time. He’s still awake when Mahariel crawls into their tent after her watch, and though she’s surprised when he turns and hooks an arm around her waist, she relents easily, pressing back against him for warmth.

“You should be asleep,” she chides him, and it’s such a familiar and ordinary thing to say that he snorts, though a bit ruefully. He nuzzles into her neck, matching his breathing to hers and taking comfort in the familiarity of her earthy scent.

“I was thinking,” he admits after a time, tracing patterns up the bare skin of her arm.

“Oh no,” she says, and he can hear the teasing smile in her voice. “Sounds like trouble to me.”

Tamlen pouts, nipping at her shoulder and pinching playfully at her waist, eliciting a squeal that he answers with a laugh. He maneuvers them both, evading her flailing legs until he’s crouched over her, taking in the sight of her hair spilling across the bedroll and the soft smile she’s only ever reserved for him.

It comes out in a rush, then: “Bond with me.”

She blinks. “What, now?”

He blushes, but he loves her, and he knows what he wants, and there’s not enough time. “When else?”

She laughs. “I hope you didn’t plan on doing this in the tent, at least.”

He grins, then leads her out, light-footed and light-hearted, sneaking out of camp and into the woods. They always make camp near water, and this late at night the nearby lake is quiet—a still, calm mirror shaded by gently swaying trees. Perfect.

(As is she, and thus she deserves no less.)

Tamlen leads her into the shallows, letting the waves lap softly around their legs, and there, with Mythal’s moon as witness, he binds his heart to hers with the ancient words he’s long since dreamed of saying.

(When she says them back, it’s a boyhood dream come true at last—a pinpoint of light in this otherwise living nightmare.)

He kisses her, and with each press of his lips he pledges himself to her again, and again, and again, in a handfasting lit only by the flicker of fireflies and the reflection of the moon on the water.

---

VI. Elgar’nan, All-Father, a slight has been committed against me, and I seek recompense. Grant me your strength.

He’s heard of alienages, has met flat-ears like Pol and heard his stories of its cramped structures, of how shadows cling to its edges even in daylight, of the stench and suffering that pervade its alleys.

He’s never expected this.

Elves—hollow-eyed, hollow-souled, backs bent under the weight of shame and shemlen derision. The tree at the center of the alienage droops just as much as the elves that tend to it, its leaves a sickly kind of green that Tamlen knows—down to the very marrow of his forest-raised bones—is wrong.

Everything here is wrong, and it puts him on edge, so much so that when the Tevinter healers grab hold of Mahariel, he barely reigns in the savagery they assume all Dalish possess, lunging for them with such ferocity that it takes both Zevran and Wynne to hold him back. He barely registers the smirk Mahariel throws at him just before the door to the hospice closes behind her with an ominous thud.

(His heart is well on its way to thudding out of his chest—just as in the hospice, his heart is probably sinking her blade into whatever fools dared underestimate her.)

And Tamlen is afraid—so, so afraid—but he trusts Mahariel, and so he waits, uneasiness welling in the pit of his stomach, until the door opens once more with a soft creak.

The guards turn, suspicious, but before they can draw their swords Tamlen’s already struck them down. Mahariel exits the hospice with several bruised elves in tow, blood-splattered but looking none the worse for wear. Reunions immediately erupt all around them—tearful embraces between families who thought they’d never see their loved ones again. Tamlen, too, joins in, pulling Mahariel into a crushing hug and burying his nose in her hair.

“Never do that again,” he whispers fiercely, and she laughs and throws her arms around him to squeeze tight, her heartbeat a steady rhythm against his chest to remind him she’s alive.

But for every tearful reunion, there’s a dozen elves still searching, still waiting for a relative or a friend or a lover to come home. This victory is only a spark—the beginning of a wildfire that will stir the elves into action. Tamlen and Mahariel pull apart when a trembling voice reaches their ears.

“So . . .” Shianni begins, and already Tamlen can see that the tangled ball of bitterness and hate she clings to so tightly has started to unravel. Hope is seeping in through the cracks in her skin, flickering to life in her eyes. “What do we do now?”

He and Mahariel share a look, and he knows she’s seen what he sees.

In a proud voice, Mahariel begins, stoking the fire that’s starting to burn in the heart of every alienage elf here: “We are all of us elvhen.”

“And we never submit,” Tamlen finishes, and watches the embers of hopeful rebellion surge into a blazing roar.

---

VII. Dirthamen, Secret-keeper, you know well how Fear and Deceit conspire to keep two people apart. Teach us to keep faith in each other.

“We don’t—” Mahariel gasps out between breathless kisses, “—have time.”

“Mm.”

“Tamlen.”

He pulls back to look at her—breathless and disheveled, a bright flush creeping down from her cheeks to her chest, heaving under her half-open tunic. He remembers the night he’d kissed her at the lake, binding himself to the only girl he’s ever loved, and he remembers, too, one late afternoon a lifetime ago, when he’d peeled away armor from supple skin for the very first time and knew—with every lungful of air and every beat of his heart—that she’d be the only one he’d ever wish to look upon like this.

He’s never wanted anyone else.

He’s never going to want anyone else, and yet here he is, and here she is, asking him to—

“Tamlen,” she says, interrupting his thoughts. She’s always read them on his face far too easily. “It’ll be alright.”

He sighs. “You really want me to do—that—with Morrigan?”

She laughs, but it’s a desperate, unhappy sound. “What I want is for us to have a chance at . . . something after all of this. And I don’t want anyone to have to die for that to happen.”

A chance at something. That’s all this is. No promises that it’ll work, and no promises of happy endings afterwards.

Just an uncertain chance for an uncertain something.

(But if it’s something that includes her, he’ll take any chance he can get.)

“Ar lath ma,” he says simply, pressing his forehead to hers.

She smiles. “Ma vhenan,” is all she says in reply, before drawing him down closer still into a kiss.

The world is set to burn, and they don’t have time, but when he kisses her he can almost believe that tomorrow will never come.

---

VIII. Andruil, Lady of the Hunt, our prey is in our sights, and we cannot falter. May our strike be swift and true.

His sweat tastes like ash and fear.

He wipes it from his brow as he follows ever on Mahariel’s heels—a habit neither of them have bothered to break since simpler days in sunlit forests.

(Mahariel and Tamlen, Tamlen and Mahariel, never one without the other, even now.)

Especially now, on the precipice of the end, as they sprint past charred buildings instead of mossy trees, blue and silver wrapped around them instead of Master Ilen’s craft, a human Warden and a Circle mage at their backs instead of Fenarel and Merrill.

Tamlen of a year ago would have been bitter. He’d have despised these shem and their walled cities and the way they thrust the burden of salvation onto his shoulders.

It doesn’t matter anymore.

This matters: pushing through the market and the alienage, cheers of support at their backs as they repel waves of darkspawn and chase the fiends further into the city.

This matters: Mahariel teetering on her feet, blood staining her armor, and Tamlen all but shoving a bottle against her mouth and forcing her to swallow a potion, only stopping when her hand forces his away with renewed strength.

This matters: the archdemon is strong, but they are Dalish and they are not bred to submit; dragons fall just as quick as any wild bird if you know where to strike, and they fall twice as hard if you know how to strike well.

This matters: Mahariel rushing past him as he hacks down darkspawn after darkspawn, a stranger’s sword in her hand as she leaps—

This matters: locking eyes with her just before she strikes and seeing the fear there, the uncertainty, all the questions and what-ifs that she shoves aside as her mouth forms the words, Ar lath ma—

Bright, blinding light. A sound like thunder, stone crashing upon stone, and then silence—

And in the stillness, her voice reaches him at last, ushering him into unconsciousness as he finishes her sentence in his mind:

—vhenan.

