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heniareth · 11 months

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ZevWarden Week 2023

Day 5: Bodies and Minds

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Wordcount: 1,738 | Rating: Teens and Up

Old battle wounds do not only extend to the body. One morning, Zevran wakes up and his Warden is gone.

WARNING FOR:

- not medically accurate dementia

- angst

(Read down below or here on AO3)

Bright light. So bright it hurt her eyes. For a moment, she couldn't see.

But she could hear. And feel.

Somebody next to her. Warm, soft skin, soft hair. Dark lines.

Love.

What was his name?

Love.

That was not his name.

Pain in her left leg when she moved. When had that happened? Tightness in the skin of her face, on the right side, bumps and ridges and grooves. So unlike the left side of her face. Almost up to her eyes. That was bad. When had that happened?

What was his name?

Not knowing was bad.

Not knowing made her nervous.

Slowly, she crept out—bed, she crept out of the bed—and left. She was in a long, high—hallway, she was in a hallway. Walking hurt, in her left leg.

What was his name?

She looked, outside. A bright sliver of something, brighter than the brightest light, was on the earth far away. She had to look away, it was so bright.

She wanted to take a closer look.

What was his name?

Zevran awoke early, as he always did. And this is why he was so surprised to see the bed empty next to him.

His Warden normally did not get up before him, and when she did, she was sleepy enough to wake him in the process. She always told him that 58 was not old, not yet at least—her own father had made it to proud 73 years of age—but surely this heavy sleep was as good a sign as any of his encroaching senilitude, was it not?

Be that as it may, she would return in but a moment. Zevran stretched out long, felt something in his shoulder pop, and curled up under the warm blanket, feeling very much like a cat rolling into a tight ball on a sunlit porch.

And so he lay there, dozing, for quite a while.

And Astala didn't return.

Unease started to creep into his mind. He turned around, saw that the sun was already a hand and a half's width over the horizon, and stood up. It was not like his Warden to be up this early. It was not like her to-

It was not like her to leave her cane in the corner she had left it in the day before.

Zevran retrieved the cane as icy dread slowly trickled into his veins. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. His Warden could not comfortably go anywhere without her cane. What had happened? Where was she?

The house was empty; the garden lay likewise still. It currently was only the two of them. There was nobody who might have seen her leave. There was only one thing to do.

Zevran grabbed his daggers, a waterskin, and a hat. So armed, he set out to find his Warden. She could not have gotten very far. Why had he wasted so much valuable time dozing?

She walked and walked. It took her so long to walk. A crunch at each step, small rolling needles poking up, the bright green, soft, and sharp where it was brown.

She went up. Up to where the bright was getting higher. Up to where the world seemed to end.

She passed by one tall, brown, rough and solid with green on top. She walked around it. For a moment, it was less bright. It smelled strong. It glimmered golden.

What was his name?

She went up, further up.

The air was less bright now. There was wind. And knee-tall not-trees brushing against her. She was going up, up to where she had seen the bright bright sun rise up. The wind blew through her clothes. It was cold.

She reached the edge, where the world ended, and looked down.

There was white there, and blue, and it moved. And it roared. Like it was hungry.

Suddenly, she had to sit down.

Her leg hurt. It went down deep in front of her. Too deep. It was wet now too. Birds cried. The roar was deafening. It sounded almost like-

Like-

Suddenly, panic seized her. She stumbled backwards, away, away from that noise! Heart hammering in her chest, she turned.

When she turned, she saw only endless waving and little white in between dark and round.

Where was she?

What was this?

What was his name?

Zevran looked, left, right, and saw no trace of his wife. If only the Crows had taught him how to track a person in the wilderness! Where to now? He had to find her, before something happened. She had gotten more distant, less present for days at a time, bht he had hoped... he had hoped it would go away again, like it always did every spring once the anniversary of the Archdemon's death passed. Was she conscious of her actions? Where was she?

Left, right, scouring the landscape for any sign of his wife's brightly colored clothing.

Something white and dark caught his eye.

She had not taken her cane. Could she still be in her nightgown? Zevran was already setting in motion before he could answer that question, before he could properly contemplate it. And in that direction lay the cliffs- Sweet Mother of Mercy!

Zevran broke out into a run.

She turned.

What was his name?

She turned.

Where was she?

She saw nothing but wide and bright and nowhere to go, and she didn't know where she wanted to go, and she didn't know anything! What was going on? What was happening? Why was it so loud, why didn't it stop, where was her mama, where was she!?

What was his name?

Whose name?

"Amore!"

She turned to look.

There was somebody. Running. Running towards her!

She stumbled backwards, stumbled. Fell.

