#my first dadwc!

[crabs-with-sticks]

Welcome to DADWC, Crabs! 🥰 How about "Our eyes had the most devilish affair; meeting in secret in a room full of people" for Ghilara and Solas? Happy writing!

Thanks for the prompt! Very different from my usual stuff which was very fun. I'm craving a spy au now....

for @dadrunkwriting

Halla, Envy and The Wolf- Ghilara Lavellan/Solas, SFW, 1,065 words

The gathering was ostentatious and gaudy enough to put the Orlesians to shame. It seemed the magister indeed had decided to take a leaf out of the Orelsians’ book for the night with the holding of a grand masquerade. If they had only looked a few more pages ahead they would have realised what an excellent setup such an event made for an assassination.

Ghilara herself was dressed in a long flowing gown of white and gold, a low neckline and sleeves that nearly doubled the width of her shoulders, long gloves concealing her mechanical left arm. A long slit up the skirt of the dress revealed Ghilara’s long legs and bare feet in homage to the Dalish style. Upon her face was placed a pure white mask with horns that twisted back from her face. A Hanal'ghilan. A golden halla.

Ghilara had protested when Lelliana had laid out her outfit, eyeing with skepticism the bold colour and constraints of movement, but the spymaster had insisted. And, as it turned out, Ghilara was not even in the top percentile for wealth wasted on ostentatious gowns and robes.

She plucked a glass of red wine from the tray a waiter, or more likely slave, carried through the crowds of people, all peacocking their wealth in a cacophony of coloured silks, gilding and jewels. She grimaced to see the slave go, but pushed the thought away. By the end of tonight every slave on this estate would be free.

She surveyed the crowd over the rim of her wine, dark and thick like blood, searching for her target. She was not the master of the house, at least not in name, but without her, the family would be torn to shreds in the Magisterium like dogs to meat.

It didn’t take her long to find the target. She hadn’t exactly made it difficult, and Ghilara smirked as she saw the outfit the mage had chosen for the evening. Grotesque and fitting in equal parts. Her mask stretched down over her whole face, the colour of pale, decaying flesh and set within it an oversized screaming mouth, taking up most of the face with its blood red colour. An envy demon.

Well, she was clearly nothing if not self aware.

The woman, Envy, had sequestered herself away from the main party, so she might take audience from her sycophantic devotees one by one. Even now she was reclining back on a red chaise, her gown artfully arrayed around her like a corpse flower, benevolently receiving attentions from a tall and lithe man in a wolf mask which draped out over his face more like the hood of a fur cloak than a mask.

No not just a wolf mask.

The man turned to survey the party and Ghilara caught sight of the three eyes craved into the mask. Ghilara’s smirk returned. It seemed she needn’t have made the effort to come anyway. The wolf masked man cocked his head as he laid eyes on her, standing out from the main buzz of the party. Ghilara raised her glass to him, drinking a sip, letting the red liquid run a trail from the corner of her lip, before flicking her tongue out to catch the liquid on the tip.

Even from where she was she could see the Wolf give her a smile, inclining his head down. It was only the briefest of movements but Ghilara saw the long, familiar fingers, toying a small vial between them. Her gaze flicked back up to the Wolf’s face where a single digit made a shushing gesture, tapping tip of his finger against the bow of his lip.

Ghilara made a shrug, the corner of her mouth still quirked up in a smile, taking a step into the crowd towards Envy. The wolf turned back to Envy, coy and sycophantic in equal measure. Obscured by the sweating press of bodies lolling about the edges of the dance floor, Ghilara did not see those clever fingers allowing but a single drop to fall into Envy’s glass. She did not see Envy’s delighted face as yet another man professed his devotion for her. She did not see the two raising glasses in a toast, the sweet liquid falling down Envy’s pretty throat. Another slow arrow the beast never had a chance to notice.

She was still amidst the crowd when she felt the soft but purposeful ghosting of fingertips over the back of her hand and wrist. Still facing away from him, she tilted her head to allow her words to carry to him and him alone. “You should have let me know and saved me the trouble 'ma vhen'an.”

“And deny myself the pleasure of seeing you so beautiful, ‘ma Hanal’ghilan? I am sure you can find yourself another dance partner for this evening.”

“And what of you, ‘ma fen, will you save me a dance?”

He leaned down so that she could feel the soft tickling of fur hairs on her cheek and the soft inhalation of her hair. His lips were so close to her ear she could feel the brush against them as he spoke. “I will always save you a dance, ‘ma halla, ‘ma vhen’an. Though mayhaps a different kind to the one dear Envy may be due for.” As he spoke his fingers played with her own, teasing and playful, not quite interlocking, running his digits up and down, as if memorising the angles of every joint and carpal.

Ghilara closed her eyes, fixing the moment in her memory, the feeling of his fingers against her own, and the warmth of his breath tickling her neck. “I believe I still have work to do, since you have so kindly robbed me of my initial target. But please do not forget to save me a dance. You know I am still waiting for you.”

She knew that were coming. The words that always came whenever they met now. Though expectation did not lighten the blow. “Ir abelas vhenan.” Even as she was turning round to see him, to see the Wolf properly, he was gone, a vanishing shadow amongst the magisters.

She had an appointment to keep, now with an unknown magister, rather than Envy, though she doubted she would have trouble in finding one. She could only hope that Solas would not keep her waiting for another dance.

[spicywarl0ck]

Happy Friday! How about “You’re breathtaking” for Fenhawke?

Thank you so very much for this ask x3 I had something romantic in my mind, but when I started writing, I remembered the first time I encountered Fenris in DA2, so this came out instead. @dadrunkwriting Pairing: Fenris/male Hawke Rated: T (only because of blood) Length: 519

There could have been many words he could’ve uttered when he watched the blood-covered elf step down the stairs, but he never knew why the following sentence had escaped his lips instead.

“You’re breathtaking.” Hawke couldn’t pry his eyes from the still faintly glowing eyes. He didn’t even notice the baffled faces of his companions as they looked at him in disbelief from behind him.

What he noticed, however, was the slight arch in the elf’s dark brows when he came to a halt before him, cocking his head to the side in slight irritation. 

“I apologise.” He chose to ignore the strange remark obviously as he paced around them. “When I asked Anso to provide a distraction for the hunters, I had no idea they’d be so numerous.” the elf added, his voice so smooth it baffled Hawke.

By the Maker, he had just watched this man tearing a heart out of a chest. That act alone should alert all his senses.

But he was a Hawke, and all he could think about was how beautiful the elf’s skin looked as the moonlight fell onto it and how the white hair fell so smoothly into his face. Not to mention the graceful way he moved around Hawke and his party.

“I…” he coughed as his voice gave way. “I take it they were looking for you?” 

“Correct.” The elf’s green eyes studied him as he turned around. There didn’t seem to be any more hidden hunters waiting to ambush them. “My name is Fenris. These men were imperial bounty hunters. Hired to reclaim a Magister’s lost property. Namely myself.” 

Hawke took only half the words in as he studied Fenris, getting lost in the green eyes and smooth lips as they moved.

He had never seen a man more beautiful or terrifying, but he couldn’t betray the fast pace his heartbeat took upon as it threatened to burst through his ribcage. There just was something about him.

“So, you needed help taking them out, I take it? So you hired Anso, who hired us?” Varric concluded since Hawke hadn’t been moving, the mage's lips moving like a fish gasping for water.

“Correct. I couldn’t face them alone, and thankfully, Anso chose wisely.” Fenris's lips twitched as he spoke his praise.

It wasn’t truly a smile, but enough to take Hawke’s breath away again. He realised it might have been that infamous love at first sight, which probably was a bit strange, considering the elf was still covered in his enemy's blood.

But honestly, that wouldn’t be the first strange thing Hawke ever felt or did.

“If they were slavers, then they deserve their fate.” Hawke tried to sound smooth but failed. At least Varric’s face told him so. “So what happens now?”

“They’re not the only ones in town. There will be more. Besides, ” Fenris ducked beside one of the corpses, face turning into a sneer. “It’s as I thought. Their Master accompanied them. I need to confront him before he finds me first.”

Fenris paused for a moment, eyes studying Hawke.

“And I could use some help.”

[plisuu]

Happy friday Sterling!!! last week I got some Revalas/Bull out of you, howabout some Revalas/Dorian this time? or not if you are stricken with a different inspiration. "i dunno who taught you that love comes with conditions and limitations, but mine doesn’t. not when it’s you." from the emotionally charged sentence starters.

Ooookay, man Kia you've been coming in clutch with the prompts.

This one kind of got away from me, I just started writing with a bolt of inspiration and ended up here ahahah

Here's something a bit more established for Revalas and Dorian :)

wc: 1.2k @dadrunkwriting

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Revalas swore the sound of Dorian’s ring against to bar-top was the only thing keeping him sane. Like a metronome, a steady beat against the backdrop of the busy chatter and clinking glasses and Bull shouting something behind them to a group of very drunk Chargers.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

The pace was increasing, just slightly, and Revalas finally peered up from where his gaze had been fixated on the gold that glinted against dark skin, just a few shades darker than his own. It looked good on him, on Dorian’s hands. Jewelry always did, and Revalas had spent more than his fair share of time haggling with merchants and using Leliana’s contacts to get this particular ring smuggled out of Par Vollen—a yellow-gold that stood stark and bright against the more muted, deeper golds of Tevinter jewelry.

“Yes yes, I love it,” Dorian muttered, waving his hand loosely, the word a slurred assurance that he did, in fact, realize Revalas was staring at it.

“That’s not… I’m not worried about that, vhenan,” Revalas chuckled in reply, leaning over to place a kiss on Dorian’s cheek, missing, and planting one on the mage’s collarbone instead. He could feel the warmth of his drink beginning to spread through his face, to the tips of his ears, and left his forehead resting against the perfumed linens and cool skin of Dorian’s shoulder. Patchouli and sandalwood, something smoky and a little spicy, something a little musky and human… He breathed in deeply before continuing, his voice muffled by the fabric. “You don’t even have to wear it. You could hate it for all I care, I just wanted you to have something so you’re reminded of me when you’re out,” he gestured vaguely, “doing whatever it is you do.”