---

IX. Ghilan’nain, Halla-mother, guide these wayward souls. Bring us home.

"Lethallin!”

A blur of black and green barrels into Tamlen’s chest, just as Mahariel is yanked into another woman’s tearful embrace.

“Da’len,” Ashalle sobs, arms tightening around Mahariel. “Da’len, thank the Creators you’re safe.”

A squeeze around his waist elicits a chuckle from Tamlen, drawing his gaze down from the smile he’d been sharing with Mahariel over Ashalle’s shoulder.

“Aneth ara, lethallan,” he greets her.

Merrill grins toothily at him, and a little ways behind her stand Fenarel and Junar, a little more reserved but looking no less pleased. Tamlen only now realizes how much he’s missed this—clanmates, and familial affection, and the familiar warmth of home.

“Will you be coming back to the clan now that the Blight’s over?” Merrill asks, green eyes wide and hopeful.

He looks at Mahariel only to find her already looking back. She bites her lip—chapped from the elements, a bruise at the corner where a dimple should be.

Still beautiful, he thinks. Still kissable.

Mahariel looks away, toward the throne, then down at her boots, then back at Tamlen. There’s already been talks of hunting down the remaining darkspawn, and rebuilding the Wardens, and something or other about Amaranthine. She shakes her head.

Tamlen nods, understanding.

Blue and silver armor doesn’t feel quite so strange, now, or so heavy.

(But then, it has never been as heavy as the duty it entails.)

“No,” he tells Merrill, feeling a pang of guilt at the way her face falls. “I don’t think we will.”

“Oooh,” Merrill whines, “but—”

“But you’ll stay together,” Ashalle interrupts, “won’t you? You’ll look after each other?”

“Yes,” Mahariel answers this time, nothing but certainty in her voice as she comes to stand beside him. “Of course.”

“Always,” Tamlen adds, twining his fingers with hers. He presses a kiss to her temple to prove his point, grinning when Merrill squeals and Ashalle gives a motherly chuckle.

Mahariel only smiles sideways at him, squeezing his hand, but it says enough. Wherever this life might take them—to Amaranthine or the Deep Roads or even the farthest reaches of the Fade—as long as he can reach out and take her hand, then he knows: he’s home.

[amercsmemoirs]

For ZevWarden Week Day 4: AU, I’m posting the first chapter of my Denerim University AU!!!

(also, thank you to @tallmansions and @sistercyborg for reading through my chapters and helping me with edits!!! i literally wouldnt have gotten this far without their help!!)

Chapter 1: Friday

Allura Mahariel lay in her bed, ends of her pillow pressed against her ears in frustration. She’d tried to block it out - really, she had - but somehow squeezing her eyes shut just made the moaning and rhythmic thumping from next door twice as bad. With a groan, she turned to her side to check the time - big mistake; it was 2:17am. She groaned even louder; she had a Grey Wardens meeting at 7:30am. She turned to her side to see Fen’or, her chocolate brown mabari hound, sleeping soundly. She’d always thought he could sleep through anything.

Finally giving up on the idea of ignoring this, she threw off the corners and flung her legs over the edge of the bed. Once she located a pair of boxershorts, she pulled them on and stretched a bit. At that, she heard a confused whine behind her and smiled softly at him as he stared her down, concern obvious in his eyes.

“Don’t worry, da’fen, I just need a word with Melody,” she explained, and walked out the door.

The night air nipped at her extremities as she attempted to rub the goosebumps out. She wasn’t wearing a bra, but decided crossing her arms would be fine. She knocked a few times and waited, arms over her chest. As soon as the door opened, she began the speech she had to tell her neighbor last time this happened.

“Melody, please remember our bedrooms - “

“Who?”

That voice was too deep to belong to Melody. Allura had to squint a little - her eyesight wasn’t the best without her contacts - and saw an elf with shoulder length blonde hair, slightly out of breath, with brown skin that glistened in the moonlight. And he was shirtless. Allura watched his muscles tense as he pushed his hair back and leaned against the door frame, flexed and slightly bulging, but not too muscular like Alistair; maybe he was a rogue? She looked at his face to find him smirking, obviously pleased to find her staring at his chest.

“Enjoying the view?” He chuckled amusedly. “Melody speaks of you fondly enough. Perhaps she wouldn’t mind - “

“No, that’s alright, really,” Allura interrupted. “Melody mentioned me?”

“Ah, yes. She said to apologize for forgetting to move her bed. She is otherwise… unable to get to the door and apologize in person.”

Allura rolled her eyes at his self-satisfied smirk but decided not to comment.

“It’s fine,” Allura continued. “We just have a Grey Wardens meeting in a few hours and I have three classes after that - “

“Ah, then, I will accommodate your needs immediately. My apologies; I’d no idea you were such a devoted student.”

She eyed his sly smile suspiciously; it exuded confidence and more than a little arrogance, as if he knew something that she didn’t. There was something she just couldn’t trust behind his alluring Antivan accent; something cunning under his coy smirk. She was just too tired to analyze his phrasing for now.

“Thank you, uh… ?”

“You may call me Zevran, Allura Mahariel,” he answered automatically.

“Right. Zevran. Thank you for cooperating.”

“Of course, of course,” he replied cheerfully. “By the way, you have excellent taste in boxers,” he added with a smirk.

She glanced down at her own plaid grey, white, and purple pattern and then at his plaid black, white, and green pair. She frowned.

“Good night, Allura Mahariel.” He bade her farewell with a chuckle as they both returned to their rooms.

As she crossed her room to her bed, she pondered where she’d heard his name before. After it didn’t come to her right away, she shrugged it off. With a yawn, she settled in besides Fen’or, who was still sleeping peacefully. As charming and charismatic as he was, she doubted she’d have much to do with him outside of tonight.

*~ Friday, 6:28am

Allura stirred awake from a dreamless sleep two minutes before her alarm, as usual, and ran through her mental checklist. Luckily, she had been smart enough to pack her class bag for the day the night before; now she just needed to change, maybe eat  breakfast, and prep Fen’or for the kennel. She had to double check to be certain her bag had the notebooks for her proper classes and her wallet had enough sovereigns for lunch. And -

Her alarm clock interrupted her train of thought and she grumbled as she got out of bed.

“Fen’or, it’s time to get up,” she said with a yawn. He ignored her at first; it wasn’t until she called his name a second time after changing into dark jeans and a hoodie that he even whined in response.

“Fen’or,” she said more sternly, putting on her shoes. This time he got up, slowly as possible, and stretched as he made his way off her bed.

“Fen’or, collar.” Allura put her hair in a bun, ignoring the short strands that preferred to hang in her face. The hairstyle showed off her unpierced, elven ears that were straight and tall, even for a Dalish elf. She glanced at her earlobes and imagined herself with earrings; maybe smalls hoops or studs. Something inconspicuous. She pushed the thought out of her mind for now and turned towards Fen’or.

Sleepy but obedient, the mabari strolled to the stool Allura turned into his nightstand and brought his collar and leash to her. Then he sat, tail wagging slowly, expecting a treat to be pulled from her dresser and thrown to him.

Allura couldn’t hold back her smile but couldn’t praise him yet.

“Fen’or, jacket.”

He whined loudly, but retrieved the vest from his nightstand. All the Grey Warden mabari had to wear their blue and grey vests with the Grey Warden symbol on the back. And he hated it with a passion. She tried everything to get him used to it - different fabric, bigger vest, treats whenever he wore it - but she just couldn’t change his mind.

She sighed somewhat affectionately. “I know you hate it, da’fen. Bear with it, please?”

