#oc: ariya tabris

[inquisimer]

I commissioned @snacobie to draw my warden Ariya Tabris and Zevran and ahhhhHHHHH they're so cute. Snacobie was such a pleasure to work with and I'm so happy to have some art of my stabby rogues 🥰

[inquisimer]

Hello Mer!! Happy Friday! For today I give you a prompt for Tabris and Zevran: "You're very distracting, you know?" From the budding romance prompts. Happy writing!

oops, they're fucking 🙈 I would apologize but uhhhhhh I'm not sorry LOL😂 have some PWP for @dadrunkwriting :3

Ariya Tabris x Zevran | Rated E | 1652 words

-

Their inn key lay forgotten in the streets of Antiva City, a casualty of a night of revelry and a bit too much brandy. But neither Ariya nor Zevran cared, fingers and lips tangled as they stumbled up to their room. A pleasant buzz rippled through them both, passing between them with tiny zaps when skin met skin.

Ariya’s heel caught the top step when they reached the second floor and Zevran’s arm looped around her waist, spinning her effortlessly against the door to their room. Her lips were already spit-slick and swollen, but he captured them anyway, insistent and devoted with his affection.

“Il mio corvo,” she gasped, breaking away with a giggle, “Let me open the door. Else there’ll be no inns left in all of Antiva that will take us in.”

“Ah, who could refuse the pleas of such a beautiful woman? And a Grey Warden no less?” Reluctantly, Zevran put more than a breath between them, gently spinning Ariya to face away from him. She knelt, eye level with the lock, and fumbled her picks from the pouch at her belt.

As she lined up the tools, Zevran’s fingers danced along her shoulders. He pulled the tie from the end of her braid and tangled through the newly freed hair. She bit her tongue and tried to concentrate, but Zevran traced a dastardly path up her neck and along the pointed shell of her ear. His lips followed where his hands went, leaving a blaze of fire along her skin, building and building and building until his teeth caught the tip of her ear and a full-body shudder wracked through her.

“Focus, mi amore,” he murmured. He peppered kisses back down her neck, hands looping around her waist as she doubled down on the lock.

Click. “Thank the Maker,” Ariya muttered. She shoved her picks into her belt and spun around. Kicking the door open with her heel, she caught Zevran around the neck and pulled him inside.

He came willingly, of course. With a rogue’s dexterity, he flicked her belt free; her pants hit the floor before the door thudded shut. His fingers swiped through the slick between her legs and Ariya’s head fell back against the wall.

“Zev—“

It was Zevran’s turn to drop to his knees.

“Hold tight, amore.” He pressed a kiss to her stomach through the fabric of her tunic. With his free hand, he threw her leg over his shoulder, smirking as her fingers tangled firmly in his hair.

He licked up her thigh, enjoying how the sensitive skin tensed as he passed over her core and continued down the other side. When he brushed a tantalizing, chaste kiss to her knee, Ariya’s nails dug into his scalp.

“Corvo—“

“Relax, my love,” he chuckled. “When did you lose all of your patience?”

“About three shots ago,” Ariya huffed, trying to urge his head toward her center. “Zevran, please—“

In truth, he was no more patient than she tonight. Zevran surged forward and wrapped his lips around her clit. Her cries were sweet music to his ears and he worked hard for each one, fingers joining his tongue to tease her with shallow dips into her wet heat. She ground against his lips, chasing his finger each time they withdrew and whining, even as he sent jolts of pleasure through her with his tongue.

“Zevran—oh, fuck—“

She came with a loud, keening cry. Her hands held him tight against her and he was not complaining, working her sensitive flesh until she collapsed. Ariya sank to the floor, her leg slipping from his shoulder, her legs shaking with the aftershocks. She caught his face and swiped her thumb through her slick on his lips, then burned it away with a bruising, fiery kiss.

He could lose himself like this. The tightness in his trousers be damned, her lips were sweeter than Antiva’s finest wine, and the soft silk of her hair between his fingers was better than any well-oiled leather. He’d left her breathless and she kissed the air from his lungs in turn.

Ariya was well aware of the effect she had on him. With Zevran thoroughly distracted, he barely noticed her deft fingers in the laces of his trousers, not until she pulled them fully loose and sliced through the buttons on his tunic in the same motion. She splayed her fingers across his chest and pushed, following as he fell back against the floor.