“I’m always reminded of you, amatus,” Dorian said, his voice sounding a little distant, a little watery, still slurred and slow. Revalas heard the soft clink of gold against glass as he reached for his drink again. “It’s rather ridiculous, really.”

“What is?” Revalas looked back up, suddenly alert, an eyebrow raised, his hand darting out to catch Dorian’s wrist before more booze could hit his tongue. “What’s so ridiculous?”

Dorian chewed his lip and looked away. Krem and Skinner had begun to sing loudly, drowning out the music they were trying to sing to. Sera’s delighted squeal cut through the ruckus and Revalas felt the slow drip of a sloshed ale soaking into his pant leg from the bar.

None of it mattered though—they may as well have been alone in the Herald’s Rest as he gently pried the drink from Dorian’s hand and interlaced their fingers.

“Ar lath— I love you,” Revalas huffed. “Talk to me. I can see the smoke coming from your ears.”

“As astute and clever as ever,” Dorian replied, still turned away. He heaved a heavy sigh. “This seems… unwise.”

“What does? How so?”

There was silence between them. The chaos of the tavern had all but fallen away as Revalas watched the gears turning quietly, his gaze piercing, knowing exactly what Dorian meant but waiting for him to piece together the words to say it himself.

Dorian finally met his gaze, brows drawn in a way that he would have never allowed were he sober.

“Emotions are so… messy,” he finally said. “I never meant to let it get this far, you know.”

“But here we are, so now what?” Revalas pressed his lips to the back of Dorian’s hand. “It’s okay to be messy, Creators know Bull and I are just as bad.”

Dorian frowned. “Yes, but—”

“But you aren’t allowed to be? Why not?”

Revalas swore he could see the words turning over in Dorian’s head, the mental gymnastics he was putting himself through to try and justify his hesitance.

“Vishante Kaffas, you Ben-Hassrath are truly the worst,” he eventually snipped. “Perceptive asses, the lot of you. Yes, fine! Let’s make Dorian confess his feelings in the middle of the tavern, what fun! Surely he wants to share his deepest fears in public, or—no, wait—let’s make it in front of an audience! Of course!”

Hs voice cracked, and he pressed his palms into the scratched wood bar, staring at it as if trying to study a reflection that wasn’t there. Revalas brushed his thumb across Dorian’s cheek, unsurprised at the wetness he found there, and pulled Dorian to face him again. Grey eyes glittered with brimming tears, and Revalas wiped them away as best he could without smudging the khol that streaked down tanned cheeks.

“Dorian. Vhenan. You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Yes… I…” Dorian shook his head. “I simply hate that I care so much. It’s ridiculous, isn’t it, to receive so much… attention? When I don’t even do anything, when I have so little to offer but these petty, drunken outbursts.” He slumped over, defeated. “There. You’ve pried it out of me. May I have my drink back, now, if you're satisfied?”

“Vhenan.”

The scrape of wooden stools across the floor seemed deafening in comparison to their conversation, but Revalas knew it was all drowned in the sea of late-night drunken chaos as he scooted himself closer to Dorian and pulled him into his arms. It was awkward, and likely an awkward sight, but Revalas held him tightly, as if his grip could quell his partner’s hitching, uneven breaths.

“Vhenan, you don’t need to do anything. You’re allowed to just care. Hell, it’s really not like Bull and I are any more practiced at this. We don’t even have relationships under the Qun.” He sighed, kissing the top of Dorian’s head, the styling oils tingling his lips. “I think about you constantly, and I don’t do anything but drag feelings out of you kicking and screaming, but you wouldn’t say the same about me, that I’m not allowed to care, right?”

“You shouldn’t” Dorian muttered, and Revalas hugged him harder, just uncomfortably so, so that he heard the air whoosh out of Dorian’s lungs.

“That’s stupid. You’re too smart to say stupid things like that. This isn’t conditional. There’s no rule that says any of us have to do anything.”

There was a long pause while Dorian finally hugged him back, fists clutching the back of Revalas’s shirt and face buried in his neck, until his shaking subsided and his breathing settled.

“I… I do like the ring.” he eventually said, pulling away. His eyes were puffy and red, but the shimmer of tears was replaced with a glint of his usual sarcastic mirth. “It’s rather fetching on me, don’t you think?”

Revalas kissed his hand with a smile.

“Ar lath. Yes, vhenan. Absolutely stunning. I bet you could even charm the pants off a Qunari with your fashionable jewelry alone. No one would even notice your dashing good looks.”

Dorian flashed him a smile before tipping his drink back and draining the glass.

“Ah, and don’t forget my unmatchable wit and irritable charm.”

“Oh, Creators, I don’t think I could if I tried.”

[glowing-blue-feathermage]

happy dadwc friday, feather! from the like a moth to a flame prompt list: “I just want to be close to you. As close as you allow me to be.” + fenders <3

thank you for the prompt lovely! this isn't a completely literal use of the wording but I think I captured the spirit of it! For @dadrunkwriting !

The Deep Roads echoed, driving home the vastness of the stone tomb with every shift of rock, drip of water and disembodied voice. There shouldn’t be voices down here. Something groaned in the distance—a deep, reverberating sound like a bellow of pain, cut off with a slam that shook the ground. Anders flinched, the toe of his boot catching the lip of a crack in the stone floor and making him stumble forward. He caught himself with a hand on the damp, rough-hewn wall. They were in a side tunnel, attempting to find another path back to the surface, having lost the slavers they were chasing hours ago. From the cacophony of screams they’d heard earlier, something else had found them.

Without realizing it, Anders had closed much of the distance between himself and Fenris, the center of their small, exhausted band. It startled him badly when Fenris spoke, despite the fact that his voice was low and soft. “I can feel you breathing down my neck, mage.” Anders glared at his back. “I can’t help myself,” he simpered in a wistful tone. “I just want to be close to you.”

Hawke, leading their single-file party, snorted softly, shaking her head. Fenris grunted, which Anders had learned could mean anything, but he gave Anders a strange, searching look over his shoulder that made Anders avert his eyes, cheeks warm. They walked for what felt like hours, with Anders concentrating on the space between he and Fenris. Every time it started to shrink, he slowed his step, and every time the distance grew he felt the heaviness of the Deep Roads all the more. When had the Tevinter fugitive who despised mages started to make him feel safe? When had his instincts overridden logic?

When they finally stopped for the night, it was easier to ignore him, to let Fenris exist at the periphery of his awareness. They all had roles in camp, well-established and well-practiced. Fenris and Hawke secured their perimeter, Varric set up bedrolls, Anders started a smokeless magical fire and conjured water for their evening stew. 

The evening routine went too quickly for Anders. He needed the normalcy of sharing a meal and subdued conversation and making plans. It was his turn for first watch, and he didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. 

It was less than an hour after dinner when his companions began to drift off. First Hawke, then Varric, and finally Fenris stood from his place opposite Anders at the fire. Anders forced himself not to watch him move toward his tent, not to admire the feline grace or long for the feeling of home, safe. He knew that was as much Justice as anything in his own heart. Wasn’t it? Wraithlike, Fenris was suddenly beside him, seated cross-legged on the stone. Anders stared at him in surprise, confused. “It’s my watch,” he said at last, when Fenris didn’t offer anything.

“The night is long,” was his cryptic response. Anders continued to stare, finding no clues in Fenris’s expression. In the absence of a better script, he resorted to humor. “Admit it. You’re ready to hear my manifesto.” “The night is not that long,” Fenris growled, and Anders caught his breath at the very real hint of a smile at one corner of the elf’s lips. “I can talk fast.” Fenris finally turned a glower on him. “I thought you just wanted to be close to me,” he said in his nasally, obnoxiously familiar imitation of Anders’ voice. His tone became gruff again when he added, “That’s the perfect way to make me leave.” Anders shut his mouth, turning his face away and trying to smother a surprised and delighted smile. He’d seen Hawke and Fenris talking earlier at the edge of camp, out of earshot, had seen Fenris glance at him again in a pensive way that Anders realized he’d seen a lot of over the last few months. Because he truly didn’t want to run Fenris off, he said something stupid. “I see. You just want to be close to me.” 

He nearly bit his own tongue the moment the words were out of his mouth, flushing with regret and waiting for Fenris to bite his head off. 

“Do you ever shut up?” Fenris asked with a sigh, giving him a weary glance. Instead of springing up to leave, he stretched his long legs out and, Anders thought, shifted a little closer. Closer than he’d ever let Anders sit before. Heart hammering, Anders’ tongue kept moving. “I can be made to—” “Mage.” “Hm?”

“Be quiet. And I will help you keep the darkness at bay.”

Anders shut his mouth again, so quickly he heard his teeth click. He realized in that moment why Fenris was here, what he’d noticed in their trek through the Deep Roads. Their many treks through tunnels and caves over the years: that Anders was afraid of heavy spaces and echoes in the dark.

After a long moment of silence that Anders couldn’t find words to fill, he inched just a tiny bit closer to Fenris, and when he wasn’t rebuffed, just a bit more. Their arms touched, the sweet song of lyrium a strange and unique comfort.

It was longer still before Anders realized Fenris’s only reaction to the sensation of his bare skin against Anders’ was a soft sigh.

[lasatfat]

Hey welcome to DADWC

"A hand mirror, its glass irreparably shattered" from the artefacts of thedas list. For Gideon Lavellan/Dorian

artefacts of Thedas | @dadrunkwriting

Risk My Hands to Pick Up Shards

“Ouch!”

Dorian snatches his hand back, and instinctively shoves his stinging finger into his mouth. The taste of copper tells him that he has, indeed, drawn blood, and apparently rather a lot of it. With his good hand, he fishes a handkerchief from his pocket, and wraps it around the wound.