She fastened him into the vest and attached the leash as he whined again. Taking the bait, she tossed him a piece of nug hide from her dresser, which he chewed on triumphantly.

Allura shrugged her shoulder bag on; sovereigns for lunch, notebooks for class, throwing knives, pens and pencils. She opened the door and was met with a round, freckled face and full figure leaning against the railing, with an equally nonchalant tan and brown mabari at her feet.

“Melody?” Allura called out. Her neighbor’s head shot up as she was startled out of sleep. The mabari - Bandit - looked up and wagged her tail. Allura smiled affectionately.

“Allura!” Melody pushed herself off the railing and threw herself onto her neighbor. Allura caught her out of habit, despite being a few inches shorter. She patted her sleepy friend’s back as she yawned into her shoulder.

“You’re up much earlier than normal,” Allura teased. It was 7:15am, which was routine for her; Melody, however, rarely made it out of bed before 9am.

“Don’t we have a Grey Warden meeting or whatever?” Melody yawned again, back on her own two feet, and stretched. Allura rolled her eyes and knelt to scratch Bandit behind her ears. Fen’or bumped his head against her hand as he nuzzled Bandit.

“Yes, I’m sure your dozens of absences and tardies prove you care so much about our meetings,” Allura replied. “You don’t even have a bag with you.”

It was true; Melody was wearing a pink tank top and a yellow and blue plaid skirt, but no backpack or shoulder bag in sight. Actually, Allura thought suddenly, why is she wearing a skirt in this weather? We went shopping before the summer ended, and she should have jeans to wear. Melody pouted.

“I don’t have class until 11! I’m not gonna carry a bag with me to the meeting. I’m just gonna go back to sleep afterwards.”

With a small shake of her head, Allura grabbed Fen’or’s lead and began walking to the Grey Wardens building in the center of campus. Melody scrambled to grab Bandit’s lead as her mabari followed and skipped to catch up to Allura, linking arms when she did.

“So anyway, Allura, about last night -”

“Oh, that’s right,” Allura interrupted. “What happened to him? Shouldn’t he be in your room or something?”

“Zevran? No, he left maybe half an hour after you talked. You didn’t hear him leave? But really, I wanted to apologize about keeping you up,” Melody continued in a small voice.

Allura squeezed her friend’s arm. Melody Cousland was the teyrn’s only daughter - and the youngest at that - spoiled and impulsive. Allura’d had no idea if they’d get along when they first met, but thanks to Melody’s persistence, became fast, if somewhat unbelievable, friends.

“You’re fine, Melody,” Allura told her. “Maybe I overreacted. Is that normal though? Leaving right after…”

“For Zevran, sure. He’s not the cuddling type. Unlike myself, who needs soo much affection!” Melody leaned down to place her head on Allura’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you tell Alistair that? I’m sure he’d really appreciate the info.” Allura smirked as Melody straightened, face reddening.

Looking away, she mumbled, “He’s not the only one who should, you know…”

Allura never understood why she mumbled around her so often; She was an elf, of course she heard-

Her brows furrowed as she paused and looked at Melody’s pouting face. “What do you mean -”

“Allura, Melody, hey!”

They turned at the sound of their names and were greeted by a giant of a human, Ezekiel Amell, holding the door of the Grey Warden Mabari kennel open, likely after dropping off his mabari, Joker. At 6’4’’, Ezekiel towered over the 5’3’’ elf and her 5’7’’ friend, but neither were ever intimidated or afraid of the long haired giant. Dark skin, long dread locs, a dazzlingly white smile, and cheekbones that could cut through armor made Ezekiel one of the most popular people on campus. With his easy smiles and friendly attitude, he made friends and acquaintances easily, and they became friends days after meeting during the first Grey Warden meeting.

Allura thanked him for holding the door and she and Melody walked their dogs to the counter. The lobby was was small, with a few Mabari-friendly flowers here and there, and the building itself wasn’t all that impressive. Allura knew from experience though, that the real attraction to this place was the 5 acres used to train and house the Mabari while their Wardens were in class or off campus.

The student working the kennel this week was a dwarven girl, maybe a year or two older than Allura, and greeted the pair with a smile. As she reached for Fen’or and Bandit’s leads, Allura noted that her small stature would make it very easy for the Mabari to lead her around instead; luckily, she didn’t know of a Mabari ill-behaved enough to do it. The girl walked the Mabari to the back, and Melody and Allura met up with Ezekiel, who was talking with some students.

“Oh, I’ll catch up with you later,” Ezekiel told the students as he saw Allura and Melody exit the building. “We’ve gotta get going. Text me later though, yeah?” He grinned, and the two students smiled back and waved to the three of them as they continued to class.

“Joker misses you two, you know,” Ezekiel began as the three of them walked to the Warden’s training grounds. He shoved his hands into his black jeans. “We should go for a run or something this weekend.”

“Unassigned running? On the weekend? Count me out,” Melody declined.

“What, you got a hot date?” Ezekiel joked.

“Yeah, with my bed.”

“I’ll go running with you, Ezekiel,” Allura chimed in over his laughter.

“Cool,” he responded. “Let’s meet up at the entrance around 8am.”

Allura nodded in agreement as she held the training gate open for her friends. The Warden’s Training Grounds were split into three sections: dense forest, flatlands, and hills. Dual wielding rogues, warriors, and archers preferred their respective areas, but they often rotated so the environment would never be a disadvantage. Mages trained at Fort Draken usually, but the Grey Warden mages trained with the other Grey Wardens. Allura’s personal favorite section was the dense forest; she hated the flatlands.

“Hey guys, over here!”

Allura, Melody, and Ezekiel were waved down by Alistair Theirin, a fellow Grey Warden in training. He was in the middle of the training grounds, chatting with a few other Wardens. Allura nodded to them as they approached Alistair.

“Good morning, Allura, Zeke. Melody, you’re up early.” Alistair grinned at his pouty friend. “Did Allura finally drag you out of bed?”

“I’ll have you know, Alistair,” Melody began, hand on hip, “I was awake bright and early on my own.”

Alistair gasped. “Maker, the Blight is coming.”

Melody smacked his arm as he laughed. “I can’t believe I dragged myself out of bed and walked through the cold to get mocked by you, of all people.” She rubbed her arms vigorously.

“Yes, yes, woe is the Warden who has to walk through the cold.” Alistair unzipped his hoodie, shrugged it off, and handed it to her.

Melody was taken aback by his gesture. “What about you?”

“I am not the one in a skirt this early in the morning.” He draped his hoodie around her shoulders.

Melody’s cheeks puffed - Allura knew her friend was trying not to show that she was blushing - and muttered thank you. Alistair grinned in response.

“GREY WARDENS, STAND READY!”

All the students on the field looked up and saw Duncan Highever, striding towards them from the main building. Hurriedly, they all lined up on the field’s designated spaces.

Duncan flipped through the papers on his clipboard and paced as he began roll call. As he began calling out names, Allura caught someone creeping into the lineup from the corner of her eye while Duncan’s back was to the both of them.

Sierra Tabris, a city elf with droopy ears, had been coming uncharacteristically late to meetings for a few weeks. She was short, only up to Allura’s shoulders, and unusually stocky for an elf. Allura met her during a university tour over the summer, and it was her first time meeting an elf that was uninterested in learning Elven. Sierra was a warrior, sword and shield, and Allura was always impressed how she could stand her own against others twice her size. She was brash and a little reckless, but also punctual.

“Tabris! Late again?” Duncan hadn’t turned around, but must have noticed her somehow.

“Yes, sir.” Sierra’s voice was low and clear.