The callouses on her palms bit pleasure into his skin as she traced his pecs. Zevran hissed as she tweaked a nipple, bringing a hand up to grip her shoulder as she bent and dragged a kiss along his sternum.

“Amore,” he gasped, not entirely sure whether he was asking her to stay or continue on. Her legs were a welcome cage around his hips and the thin fabric of his trousers did little to dissuade the pleasure of her heat against his cock. She rocked once, twice, smirking when his hips jerked up against her. The slightest of growls escaped his throat.

“Oh, did you want something?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder, giving him an innocent look that was completely undercut by her swollen lips and blown pupils. She sank backward, a delightful torture against his cock, apparently as comfortable as at an afternoon tea. “I was just going to—“

“Do not make me regret giving in to your pleasure so swiftly, amore,” Zevran panted. His fingers dug a bruising grip through her tunic.

Ariya dipped down and caught his lips with her own. “As if you would ever regret any pleasure you offered me.”

Well, she had him there. Still, his hips bucked up as their lips parted around a whine that rose from deep in his chest.

With a dexterity that defied her inebriation, Ariya pulled Zevran’s trousers down around his ankles. Kicking as best he could without striking her, he freed his legs, sighing with anticipatory relief. His cock curved up toward his stomach, hard and proud and leaking precum from their shared affections. Ariya wrapped her hand around it, swiping her thumb across his slit to slick the turn of her wrist as she stroked.

“Braska,” Zevran hissed. He closed his eyes and clenched his abs, holding himself flat against the floor with every iota of willpower he had. She stroked him once, twice, then her other hand balanced against his chest and he felt her soft, wet heat as she lined herself up to take him.

They moaned in harmony as she sank down on him. His fit within her was familiar, the stretch of pain and pleasure together, like the pull of a muscle that’s been worked just a bit too hard. She rocked back against him, fucking herself down onto his cock until he was seated fully within her and their hips were flush.

Zevran opened his eyes and Maker, what a good decision. Her head was thrown back, hair cascading down to brush against his thighs, eyes and jaw clenched with pleasure. With one hand, he traced up her side and caught her breast, pinching her nipple hard enough to make her gasp and flex around him.

“Who’s impatient now?” she smirked. Zevran answered with a roll of his hips and her smug smile vanished in a sigh of pleasure.

“Patience is overrated.”

“Oh, how the tables have turned.” Ariya lifted herself, slowly, painfully slowly, her flexing muscles nearly as enticing as the sight of his cock in her cunt. Then she sank back down and they both gasped, Zevran’s hand tightening around her breast.

There was no more patience in either of them, then. Ariya rocked herself up and back, fucking herself onto Zevran’s cock with the single-minded determination he so admired in her. Their coupling filled the room with obscene sounds as she drove back against him, over and over, chasing pleasure for the both of them.

Through the buzz of alcohol and pleasure, Zevran slid his fingers down to where they were joined. He caught the slick between them and circled her clit once, twice, a practiced motion that had her coming around him again, a high-pitched cry to match the low groan in his throat as she clenched about him.

She sagged, boneless, her forehead pressing into his chest. As she collapsed, he gritted his teeth and stroked up her sweat-slicked spine, holding himself in check with sheer willpower alone

“Amore—“ he finally broke, gasping into her hair. She put her chin against his chest and looked up at him over his nose.

“Take it, corvo,” she murmured, “take me.”

Her permission set him free and he surged, lifting her bodily off the ground so that he could bend his knees and find purchase. He drove up into her soft, pliable heat until his own pleasure crested and he pulled her flush against him. He spilled within her, a soft groan parting his lips as they lay together, panting and dazed and sated.

Ariya recovered her wits first. She pressed a kiss to Zevran’s sternum as their mingled spend leaked out around his softening cock, then laid her cheek over the scars there.

“Do you think they’ll charge us for the missing key?”

Zevran grinned lazily. “Only if we’re still here when they come knocking.”

“Weren’t you trying to keep us on the inn keep's good list?”

He brushed a kiss over the sensitive skin at the juncture of her neck. “As a matter of fact, I find that the inn has served its purpose. I’m sure we could find another. Between both our good looks and your fine, clever tongue—“

“Flatterer,” Ariya snorted.

“Is it working?”

