#killian amell x loghain mac tir

[thiefbird]

Happy Friday! For DADWC, how about ❛ i told you not to fall in love with me. ❜? For any pairing you'd like. Thank you!

Have some angsty Loghain Mac Tir and Killian Amell! For @dadrunkwriting

The door to Loghain's modest quarters in the Wardens' barracks flew open, slamming into the wall with a loud bang. Loghain slowly turned, not quite facing the door, or the rampaging mage that rushed into his room.

He'd been expecting this, since the moment two identical letters came from Weisshaupt, one for him and one for Killi- for the commander. Letters ordering him to Orlais, to Montsimmard, on the other side of Val Royeaux.

That had been two days ago, but the commander had been leading an excursion to Kal'Hirol, and due to arrive today. Which was why he was packing, folding the last of his tunics and storing them in a small chest.

"I won't let them!" Killian said passionately, shoving the door closed behind him nearly as aggressively as he'd opened it. "They can't, they have no right! You're a Fereldan Warden. You're my Warden. The First Warden-"

"Has made a decision, the one I would make in his place," Loghain interrupted in a low tone. Decades of delivering bad news were the only thing keeping his voice firm and steady; he knew what he had to do, knew what he had to say to end this the way he must. He'd rather the boy hate him than waste his youth pining.

He knew exactly what that did to a man.

Killian was pacing the length of the small room, one hand tangled in his hair and pulling it loose from the practical braid he kept it in for battle, the other tightly clutching a crumpled scrap of parchment bearing Weisshaupt's insignia. He looked anguished, nearly panicked. He looked the way Loghain had felt when Maric disappeared, when Celia died.

He'd let this go too far, already.

"It's the wrong fucking decision!" Amell's voice cracked into a desperate shout as he quit pacing and positioned himself fully in front of Loghain. He was still wearing his Mage-Warden armor, smudged with dirt and Tainted rock; he must have read the letter the moment he returned. There were Maker-forsaken tears in his eyes, making the mana-touched green sparkle and blur. "'Wardens don't get involved in politics' my arse! I put the king of Fereldan on the throne! I united the bannorn! How's that for politics?!"

Fighting the urge to go to him, to soothe his anger, was physically painful, but Loghain stayed where he was, fingers twisted hard enough in the fabric of a tunic to cut off blood flow in order to stop from reaching out. "It is what it is. Montsimmard is at least better than Val Royeaux."

"No its not, it's even farther! How is that better?" Frustration finally getting the best of him, Killian approached Loghain, his emotions burning off him in random, involuntary bursts of magic: heavy static shocks; waves of alternating heat and cold; flashes of light in every color imaginable, and some not. He pushed relentlessly into Loghain's space the way he always had, not quite touching, but too close to write off as accidental.

"Less of a temptation to return, to interfere. The First Warden may well be right; I have my daughter's ear." And Fereldan's Chancellor's heart, he did not need to add. Killian may not yet have spoken as much, but it was evident in all he did. "The distance will keep me honest."

"... And what of us?"

Loghain had tried his utmost, in the two days he had, to prepare for Killian's touch, to steel himself to what he must say. Even so, he felt the tension drain from his muscles at the first brush of Killian's hand on his chest, held back a shudder of longing when the touch became an embrace he longed to return.

"And what of it? You do not mean me to deny my orders based on a few short months?" he asked, forcing a note of cruelty into his voice. "A pleasurable pass-time, no more than that. You will forget an old man easily, once I am gone."

Killian froze for no more than a heartbeat before pulling back, stiff and inscrutable. Loghain was forcibly reminded of the Landsmeet, then; Killian had worn that same, emotionless expression as he listed Loghain's numerous crimes to the bannorn.

But unlike the Landsmeet, it quickly crumpled like wet linens into an effigy of misery. "You aren't going to fight it."

"I cannot. I would not, even if I could." You deserve better.

Finally, he made himself turn away, laying the wrinkled tunic flat on the bed. "I no longer have a place in Fereldan. You ensured that, near a year ago, when you defeated me in single-handed combat. The traditional outcome is death or banishment, and having been denied the first, I must accept the second."

The added cruelty had the opposite of te intended effect; Loghain wanted Amell angry. But instead, the tears staining his green eyes overflowed. "I love you!" he shouted, flinging an arm out in a wide, wild gesture and sending Loghain's desk onto its side with a wave of force magic.

"I told you not to." Loghain once again turned his back on his soon-to-be former commander.

They stood, frozen like an illumination of the weird Heartbreak, for moments or minutes, until the Warden-Commander of Fereldan admitted defeat for the first time and left the room, and Loghain could safely fall to his knees on the threadbare rug.

[thiefbird]

The middle of the night is absolutely the best time for writing, this Killian/Loghain fic is just pouring straight out of my soul tonight

[thiefbird]

Working on the second chapter of my Killian Amell x Loghain Mac Tir fic. What even am I anymore

[thiefbird]

For the DADWC: "Brushing your lover's shoulder/waist as they walk past," for Killian Amell x Loghain Mac Tir?