Soft and rough and hurtful below her.

What was his name?

He was running towards her. He was not bright. His hair was nice. Yes, she liked his hair.

Should she run?

Maybe she should run.

She should probably run.

Or, maybe, this was the one whose name she was searching for. Why didn't she know his name?

She gasped, suddenly. Something was very very wrong with her.

He was running towards her!

She scrambled to her feet, dashed to the side. The running man missed her by far too little.

"Amore, wait!"

She ran.

He didn't.

Instead, he called after her: "Amore! Amore, please. Stay still for a moment, my Warden!"

Her leg hurt. She stopped and turned towards him.

Slowly, the running man approached her his hair was dancing. It was nice. He didn't look happy, he looked scared. He had a stick in his hand.

Why was he scared?

What was his name?

Was it his name?

"Amore." The running man had reached her and stretched his hand out, but didn't touch her. "Where were you going, my Warden? And not even dressed."

She looked at him. What... what could she?

"My Warden?" He carefully touched her. "Are you alright?"

"Alright," she repeated. "Alright, alright."

But she was not! She was not alright! Something was wrong!

"Alright, alright, alright."

The running man looked down. "It does not seem like that to me, my love."

Love.

"Love."

The running man looked at her again, and he looked better.

"Love," she said again.

It was not his name. But it was good.

"You do remember me." The running man smiled and held his hand out. "Will you come home with me, amore?"

Did she? Would she? Where to?

She wasn't sure.

She looked at the running man, hand outstretched.

"Love?" she asked.

"Yes," he said with a smile.

She took his hand and followed him.

Zevran sat on the edge of the bed, nursing the same drink he had poured himself hours ago, and tried not to cry again.

She had followed him home. So far, so good. She had called him love, but he was no longer sure she recognized him. She was still far away and not present. Her left hip was swollen, and it evidently brought her great pain. When he had tried to alleviate the inflamation, however, or clean the wounds on her feet—how had she made all the way up to the cliff without shoes?—she had fought back, and even bitten him. Right now, she was asleep, but he couldn't leave her unattended even now. He had... he had not known what to do. He was out of his depth.

He needed help.

Perinella would surely come. So would Virel, and Eidela, but he could not rip his children out of the life they had built for themselves for forever. It was a temporary solution at best, and did not even address the real problem.

He wanted his Warden back.

Zevran felt the burn of tears in his eyes, took another sip from his drink, and cursed the Archdemon one more time.

The month Astala had spent lying in bed, not knowing where she was, who she was, and not recognizing anybody, had been one of the worst time in his life. Wynne had tended to her. He had felt completely useles. But there had been slow improvements, and his Warden had gotten better, until she had regained much of her old self. And what she had not regained had soon filled up with new life.

Now, however? This had been the most lost he had ever seen her since then, and he did not know how to bring her back. Or if she even could be brought back.

There was nothing he could do.

Nothing except take things as they came. He had always been good at that, had he not?

The things the Crows could prepare you for. Zevran chuckled to himself without humor and stood up. He had some letters to write. His children needed to know. Who knew what the next days would hold, and the next months. Who knew if Astala would ever‐

"Love?"

Zevran turned immediately. Astala was still lying on their bed, lifting only her head to look for him.

Zevran set down his glass and set out to answer.

"Zevran."

It was truly remarkable how a simple word, how the mere sound of his name on her lips could drive tears into his eyes once again. Zevran said nothing, stepped to her side and made no attempt at hiding his tears. That was his name.

She knew his name.

This story came into my house and beat me to a pulp. Hope you enjoyed

@zevraholics thank you for giving me the opportunity to make myself tear up!!

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shivunin · 1 year

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Fang and Thorn

(Zevran/Tabris, 883 Words)

The metal of the dagger was carefully polished, but some of the scratches on the blade ran deep. Tabris turned it over and over in her hands, watching it reflect firelight, then her face over and over.

Slavers. Her friends, some of them gone forever. Her father caged; Valendrian shipped off to Tevinter. Then today—the orphanage, lost to demons and death. The bodies left in the ruined building to rot…

Arianwen closed her hand around the hilt at last, feeling the faint impressions in the polished rosewood where her mother’s hand had once held it firm. Had she worried about the future of their folk, too? What kind of life had she wanted for her only daughter?

She would’ve been proud, Wen’s father’d said.

Yet he had no idea who she…what she was. What she would still do, if given half the chance. Would her mother have been proud? Would she have approved of the person Arianwen had become?

“How are you feeling?”