“Fasta vass, and thank you very much!” he tells the offending box of…well, he was still in the process of ascertaining what exactly was in the box when something inside decided to fight back. A lot of useless trinkets, so far. Peering in, he can see the culprit: a shard of mirror glass, now bearing a glob of carefully curated Tevinter blood, sticking haphazardly out of a rather handsome frame. Shame, it would be a pretty thing, if it wasn’t now a collection of shards and glittering dust.

The door creaks open behind him. “Dorian? Are you alright?”

Oh, joy of joys. Of course the universe would conspire to make Dorian look like either an incompetent fool or a dishonest blood mage in front of the Herald of Andraste. The former is marginally less damaging, so he decides to push for that interpretation.

“Gideon!” he says, brightly. He holds up his covered finger, as the handkerchief is rapidly becoming saturated. “I wonder if you might be able to help me. I’ve finally met a mirror that doesn’t like me.”

The joke might have landed, if Gideon had been less concerned. He hurries over, and kneels beside him. “Let me see.”

He pulls back the handkerchief, examining the cut with sharp eyes. Fresh blood oozes over Dorian’s finger. The wound is not quite as large as he’d thought, but it seems to go rather deep. Even so, Gideon appears less worried than he had before. He pulls a fresh cloth from a pocket on his belt, folds it over the handkerchief, and squeezes tight, drawing a hiss of pain past Dorian’s teeth.

“Ir ab…sorry,” Gideon mutters. He lifts Dorian’s hand over their heads, his grip like a vice. “I need to stop the bleeding.”

They sit in that odd position, in an uncomfortable silence. Gideon may be new to the political game, but he has perfected the impassive mask essential for navigating it. He watches Dorian’s elevated hand, his brow furrowed slightly in thought. Dorian can’t parse anything from him now, other than maybe he’s concentrating on the job at hand.

“What were you saying there?” he asks, if only for something to talk about. “Ir ab?”

“Oh, ir abelas. It means, ‘I’m sorry,’” Gideon explains. “I didn’t think you’d know much Elvhen.”

“Not as much as I’d like.”

“Well, the exact translation is ‘I am filled with sorrow for you,’ but that’s a little overly dramatic.” Gideon smiles, companionably, and Dorian smirks in return. “In any case, I am sorry I hurt you. I can heal this up in no time, but not while it’s bleeding like that.”

Dorian chuckles. “Yes, I know. It’s not the first time I’ve sliced myself open on something. Accidentally, of course,” he adds, hurriedly.

“I assumed as much,” Gideon replies. “I imagine if you’d done it on purpose, you wouldn’t have shouted ‘ouch.’”

“No, I’d imagine not.”

The time passes a little more pleasantly after that. Gideon teaches him ‘andaran atish’an’ and ‘dareth shiral,’ and Dorian teaches him ‘avanna’ and ‘vitae benefaria’ in return – while Trade is the common tongue in Tevinter these days, a little Tevene might go a long way. Eventually, Gideon cleans the wound – he pulls the stopper from his waterskin with his teeth, which is far more alluring than it has any right to be – and suddenly, it looks more like Dorian has suffered a small cut and less like he has been savaged by a wild animal.

Gideon meets his gaze, soberly. “Would you like me to heal it for you?”

Perhaps it’s a courtesy to ask in the South, or among the Dalish. Perhaps it’s simply a quirk of personality. Either way, it’s quite endearing. “By all means,” Dorian replies.

With a small nod, Gideon rests Dorian’s hand on his marked one, and passes his right over the both of them. A soft, blue glow suffuses their gathered hands, settling in the divide in his flesh, shrinking to a thinner and thinner line as it pulls the split pieces together. Finally it disappears, as the skin closes.

Dorian lifts his hand, examines the finger from all angles. “Not even a scar,” he says. “Excellent work.”

“Thank you.” Gideon looks over his shoulder, into the box, and his gaze falls on the shattered mirror. “That’s seven years of bad luck, isn’t it?”

Dorian laughs. When Gideon stands, and offers a hand to help him up, it feels like the furthest thing from bad luck.

[tobythewise]

welcome to dadwc!! for the future, or whichever pairing, maybe "One person stopping a kiss to ask “Do you want to do this?”, only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss." for zevran x alistair?

Thank you so much for the prompt!! :D This one was super fun to write. I tweaked the prompt EVER so slightly but I hope you'll still enjoy <3 Written for @dadrunkwriting Content: Alistair/Zevran, Truth Serum, Some mutual pining, getting together, and first kisses

Oh. This is bad. This is really, really bad. 

“Tis nothing bad, per say,” Morrigan says, trying to reassure him, but for some reason, hearing her say that does nothing to stop the panic welling up inside of Alistair. 

“Per say? Just tell me what was in there, Morrigan. What did I just drink?”

“Twas only a serum. If you could only read you’d see the label had a warning on it,” she says, pointing at the bottle and rolling her eyes. 

“Let’s just stay calm,” their trusted warden companion says, his eyes darting between all three of them. “How much of that did you drink?”

“The whole bottle! I thought it was a healing potion! It was the same color as the others!”

Morrigan lets out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “This will teach you to take something from my bag without asking me first. Maybe this will help you learn that lesson.”

Zevran picks the bottle up off the ground, his eyebrows just about hitting his hairline as he reads the words. “Ah, it has been a long time since I’ve seen something like this. You have nothing to fear, my warden, so long as you’re not trying to hide anything.”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Alistair demands, feeling his cheeks heating without his permission. His heart is hammering against his ribs as he thinks about the one, big secret he’s keeping from the group. Well, mainly from the elven assassin squatting in front of him. 

“It is a simple trust serum. Once it gets into your system, you will be unable to withhold the truth.”

Oh god. 

“Right,” he says slowly, getting himself to his feet and dusting himself off. “That’s my que to head into the forest for the night. Good night and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Oh, Alistair. Sharing your truth is never a bad thing,” Leliana tries to reason but Alistair isn’t in the right headspace to argue. He just shakes his head and takes off into the treeline, praying to Andraste Herself that no one will follow him. 

Alistair feels like he can’t take in a full breath until he’s hidden within the trees. He ducks behind a large one, pressing his back against it. He sucks in a sharp breath, trying to get his heart to slow down before it threatens to leap right out of his chest. 

By the Maker, he feels so fucking stupid. How could he not look at the label before drinking that potion? Why’d it have to be truth serum? 

He’s not trying to lie to his companions but he’s certainly not trying to let them all know about his big, stupid crush!

Alistair drops his head back against the tree, staring up at the sky which he can just barely see through the branches. He should have brought his bedroll with him out here so he could sleep away from the others. He was in such a hurry to get away from Zevran before he said something he’d regret that he didn’t even think to grab any of his things. 

Just thinking about Zevran has Alistair’s cheeks heating. Though their relationship started off on the wrong foot, Zevran has more than earned Alistair’s trust. And more than that, he’s somehow earned his affection. 

There’s a rose in his backpack he often takes out and looks at when he’s alone in his tent. It’s meant as a gift that he can’t seem to get himself to actually give away, too terrified of everything changing. Why put himself on the line when there’s so much to do? Why change anything without the knowledge that there will even be a tomorrow to enjoy it?

Andraste’s ass, he’s a mess. 

He’s so deep in his own head that Alistair doesn’t hear anyone creeping up on him until he’s suddenly not alone. Or maybe he doesn’t notice because an assassin doesn’t want to be heard until it’s too late. Either way, Alistair absolutely does not let out a high pitched scream. Nope. That must have been Leliana finding a spider back at camp… 

“Ah, fear not, it is only I,” Zevran says in way of greeting, leaning against a tree across from Alistair. He crosses his ankle over the other, looking completely at ease. By the Maker, he’s hot. 

Alistair can feel his ear heating from the thought, thankful it hasn’t left his mouth. “I wasn’t scared,” he quickly says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Right, of course,” Zevran says with a knowing smirk that Alistair wishes he could kiss off his face. “I simply wished to make sure you were alright, my warden friend. You seemed rather upset earlier.”

Alistair opens his mouth to reassure Zevran that everything is fine, except what comes out is, “I’m freaking out right now and I don’t want the others to know.” He snaps his mouth shut so quickly it makes his teeth ache for a moment. That wasn’t what he wanted to say at all! Shit, this truth serum will have him confessing his feelings if he’s not more careful. 

“Is there anything I can do to be of service? Anything to help?”

“Yes,” Alistair says without thinking. He covers his face with his hands, letting out a frustrated groan. 

“If you don’t mind, I would like to hear how I can help.”

Alistair chooses his words more carefully. “I would be less embarrassed if you were not the one talking to me.”

Zevran’s easy smile melts away for a moment, a look of hurt crossing his features before it’s replaced once more. “Ah. I understand. Shall I send our fearless leader to talk with you? It seems the bond you’ve formed with him is something special, is it not?”

“It is. But it’s not what you think. I don’t have feelings for him, not in the way you’re assuming.” Damn his mouth. Damn this serum. Damn himself for not reading that label!

Zevran hums, tilting his head to the side. “Then I am confused. Is there another you would prefer?”

Alistair shakes his head but keeps his lips sealed for once in his life. They look at each other for a long moment before Alistair forces his eyes away. There’s something about Zevran’s golden eyes that somehow read past the bullshit and find the heart of issues. He can read people, has had to in order to keep himself alive as a Crow. That doesn’t mean he wants that insightfulness pointed in his direction. 

That’s a lie. He does want that. But he’s also scared out of his mind of being rejected. 

Zevran doesn’t keep it a secret that he’s had a string of lovers in the past. He believes in finding pleasure in the sure and now because there’s no knowing what the future holds. But Alistair is the opposite. He’s never fallen in love, never had his heart stir in this way, and certainly never had sex with anyone. He’s never even kissed another person before! 