She pretended to think for only a moment, then turned her head to the side and captured his lips in a freshly searing kiss.

“Always, corvo. Always.”

[inquisimer]

Warden Tabris lowers her blade at the Landsmeeet and spares an unlikely ally.

So I went looking to reblog the post I made about this fic when I originally wrote it and....apparently, in the chaos of last spring, I forgot to make one! Better late than never, lol, and I still love this piece I wrote as part of last year's Arlathan eXchange💜

tags & excerpt under the cut

Rating: General Audiences

No Archive Warnings Apply

Words: 2970 (complete)

Relationships: Loghain Mac Tir & Female Tabris

Additional tags: light angst, platonic relationships, emotional hurt/comfort, Warden Loghain Mac Tir, Grey Warden politics

It was not wisdom or strength that changed her. Since joining the Wardens she had swallowed more bitter pills than she’d thought possible; by all rights, she should be dead. Instead, she had harnessed the insults and fury and indignation. She’d turned them into steeds she rode across Ferelden and it was on their backs that she reclaimed this world that hated her. But she was tired. Because after the river of blood she’d wrought in her wake, she still remembered the first time her blade brought a man death. And she still mourned the girl who had died along with him. After all the leading, the fighting, the deciding—and it wasn’t yet done—she made this one selfish choice for herself: there would be one less soul on her blade, and at least one other in the world who knew her burden.

DAFF tag list: @warpedlegacy | @rakshadow | @rosella-writes | @effelants | @bluewren | @breninarthur | @ar-lath-ma-cully | @dreadfutures | @theluckywizard | @nirikeehan | @oxygenforthewicked | @exalted-dawn-drabbles | @melisusthewee | @blarrghe | @agentkatie | @delicatefade | @leggywillow | @about2dance | @plisuu

[inquisimer]

sometimes it feels like teeth

chippin away at @febuwhump with day 12: semi-conscious. A reunion in the alienage for Ariya & Cyrion, where she must face the fact that she cannot save them all.

read it on ao3 here

Female Tabris & Cyrion Tabris | Rated T | 1629 words | CW: mercy killing, blood & injury, illness, slave trade

-

No sooner had the slaver’s corpse hit the floor than Ariya was at the cage, shaking hands picking open the lock. The metal door sprang open and she pulled each of her captured family from the brink of despair. Some did look ill; before she could even speak, Alistair pulled poultices from their packs and set to work.

Thank you, she mouthed.

“Amore.” Zevran gestured to the back of the cage with his chin. A few figures remained and the bottom of Ariya’s stomach dropped out as she recognized the familiar dips and planes of her father’s silhouette. He was staring directly at her, mouth parted in disbelief.

“Papa,” she breathed, and then she was at his side, running battered hands over him, checking for injuries, praying incoherently that she had not arrived too late. His arms came around her and squeezed.

“I’m fine, da’len, I’m fine,” her murmured. Tears choked his voice, but when she pulled back they were tears of joy that matched the bittersweet smile on his face. “You came back for us. My darling girl.”

“Of course I did. I’m sorry I—“ her guilt swallowed her apology, surrounded as she was by the echoes of those already gone. Was that Valendrian’s blood on the wall? Leah’s tooth in the corner? “I should have gotten here sooner.”

“That you came at all is a miracle.”

A noise behind him drew Cyrion from the bubble of reunion. He grimaced and held out a hand when Ariya looked beyond him.

“You probably shouldn’t—“

“It’s okay, papa,” she said softly. “Whatever it is, I’ve…seen worse.”

Cyrion’s face fell. He shifted aside so Ariya could see the reason he’d remained in the cage. One of the younger elves was propped in the corner, skin ashen and sallow. Her hair was brushed away from her face from gentle caresses to soothe her suffering.

“Oh, Gwen,” Ariya whispered. She knelt beside her father and took a clammy hand. Gwen’s hazy eyes slid in and out of focus, but her head lolled in the direction of Ariya’s voice.

“Ari?” she mumbled. “issat you?”

“Yeah. It’s me.”

“Gwendollyn was one of the first taken,” Cyrion said grimly. “I doubt she’d still be here if not for how sick she is.”

“Why is she so much sicker? The rest of you seem fine?” No sooner had she voiced the thought than the chilling realization that they might not actually be fine came to Ariya. But her father shook his head and gripped her leg reassuringly.