Wen closed her eyes. The others had been quiet at dinner, had allowed her to return to her room in Eamon’s estate without too much bother. She’d been…moody was too kind a word for it. Stormy, then—she’d been stormy these past few days and she knew it well. Alistair had wanted to say something when she left. She’d seen it in his face. For what felt like the first time, he’d restrained himself. Arianwen had trudged up here, locked the doors, and curled up on the settee with only her knife and the fire for company.

But of course Zev had found his own way in.

She sat up, waited for him to tuck himself beneath her, and rested her head on Zevran’s lap. After a moment’s hesitation, he stroked his fingers through her loosened hair and let his hand come to a stop on her shoulder.

“You do not wish to speak of it?”

Wen said nothing. She shifted back on the couch until her head came to rest in the crook of his belly and his hip, where his flesh softened slightly. He’d left off his leathers for her, something she was grateful for. It was easier to feel the warmth of him when he wore linen.

“How fortunate,” Zev went on, squeezing her shoulder, “For I have more than enough to say for both of us.”

That’s what she’d been counting on.

“Have I told you about the time I had my knife to a contessa’s throat only to realize that I had climbed in the wrong window? It was the hottest day of summer, when even the flies are too lazy to crawl from their sleep…”

Arianwen listened, her eyes dragging lower and lower as the fire softened and calmed in the hearth. Eventually, when the flames were all but embers, a careful hand eased the hilt of her mother’s dagger from her hand and set it softly on a side table.

Where it would be safe.

The rest of her party readied themselves in the foyer the next morning.

Wen flipped her mother’s knife in her hand over and over, watching her friends. Alistair and Morrigan were giving each other a wide berth at the moment, which was good news for her headache. Zevran was ready, but pretending he still had to adjust his various buckles, casting her the occasional glance through his eyelashes.

Wen flipped the dagger several more times, absently gauging the weight and balance of the blade.

It was well made, worn comfortably, made with fine craftsmanship. Nevertheless it…it hurt to hold. Arianwen admitted this to herself, twisting the metal again and catching her own eyes in the reflection. Its warmth reminded her of happier days, when the world had seemed—if not fair—safe and whole.

That…hurt. Too much to touch. Too much to hold.

Wen moved to Zevran’s side and leaned against him. He draped an arm around her waist automatically, angling himself in her direction.

“Shh,” she said, when he opened his mouth to speak.

Zev raised his brows in response, but Tabris shook her head.

When she reached for the hilt of his dagger, it slid easily from its sheath. Arianwen weighed it in her hand for a moment, peering down as she angled it this way and that. They were of a similar construction, his blade and the other she held. The weight in Zevran's leaned a little further to the tip; the other would certainly suit him better. If one of them used these as a chopper, it was more she than he.

Wordlessly, Arianwen slid the rosewood dagger into the empty sheath hanging from his belt and slipped his dagger into hers. Zevran’s brows had drawn together, and his free hand hovered over the hilt for a moment.

“Do you…not wish to keep this somewhere safer?” he asked quietly, bending his head nearer to hers.

Wen shook her head.

“That’s not what it’s for,” she took a deep breath, “It’s…called Fang.”

Zevran set his hand on the hilt of the dagger at last, squeezing it slightly.

“I will use it well,” he said, the arm around her waist pulling her closer.

Wen let herself be pulled, some of the heaviness in her chest lightening. Would her mother have approved? She didn’t know. Maybe she didn’t need to. Perhaps it was enough that the blade would protect her lover now, as her mother had once wielded it to protect Wen.

“I know,” Arianwen said, and raised her face to be kissed.

#arianwen tabris #zevran arainai #zevwarden #zevran x tabris #zevran x warden #female tabris #dao #da fanfic #my writing #this was tucked away in my big long arianwen doc and i realized i didn't post it before i posted breath of life #so this is why he has it in that scene #also this is the same day lol #oops poor wen #shivunin scrivening

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videogame-ocs · 6 months

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So my autism accidentally caused drama in my canon DA playthrough of Origins between Alistair and Zevran 😅😅

(Aka the boys are fighting…over my Cousland)

Poor Alistair didn’t have a very good day. First he joined his girlfriend on a trip to Ostagar with Wynne and Morrigan, where he witnessed his dead half brother’s body string up by darkspawn and later gave Cailan the funeral he deserved.

Then (thanks to my autism l kept misinterpreting the options and kept accidentally making my Cousland flirt with Zevran whilst she is with Alistair because I wanted to be nice) due to his girlfriend spending time with Zevran, Alistair got jealous and was afraid of losing her and turns out Zevran had misread the situation and thought Amelia had feelings for him (she absolutely only saw him as a close friend) and began to fall for her so got his heart broken but they remained friends obviously. (You bet Amelia spent the night trying to make it up to Alistair and Zevran, but don’t worry by inquisition time they all laugh about it)

Never mind that, Amelia actually told Morrigan earlier that day that she loved Alistair.