Why would Zevran even think twice about someone like him?

And yet, those golden eyes continue to stare at him, seeming to see straight through him. 

“What is the reason you’d have me leave you here? Have I done something to upset you?”

“No! No, of course not, Zevran. You haven’t done anything wrong. You’ve only done everything right. You’re amazing.”

Alistair closes his eyes, tipping his head up towards the sky once more. Maybe if he prays hard enough, the Maker will send lightning down from the skies to smite him and deliver him from this conversation. 

“You flatter me,” Zevran says and Alistair’s eyes snap open when his voice comes from far closer than before. Zevran is no longer standing against the tree. Nope. Now he’s face to face with Alistair. “I have a theory. A very interesting one at that. But I dare not test it without knowing more.”

Alistair swallows around the lump in his throat, his entire body seeming to stand on end with how close Zevran is standing. He wishes he could take a step back but the tree has has him frozen in place, unable to escape. 

“What theory is that?”

Instead of answering the question, Zevran continues on his tangent thought. “I care for you a great deal, Alistair, and I would never push you or wish to make you uncomfortable. I have held myself back with great effort, but now I see maybe you did not wish for me to hold back.”

Alistair finds his head shaking without his permission. He’d never want to hold Zevran back. He deserves everything after all the shit he’s been through. He deserves happiness and pleasure and love. 

Zevran’s hand finds Alistair’s cheek, his thumb catching on his stubble. Alistair’s stomach explodes with butterflies. He licks his lips and Zevran’s eyes catch the movement of his tongue. Alistair is frozen, caught by the assassin and there’s no place he’d rather be. 

“I want this. I want you,” Zevran says, his voice just barely audible. “But I will not take that which you do not offer. We have darkspawn to defeat, a country to save, and an archdemon to slay. Those are all important things, but still, I find myself wanting more.”

Alistair feels like he can’t breathe. This is everything he’s ever wanted to hear. His fingers dig into pocket, retrieving the rose he’s been holding onto since the beginning of this journey. 

Alistair hands the rose over, doing his best to ignore the way his face is bright red. “After Lothering, I found this rose. Despite all the destruction this one little rose somehow survived. A little brightness to withstand the darkness. That’s how I feel when I’m with you.”

Zevran stares at the rose for a long moment and Alistair’s stomach sinks. He’s about to put the rose back into his pocket when Zevran finally moves, gently taking the offered gift with such reverence it makes Alistair’s knees weak. He holds it like it’s something precious, something to be revered, the same way he feels about Zevran. 

“This is a beautiful gift, mi amor. Thank you.” When Zevran’s golden eyes meet his, Alistair’s stomach fills with butterflies. “Now, one last time I wish to ask, do you really want this?”

Instead of answering with words, Alistair surprises them both by ducking down and kissing Zevran’s lips. 

[sky-fire-forever]

Happy DADWC day! How does some Fenris/Anders/Hawke sound with a bit of ❛  do you ever wonder what it would be like if things were different between us?  ❜

Thank you so much for this prompt!! I'm actually really proud of this one! For @dadrunkwriting

My Hawke in this one is Scorpius, who uses they/them pronouns.

The clinic is nearly spotless from Anders’ thorough clean of the place. He’s been scrubbing the entire area from top to bottom since this morning, trying to rid it of the bloodstains and stench and mysterious mold that grows on the walls. He wants this to be a place of healing, which isn’t made easy when the place is filthy. 

Not that he often has time to clean it. If he isn’t tending to patients, he’s out with Hawke, neither of which leaves a lot of time to actually give the place the cleaning it deserves. Which is why he takes every opportunity that’s dropped into his lap and holds tight with everything he has.

He’s no sooner finished tidying up when the doors burst open and Fenris storms in, supporting a limping and bloodied Hawke.

Anders jumps up immediately, tossing his rag away in favor of his staff. “Maker’s breath, what happened?” He leads Hawke to the examination table and gently sits them atop of it.

There’s so much blood that Anders doesn’t know where to begin searching for a wound. He begins frantically pushing at Hawke’s clothes, anxiously searching for whatever the cause of Hawke’s condition might be. He can’t heal it if he doesn’t know what it is.

“We got into a fight, what else?” Fenris snaps. “Can you heal them or not, mage?” There’s a growl to his voice, one that Anders knows well from whenever he’s concerned or freaked out by something. 

“Yes, of course.” Anders pulls at Hawke’s robes, tossing them aside to get a closer look at their body. “Where were they hit? Do you know?” 

“Everywhere,” Fenris growls like that’s of any use. 

“Did they at any point hit their head?” Anders needs details if he’s going to see Hawke through this. 

“How am I supposed to–”

“Fenris, please!” Anders turns to fix the elf with his best glare. “I need your help if I’m going to heal them.” 

Fenris grits his teeth, but doesn’t lash out again, which Anders takes as progress. “Yes, they hit their head after an arrow shot them in the leg,” he says, speaking slowly as though to control his anger and get his thoughts in order.

Anders nods and summons his healing magic to his fingertips. It comes as naturally as breathing to heal, to help, to undo the damage done by destructive forces. Ironic, considering what a destructive force he himself has been known to be. 

He brings his magic to Hawke’s head, watching their face as they hiss in pain. 

“I know, love,” he says sympathetically. “I know it hurts, but I need to repair the damage.” 

Head injuries can be rather nasty if not taken care of right away, which is exactly why it was the first thing Anders asked about. He pours his magic into repairing any damage done to the brain and skull, taking care not to worsen any of the injuries. When he’s done, he sets to healing the damage in Hawke’s leg. 

It takes almost an hour to cure Hawke of all of their ailments, patching up each injury as he discovers them or Fenris tells him about them. By the time it’s over, Hawke lays fast asleep on the examination table, drooling slightly as they dream. 

Anders is exhausted. His mana is spent and he’s completely drained, emotionally and physically. It hurts him to see his partner in so much pain, to be forced to be the cause of some of that pain in order to heal them. 

He takes a step away from the table, wiping his brow and sighing. “There. That should do it.” 

“They’re… alright, then?” Fenris asks from where he’s been sitting in the corner, watching on with rapt attention. 

“Yes, though they should rest as much as possible.” Anders watches Hawke fondly, taking in the sight of the drool smeared across their lips and catching in their beard. They’re beautiful, even like this. Even still drenched in blood after fighting for their life. Even out completely cold. Anders doesn’t think there exists a condition in which Hawke wouldn’t be absolutely beautiful. 

Fenris nods. “I should… take them back to their estate, then.” He pauses, as if uncertain. “Unless I should take them back to my residence in order to have someone watch over them?” 

“I can be at home with them,” Anders says easily. “I was just about finished in here anyway.” Except that there are now new bloodstains to be cleaned. Oh well, those will just have to wait. 

Fenris clears his throat. “You misunderstand. I would like to be with them.” 

“Oh.” Anders blinks, caught off guard. He can’t blame Fenris for wanting to be with Hawke to make sure they’re alright — he’s just as much their lover as Anders is, after all — but Anders still finds himself almost forgetting about Hawke’s relationship with Fenris at times. 

There had been a time when it had been just Hawke and Anders. For three years, in fact, after Fenris had walked away and Anders had stayed. Sometimes, on his worse days, Anders wonders if Hawke ever would have chosen to be with him had Fenris not walked away first, but Hawke is always quick to soothe those fears the moment they catch wind of them. 

This relationship between the three of them is still tenuous and new. It’s still in its infancy and Anders doesn’t want to do anything to break it. 

“Of course you can be with them,” he says hurriedly. “As long as… well, I’d like to be there too.” 

“Of course.” Fenris looks just as uncomfortable as Anders feels, which brings Anders some amount of relief. 

They wake Hawke just long enough to coax them back to their mansion, using the cellar entrance located not far from Anders’ clinic. They manage to get them through the estate without any trouble and tuck them into bed together. 

Hawke looks up at them both as they snuggle beneath their sheets, their mind still addled from exhaustion. “Look at you two, getting along.” They beam at them both. “I love you both so much.” 

Anders and Fenris look at one another, a blush rising to each of their cheeks. “And we love you, Hawke,” Fenris says in a softer voice than Anders has ever heard from him. “Now you must rest.” 

“Healer’s orders,” Anders adds. 

Hawke nods sleepily and less than a moment later, they’re out like a light. 

Anders smiles at his sleeping lover and brushes some of their hair back. They’re still quite bloody, but that can be dealt with in the morning. 

“Do you ever wonder what things would have been like?” Fenris asks out of nowhere. 

Anders turns to look at him. “Pardon?” 

“Do you wonder what things would have been like if things were different? Between us, I mean.” He gestures to the three of them. 

Anders doesn’t like this line of thinking. “What’s the point of wondering? Things are how they are.” 

“I think about it often,” Fenris says, either not picking up on Anders’ discomfort or not caring. “If I hadn’t walked out that night…” 

“Do you think they would have chosen you?” Anders blurts out before he can think better of it. “If you hadn’t left, do you think they would have been happy with just you?” 

Fenris eyes Anders curiously. “No,” he says after a long pause. “No, I think they would have loved you just as much as they do now, if not more.” 

Anders is honestly surprised by that answer. “You truly believe that?” 

“I do.” Fenris is silent for a moment. “I do not believe any relationship between Hawke and myself would have lasted if I had allowed it to continue,” he says. “I sometimes think this is the best way it could have been.” 

Anders scoffs. “Even though it includes me?” He can’t keep the note of bitterness from his tone. 

Surely Fenris would rather be with Hawke on his own, without having to share them with Anders. They’re like two wolves who have decided to share a piece of meat: there will always be too little for each of them and they’ll both be left hungry. 

Fenris watches Anders with an expression Anders can’t read. “Do you feel dissatisfied with your relationship with Hawke due to my inclusion?” 