“See me after the meeting,” was Duncan’s response. Sierra nodded curtly and that was it.

“Grey Wardens,” Duncan began, addressing everyone in attendance. “You may remember last week’s tournament victory against the Orlesian Bards.” He paused to allow a short cheer from the more enthusiastic Wardens. “Our wardens, Allura Mahariel, Melody Cousland, Sierra Tabris, and Ezekiel Amell secured the Team Win against Orlais.”

The Wardens cheered again, a few nudging the aforementioned wardens on their backs. Allura forced a smile as Carver Hawke grinned and lightly patted her back.

“Next Wednesday, the doubles fight will be against the Tevinter Magisters, and we’ll be relying on Ezekiel Amell and Sierra Tabris to take us to the finals.” Duncan looked at them both meaningfully, perhaps with pride, and continued. “Make sure you all stay ahead of the curve. We have training days all weekend and next week, so attend if you’re feeling… sluggish. And don’t forget,” he added, “we have four exchange students from the Antivan Crow Program joining us for the remainder of the semester. Although they’ve already missed the first match, they will be observing our team to prepare to join the tournament next year. I expect all of you to be courteous and welcoming to our guests, and to show you’ve earned your title of Ferelden Grey Warden.”

Duncan nodded, the Wardens sounded off, and Duncan dismissed them and left. Ezekiel, Melody, Sierra, and Allura met up as the rest of their group dispersed. Some people were still congratulating them for their win.

“Sucks you got caught again, Sierra,” Melody began, stifling a yawn. Alistair’s jacket was still draped around her shoulders. “What’re you even doing all the time?”

“Yeah, Tabris, talk to us,” Ezekiel joined in.

Sierra’s eyebrows furrowed together and she looked at the grass. Allura knew she was feeling nervous and conflicted, not nearly as angry as she looked.

“I… was…,” Sierra began, crease lines deepening, “I was birdwatching.”

Allura exchanged a look between Melody and Ezekiel.

“Birdwatching?” she repeated.

“Yeah,” she responded slowly, as if wondering to herself whether it checked out. “I like to watch… songbirds.”

“Songbirds?,” Ezekiel echoed.

“Yes. Nightingales. They… only come out at night. Which is why… they’re called nightingales.”

Sierra avoided eye contact while the other three looked confused and bewildered.

Before any of them could continue questioning her, Duncan’s voice called out for Sierra to follow him to his office. Sierra sighed, relieved.

“Thank the Maker,” she muttered under her breath. “I’ve - I gotta go.”

She grinned somewhat sheepishly as she raced off to follow Duncan.

“I think that’s the first time she’s ever lied in her life,” Melody stated, only somewhat jokingly.

“Yeah. She’s not good at it.” Ezekiel chuckled.

“She’ll tell us when she’s ready,” Allura said. She didn’t see the need to speculate about what her friend is doing every night. As long as she wasn’t getting injured.

“True,” Ezekiel began with a grin. “But will I tease her mercilessly until she confesses? Probably.”

“Don’t go overboard,” Allura retorted with a quirked eyebrow. “I’ve got to get to class. I’ll see you both later.”

“I’m going back to sleep,” Melody said, gripping Alistair’s jacket.

“You should definitely wear jeans when it’s this cold, Melody.” Ezekiel smirked at her. She stuck out her tongue in response.

“See you later, Allura. Text me after class!” Melody waved as Allura turned to leave. Allura waved back and walked to the main building for her first class of the day: engineering.

*~ Friday, 3:34pm

Allura, finished with classes for the day, sauntered out of the building back towards her room. She breathed in the air; she hated being in the building for so long. There were so many people, so many things happening at once; it was hard to find a quiet place to sit and think. But outdoors, even with the same number of people, she felt less trapped. It was easy to see who’s nearby and what they’re doing; like the couple sitting in the grass across the way, the person standing behind the tree, the group of students exiting the building -

“Allura Mahariel! How nice to see you again.”

She turned to the person behind the tree - and frowned. Zevran Arainai. She should have recognized the drawl.

“... Zevran Arainai.”

“How was class? I hope you weren’t too tired.”

He was smiling, maybe sincerely, but she didn’t smile back. If anything, her frown deepened. He seemed amused.

“I was fine. Nothing out of the ordinary happened.”

“Good, good! I’m glad.”

The smile continued.

“Did you… need something?,” she asked, not hiding her confusion.

“Oh, nothing at all! Wanted to check in.”

“Right then.”

She turned to walk away but then another question popped into her head. She turned back to him.

“Oh? Are we not finished talking?”

She ignored the bait. “How do you know Melody?”

Zevran’s eyebrows raised briefly, but then he crossed his arms and laughed it off.

“I met her yesterday, after I landed on campus. I am here through the Antivan Exchange program,” he explained. “I arrived earlier than my peers, and she was kind enough to… keep me company.”

That would check out, Allura thought. Melody has always loved meeting new people. But why would he be here earlier than everyone else?

“I see. In that case, I wish you luck during your stay with us.”

She nodded curtly, which made him chuckle, and continued her stroll back to her dorm room.

Disregarding that interaction, she could continue her day normally; study, train, pick up Fen’or, make dinner, sleep. She should invite Melody over for dinner, see if she can find out what happened to her jeans. It was more than a little suspicious that this happened right after Zevran stayed the night. It was something to look into.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[silent-of-spirit]

For DWC! Venalya Mahariel/Cullen, "Please, please kiss me." And thanks for prompting me!

@dadrunkwriting​, @katalyna-rose​, @5ftgarden, @inner-muse, @ladydracarysao3 (I am trying to tag all the Cullenites I know but I AM SUDDENLY DRAWING A VERY LARGE BLANK PLEASE HELP ME)

hahahahahahahahah this got longer than intended but man I got INTO IT. Thank you so much!!! I hardly EVER get to write these two and that is a damn shame. Evil cliffhanger? Muahahaha perhaps I can be persuaded to write more of it if people want ;)

Distractions

Venalya x Cullen

She was wild in a way he had neverseen, a constant tempest of emotion and feeling, refusing to muteherself for the sake of propriety. She wielded her fury like a weapon– and it was much more dangerous to face than the magic she barelycontrolled. Passion seemed to control her. Passion for her people,for the children who swarmed her like ducklings, passion for the lifeshe seemed so sure would be snatched from her at any moment.

And ohthe passion in her anger, both beautiful and terrifying to behold.She was driven by it, never shying from confrontation, but embracingit. She was electrifying, infuriating, and... distracting.Cullen ran his hand through hishair for the sixteenth time in the last two hours, huffing infrustration.

“Maker's breath.”he muttered in irritation, trying again to focus on the reports thatwere haphazardly scattered across his desk. He didn't even likethe woman.

Liar.His brain helpfully supplied. He leaned back in his chair, rubbinghis temples. The truth of the matter was that he didn't know whyhe was so drawn to her. She was absolutely maddening. Her hobby ofchoice seemed to be picking fights with him – fights which, lately,seemed to carry the undercurrent of something else he couldn't quiteignore.

At thesame time, it was... refreshing to allow the rigid facade ofCommander fade away, to lose himself in the heat of her words and theever-present crackling of static on her skin when angry. Theirarguments were somehow a release he never knew he needed. Like astorm, she brought wrath and devastation, but always the world feltlighter after she had gone.

Yetwhen the door swung open, he nearly groaned.

“Iam trying to work.” he said, voice clipped.

“Likethat's ever stopped me before.” she stated, arms crossed in thedoorway.

Helooked at her curiously, ignoring her little quip.

“Areyou going to come in? You don't usually snipe at me from thebattlements.”