She also got to experience a giant spider dropping literally on top of her (this actually happened, but I didn’t take a screenshot of it because I’m very arachnophobic so I was yelling in terror) and experienced flashbacks of the battle.

Anyway basically Alistair in my canon Worldstate got jealous of Zev’s relationship with Amelia, thought he was losing his girlfriend on the day they revisited Ostagar, the day that she actually admitted to Morrigan that she loved Alistair. Despite the fact she’s slept (in both the literal and not so literal way) with Alistair in her tent almost every night since they officially got together so wouldn’t have the chance to actually sleep with Zevran even if she wanted. Meanwhile Zevran misread Amelia’s close friendship with him and kind of fell in love with her when she’s never wavered from her feelings for Alistair leaving Zev heartbroken about but content that they’re still good friends even after the misunderstanding.

That whole conversation with the boys 100% confused Amelia as despite being a noble she’s REALLY not used to boys fighting over her because it never happened to her.

And like I said they do all laugh and joke about it years later so it’s not bad.

Also I’m pretty sure thanks to the spider incident, Amelia Cousland is now arachnophobic. And I’m now headcanoning her as autistic due to her inability to read the room with Zevran even though I told myself I wasn’t going to project my autism onto my protagonists.

On a more positive note Morrigan also called Amelia her sister which was cute.

#dragon age #da spoilers #return to ostagar #dragon age origins #alistair x female warden #Alistair x Cousland #it’s a very emotionally confusing day for the pair of them #alistair theirin #oc: amelia cousland #zevran arainai

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tired-truffle · 4 months

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Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOC fic

Chapter Word Count: 3.3k

Part 11/50

"Ignore every instinct to flee. Remember: you are a monster too." - Destiny

Masterlist

“Ta-da!” With a dramatic flourish of his wrist, Darcy unfurled the rolled-up scroll and placed it on the breakfast table. Gwen had been so caught up staring at the spread before her, not quite believing her eyes that she hadn’t noticed Darcy’s arrival. The long oak table was draped in a fine white linen cloth, upon which sat platter after platter of sumptuous breakfast foods. At one end was a huge wheel of creamy cheese, its rind dotted with herbs. Beside it sat a basket of still-warm bread, the crusty loaf steaming gently in the cool morning air. Bowls of plump berries in shades of crimson, purple and blue beckoned invitingly, their sweet perfume wafting towards Gwen's nose. Slices of juicy ham, pink and glistening, were piled high on a bronze platter next to a stack of buttery croissants. In the center sat a vase bursting with bright wildflowers, their colourful petals still dusted with early morning dew.

The group fell silent, all eyes turning to Darcy as he stood at the head of the table a self-satisfied tilt to his chin, “Don’t hold back the compliments people! You’re welcome for gracing you with my brilliant forethought, planning, and use of personal connections.”

“Maybe if you explain what you’re talking about first, our lesser minds may be able to come up with adequate compliments for this spectacular feat of yours,” Alistair drawled, placing a croissant on his plate - having just sat down and the last member of their party to arrive - he had just joined the rest of their party at the breakfast table, still looking a bit dishevelled from sleep. His tawny hair was tousled and his gambeson was on inside out, adding to his charmingly rumpled appearance. As he settled into his seat a few places down from Gwen, she couldn't help but stifle a laugh. Across from her, Zevran and Leliana exchanged knowing glances and quickly placed bets on how long it would take Alistair to notice

“I’m so glad you asked, my good friend Alistair, I would love nothing more than to explain how amazing I am.” Darcy leaned in close to Zevran, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He playfully winked and fluttered his long eyelashes at the rogue.

Morrigan groaned, her initial pleasure at avoiding Alistair’s presence this morning disappearing under the haze of Darcy’s flirtations, “Cease this childish display and proceed, would you? Lest this idle chatter lull me back to sleep and we delay our exit from this place even further.”

“Alright, alright,” Darcy attempted to appease the witch, “Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

Morrigan’s jaw clenched with a sharp clack of her teeth and she muttered, “My knickers are none of your concern.”