Oooooh we're having Misunderstandings today!Set the morning after the first time they sleep together, for @dadrunkwriting

Loghain cursed his luck, not for the first time this morning, and likely not for the last. The Seneschal of Vigil’s Keep had cornered him, once again, to simultaneously complain about his presence there and ask for assistance in its running. His presence there was, apparently, a poor reflection politically on Warden Commander Amell, while also of great help.

The man had a point, of course. A known maleficar, associating with a publicly vilified traitor to the throne was a poor look, especially with his Commander's.... fraught relationship with Loghain's new son-in-law. And with reassignment from Weisshaupt due any day, Loghain ought to be spending his time at the compound in Denerim, with Anora. Killi- Warden-Commander Amell -would have problems enough without his presence to complicate things. There had already been one assassination attempt. He did not wish to be the cause of another.

And yet he remained, pacing around the boundaries of Amell's life like a hopeless mongrel begging for scraps. Pathetic.

It had been week, now, of glances, and of passing too close for comfort and yet still too far. Until last night's feasting, too much wine and merriment for anyone's sake, even before Amell had brought out the cask of West Hill brandy.

Maker, he was an old fool. Glances had become a hand on an arm, an arm around a shoulder had become, somehow, drunken fumblings in his sparse quarters.

He wished he could remember it more than as a blurry, frantic need. He wanted to commit the whole night to memory, to page, yet it was lost to him almost completely, other than the knowledge that it had happened. How cruel a twist of Fate, to grant him his secret, loathsome wish, yet deny his memory.

He'd awoken late, alone and miserably hungover, and stumbled through bathing and dressing in a miasma of self-loathing. He'd been accosted in the hall by Varel before he'd even made it to the great hall for breakfast.

And in a final, hateful twist of Fate's knife, Varel's various complaints and requests had yet to end, despite the distinct sounds of Amell and Mistress Woolsey approaching from breakfast, deep in discussion about some detail of the arling. Loghain turned towards them, despite himself, and immediately regretted it.

Even clearly exhausted and hungover, Killian was... Maker, he was beautiful. Captivating, in the same way Maric had been, though near his opposite in looks. An Archdemon could have fallen through the Vigil in that moment, and Loghain would have scarce noticed.

Finally, he forced himself to look away, turning back to Varel instead of staring at Amell. He stepped a little to the side to make space for them to pass, and as he did, he felt something brush his waist and side, the oddly familiar tug of magic arcing to kiss flesh through his tunic. Amell's hand, cupping his hip ever so briefly. The gentle caress was so outside of anything he'd expected after waking alone the way he had, and in its unexpectedness, he flinched away.

The tingling of residual magic on his skin drained him of his wits for precious moments, and by the time he had regained himself, Killian was turning the corner. Loghain craned his neck just in time to catch Amell's green, green eyes staring at him in - hurt?

Void take his soul, what had he done?

[thiefbird]

IT’S FRIDAY!!! Welcome to DWC! Let’s see ❛ you were dead, i saw you die. ❜ from the hit 'em where it hurts sentence starters - for any two characters you deem most appropriate. :) Happy writing.

Whoooo filling a very old prompt is such a good feeling! I've never written Loghain before, so con-crit is especially welcomed!

Preslash Killian Amell and Loghain Mac Tir, immediately following the slaying of the Archdemon!

@dadrunkwriting

It was done. The Archdemon was dead; the darkspawn were already dispersing. The young mage had managed to strike a killing blow.

And Loghain was alive.

When Warden Riordan had explained the final sacrifice a Warden must make, he had been convinced that, somehow, Amell had already known. That the reason for his own recruitment had been to deal that final, deadly blow. He had accepted his fate in that moment. Welcomed it, even - to die to save his country, the whole of Thedas, was an honor he had not expected. His daughter would mourn him, though few others would, but she would mourn a hero, not a traitor. It was a kinder fate than he deserved, a kinder fate than he had thought awaited him.

But no. Amell had insisted he must strike the blow himself, had tried in vain to get Riordan to stand down and not even attempt it first. Loghain hadn't thought the man suicidal, but there was no other explanation.

It was a pity; he was a powerful mage, and a better strategist. The Wardens were better for his leadership, and now they would have to reac out to Weisshaupt. Likely accept an envoy from Orlais.

Maker take him, why couldn't he have let him fight the dragon?

Amell's companions were all looking to him, now, as were the leaders of his allies - dwarves, elves, mages. Even the armies of Redcliffe. All awaiting his orders, as the final Warde standing. He was the commander of the armies of Fereldan. He should be able to give orders. He should not be stood frozen, staring at the spot where th Archdemon fell.