“No,”she said with a huff, pointedly looking away. He raised a brow, butelected to ignore her, selecting a report at random to peruse. “Yourescinded my templar guard?” she finally said, and he was glad ofit. He had just read the same sentence six times in his distraction.

“Itno longer seemed necessary,” he said, returning the paper to hisdesk. He leaned back and crossed his arms, waiting for theconfrontation he expected.

Hecould see her work her jaw through the curtain of wild curls,obviously uncomfortable.

“Thankyou,” she said at last, her face scrunched as though the words werebitter on her tongue. She spun and retreated, leaving him with anoddly satisfied smile.

~~

“Inquisitor,if I may have a moment of your time?” Venalya was with her, theirheads bowed low in some secret correspondence. He almost hated topull Liahra away – she seemed to be the only one around whomVenalya seemed content.

“Ofcourse, Cullen.” Liahra smiled and rose to meet him, but his gazewas drawn instead to the startling violet one of the woman being leftbehind. She narrowed her eyes, pressing her lips into a fine line asif to hold back from speaking.

Distracting.It was difficult to focus on the Inquisitor's words as she spoke, hiseyes fixed on Venalya as she played silly games with the gaggle ofchildren that often sought her company.

“Cullen?”Liahra's voice cut through the fog, an amused and knowing smile onher lips.

“A-apologies,Inquisitor.” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. Hecould feel the flush creeping up his face, damning him further.

“Wecan go over this later if you prefer, Commander.” Her voice waslight, teasing, and he offered an embarrassed laugh. Liahra eyed himwith a raised brow.

“I'mfine. Please, continue.”

“Youknow, she appreciates the fact that you ordered the guard away,”she said instead, gauging his reaction, “Dorian says the power shewields is unlike anything he has ever known. Her control, thoughtenuous, is more than we could ever imagine.” She looked back toher friend at the words, voice softening. “There is nothing shefears more than losing control of that power – of hurting people.The templar was only a reminder of everything she has to lose.”

Venalya'slaughter carried over them, and he appreciated the sound. Herseverity was born of fear, her fury born of frustration, and hewondered how he never saw. He didn't look at her the same after that.

~~

“I'vebeen watching you.”

Cullenlooked up from the board, startled at the sound of her voice. Shecrossed her arms and, Maker's breath was she blushing?

“Notyou,” she corrected quickly, waving her hand dismissively at thechess board, “The game.”

Hetried not to smile,really, he did. He wasn't successful.

“Oh,don't look at me like that,” she snapped, flushing further, “Idon't need you making fun of me. Just forget it.”

Cullenswallowed a laugh and pushed himself to his feet, gesturing to theopposite chair.

“Wouldyou care for a game?” he asked gently, watching the way her facecontorted into immediate suspicion. She eyed him warily as he walkedaround the table, pulling the other chair out for her. Her eyesnarrowed, but she cautiously lowered herself into it. When hereturned to his own chair, there was something he couldn't quite readin her eyes, nearly hidden beneath dark curls.

“Everplayed?” He asked conversationally as he set up the board.

“No.But I think I know how.”

“Right,”he said with a smirk, “You watched.” She scowled.

He lether win.

“Asenticing as our usual rows are, I must say I prefer this.” Cullenwas positively smug when she huffed at his words. She couldn't hidethe redness of her cheeks as she stormed off, hastily enough that shenearly knocked over Mother Giselle.

~~

Distracting...

Maker,he couldn't get her out of his mind. His every thought was consumedby her. Scent, hair, eyes, the way her freckles danced on her facewhen she smiled, how frustrating she was and yet intoxicatingin the same breath. Whether intentional or by circumstance, hefrequently found himself in her company over the last few weeks.Liahra always gave him that knowing smile when she visited hisoffice, tossing casual remarks about Venalya that held seemingly nopurpose, but they did – and she knew.

Venalya'shand had lingered just a breath too long when she returned one of thebooks he lent her four days earlier, and something so simplekept playing on repeat in his mind. He spent entirelytoo much time wondering how it would have felt if he had taken offhis glove, though his fingers still burned from where she had brushedhim as though her touch yet lingered. It was driving him to madness.

Shewas driving him to madness.

Heleaned against the wall behind his desk, arm propped above his headas he stared out the window to the military camp below. The sun wassetting behind the mountains, bathing the tents in rosy gold, and allhe saw were her cheeks awash with color. He forced his eyes shut,taking a deep breath through his nose. He hardly noticed the sound ofa door swishing shut somewhere behind him.

“Whateverit is, it can wait,” he said, voice a little too sharp. He didn'twant to deal with scouts harrying him about information and reports.He wanted only respite.

“Likethat's ever stopped me before.” Her voice came, soft, hesitant -and he stiffened, turning to look over his shoulder.

“Ven-”

“Iwant to hate you,” she confessed, pushing the wild hair from herface as she looked everywhere but at him. “You're a shem, and atemplar, and those things are bad enough on their own – buttogether?” She trailed off, and he stepped back from the wall. “ButI don't... hate you that is... and it's confusing and I just -” Shemade a sound of frustration in the back of her throat, clenching herfists at her sides.

Hestepped closer.

“And,look, you're infuriating, work-obsessed, rigid, smug, and... and...and every iteration of vexing that exists!” Her voice rose, but notin anger. It sounded more like desperation. “But – fenedhis– but Creators help me, I think I am falling for you and... and...”Her words grew softer as he stepped within her reach, head angleddown to where she stood. She looked nervous and vulnerable, fearlesseyes usually narrow, now wide and full of questions.

“And?”he murmured, heart pounding behind his breastplate. He had not beenthe only one consumed, and the knowledge of it sent a thrill throughhis bones.

“And,”she breathed, “Please, please will you kiss me?”

[littlesnowarrow]

Security fail, pt 2

Remember that silly three-part fic I began last week to honour @saibrarutherford‘s birthday? Well, here’s the second part. Enjoy!

Security fail part 2

Previous Part - Next Part

Summary: Saibra Trevelyan returns home from an exhausting mission in Orlais, as usual, when she finds out that some things have been happening in her dear stronghold. But, who is responsible for them?

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: lots of elf sass(?) None.

AO3 Link

Grammar and vocabulary corrections are always welcome.

The scream had been so shrill that had been way over Josephine’s; she had even caused an avalanche in a nearby summit.

In a matter of minutes, the candles of the War Room were lit once again, and whole group of scouts were investigating the fortress in search of a ghost. Leliana, Cassandra and Josephine were trying to remain calm as best as they could or knew, whether it was pacing or tapping with their fingers on their crossed arms. Saibra, followed closely by Cullen and Vastra, entered the room not long after. Nobody complained about the presence of the Inquisitor’s sister among them; Lady Harrington had never meddled in the issues of the organisation, although that time she herself made an exception to her own rule.

“What in the Maker’s name was that shout for?” Cassandra demanded.

That only helped her ire to grow like a furious boar. Saibra was hopping mad, throwing off sparks from her fingers and glaring with such an enraged look that none of them had seen before. She pulled the towel off the top of her head, revealing a healthy and shining wavy mane after the recent bath. Those present stilled and slowly lifted their gazes up to the source of the problem.

“It’s… blue.” Leliana was the only one able to mutter something.

‘Blue’ wasn’t exactly the right word. Her hair, silky with a beautiful shade of chestnut, was now displaying a loud cyan, so intense it was as if Saibra had been wrong and had washed with one of Solas’ paints. It was almost hypnotising, itself gifted by a talented artist that drew all the attention towards it.

“That-that…!” Everything on her was shaking: her hands, the good shoulder, even her magic. “That servant elf!”