Gwen breathed a silent sigh of relief as Darcy refrained from provoking Morrigan any further. Instead, he carefully untied the twine that bound the ancient-looking scroll and laid it gently on the table. The parchment was yellowed with age, and intricate map lines traced its surface, depicting the corner of Ferelden where they currently resided. However, anything past that knowledge was beyond Gwen. There were words written in an elegant, looping script on the lower left corner of the map, different from the other titles spread around the page, but given that Gwen was unable to read any language at all she couldn’t discern their meaning. She could guess - her travels had given her knowledge of the names of the surrounding locations - but the letters had never made much sense to her. Keeping her expression neutral was second nature to Gwen, a defence mechanism honed over years to keep others from knowing what lurked beneath the mask. It wasn't that she was ashamed; illiteracy was common among common folk. But revealing this vulnerability could only bring trouble, so she kept it to herself.

The gentle chirping of crickets filled the room, their rhythmic song blending with the soft rustling of leaves and distant birdcalls. The cool breeze that flowed through the open window carried with it the smell of damp earth and floral notes, a refreshing respite from the stuffy air inside the small room.

“Where on Thedas did you get this?” Leliana asked, glee coursing through her as she stood, palms pressed flat on the table to allow her a better view of the map.

“Brother Genetivi’s house in Denerim,” Darcy said as though that answered anything.

“I think the next logical question would be how, then proceeding that, how did you know to look there?” Alistair had straightened, his breakfast all but forgotten in favour of staring in wonder at Darcy.

“Sir Henric’s note. Remember that Templar we found killed on the road? He mentioned that Brother Genetivi, a scholar in Denerim, knew of the Urn of Sacred Ashes. It is located in Haven.” Darcy pointed at the spot on the map with the elegant script with one hand and produced said note out of his pocket with the other, passing it to Alistair who read over the note in bewilderment.

“How did I miss this?” Alistair mumbled to himself.

Darcy took it upon himself to answer, “You didn’t miss anything, I kept the note from you in case it was a dead-end, I didn’t want you to get your hopes up.”

Alistair's lips pressed together in a tight line, his expression revealing a hint of displeasure although he did not speak up to protest.

“I asked a skilled friend of mine to investigate - his ability to slip in and out of the Alienage is like no other. He sent a letter along stating that Brother Genetivi is missing and his assistant dead, and that he’d been able to find this map among his things.” Darcy sat back in his chair, “It’s the best lead we have for the Urn, we should set out immediately if we are to have our best chance to wake the Arl. Thoughts?” Darcy opened the floor to discussion.

“And we have to save the Arl?” Gwen clarified, ignoring the indignant glare Alistair shot her way. Their conversation last night did little to warm her up to the idea of helping nobles, they had already saved Lady Isolde, did they really have to save another?

“Not all others lick the boots of nobles like you, Alistair. Why should those of common breeding care about the fates of their lords when the lords care little for them in return?” Morrigan berated him and at the same time, both insulted and defended Gwen. She frowned, unsure how to interpret such a backhanded compliment.

Alistair scowled at Morrigan. Yet before he could offer a retort, Darcy commanded their attention again, “Look, I know we all just woke up and we’re feeling a little strung out, but if we can wake up the Arl and get him on our side, we stand a much better chance of going against Teryn Loghain. The other Lords at the Landsmeet are not going to care about a bunch of nobodies, especially not ones led by an Elf.” He flicked the tips of his pointed ears for emphasis, “Unless we’re able to secure noble backing that can verify Alistair’s nobility, we don’t stand a chance and may as well charge head first at the Archdemon with no backup.”

In a rare moment of almost seriousness, Darcy had made an excellent point that Gwen could not argue. She shrugged and did not offer a rebuttal. What was an extra week or two of travel when they had wasted so much already?

“Any other objections?” Darcy spread his arms, welcoming their arguments.

“Can we go after we finish breakfast? I am reluctant to leave such a decadent spread after our long hours on the road.” Zevran took a suggestive bite of sausage and Darcy’s playful grin settled back in its usual place.

The table quickly devolved into meaningless chatter, Sten complaining of Darcy and Zevran’s un-Qun-like proclivities, while Morrigan took every opportunity to provoke Alistair’s ire. Leliana regaled Gwen and Wynne with stories of her travels with the Chantry, and Barkspawn slept soundly beside his recently emptied bowl. Gwen didn’t know when she had started to think of this as ‘normal’. Part of her longed for the quiet solitude she had grown used to have, but another part relished in the company, soothing the little girl inside her who wanted nothing more than to be surrounded by people she cared for.

“I forgot something in my rooms.” Gwen's fists were tightly clenched, her nails digging into her palms as she struggled to suppress the fiery anger rising in her chest. She couldn't help but notice Alistair's slumped shoulders and distant gaze as he returned from his meeting with Darcy, Bann Teagan, and Lady Isolde. The air around them felt heavy and tense, like a thunderstorm brewing on the horizon. “I’ll meet you at the gates.”