“No,” Anders says quickly and he realizes it’s true. Hawke never leaves him out in the cold if he needs them and they’re just as doting and loving towards him as they’ve always been. It’s simply… different now. Now Anders can turn his head and see that same affection directed towards someone else. 

Sometimes seeing it makes his stomach twist with envy, jealousy brewing in his heart. A part of him screams that it’s unjust for him to have to share, to not get Hawke all to himself, but he knows that part of him isn’t true Justice. 

It’s just his own pride and jealousy and ego. He knows that, has always known that. He’d known it from the moment he agreed that Hawke should be allowed to pursue a relationship with Fenris. 

Sometimes it stings, but then he thinks of how happy Hawke is to share their love. The smile on their face when they look at Fenris is so similar to the smile Anders sees when Hawke looks at him and who is he to deny Hawke more happiness? All he wants is Hawke’s happiness. 

And Hawke needs someone there for them when Anders does what he has to do. When he betrays them and their trust, he needs them to not be alone. Fenris can make them happy, can help with the decision to put a knife in Anders’ back for his crimes. He can make it easier. 

“They love you,” Anders says. “That doesn’t stop them from loving me too.” 

“It does not,” Fenris agrees. “They are someone capable of much love.” 

Anders nods and takes a seat beside Fenris. “Thank you, Fenris. For being there for them.”

Fenris sits silently, but Anders understands. 

[broodwolf221]

happy dadwc! for solas/varric this week: i think i've earned the right to learn the truth

happy writing!

-inquisimer

oooh them.... <3 ty for this! a little beginning of their romance blurb @dadrunkwriting 718 words cws: none

He was reading when Varric entered, barely glancing up at the dwarf before turning his attention back to the book. Something had been building between them for quite a while, but Solas had been loath to commit. It was wrong. It was selfish. It was cruel. So lately he'd tried to keep his distance, but it seemed a passive conclusion would not be permitted. “You certainly turn tail early,” he said casually, Solas' shoulders tensing. “I mean, I know I'm kinda rusty, but I didn't think my flirting would scare you off so easily.”

Oh, he resented that. He wanted to snap that he wasn't afraid… but of course, that was the exact reaction Varric was trying to provoke. That frustrated him, too, how simple it would be to fall for the other man's prodding. “Perhaps I simply tired of it,” he said, wary of meeting his eyes. He knew it was a cruel response, dismissive, but if they couldn't have this, then it was crueler still to let the possibility linger. Best to make a clean break instead.

Varric snorted, and that was not the reaction he'd anticipated. He looked up from the book with a sigh, only to find the other man smirking at him. Another unexpected reaction. “Look, I don't chase. You want me to back off, I'll back off. But seriously, you aren't anywhere near as secret as you think you are.” Varric drew closer, hip against Solas' desk and arms crossed. “Just tell me the truth. I think I've earned that.”

“Have you?” He shot back, but even he could hear how empty it sounded. Varric didn't even bother with a reply, aside from his smirk growing. Damn dwarf. “It is… not that easy, Master Tethras.” Something flickered across Varric's face at that, and his smirk seemed to stiffen, held deliberately. Solas had wounded him, and that weighed on the both of them. He settled back with a frown, meeting Varric's eyes. “Have you thought this through? The world is at risk, powerful forces are aligned against us, and I am a mage. An apostate. Should we succeed, I highly doubt I'll be able to linger. What would we have? Some brief dalliance? Is it not kinder, for both of us, to let it rest? Is it not wiser?”

“Shit, Chuckles.” Varric sounded strained, although Solas couldn't quite place how. “I'm not proposing. And this isn't my first ‘dalliance.’ I care about you, and you obviously feel the same. What's better about burying that? We may die tomorrow, or in twenty years—but in either case, I'd rather live today.”

He stared at Varric for a moment, then shook his head, even as he felt a traitorous smile creep onto his face. “Of course that would be your view. Of course it would.”

“And of course you'd be so deep in your head about this that you can't even see straight.” He snorted, unwilling—and unable—to contest that. Instead he tapped his fingers on the pages of the book a few times before closing it and standing, Varric straightening up. He stood in front of the other man and met his eyes for long moments, superficially debating with himself although he'd all but decided.

Varric grinned when Solas bent down and grabbed his jacket, kissing him hard. Heavy hands settled on his hips and Varric's warmth seeping through his clothing was a delight. Varric may not chase a relationship but he certainly chased Solas' mouth, pressing forward and reinstating the kiss when he began to pull away. Then he was being urged backwards until he felt the seat brushing against his thighs, sinking down into it. It made kissing easier, their height a better match now. “Ahem.” They jerked apart at the sudden voice, Varric stifling a laugh as Solas felt himself blush. “Please, do get a room. A different room.” Dorian sounded entirely too smug about it, but Solas had to admit it wasn't a terrible idea.

Still, he let Varric pull away without protest, tilting his head back to glare up at Dorian as the door to the rotunda opened and closed. The other mage smiled and shrugged before giving a little wave and turning away, and Solas heard his muffled laughter drifting down. 

He found himself wondering where, exactly, Varric's room was.

[midmorninggrey]

welcome to dadwc!! how about some Cal x Fenris + ❛ wouldn’t it be awful if we fell in love again? ❜

happy writing!

-inquisimer

Thank you for this great prompt! I ran with pure messy vibes on this one - I'm just gonna yeet it out here.

For @dadrunkwriting

--

Fenris had expected some form of trouble when Cal had shown up at his door, armed with a bottle of whiskey and a crooked smile, but he hadn’t anticipated having to stop the man from climbing out his third-story window.

“What do you aim to find on my roof, exactly?”

“Fresh air?” Cal kept one leg swung over the sill and looked back at Fenris brightly, as if he’d just told a great joke.

“Keep the window open then. I think you should stay inside.”

“Why?” Cal asked. He wore the purple answer plainly on his brow.

The vague challenge made Fenris’ jaw clench. His eyes went to Cal’s cane, leaning against an old chair where Cal had tossed it before throwing open the window. He knew Cal was getting worse. Hawke told him things; whether she intended to calm or aggravate his fears, Fenris could not say. Two days ago he had seen proof that she did not exaggerate.

“You are prone to accidents,” he said eventually. It was true enough; Cal had never been a graceful man, even in better health.

“I like to think of them as surprises. You know...” Cal tipped his head back and blew out a sigh, drumming his fingers against the soft wood frame. “They add variety.”

Fenris tried to hold firm, as he should have at the door. “I’m in no mood for your surprises.”

“Sorry.” Cal dropped his eyes to the floor between them. “I’m sorry. I had a bad day – I mean, people have had worse days, but today was a real walloper.”

The unsteadiness in Cal’s voice wasn’t from drink.

“I just want to go somewhere I can see the stars, you know?”

“Cal -”

“I’m really sorry, Fenris, this is unfair. I’ll go.” He started to pull himself back inside, but Fenris surprised himself with the first forward step he’d taken all night.

“I will hold the bottle.”

So they went and carefully found their familiar seats on Fenris’ roof, an arm’s length apart. Their search for stars was in vain. The smog from Lowtown had drifted to the skies above the manor, and the autumn moon was the only light strong enough to shine through the haze. The looming glow was swollen and menacing, as if it had swallowed up all its children, the constellations.

Fenris soon opened the whiskey against the chill. Cal, with his southern blood, seemed unbothered and sat with his hands folded loosely over his knees. Three fingers on his left hand and four on his right, Fenris counted. At least magic hadn’t claimed any more.

The first swallow from the bottle held no warmth but still burned his throat. Cal turned his head towards Fenris’ stifled cough.

“Didn’t bring you the good stuff, sorry.”

Fenris’ stomach lurched; the bruise blooming across Cal’s temple had gone black in the moonlight. His head had hit the stone with a crack. They’d been on their way up to Hawke’s, and Fenris had been a flight behind him on the Hightown steps, haggling with Varric over borrowed coin that now seemed unimportant. There must have been a misstep or a moment of hesitation because his eyes were drawn to Cal in time to see him drop backwards. There had been nothing to break his fall.

Three long stride were all that had separated them, but in the time it had taken for Fenris reach him, Cal had already begun to laugh. The noise was a shrill defense; it rang out like the bell in a watchtower. Heeding the warning, Fenris had retreated and allowed the others to hear Cal’s apologies and help him to his feet.

He knew Cal’s other laugh, the one Fenris liked to think was hard-fought and true. The laugh that always started as if Cal was choking on it, as if the joy was too big for his chest, until it was finally pressed out in one long, squeaky wheeze. The sound was ridiculous and foolish and safe. Fenris hoped that Cal still laughed like that with other people. In the year since his mistake, Fenris had not heard it, and just as he had kept away from Cal’s pain, he did not presume to approach his happiness.

Sitting on the cold roof, Fenris suddenly felt he was between both.

“Can we pretend that everything is alright?” Cal asked, quiet. “I mean, I know you’ll be alright. I’ve always known that.”

There was never a bitter edge in Cal's words, no matter how Fenris searched for one. He slowly worked the cork back into the bottle.

“There is no need for us to pretend.”

[ruiningsalads]

Its DADWC Day :D How bout figured we're both about to die, so what the hell. for Zevran/Mahariel

a drabble for @dadrunkwriting!

"Fenedhis," Lyna hissed. She stood with her back to a tree, bow in hand -- for all the good it would do her. The quiver strapped to her back was now empty, as she discovered mere seconds ago.

Fighting with blades wasn't her strength, but what choice did she have? She dropped bow and quiver unceremoniously onto the ground, deciding they would only slow her down now. As the first darkspawn converged on her hiding spot, she whipped out her knives and cut it down. Her skills had none of the refinement or skill of Zevran, but they were enough. For now.

But then three more converged on her. Fear settled into her chest like a poison that spread outward to all of her limbs, numbing them with cold dread. A quick slice finished one, but then the second landed a slash on her thigh and she was stumbling--

A blur of gold streaked across her vision, and then the two darkspawn fell dead at her feet. Zevran, as cheerful as ever, shot her a lopsided smirk as he helped steady her. "It seems I have good timing."