“Which ‘servant elf’?” asked Josephine. She was as worried as if it had happened to herself.

“That one! With… with… With the arrow in her face, Dalish!”

“Dalish?” the Ambassador was terrified. “But we have been extremely careful with them since Loranil joined our ranks…”

Cassandra nodded heartily; she herself had been there during the long journey through the Plains and had witnessed the initial mistrust of the elves. The situation had calmed down after the Inquisitor had offered them their help to deal with the grudges the elves held against the Orlesians. After all, Saibra had stated repeatedly that she preferred the Dalish cooperation in the region instead of whatever the human soldiers could do for them.

Cullen couldn’t help but notice the suspicious brow Leliana had raised. It was obvious she had taken the trickster issue as a personal attack; nothing had ever escaped the Nightingale. Since it had been found out that it wasn’t Sera who had schemed Josie’s incident, Leliana had been in foul mood all afternoon, gathering what little information they had to capture the prankster once and for all. Even Jim, who wasn’t normally able to read the atmosphere, hadn’t gone to the rookery to deliver his reports. One could almost hear her grinding her teeth, although not now.

“Pffft!”

In the midst of that short silence, a muffled snicker came from behind the curtain. All of them fell completely silent, staring at the source of the wicked giggle.

“Wh-” someone muttered, but they were interrupted by one of Leliana’s hands.

The stranger seemed to understand they had no way out -or at least one that was remotely easy- as they raised the volume until it became a contagious laughter that threatened to lift the corners of Vastra’s lips. Cassandra was already unsheathing her sword when the intruder came out from their hideout.

“Hahahaha!” Her mirth filled the room like rain after a long drought, running through their spirits and lifting them, joining her. And who wouldn’t smile at the sight of such a tiny elf laughing so much she had to hold her stomach with her hands? “Amazing!”

But Saibra had turned pale. It was her. It was bloody her. Same height, brown hair and the heart of the forest in her eyes. The fact that she was now wearing a full armour with the distinctive gryphon insignia in her chestplate didn’t stop the mage to begin insulting the damned elf in every language she knew. The elf didn’t shrink at the swearings, with that grin stuck up her cheek, and only blew a childish raspberry at her when Saibra finished. Just how old was she? Had she been that wrong at guessing her age?

Taking advantage the chaos she had set in barely half a minute, the prankster made a place for herself between Vastra and Cassandra, who were looking at her astonished, and smiled mischievously from pointed ear to pointed ear.

“This is easily my favourite prank ever,” she claimed proudly. “‘Vints don’t share my point of view though. Can you believe it, Lily? It’s a shame, isn’t it?” Buscó apoyo in the spymaster, who had already recovered from the initial surprise, and chuckled softly a la vez que le removió el pelo. The stranger answered with a tender kiss on her cheek.

“Vishante kaffas, who are you?” She was so furious her voice sounded hoarse in her tongue. “And what have you done to my hair?!”

“Name’s Skadi Mahariel, Hero of Ferelden,” she winked, as if that title wasn’t that big of a deal. “But you may just call me Skadi.”

The revelation went down on them like a stew in the middle of the summer -save for the redhead. Josephine desperately needed a chair, while Cullen grasped the hilt of his sword as if it were the only solid reality close enough to him. As for Saibra, she didn’t quite know how to react. Her fingers sparked with enraged electricity, flashes well hidden inside the pocket of her nightgown. That woman had effortlessly infiltrated one of the safest fortresses in Thedas, even evading the ever-vigilant Leliana, and had been roaming freely around the hold for a week. But Saibra couldn’t blame the Nightingale for something she would regret the second after.

“And that, lady Inquisitor,” Skadi continued with a smug grin, “is one of my best recipes, mastered through the years with the only purpose of riling people up as much as possible. And looks like I’ve accomplished that! Pfft, really. A week in Skyhold gives so many ideas. I still have a few aces up the sleeve.”

“I strongly recommend you to stop it here, Foxy.” She was surprised at first to hear the Warden’s pet name from Leliana’s lips, or the tender look she gave the elf, when Saibra remembered they had been companions during the Blight.

“Yeah, perhaps I should.” Skadi theatrically stroked an imaginary beard, almost pretending to consider it. “Hm, don’t get close to the right door of the main hall in a while, then. Oh! Did you know there’s a nug statue made of gold in that basement-cave?”

“Hold on.”

The women turned their attention towards Cullen. Saibra flinched. In her own anger she hadn’t realised the increasing agitation that had been overcoming her Commander. She could easily feel how his muscles had clenched under his armour, the fur of his collar standing on end, and his breathing had taken a pace she didn’t like.

“My, my, Commander, don’t get too worked up. She has done anything to you.” Leliana was right, but Cullen couldn’t agree with her. Just like Varric had witnessed the Kirkwall disaster, Leliana was also the living testimony to the massacre of Kinloch Hold. And now she wasn’t alone; the mighty Hero who had saved the Circle -and him- was standing right before him. It wasn’t difficult to perceive the migraine that was gathering behind the cold amber of his eyes.

“I’m still waiting your thanks for Kinloch, y’know. Has he ever thanked you, Lily?” The redhead shook her head. “Bad Cullen.” And whispered, “Do you know where he keeps his smalls?” Leliana smirked and patted on her shoulder, a plan already taking shape in their roguish minds.

Cullen was about to say something when Vastra’s gentle hand laid in his forearm. His wrath cooled down if only for a little, and stepped back until he was at the same height as his sister-in-law.

“You knew all along?” wanted to know Cassandra.

“Since the Inquisitor requested me to contact her, yes. But I suspected she had come here when she put those bells on my Baron again this lunchtime.” Everyone knew the tempe that bird had, and Saibra didn’t remember seeing scratches in her skin. Was it or not a Dalish ability, she recognised her merit in silence.

“Oh yeah, that!” Skadi snapped her fingers, as if she had forgotten the main reason of her visit -and it probably was like that. She pointed to the figurine that represented Corypheus on the map of the War Table. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to fight Comeclus-”

“Corypheus.” Cullen corrected her. Skadi looked at him as if he had spoiled the ending of her favourite book.

“Cory…” she began several times, all in vain. “That guy. Good Mythal, but ‘Vint names sure are difficult to pronounce. Now I know why dwarves hate elvhen names.” Leliana subtly cleared her throat to drive her back to the point. “He’s not an archdemon though, otherwise my Warden senses would be tingling.”

“So the Calling…”

“False, pretty much. It really gives you a bad headache, whatever he does, but nothing as serious as that. Warden-Commander Clarel should’ve known better. It’s impossible that the Calling can affect a full army at the same time, or without considering the time they’ve been Wardens.”

Saibra nodded upset. When the Spymaster had told her of a remote resource to get information of the Elder One, she had been surprised that she was suggesting the lost Warden. The mage couldn’t deny she had placed some hopes in her, or in the letter she was supposed to send, but if that journey hadn’t been worth the effort…

They didn’t take much longer to conclude the meeting. The night had went on incredibly fast by the time they finally opened the doors; almost everyone in the stronghold were in their beds or doing their scheduled rounds. Cassandra and Vastra were the first ones to go back to their bedrooms, and Josephine followed them once she had obtained the apology for her exposed undergarments.

Saibra still wanted to stay for a little longer, even though Cullen had insisted to return to their quarters. She had rarely seen him as nervous as in that evening, but she wanted to hear at least one of the Hero’s stories before she would vanish down the mountain like a ghost. Leliana reassured her, without consulting the Warden, that she was going to stay there for at least a couple of days, so there was plenty of time to getting to know each other and finding the way to return the Inquisitor’s hair to its natural state.