Darcy, who appeared to mirror her feelings, his nose crinkled and his eyes sharp, nodded his assent - a smirk of understanding pulling at the corner of his mouth. No one else seemed to notice their exchange and Gwen quietly slipped away from the group.

Frustration and irritation whirled in her mind like a tempest, fueled by Isolde's constant undermining of Alistair and the never-ending Calling that plagued her. The throbbing ache in her head was a constant companion, a reminder of her frayed patience. She had reached her limit with the haughty nobles and their archaic belief in their own superiority. It was enough to make her want to scream into the wind.

Her timing was perfect, Lady Isolde exited the throne room, her blonde hair pulled back tight in her braided buns, and her thin mouth set in a hard line as she started down the hallway towards the Arl’s study, Bann Teagan nowhere in sight.

With cautious steps, Gwen trailed behind Isolde, her senses on high alert. She could feel the weight of Isolde's trust in their familiar surroundings and she knew it was up to her to be vigilant. As they neared the study, Gwen instinctively jammed her foot inside the door, causing Isolde to startle in alarm. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of the masked intruder standing before her.

“You!” How kind of her to remember Gwen’s name, “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you have left with the others?”

Her pupils widened as she took an involuntary step back, raising an arm as though she stood a chance at shoving Gwen away. She’d barely done anything and already the Orlesian’s delicate sensibilities were affronted by her presence.

“You don’t mind if I come in, do you?” Gwen didn’t wait for the response of what was sure to be a resounding no before yanking the door out of Isolde’s white-knuckled hand, entering the room with firm steps, and shutting it firmly behind her.

Isolde’s quickened breaths stuttered in the deafening silence.

“If I scream my guards will come and you’ll spend the rest of your days rotting in prison.” The quiver of Isolde’s bottom lip did nothing to help her attempt at intimidating Gwen. She merely raised an eyebrow at the Lady’s threat, unfazed by the mention of guards and prison. She knew that she could easily evade capture and that her presence here was more important than any risk of punishment. It wasn’t as though prison was something she was unused to, or unable to withstand, even if the thought of spending even a second of her time locked behind bars didn’t make her skin crawl.

“Relax,” Gwen rolled her eyes, “I do not wish to cause you harm.”

“What do you want then?” Isolde spat, backing up until she hit the desk, Gwen matching her steps, her eyes dark and intense as she peered at the smaller woman.

Her lip curled behind her bandana, “You are a cruel, vile woman. Stealing the only good thing he had away from him due to your petty insecurities?” Gwen had met many people like that, but to do that to someone like Alistair? If anyone in this world did not deserve that treatment it was him. “If it were up to me you would not so much as look at Alistair again, but alas he is attempting to save your husband - at the potential cost of delaying our mission and resulting in the deaths of thousands, might I add.”

Isolde’s eyes flashed with indignation, and she straightened, remembering her title and all the power it possessed. Unfortunately for her, Gwen did not care for such trivial things. “I am the lady of Redcliffe, you are nothing more than a common criminal, most likely, with the way you hide your face. What authority do you have to give me orders?”

The demure Lady had some fight in her after all. “You would think that, wouldn’t you?” Gwen stepped forward, crowding Isolde so she had to lean back on the desk, the wide cast of her eyes betraying her alarm, replacing the brief bout of vexation. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she struggled to maintain composure against Gwen's unexpected aggression. “That is all us common folk are to you nobles.” Gwen laughed humourlessly, her mouth curving into a feral grin under the cloth that covered it, the slit in her cheeks parting to reveal all of her pointed teeth. “Nothing more than a bunch of criminals. And while I may not currently be wanted by any authorities, I am more than willing to receive such punishment should I ever hear of you speaking to Alistair with no more than the utmost respect.”

Isolde’s lip pulled back in a sneer, “He is a bastard, a product of his father’s idiotic mistakes. There is no respect to give to boys like him.”

Gwen slammed her hands down on the desk, bracketing Isolde’s slender frame. The woman let out a yelp but Gwen pressed forward, “He is not his father, nor is he responsible for your misgivings about him. Either you kiss the very ground he walks on, you do everything he could ever want from you without question, and you shower him with praise like you would any other heir to the throne, or,” A prickling sensation at the nape of Gwen's neck signalled the impending Calling, its eerie hum growing louder with each passing moment. Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out any rational thoughts as she succumbed to the all-consuming rage coursing through her veins. With a swift and calculated movement, she pulled down her mask and pressed one hand firmly against Isolde's mouth to silence her screams. A twisted smile stretched across Gwen's face, her nostrils flaring as if scenting the anticipation of what was to come. Isolde's eyes bulged in terror as she desperately tried to find purchase on the desk behind her, realizing too late that there was no escape from Gwen's wrath. “I will make you regret it, and I will enjoy every second of your torment.”