Eventually, he managed to force himself into action, as was his duty. He rallied Amell's mourning companions, and mobilized surviving troops to clear out what remained of the hoarde. He purposefully ignored the tightening in his chest as the assassin and bard clung together, holding each other against sobs. He had no right to mourn alongside them. If he'd had his way, the boy would have been dead a year prior.

Orders given, Loghain took it upon himself to retrieve Amell's body. It was his duty. The golem and the Qunari accompanied him, to assisting shifting the piles of rubble formed by the Archdemon's death throes. As they approached its corpse, he noted distantly the need to harvest it for scales and bone; they could outfit nearly an entire platoon in weapons and armor from it.

He caught a shard of Warde blues under the creature's massive wing and pushed ahead. He wrestled the appendage free and lifted it with surprising ease, the joints still lax enough tat he could fold it.

Andraste's breath, he looked... so young. He was so young, younger than he and Maric were, when Maric claimed the throne. And yet he'd ended the Blight in barely a year, when veteran Wardens had taken near twelve.

Lying there in the dirt, he looked remarkably unshattered, pale and fragile, but almost asleep instead of dead.

The golem took hold of the wing, and Loghain knelt in the dust, made tacky with spilt vlood, and lifted the young man easily into his arms before standing. He was still warm; over a hour later, he'd have expected him to be cold and stiff.

Stars, the boy was breathing. "Golem! By the - fetch the healer! The Warden lives!"

The next hours was a blur of relief and rejoicing as the spirit healer - Wynne, he remembered as the urgency passed - worked her magics. Amell's companions huddled close around the tent, eagerly awaiting news, and Loghain stood near, unwilling to intrude on their celebration but equally loathe to leave. Finally, Wynne emerged from the tent, exhausted and drained but triumphant.

"He is awake, as much as I would like to insist otherwise. Do not overwhelm him." This last part was directed at the bard and the Crow specifically.

Another hour or more passed, and Loghain remained tethered to the tent, never moving more than a dozen or so paces from it as he directed rescue and recon efforts. Eventually, the Qunari approached him. "The mage asks for you," he stated firmly, apparently not particularly enthused by this, though Loghain had frankly yet to see the man enthused about anything.

He nodded. "I shall attend to him immediately. Thank you, serah."

He took a moment to finish dispensing orders before turning back to the hospital tent. He ducked his head to enter, and blinked for a moment in the gloom. Amell was propped upright by an unlikely pile of pillows, as pale and wan as he'd looked lying in the dust beneath the Archdemon.

"Commander Mac Tir," he managed before coughing, his voice weak and dry. "Thank you."

"Maker take me..." Loghain muttered. He'd bee the one to find him alive, and even he could hardly believe the young man still breathed.

Amell cracked a tired grin. "He tried to take me, at the very least."

Loghain dropped heavily into a chair placed by the head of the bed, head in his hands. "You were dead, boy. I saw you die," he whispered.

"I'm sorry..." Amell reached a shaking, bandaged hand towards him. "I did not know if it could work. I couldn't get anyone's hopes up without reason."

"Is the Archdemon truly slain? Riordan insisted there was no other way." He lifted his head and took Amell's hand in his, in hopes of convincing himself of his life. Amell squeezed it for a brief moment, though even that little effort seemed to drain him.

"It is, though I am sworn to secrecy on the specifics. The Blight is ended, with as few lives lost as could be managed." His blood-redeyes, that had so disturbed Loghain once, fluttered shut.

"Then I shall not press. The Maker has shone on us this day; I will not question His gifts."

Amell chuckled hoarsely, some joke Loghan was not in on. "He works His gifts in mysterious ways," he mumbled cryptically, half to himself.

Loghain waited a few moments, in case the mage had anything else to say. "I will let you rest, serah," he said eventually, uncertain Amell was still awake. "There is much to be done, and I doubt my new son-in-law is up to the task of arranging it."

He made to stand, but froze as Amell grasped almost frantically at his wrist.

"Stay. Please." At Loghain's confused look, he flushed slightly, looking away. "You won't be able to, yet, but Wardens can sense the Taint. In darkspawn, and in our fellow Wardens." He paused to cough. "Helps with the nightmares; Alistair and I shared a tent for it. Just...stay."

Loghain relaxed back into the chair, flattered and flustered in equal measure. "Of course, serah. As long as you wish of me."

[thiefbird]

Things I'm especially interested in writing tonight!

Killian Amell x Loghain Mac Tir

Fenhanders/Justfenhanders (what a mouthful!)

Dirthail Mahariel x Alistair Theirin

And as usual I always love:

Hawke x Anders/Fenris/Merrill/Isabela

QPPs Hawke and Varric

Fenders

Warden x Anders

Cheeky Nanders

Kanders

Anders x Happiness

M!Solavellan

Adoribull

Merribela

Hawke terrorizing Cullen at Skyhold

Anora and Alistair's platonic marriage

Seranni x The Architect (warning: I may attempt to write poetry)

Pretty much anything! Give me weird rarepairs! Give me two characters who have never interacted and a random song lyric!