[katalyna-rose]

Vhenan - Chapter 16

Graphic Depictions of Violence

Solas/Female Lavellan, Fenris/Female Mage Hawke, Zevrain/Female Warden Mahariel

AKA: Lyna/Solas, Fenris/Alie, Zevran/Kahlia

Angst, Fluff, Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Post-Canon, Mildly Conon-Divergent, Implied/Referenced Torture, Minor Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Minor Isablea/Merrill, Constructive Criticism Welcome

Summary: Solas, the Dread Wolf Fen'Harel, has left Lyna behind in an attempt to fix mistakes made thousands of years ago. Willing to destroy everything for his goals, he doesn’t realize exactly how determined Lyna is to show him a better path. Both worlds could thrive, given the chance. Her world is real and valid and deserves a chance, but so does his. There must be a middle ground.

And there is another reason that Lyna must find Solas, a secret kept from the world that attempted to put her up on a pedestal. But how would Thedas react to such a secret, such undeniable proof that their Herald of Andraste is a person like any other? That she is someone who loves, someone who makes mistakes, who bleeds and cries. And is having the Dread Wolf’s child.

Read on AO3!

From the Beginning!

“But you’ve only been back for two days! You’re not really leaving again!” Lyna cried, pacing furiously.

“I have to, vhenan,” Solas told her, watching her pace from where he stood before the fireplace.

“Why? Send someone else!” She wasn’t ready to say goodbye again for weeks or even months at a time and Solas couldn’t say the prospect delighted him, either. Yet he knew that it was necessary and Lyna would understand that once she calmed enough to listen.

“I can’t,” Solas told her, his tone pained. “The area is dangerous and the talisman is one of Mythal’s. Her magic is always unfriendly to strangers. I have to go.” Lyna stomped her foot.

“Why can’t it wait just a little while?” she asked, striding to him and grabbing hold of the front of his shirt as though that would make him stay. Solas could only be grateful that their son was with his grandmothers for the evening. Children should never have to see their parents fight. “You were gone for a month! You’ve been back for two days! This artifact has been waiting for centuries. Surely it can wait a few weeks longer!”

“It cannot!” He hated to see her upset, but she knew what needed to be done as well as he did. “The talisman will only be active for a short while. If this window closes, I do not know that it can be opened again. That temple may be sealed forever if I do not go now.”

She was silent, her hands sliding from him, and she refused to meet his gaze. When he curled a gentle finger under her chin, she didn’t resist. The slow tears that were dripping silently down her face were like daggers in his chest. Her pain hurt him, but there was nothing he could do. He had to go and she had to stay. The People needed a leader in his absence and they trusted her. She was still relearning to wield a bow after her time with only one arm and she wasn’t strong enough yet for him to be willing to bring her.

“I will see you every night in the Fade,” he reminded her softly.

“It’s not the same,” she whispered.

“I know. But it is better than nothing.” She accepted his kiss but didn’t leap to his touch like she usually did. Her lips were soft and sweet and yielding, but returned nothing.

“Let me come with you,” she begged when he pulled away. Her violet eyes glowed with the depth of her emotion and her longing to be close to him. “Solas can stay with my mother and Deshanna. He’s fully weaned from breastmilk now. There’s no reason he can’t stay here without me. I’ve hardly seen you in all this time that I’ve been here. Let me come with you. Let me help.”

“Are you able to wield a bow as you once did?” Solas asked, knowing the answer even before her face fell. She knew her combat skills weren’t up to the task yet and her muscles still struggled to remember what they once did effortlessly. He couldn’t put her at risk like that, not yet, perhaps not ever.

“Fine,” she spat, anger hardening her voice, “but you will not leave again for at least a month once you return. If I have to tie you to the bed to keep you here, I will.” He couldn’t help but chuckle, though it earned him a hard glare.

“That sounds like an interesting night,” he told her with a smirk. She smacked his chest and he only laughed again.

“I mean it,” she insisted, her eyes still gleaming.

“I know you do,” he soothed, stroking her cheek gently. “Come to bed, my love. We have tonight together before I must leave.”

She glared at him a moment longer, but returned his kiss when he leaned in. She couldn’t stay angry for long when he offered intimacy and he would take full advantage of that fact tonight.

***

Lyna paced the Fade alone. Joy had been driven away by her worry and Cole was nowhere to be found at the moment. Solas had been gone for two weeks and had visited her every night, as promised, as he always did. But she hadn’t seen him in three days now and it was beginning to frighten her. He had never been gone without word for so long. Yesterday, she had attempted to communicate with him using the crystals that all agents carried, but no one answered. It might have been possible that he was too far away for the connection between crystals to be stable or perhaps she’d tried to call when he was sleeping or busy, but that didn’t comfort her. She tried to remind herself that Kahlia and Zevran were with him, along with Tan’Adahla, and he should have been safe enough, but it didn’t ease her worry over his absence. It was so unlike him to vanish like that.

Continue Reading on AO3!

[mementotori]

Path of the Grey: Chapter 9

MMMmboi NFSW under the cut

Multiple trigger warnings so please be careful

@mad-mod, @ineffablewitch

"Maybe I'm crazy, maybe I'm weak Maybe I'm blinded by what I see You wanted a soldier but it wasn't me 'Cause I could never set you free"

9:28 Dragon

Melia sat under a large willow tree, swinging her leg off of the lowest branch as she weaved together a bracelet from the leaves.

Her toes were cold, feeling the chill of the first night of Autumn, but she still wore her barefoot sandals that laced up to her knees. When a cool breeze lifted up the leaves of the tree, Melia took in the sweet scents, loving the way it played with the fallen strands of her snowy hair.

Once she finished weaving, she set the bracelets in her pack and then set off to enjoy the night air.

After sundown in the Frostbacks was never as good as it was in the Wilds of the Brecilian in Melia's opinion. There was only the soft sound of crickets, but no lightning bugs or the familiar sound of the deep throated frogs found only in the south. There was, however, the splendor of having the comforting hoot of the owls that Melia enjoyed.

Melia stopped by a small stream to fill up her water skin when she saw a family of range halla. She clicked her tongue, speaking soft words of comfort.

The doe, heavy with calf, stopped in place. She stared at Melia with large black eyes, her snowy ears flittering as a few lightning bugs came too close.

She snorted, lowering her head a bit. Melia took this to be an action of curiosity, so slowly she took a polite bow.

The halla gracefully walked forward, her large belly not hindering each step she took. Melia looked in her pack, then extended her offer of sweet berries and a few slices of apple.

"Emma mirthada, mir falon." Melia gently brushed her fingers over the hallas velvety muzzle

"I always found the Dalish language to be prettier than Orlesian."

Melia froze in place, looking up to see Jean with a paint pallet.

"I must admit I did not expect to find you here…" Jean started, "I hope I didn't startle you."

"Are you making a habit out of just showing up wherever I am?" Melia asked.

"On the contrary, Lady Mahariel," Jean smiled, "My camp is just past those trees." He pointed behind him, "So I suppose it is you that is showing up wherever I am?" He cocked his head to the side.

Melia felt the color rise in her cheeks and ears. She felt as though the woven pink scarf around her neck was starting to constrict her.

"Then I suppose I will be on my way." She said quickly.

"Please…" Jean started, "I don't wish to offend."

"If you think you offend me with such a simple statement then you make me to be weaker than I am." Melia retorted. The halla next to her let out a soft bleat, nuzzling her hand for more apple.

Jean laughed, "I don't think that at all."

"Well then what do you think?"

Jean seemed amused, "Well," He started, "I think that I would very much like to know you better."

"I see." Melia said, feeling her throat dry.

"Would that be something you want?" Jean asked.