Lyna tried to smile back, but it felt more like a grimace as her leg buckled. "Where are Wynne and Alistair?"

"Who can say? My attention was rather preoccupied with a very pretty elf."

"Were you looking at your reflection again?" she teased.

"Only momentarily! But then I saw you, and you are far more interesting."

She laughed despite herself. "Only you could flirt at a time like this."

"What better time than when faced with certain death?"

[inquisimer]

Happy Fridayyy for DADWC: "I don’t judge people on their worst mistakes" and/or "going home isn’t an option anymore" for Hawke/Loghain?

thank you for the prompt gin!! I leaned into the first one for @dadrunkwriting tonight :3

-

It had become their spot, this abandoned dock that no one frequented. Sometimes she brought the booze and sometimes he did, or on days when things were particularly bad they both showed up with a bottle.

Today was one of those days.

Siobhan lowered herself to the half-rotted planks with a groan, kicking her boots aside so that she could dip her toes in the murky shallows lapping out of the cove. At her side, Loghain grunted, hand wrapped loosely around a bottle of whiskey almost half-gone. His grip tightened slightly as Siobhan settled in with a sigh.

"Don't worry," she smirked, pulling a paper-wrapped bottle into view. "I brought my own."

Loghain huffed, bringing his bottle to his lips. "It's just like that today, I suppose."

"Maker, it is."

They sat in companionable silence as the sun slunk down below the horizon. Finally, as dusk overtook the docks, Siobhan pressed herself firmly against Loghain's side and leaned back on her palms.

"So. Why are you drinking tonight?" she asked, head tipped back to look up at the stars. Loghain stole a glance sideways, lingering when she made no attempt to meet it. Her cheeks were wine-flushed, her eyes glittering in the moonlight. Her hair was mussed, as was the fur that adorned her neck, both a victim of her carding fingers.

"I spent the day in the alienage," he finally answered, a low, regret-filled rumble. He glanced away as she canted her head to look at him and brought his bottle back to his lips.

"So Merrill told me."

"Oh?" Loghain huffed, almost a hiccup, cleverly concealed against the lip of his whiskey bottle. He pressed his lips together, holding his breath until he trusted himself to speak evenly. "I'm surprised you came here, even so."

Siobhan swung her legs up onto the dock, tiny droplets of water staining the sun-dried planks. She sat crosslegged and stared directly at him, so there was no escaping her scrutiny except by taking another drink.

"Dwelling, then? That's as good a reason as I've ever heard for drinking."

Loghain closed his eyes, ran his teeth over gritty teeth. His regrets from the Blight were numerous, beyond counting. The Warden-Commander had told him to cease lingering on what he could not change.

None of us will ever forgive you, Tabris had said. You cannot live for that. Find a way to live for yourself.

Pretty words. But some days it was hard.

"I know what happened in Denerim, if that's what you're chewing on," Siobhan said casually, tearing at the paper that still encased her wine. "Not much worse you could have done to the alienage, from what I hear."

"No," Loghain grumbled. "There isn't. I thought differently at the time but--I was wrong."

Siobhan smirked, a caustic, cynical expression sharp enough to kill any of the bandits starting to awaken in the shadows. "Aren't we all, at one time or another."

"How can you be so calm?" Loghain challenged. He set his bottle aside with a pointed clink and it wobbled, not enough liquid left in it to immediately stabilize. "You count elves among your friends, the former slave well known for his hatred of Tevinter hunters."

"This is a very good wine," Siobhan offered. "And Fenris is out of town."

Loghain finally caught her cracked-marble eyes and all of the challenge they held within. He opened his mouth to decry her dismissal of his failures--then closed it again, unsure.

"You sold Ferelden citizens into slavery?" Siobhan said, a question that didn't sound questioning at all. "Well, I gave control of the city to a red-lyrium-crazed lunatic and murdered one of my closest friends in a fit of anger. Let's see which of us history remembers as a hero, hm?"

"Neither of us, if we're lucky."

"I'll drink to that," Siobhon snorted, raising her bottle to clink against the last of his whiskey. "I'll drink to that."

[rosella-writes]

Fanwork Friday Funday

Rules: If you’re tagged, MAKE A NEW POST to showcase ONE fanartist and/or fanfic for any fandom you recommend (with links). Then tag someone to give their recs next! Don’t forget to reblog the rec you were tagged in, and include these rules! :) If you have more than one person to highlight, consider spreading it out!

Bonus: Choose works by people you aren’t super tight with, or choose older works that maybe haven’t gotten some love in a while. :)

Thank you for the tag @dreadfutures. 💚 I have a writer I'd love to give a shout-out to, as he's doing amazing work and characterises Solas in a really moving, authentic way that gives me so much joy.

writer: @broodwolf221 | @bitterling (ao3)

I first encountered Brood's work through dadwc when he joined and began writing some of the most thoughtful Solas rarepairs I'd seen in some time. His writing is moving, his characterisations of not only Solas but Varric, Bull, and so many others are just masterful, and I really enjoy his writing. Thank you for sharing your talent, Brood. 💚

Here's some of my faves:

Fic: Seeker's Succor

While traveling, Cassandra reflects on how things have changed between her and Solas.

This fic is a sweet glimpse into Cassandra's mind and romantic heart, where her respect and love for a certain apostate has begun to grow. It has so much I love about the ship and really encapsulates Cassandra's sense of duty, her suspicion and devout faith, but also her softness and how she looks for the best in others.

Fic: A Show of Appreciation

Prompt: "Wait, that's mine. You fixed it?" While still in Skyhold, Solas surprises Varric with a kind gesture—and, really, such a thing deserves a proper thanks.

For those of us hungry for Varric x Solas, Brood sure does deliver. This one is so cute with its overwhelming sense of friendship over the entire fic, from the beginning where Solas mends a rip in Varric's jacket, all the way to the *ahem* heartfelt expression of thanks.

I tag forward, to recommend fics about Thedas at large or about Solas (if you're up for it - otherwise, any fics or fanart recs will be appreciated <3 )

@wolfs-dawn | @fadedsweater | @doctormage | @sugawara-kkoushi | @sidhelives | @little-lightning-lavellan

[seigephoenix]

Welcome to DADWC!! How about “Knowing someone else can hear” from the smut prompts for anyone you’d like?

Happy Friday!! For @dadrunkwriting I chose Briar Amell and Cullen for this one. It also got away from me a lot. XD I simply can't seem to write smut without feeling or some buildup.

Content Warning: dirty talk, face sitting, p in v, fingering, old feelings come up again Length: ~2.6k words

The first thing she saw upon entering Skyhold was a familiar head of curly hair.  Her lips dropped open in a perfect O as she spotted him, older than the last time they’d met.  She couldn’t help but note how well he carried himself but was he still a Templar?  She remembered seeing him get so flustered when she flirted with him.  He’d turn such a brilliant shade of red and stumble over himself with excuses.  Then that one passionate night where he’d caught her reading all alone after midnight.  Words were exchanged as were deep, drugging kisses that led to fumbling around in the dark to prevent anyone else from overhearing them.

Briar had left the Circle not long after that.  She’d been heartbroken to see the hatred in his eyes when she’d returned and saved them from Uldren.  The ice in his eyes had cut her like a physical injury when he’d turned away from her.  She hoped he’d gotten somewhat less bitter towards mages in the last ten years.  Especially if she was going to help this Inquisition.  She’d even gotten a letter from Alistair and Zevran about the organization.  Morrigan had written that she was advising them, and Leliana was always in contact with her.

“Briar?” She paused at the familiar voice.  Leliana seemed stunned to see her standing in front of her.  “I didn’t think my letter reached you!  It’s so good to see you again!” She rushed forward and embraced Briar, pulling her tight.  Briar laughed and returned the hug just as fiercely.

“I wasn’t sure if my response would get here before I did, so I chose to come instead.”  Leliana agreed it would be a toss up given how correspondence went these days.  “Is Morrigan here?”

“Oh yes!  She’s in the garden.  Come, let’s go see her.”  Briar followed along behind Leliana, ignoring the eyes boring a hole in her back.  She’d find him later.

In the Gardens

“By the stars, it truly is you.” Morrigan whispered as the two women approached.  “It is good to see you old friend.”

“Likewise Morrigan.  I’m happy to see you’ve remained safe in these troubled times.” Morrigan nodded and motioned for Kieran to come out.  “Oh my!  You’ve grown up so much!  The last time I saw you, you were just a wee baby.”  Kieran bowed and greeted Briar.  “He looks so much like you Morrigan.  Thank the Maker for that right?” Morrigan choked on her laugh at Briar’s quip.  They knew Alistair was likely sneezing at that point in time as well.

“Let’s get you settled in a room Briar.  I’m sure you’ll be meeting a lot of people soon.”

“I can’t begin to fathom why anyone would want to meet me.  I’m no one special,” Briar said with a twinkle in her eyes as Leliana sent her a warning glare.  Briar simply tucked her hands behind her head and followed Leliana to the guest quarters.  Once she saw her room she set her travel bag down and then went to explore Skyhold.

Battlements

“I thought I recognized you.” Briar turned at his voice and grinned broadly at him.  “You’re still making waves.”

“Ten years later I still remain a thorn in the side of the Chantry.” Briar grinned as he joined her side watching the courtyard.

“Thankfully they’ve more pressing matters to deal with than the woman who threatened to shake their entire existence.”  Briar laughed at the cutting remark.

“I didn’t have quite that much influence.  Though, I will say, whoever said the Wardens don’t involve themselves with politics needs to be shot.”  Briar propped her hands on her hips as she looked up at him.  “What’s this really about Commander?”

“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?” Briar grinned and shook her head.  “I didn’t think so.”  Cullen paused as he felt the weight of his next words on his tongue.  “I’m sorry.”