Gwen held the woman in place, grabbing her by the front of her dress and pulling her close. Tears streamed down Isolde’s face as her pleas were muffled by the firm grip Gwen had on her jaw. This terror, a tangible force that choked her very existence, threatened to swallow her whole. It was a familiar feeling, one that she had grown accustomed to over the years. The anxious part of her mind that constantly worried about what others thought of her was momentarily quelled by this overwhelming emotion. She didn't have to worry about someone growing to hate her one day when they weren’t able to stand being near her in the first place.

Gwen leaned forward so she was only a few inches from Isolde’s reddening face as she struggled to get air through her nose and into her panicking lungs. “Do you understand?” Gwen let her jaw widen beyond what was humanly possible, letting it hang for a moment as Isolde froze in terror before she snapped her mouth shut, barely missing the tip of the Orlesian’s perfect nose.

Isolde nodded vigorously as she sobbed, her whole body quivering.

Gwen's heart raced as she watched Isolde plead for her life, her desperation palpable in every squirm. The urge to give in and consume her enemy simmered beneath the surface, growing stronger with each passing second. But Gwen resisted, holding onto the moment, savouring it like a rare delicacy. Her eyes burned with determination as she stood her ground against the tempting desires within her.

Gwen took a hesitant step back, her heart racing as she wrenched herself away from the dangerous edge of anger and vengeance. That wasn't who she wanted to be - a ruthless avenger willing to do anything to protect Alistair. She had only meant to issue a warning to the Arlessa, to make her back off and leave Alistair alone. She hadn’t even meant to truly scare her, and she certainly hadn’t meant to show off her face.

Isolde sank to the floor, her chest heaving as she gasped down breath after breath as though she’d thought she’d never breathe again. She had almost been right.

Gwen had expected to be consumed by a wave of guilt, but instead, she was struck with a deep sense of revulsion as she stared down at the pitiful woman cowering on the floor. Her sobs echoed through the room, filling Gwen's ears and senses with their spinelessness. How could someone so weak and insignificant dare to think they were worthy of someone like Alistair? The thought made Gwen's blood boil. Alistair, with his kind heart, brave spirit, and infectious humour. But perhaps that was the root of it all - this woman's inferiority complex gnawed at her and she lashed out at Alistair because he believed himself to be lesser than her. This cycle had to end, and even if it meant facing consequences for her actions, Gwen couldn't bring herself to regret standing up against this injustice. The air in the room felt dense and oppressive, suffocating like a heavy cloak wrapped around them both. But beneath it all, there was a fiery determination burning within Gwen - a flame that refused to be extinguished.

Gwen pulled up her bandana, turning to leave before she could continue in her recklessness, not wanting to stay in case the urge of the Calling took hold of her once more - pushing her further into the monster lurking below her skin. She stopped when Isolde spoke in a trembling voice, “What are you?”

A monster, a creature so unlovable even the holy Sisters of the Chantry could not find anything redeemable about me. She wanted to say, but Isolde must already know that, it was written across her skin in the disfigurement of her mouth, the scar around her neck where the collar of shackles had once sat, and the bottomless darkness behind her eyes.

“If you tell anyone about what you saw or what I have said, what I am will be the least of your concerns.”

Gwen's anger boiled over, leaving no room for further discussion. She stormed out of the study, her hands clenched into tight fists, her nails pressing bloody half-moons into her palms. The sound of her heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway, each one marking her determination and frustration. Her face was flushed, her jaw set in determination as she left the room with purpose.

“You okay?” Darcy asked when she met them at the gate, his eyes flickering with curiosity. Gwen's response was a mere grunt, filled with an ambiguous mix of emotions that she struggled to put into words. Panic and satisfaction battled for control within her mind, making it difficult to form cohesive thoughts.

Darcy grinned mischievously, the rest of their party grabbing their packs, ready to head on the next leg of their adventure, their sights set on the small village of Haven. He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, meant for Gwen's ears alone, “Whatever you did, she deserved every second of it.”

Gwen’s gaze flickered to where Alistair fiddled with a fraying strap on his shield, oblivious to what had just happened, and she felt the anger start to dissipate in the glowing sun. He deserved so much more than she could give him, and yet… “Yes, she did.”

Next Chapter

A/N:

I apologize for the lack of Alistair in this chapter, but there is more to come of him next! This chapter was a bit transitional and shorter than most of the others but we should be back to our regular length when I post on Sunday!

As always thank you for reading my little story <3 It would mean so much to me for any likes, reblogs and comments!