Melia thought for a moment, "It might."

"Good." Jean smiled again, "I would appreciate the company. After all, it's been some time since I've had the pleasure."

"Alright, then."

Jean held out his empty hand. Melia deftly stepped over the stream and placed her hand in his. She was almost taken aback with how soft it was, unlike her calloused fingers that constantly toiled with hard labor.

Jean led her through the forest, coming upon a small encampment with a neatly put up tent and a growing fire.

"There isn't much, I'm afraid," Jean started, going over to a canvas he had set up, "But when you travel so much you can't have many accessories, as I am sure you know all too well."

There was a low whinny over by a near tree. A blue roan Ardennes horse, tied to a tree, pawed at the ground. Melia felt her heart ache for the poor creature. She looked through her pack, ignoring whatever Jean was saying, and took out her last apple.

Standing at above 16 hands, the horse was over twice Melia's height. There was an initial uneasiness when she came closer, but it washed away when she saw it's kind brown eyes. Melia held out her flat palm letting the horse eat the apple. She watched in wonder, her ears twitching when the horse swished his tail.

Jean looked up from what he was doing, watching Melia warily pet the velvety nose of his horse. Her eyes were large with wonder and nose seemed to wiggle whenever the horse made a noise.

Melia seemed to feel his eyes on her. She backed away from the horse, cocking her head to the side when she saw how large its hooves were.

"Why must he be confined so?" She asked.

"Pomme is not like your halla. If I let him go, he will never come back." Jean answered.

"Well if you treat him as equal then why would he see reason to leave?"

"A good point, Lady Mahariel." Jean said, "Perhaps I will start letting him graze on his leisure." Then he added, "Have you seen many horses?"

Melia shook her head, "Only once. My cousin had drug us all the way to the edge of a shemlen village in Ferelden. There was a horse in the barn we snuck into...Merrill would not stop talking about it for weeks after…" She stopped, then looked at Jean, her vallaslin flashing in the firelight, "Why do you care? You are a shem, and should not ask such things of a Dalish."

Jean smiled, "Is it too forward to tell you that I am intrigued in you, Melia'nain Mahariel? And that these last few nights I've caught myself thinking of your sweet face?"

Melia felt a tingle run up her spine. One she hadn't felt since Merrill kissed her cheek when they were younger. Her cheeks grew red again, and she was at a loss for words for a moment.

"I…" Melia's throat dried up, "I suppose it would not be."

"I'm pleased you think so." Jean said.

"But I am Dalish…"

"Does it matter?"

"To the elders it would."

"Does it to you?"

Melia hesitated before answering, "Not really."

"Then that's all I need."

Melia hated herself for blushing as much as she was. She seemed to be at a loss for words.

"What are you doing?" Melia finally asked.

Jean thought for a moment, "I thought I was welcoming you to my camp? I can bring you back to your clan if you like..."

"No, no," Melia said, "The compliments, the glances...what are you trying to do?"

Jean gave a small laugh, "I suppose I am trying to say that I like you very much, Melia'nain. If I am being presumptuous I will cease my advances."

"I…" Melia tried not to stammer, "I think that you are well founded in your presumptions, Jean..."

Jean smirked at her, "Say it again." He cooed.

The change in his voice made Melia feel as if she couldn't stand.

"Jean." She purred.

Jean caressed her cheek, moving in closer to that he could take in the sweet scent of the flowery herbs she would rub into her snowy hair.

"Again." He whispered, gently holding Melia close to him.

"Jean."

Right as Melia finished saying his name, Jean kissed her. It was quick and passionate, Melia felt as if her whole body was on fire.

She indulged in the softness of his lips, her mind going seemingly numb. There was a tensity between the two once they let go of each other. For a few moments they both stood there, smiles slowly growing on their faces.

Melia looked into Jean's eyes. She found that she was losing herself. His iris' flickered back and forth between their usual bright blue and a bloody red. Melia felt light headed, almost drunken the longer she looked.

"Kiss me again, mon amour." Jean said.

Melia felt a sudden compulsion to do whatever Jean wanted. She went into his arms, offering a sweet kiss upon his lips. His hand went to the back of her neck, and at the moment of touch Melia felt like her entire body had been set in water.

"You are without a doubt the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes on." Jean said, brushing away the stray hairs from Melia's blushing face.

"Join me in my tent tonight?" He asked, whispering in her ear, "I want you…"

Melia looked up at him, her large peridot eyes glossing over, "Ma nuvenin." she said slowly, feeling almost loathe to leave his embrace.

Jean took her hand, leading Melia to the animal skin tent. He came in behind her, bending down to kiss her soft neck, pulling slowly at the pink scarf around her neck. Melia felt tingles run down her spine when Jean placed his hand on her hip.

She let out a soft gasp when he pulled her to him, her back against his chest. Melia felt the leather thong that held her hair up in its tight bun loosen, and down went the cascades of her thick white hair.

Jean's hand grazed her neck, his fingers curling their way into Melia's hair. Once he had a firm grasp, he jerked Melia's head back, nipping her exposed neck.

It was unlike anything Melia had ever felt. The way he grabbed at her, almost forcefully, felt like being trapped in a cage with a feral creature. But the sweet whispers he would mutter as he undressed her was enough to make her melt.

Jean laid her down. He could tell by her slight awkwardness that she had never slept with a man before, and he was going to make sure he was the first and last.

He met her eyes. Melia could see the flashes of red flicker in his iris'. Her body felt both numb and extremely sensitive to everything that touched her.

Jean kissed her, biting Melia's bottom lip as he pulled away. He moved down to litter kisses down to her chin and jawline. As he did so, he moved his free hand between her legs to prepare her. He slid his fingers inside, shushing Melia when she gave a surprised yelp.

"Be good, mon amour…" He whispered, receiving a quick nod in response.

He went back to kissing her neck and cooing about her defined curves and honeyed skin.

Melia wasn't used to someone touching her this intimately. She remembered Merrill sneaking off to meet her in the woods to kiss, they even saw each other naked, but it wasn't like this.

Her head swam when Jean drove his fingers inside of her. Melia was dazed, her legs feeling numb but her entire groin burned.

Jean now settled between her legs, muttering sweet nothings as he fucked her. He spread her legs wide, thinking to himself that it was only natural for a Dalish woman to be this flexible. She was being so good for him, quiet and obedient.

He knew that he hadn't had sex in quite some time, and could feel that he wasn't going to last much longer. So he went slower, watching Melia's mouth whenever he pushed himself inside. He thought of all the dirty things he could possibly get her to do, and that was enough to set him over the edge.

He buried his face in her breasts as he came into her. Not even then did Melia utter a sound, suppressing it with the biting of her bottom lip.

Jean finally fell beside her, pulling her to him possessively.

It was a long time before either of them spoke. Melia had almost suspected Jean of falling asleep until he started running his fingers over her legs.

"I think it's best if I go back to my clan for the night." She said, getting up to gather her clothes.

"Don't." He said, moving up behind her.

He brushed her hair away from her neck, kissing her shoulder.

Melia thought quickly, "What if I promise to return?" she suggested.

"I don't think I could bear any second away from you." Jean said, kissing the delicate fingers of her free hand.

"I will come back." She promised.

He pulled her back to him, her grabbed her hips, kissing up her bare back. One hand trailed over her stomach.

"But I'm a selfish man…" Jean said, his fingers slipping down to rub her clit, "I want you to myself."

Melia had to pull away, "And you would be selfish enough to have an entire Dalish clan at your camp to cut you to pieces? I think not." She dressed herself.

"Then I shall expect you tomorrow?" Jean asked.

"Yes." Melia said emptily.

"Good."