“For?” Briar asked as he hesitated.  Cullen was stunned.

“For my words to you back at the Circle.”  She turned her head back towards the courtyard, and he studied her profile.  Briar Amell was always beautiful, he’d long thought that.  Since the first day he’d met her when they’d both been new to the Circle.  Her face held a serene beauty that reminded Cullen of the moon at times.

“Oh.  I was hurt but I couldn’t find it in my heart to really resent you for them.  Not after what you’d been through.”  His eyes widened at the quiet words.  “Do you still think that about me?”  They both left the words he spoke to her years ago hang between them.  Maleficarum.

“No.  I didn’t really think that in my heart either.  I lashed out due to fear.”  Briar nodded; she understood that feeling too well.  She dug her fingers in her upper arms as she fought the longing in her heart.  He’d often been on her mind the past ten years, but she hadn’t been able to spare any time to reach out.  Not after the Circle incident.  Briar dared glance up at him and saw he was looking at her.  Heat flushed her cheeks, and she turned her attention back to the courtyard.

“I’m.  I’m glad you didn’t think that about me.  I’d never turn to blood magic myself.”  Briar tensed for a fraction of a second when he stepped closer to her, she suppressed the shudder.  Just being next to him was excoriating, her body craved his touch even after ten years.  They were both vastly different people than they were in the Circle.  No more an apprentice and a recruit sneaking away for secret rendezvous.  There was much more at stake in their lives now.  His fingers brushed the back of her hand and Briar swore she felt the touch in the very core of her.  Her heart was beating so hard she was worried it would come out of her chest.  Yet anticipation tingled along her nerves, the air was heavy with the tension between them.

They jolted at the raucous from the tavern shattered the tension.  Briar wanted to laugh at how she was acting, like that first time she flirted with Cullen.  She glanced down and saw Hawke stepping out of the tavern, holding the Inquisitor in a vise-like grip as she yelled something at the open door.  She heard Cullen groan next to her and couldn’t stop her laugh.

“I take it that is the Lady Trevelyan I’ve heard so much about?” Cullen looked at her in surprise.

“How did?”

“Turns out Hawke and I are distant cousins.  Our mothers were cousins back in Kirkwall.” Cullen was surprised but then he thought about it.  There wasn’t much of a surprise there.  “He wrote to me when he discovered the connection years ago.  I’ve visited him while he was on the run in Ferelden.”

“That’s where Hawke was?”  Briar simply shrugged as if to say her lips were sealed and he heaved an exasperated sigh.  Things were never boring in Skyhold since Hawke joined Alissa Trevelyan’s side, which was for sure.  “I’m sorry.” Briar burst out laughing at his deadpan delivery.  Her hand grasped onto his forearm as she doubled over in amusement.

“Don’t be sorry for me.” She straightened and wiped the tears from her eyes as she wound down.  “Be sorry for Thedas.”  Cullen was about to respond when he truly thought about it.  The Hero of Ferelden and Champion of Kirkwall were family, no matter how distantly connected, and the Inquisitor was related by marriage.  Cullen chuckled to himself at the thought of that tangle of political connections.  The silence followed held weight between them.

Briar looked up at his face and decided to throw everything to the wind.  Why should she resist when there was so much tension between them?  So long as he agreed, there was no harm.  “Cullen.”  He turned to face her fully and she paused at the heat burst low in her belly.  He’d always been taller than her, but he was so much broader now.  Her mouth went dry at how much bigger he was than she was.  “You feel it too, don’t you?”  His eyes widened and she saw the same hunger in his eyes that she knew was in hers.  “Want to throw caution to the wind and be stupid again?”

Briar let out a startled sound when his arms came around her waist and pulled her against him.  His lips settled against her pulse point in a move that had her fingers digging into his shoulders.  His name came out as a moan.  His hands slid down her body, squeezing her ass through the soft armor before lifting her up by her thighs.  She wrapped her arms around his neck as this put them eye to eye.

“Are you certain?”  Briar nodded and leaned in to cover his lips with hers.  Her hands cupped his cheeks as her teeth tugged at his bottom lip.  His fingers tightened on her thighs, and she wanted to moan.

“Cullen, I’ve waited ten years to feel your hands on me again.”  The admission startled them both, but Briar realized she meant it.  There had felt like something was missing, maybe not something vital to her survival as she did that just fine in the past ten years, but something she ached for was missing.  She realized it was him and everything that came with him.  She squealed when he turned towards his office and room.

Briar giggled as the scouts were ordered to leave, she buried her face in his shoulder to quell the amusement, but she’d never forget their expressions of shock.  “We’ll have to climb up the ladder to my bed.”

“Aww, no fun on the desk?”  Briar teased and sucked in a breath when he backed her against it.  He leaned down and brushed his lips across her ear.

“I’d never be able to do any work without thinking about fucking you on this.”  Her knees went weak and she grabbed his forearms to steady herself.  “And I’ve waited too long to see you in my bed to fuck you here.”  His teeth nibbled the shell of her ear and the soft sound she let out had his hands tensing on her hips.  He stepped back and swept his arm towards the ladder and Briar thought he had more confidence in her legs than she did at the moment.

Briar cleared the ladder and her fingers tugged and pulled until her armor pooled at her feet.  She glanced down at her body and grimaced.  She had more scars than she did at the Circle.  Ten years of fighting darkspawn would do that to you.  Briar jumped slightly when his hands slid around her pulling her back against him, and she noticed he wasn’t wearing any clothing either.  His lips trailed over her ear down to her neck.  She moaned when his teeth pressed down on her pulse point and his fingers dipped between her legs to find her wet and aching for him.

“Maker’s breath but you are beautiful.”  The words had her body clenching around his fingers and her hands reached up for him.  She arched her hips against his hand and Cullen pressed his palm against her aching clit.  His fingers toyed with her as more cries fell from her lips.  “People can hear us you know.”

“Haha, as if that’s stopped us before.”  Cullen groaned as he remembered that night they’d done it beside the First Enchanter’s office.  He hadn’t been able to look the man in the face for a solid week after that.

“Minx,” he whispered against her shoulder as he curled his fingers in her body.  He wanted to taste her, to possess her.  He needed her like he needed his next breath.  Cullen eased his way back towards the bed, taking Briar with him.  He wanted to smile when he moved his hand to her hip and the quiet curse as he left her wanting.

“You’re being a tease.” Briar huffed as she turned to face him.  Cullen merely gave her a warm smile before he sat down on the bed and grasped her fingers.  He tugged her until her stomach was flush with his lips.  Her fingers dove into his hair when his teeth nibbled along her skin.

“As much as I want to feel you around my fingers, I’d rather have you on my tongue.”  Heat pulsed between her legs as the image his words brought up.  She was startled when he leaned back and took her with him.  Her knees pressed on both sides of his waist and her palm splayed across his chest.  Briar didn’t have a chance to protest before he easily lifted her and settled her over his face.

Briar hesitated for a second and yelped when his hands wrapped around her thighs and pulled her right against his mouth.  Her fingers dug into his scalp as his tongue pressed right against her clit.  His name spilled from her lips as the heat coiled tight in her belly.  One hand covered her mouth as she heard the door open downstairs.  Cullen paused for only a second before his attention returned to her.

“Have you seen Cullen?”  Briar recognized the voice of Alissa Trevelyan downstairs.  “I have a report for him.”

“Looks like he finally took a night off.”  Cullen dipped his tongue inside of her hot core as he heard Hawke downstairs.

“Well, he deserves one.  I’ll leave this for him then.”  Briar covered her mouth and tightened her fingers in Cullen’s hair as her orgasm broke.  She couldn’t stop the moans completely and she just prayed the two downstairs didn’t come to investigate.  The waves rolled over her languidly, helped along by his tongue and lips.

“Let’s go.  I don’t like leaving Zephyr for too long.”  Briar’s eyes rolled up in her head as the stars practically exploded behind her eyelids.  She heard the door close and dropped her hand to dig her fingers into the bed by Cullen’s head.

“Fuck, fuck.”  Briar hissed out as he shifted until she was on her stomach.  His weight pressed her down into the bed and she wanted to beg.  His cock touched the inside of her thigh and Briar was this close to losing it.  She arched her hips against him, hinting at him to take the hint.  Cullen’s teeth latched onto her shoulder as he slid his cock inside her welcoming heat.  “Maker’s breath.”  Briar whined as he rolled his hips slowly against hers.  Her nails bit into the sheets by her head as she bucked her hips against him.

“Now, now.  Patience is a virtue Briar,” Cullen whispered in her ear as he continued that torturous pace to her growing frustration.  She’d appreciate slow later but her body wanted him to make her forget her own fucking name.

“Of which I don’t possess.”  She reached up and grasped his hair in her hands as she gently tugged on it.  “Fuck me.”  That dark chuckle was all she heard before he angled his hips and had her body clenching tight around him.  He groaned as he slammed against her hips.  “Yes.”  He rose up and pressed a hand between her shoulder blades.  She groaned as she couldn’t move beneath his hand.  She felt herself tightening around his cock with each thrust.

“Damn it.  I’m.” Cullen groaned as she felt his cock spasming inside of her.  Briar almost screamed when his hand reached underneath and gently pinched her clit.  She buried her face in the sheets as she came apart underneath him.

They were both panting heavily as the fog of desire cleared in their heads.  Cullen jerked upright as if just realizing what he’d been doing.  Briar grabbed his shoulder before he could say anything.  She shifted until she was out from under him and pulled him down towards her.  “We’ll talk tomorrow.  I don’t think I can string more than a few words together right now.”  Cullen relaxed and pulled her against him resting his head on the top of her head.  They could talk tomorrow.

[saladruiner]

Happy DADWC day! First off, love the blog name.

Second off, I have GOT to see your take on Trouble opening a jar with Dorian & f!Inquisitor 🤣

Thank you! Honestly, this is exactly what I had in mind for this one, haha. @dadrunkwriting prompt!