#angst with a happy ending #slow burn #fluff #eventual smut #falling in love #humour #alistair dao #alistair dragon age #alistair theirin #alistair x original character #original female character #leliana #zevran arainai #zevran x warden #wynne dragon age #sten dragon age #morrigan dragon age

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supoctosss · 3 days

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It’s been on my mind a lot recently so I wanted to talk about my DAO OC Olive Tabris and Alistair. They have such a complicated relationship, and I’m trying to get it written down right.

When he finds her to apologize Olive breaks down, spilling all the feeling she holds for him, and how they can’t be together because it’s too complicated. Then he kisses her, a sad, knowing kiss. Because as much as Alistair makes himself seem dumb he knows the truth. He knows the hands they were dealt isn’t fair. And right after Radcliffe they head to the temple of sacred ashes, and with all the chaos, and a little bit of both of them avoiding eachother) they never talk about their kiss or her confession. They pick up an assassin elf on the way, and Alistair immediately picks up the look that he has in his eye, the hungry look. But he can’t say anything because they’re nothing to eachother. And Olive tries to push down her feelings for Alistair, and an easy way to do that is to distract herself with the handsome elf, but he’s too confident for her liking so she can’t develop any feelings for him. And Alistair is sitting across the campfire glaring at them and eventually Olive gets tired of it and for the second time they’re arguing, and Alistair is demanding Olive to tell the truth about how she feels bc ‘if you want to be with me than fucking be with me!’ And ‘I love you’ is on the tip of her tongue but she stops herself. Because would it even be the truth? She’s never felt love before, and Alistair doesn’t want her. He wants the idea of her. Olive refuses to be a wife, and she knows that’s what he wants. But she can’t stop herself from kissing him and god does she know it’s wrong, she knows she’s gonna hurt him in the end but just one more kiss won’t hurt. And for a few weeks everything is fine. They don’t tell anyone, and just share knowing glances across the fire. And when they finally get Arl Eamon back to full health Alistair is so happy she almost thinks it might make up for her hurting him. Then he drops the news Alistair has to be King, there’s no other choice. And she watches Alistair’s face drop, and she ignores the sense of sadness hit her because she knew this would happen. She knew they couldn’t be together, but damn her for still having hope. But when Alistair suggests letting Anora rule alone, Olive shuts it down. And once again there’s arguing, and she finally shuts him down completely (‘we can’t be together Alistair! Not now, not ever. Not in this life. Maybe if I was a human we could figure it out. But I’m an Elf, and you’re going to be King. And that’s IF we survive. So we both need to move on!’)

Except he doesn’t, he tries to, tries to stop himself from staring at her when she laughs with Leliana, or reads with Wynne, or ask Sten millions of questions about the Qun. But he can’t stop himself. And the worst part it Zevran is staring too. And he recognizes that look all too well. And Alistair tries not to scream when the two chat quietly with eachother, or when he catches those knowing looks they used to share. And When Alistair spots Zevran lead her to his tent his heart stops. Because despite everything he is so in love with Olive Tabris.

Soon Olive finds herself lost in Zevran, and while there were so many bumps, he got lost in her too. They never call us love, or even a relationship. And Olive loves it, and when he gives her one of his earrings Olive gets giddy. Giddy. As time moves on she finds it easier to ignore Alistair’s stares, and Zevran eventually stopped asking about it. They don’t talk about their future, and perhaps that was a mistake because when Riordan says that the grey wardens that deals the killing blow dies, she had already made her decision. She will sacrifice herself for Alistair, not for the good of ferelden, or even because she still loved Alistair, but because she owed it to him. And when she tells Zev this he cries, he begs her to live, to choose herself. But she doesn’t, and they spend one last incredible night together. And then she slays the Archdemon, and when they soul enters her body she feels peace, because she did something meaningful.

Then she wakes up. And finds out Alistair did a dark ritual with Morrigan (even though he won’t tell her what, and where’s morrigan gone?) Alistair tries to not look at her with those lovesick eyes, and fails miserably, so instead he kisses her cheek, tells her he’s proud to have known her, and that Zevran is waiting for her. And as he walks away they both think “maybe in another life” and while Olive has a love like no other with Zevran, and eventually they have two babies, twins, Olive could never stop herself from thinking of the what ifs. And while Alistair never finds a new love, he is eventually able to look at his best friends, his first love’s, family and feel a genuine joy for her.

This was so fun to write 🫶

#dragon age #dragon age 4 #dragon age the veilguard #zevran arainai #dragon age origins #dragon age alistair #zevran x tabris #warden tabris #female tabris #tabris oc #alistair x tabris

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