"Kaffas!"

Inquisitor Lavellan followed the sound of shattering glass, her curiosity getting the better of her. It was late, perhaps after midnight, and she couldn't sleep. On such nights, she walked around Sky hold and allowed her mind to wander.

"It's like they don't want anyone to eat their jam. Why sell it, then?"

She couldn't stop a smirk upon hearing her indignant friend. "Need help, Dorian?" she called, leaning in the doorway to the kitchen.

The mage jumped, nearly dropping another jar while swearing profusely in Tevene. He clutched at his chest dramatically and glared at her. "Andraste's eyeballs, warn a man before you sneak up on him!"

"You were too distracted by your opponent to notice me. What is that, anyway?"

"It's rhubarb jam from Val Royeaux. Bull picked it up for me the last time you went, and I thought I would have a snack. He didn't tell me that these jars were apparently sealed shut with some blood magic the likes of which I have never seen!" He plonked the jar angrily onto the work table he was standing at.

Lavellan noticed a red mess on the floor near his feet. "Was that your first attempt?"

"No, I've gone into labor." He rolled his eyes dramatically. "Honestly, can you help me or not?"

She rolled her eyes back at him and stepped around the mess. "I forgot how testy you get when you're hungry."

"Yes, well, it's not my fault you don't have overnight kitchen staff like they do in civilized parts of Thedas." "Is that what you call the zoo you came from?" She smirked at him and grabbed the jar. "Stand back; I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

"You know, I was going to offer to share with you," Dorian sniffed. "But now I won't."

She grinned at him and turned the jar's lid.

Or, she tried to.

Try as she might, the lid didn't budge, not even when she used a nearby towel to grip the lid. Dorian watched her struggle with his arms crossed, his smirk growing larger by the second.

"You must have tightened it when you were trying to open it," she panted, setting the jar back onto the table. "Is Bull around? Maybe he can--"

"He's out with the Chargers."

"Shit."

"What about your boyfriend?" he asked with mock innocence. "I'm sure Solas would--"

"Don't." The word was quiet, yet harsh. Lavellan turned her head away, blinking back sudden tears. Of all things to get her emotional, trying to open a jam jar in the middle of the night was not what she expected.

"Oh, Ellana." Before she could react, he wrapped her in a warm hug. "He might be a genius, but he's a bloody idiot where relationships are concerned. Trust me, you deserve better."

"...Thank you, Dorian." She pulled away, feeling both appreciative and embarrassed.

"You know, I find that I have lost my appetite for jam. Want to go throw these blasted jars off the mountainside with me?"

"Won't Bull be upset that you threw his gift?"

"Are you kidding? He'll just be upset that he wasn't here for the throwing. Now, are you coming or not?" He raised an eyebrow at her and hefted a small crate of jars.

Lavellan managed a tiny smile.

[breninarthur]

HAPP FRIDAY! For DADWC, how about ❛ shed no tears for me. i will be back before you know it. ❜ for Kallian/Alistair OR because im selfish, Kallian & Tal ❛ may I have this dance? ❜ >:3

Happy Friday!!! :]

Here's a quick one in a Kallian as a companion AU <3 Rated G, 580 words, @dadrunkwriting. Thank you for the prompt!

The Herald's Rest was alive with song and dance. Maryden played her tunes and dozens of people raucously joined in, each desperate to forget their worries and foster a little hope despite the losses of the day. Kallian sat alone near the bar, swirling her drink round and around, over and over again, her chin propped up in other hand. A Hero of the Blight, they called her, but her nose always wrinkled in distaste at the title. "May I have this dance?" Talenna slid next to her with a smirk. Kallian gave her a sidelong glance, huffing a laugh. "I don't dance, you know that." "I know that you look miserable." "Oh, cheers!" she said sarcastically, but she smiled reluctantly all the same. Talenna had that way about her - she could always make somebody smile.

"Alright, you don't have to dance," the Dalish elf said, tossing her hair back and leaning against the bar. "But join in, won't you? Or tell me what's wrong?" "Nothing's wrong," Kallian mumbled. "I'm just... awkward. I dunno. It doesn't matter." Talenna studied her a moment, and Kallian flushed under her scrutiny, the back of her head buzzing from the sudden attention. She focused on her drink, swirling the golden liquid around some more. "Do you want me to leave you alone?" A touch of panic lit her face, though she tried to hide it. "No. If you want to. I don't mind." She sighed. "I'm just not... used to it. All of this. I don't know how to... let go. Get involved. I can't dance, my friends are... my friends..." She trailed off, firmly setting down her glass. "I can't dance." Talenna nodded slightly, shifting her gaze back to the drunkards. It was difficult, spending every day with the same people for so long until one day you... weren't with them anymore. Until one day, you were surrounded by strangers and war on all sides. She could understand that. "I could teach you," she offered with a shrug. "I'd just embarrass myself." "Have you seen the state of the rest of 'em in here?" Kallian laughed. "Oh bloody hell... alright." Talenna grinned, holding out her hand. "Come on, then." The crowd was too focused on their own revelry to notice them; to which Kallian was grateful. No amount of honeyed alcohol could help her relax that night, but with Talenna's hands in hers, she considered the possibility that that could be enough. They danced like children around a campfire, Talenna taking the lead. First, she just moved their arms, back and forth, her eyes never leaving Kallian's. Her smile was warm and mischievous, and soon their dance was building. When she swayed, Kallian followed, and when Talenna spun her around she laughed, startled. Seizing her advantage, Tal spun her again, and again, until the Warden was dizzy and giggling. Unsteady on her feet and red-cheeked, Kallian felt brave in her friend's spotlight and raised their linked hands - Talenna immediately twirled with a practised grace. "You're fun when you put your sword down!" Talenna called over the din of off-key, joyous group song. "I'm fun when I keep it up!" Kallian frowned as they somewhat awkwardly turned together as one. Talenna cocked an eyebrow and smirked. "What? Not like - that's not even a - shut up!" she flushed, rolling her eyes. Talenna chuckled, and for all of Kallian's grumbling bluster, they danced and danced until Cabot kicked them all out and the night was over.

[tobythewise]

Hello, happy DADWC! For a prompt, for Alistair/Zevran, may I submit: “I might never get another chance to say this.”

Thank you for the prompt! This made me so happy, I adore this pairing SO freaking much!! (Written for @dadrunkwriting)

Content: Alistair/Zevran, final blight battle, confession, first kisses

This is it. Everything they’ve been doing has led them right here, right now. Just past these doors, they’ll be on the roof and it’ll be time to take down the archdemon. Their warden leader is off to the side, having a word with Morrigan and Alistair is doing his best to keep himself calm. 

This could very well be the end. 

Alistair breathes through his nose, pulling a healing potion from his pack and carefully pouring it over his left shoulder. He sighs as some of the pain falls away, leaving a cooling sensation behind. 

“Are you doing alright, my warden?”

Alistair startles for a moment before his shoulders slowly fall away from his shoulders. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s incredibly glad Zevran is talking to him. If this is some of their last moments, he’s glad to be spending them with Zevran. 

They’ve gotten incredibly close during their travels. At times, Alistair is sure Zevran has almost kissed him, but they’re always interrupted before anything could happen. Maybe it’s all in Alistair’s head. Just because he wishes he could kiss Zevran doesn’t mean he actually wants to kiss Alistair back. 

“I’m doing as well as you’d expect with the whole end of the world hanging over our heads.” Alistair looks over into Zevran’s eyes, finding his brow raised. He sighs and confesses, “I’m terrified but I’m okay. Are you okay?”

“As okay as one can be.”

“You know what they say,” Alistair murmurs out, looking away and reciting the warden mantra. “In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. And the most encouraging; in death, sacrifice.”

“Hopefully there will be no death today but for the archdemon.” 

Alistair nods his head. He suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He puts them behind his back but that’s uncomfortable in his armor so he tucks them in front of him. Then he picks up his sword and shield so his hands have something to hold onto.

Zevran chuckles and the sounds makes Alistair feel warm on the inside, his chest fluttering. He only feels like this when he’s around the other man. He’s struck with how devastating the upcoming battle could be. So much could go wrong. Alistair could lose the little family he’s gained. He could lose his very life. 

“Alistair,” Zevran murmurs, “mi amor. I must say something. I might never get another chance to say.”

“Don’t say that,” Alistair says, his throat suddenly dry. “We’re going to make it through this. We’re going to be fine.” 

“Even so, I would feel better going into battle with everything in the open.” Alistair wants to fight, but Zevran continues. “Never doubt. I would willingly storm the gates of the Black City itself so long as I got to do it by your side.”

Alistair opens his mouth and then slams it shut, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the statement. When they first recruited Zevran, it felt like a matter of time before the Antivan Crow either stabbed them in the back or ran away in the darkness of night. He wasn’t committed the same way the wardens were. Yet, he’s hitched himself to this cause completely and Alistair realizes with stark clarity that just maybe he has something to do with that loyalty. 

“Oh,” he breathes out, eyes wide, mouth open in awe. “Oh, Zevran.”

“Do you, by chance, feel similarly?”

“You have no idea,” Alistair says before stepping forward, leaning down, and kissing Zevran’s lips. Zevran wraps his arms around his neck, kissing him fiercely. Kissing him like this might be the first and last time they get to do this. 

Just like always, they’re interrupted by a disgusted gagging noise which is very obviously coming from Morrigan. Alistair pulls back, flipping her off. “I don’t gag when you kiss Tristin!”

“I don’t kiss him for everyone to see!”

The two of them bicker on their way up the stairs. At the doors, everyone pauses, looking at each other. This is it. 

Alistair meets Zevran’s eye, the two of them sharing a soft smile before Alistair is putting his helmet back on and charging into battle. He had every reason to come out of this alive, but now, there’s one more reason to fight just a little smarter, a little harder. He’ll make it through this because he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get to kiss Zevran again.