“We’re alright. Relatively. Gwen was—well—“ Cyrion drew aside Gwen’s dirty tunic, revealing a bandage that covered most of her abdomen. The blood that soaked it was dark—darker than it should be, even wounded like this, and the Blight in Ariya’s veins called out to this distant cousin of disease.

“Jumped in front of Mara’s little boy,” Gwen muttered, fingers fluttering vaguely over the wound. “Made a bad cough already worse and now we’re here.”

Ariya squeezed her hand. “For Tommy, of course. Oh, falon.”

“Just following your example.” Her lips twitched like they were trying to smile. “Since you were gone, someone else had to be the hero.”

“I don’t feel much like a hero today.”

Gwen’s brow dipped. “Of course you are. All these” —a cough wracked her wasting frame— “all of our family. You saved them—again.”

“I’m not so sure I did,” Ariya sighed. “The damage to the alienage…”

Cyrion winced.

“It will heal,” said Gwen, a faraway smile painted on her face. “Doesn’t it always?”

“Speaking of healing—“

“Amore—“ Zevran knocked against the cage, rattling the bars so they echoed in the now empty chamber. The last of the freed elves had left with Alistair and Morrigan as their guards back to safety. Piles of Tevinter corpses had been shoved aside and scraped of any valuable loot— including a beautiful dagger with snakes wrapped about the hilt, which glinted where Zevran spun it between his fingers.

“We need to be going,” he said, not unkindly. They’d traveled together enough that he recognized what Ariya had not yet acknowledged and there was sympathy in the smile he gave her. “The arl awaits our counsel and” —he tapped the documents tucked safely in his belt— “we have information that should be shared.”

“Of course.” To Ariya’s surprise, Cyrion stood readily, dusting his hands. Her confusion was only momentary, though, as he said, “Between the two of us we can probably move Gwen, I’d have done it myself if not for the condition of my knees.”

“Papa…” Ariya did not look at her father. Her eyes stuck on Gwen’s sallow face, tracing the bony edges of her weakened body, looking for something that defied what she knew to be true. But there was nothing. Ariya knew it, Zevran knew it, and, judging by the resignation in Gwen’s eyes, she did too. Only Cyrion still deluded himself.

Now Ariya had the unenviable task of giving words to dread and despair.

“She’s not just ill, papa,” Ariya said. “She’s…it’s a Blight sickness. Even if we took her back to the alienage, it would only be so she could die a painful death in lacking comfort.”

“What—but—we cannot leave her here! The cots in the alienage are rough, I know, but they are better than a cold floor and a cage. And if you intend to depart—well, I will not leave her to die alone.”

“Of course not.” Ariya’s hand rested on the hilt of her sheathed dagger, waiting. She still wasn’t looking at her father, but instead watching every half-conscious twitch of Gwen’s face. It seemed that she was slipping farther with every passing second, her eyes glazed and drifting, unseeing.

“How do you know for sure?” Cyrion demanded. “It could just be a rare disease—not that these Tevinters knew anything, but Alarith might have some potion, or know something!”

His fervor made Ariya wonder—Gwen had been a good friend, yes, though never so beloved by her father. But there had been a gap when Duncan took Ariya from the alienage; it seemed her father had filled it with another. She could not begrudge him that, but it still made her heart ache up into her throat.

“No.” She shook her head and finally met her father’s sputtering directly. “It is the Blight. I can sense it, now.”

I am not the daughter you remember went unspoken. There are things I can do now that you never wanted for me.

But this is how it is.

“I see. What do you propose, then?”

Ariya’s hand clenched around her dagger “It is unpleasant but…” she glanced down. “I’m sorry, Gwen, I’m so sorry. But a quick death is kinder, in the end.”

A long sigh deflated what little tension Gwen still held. Her head jerked in the semblance of a nod.

“Would you believe me if I said it was a relief?” she asked weakly. “I have felt it coming for days now. And—“

Her voice trailed off, eyes drifting around the room aimlessly before snapping back to Ariya. She blinked rapidly.

“If it is to be this way, I am glad it is you, falon.”

“I understand.” And she did, though she could not share the sentiment. Ariya pulled her dagger free. “You might not want to watch this,” she told her father.

“It’s okay, da’len,” Cyrion echoed. “Whatever you do…I’ve seen much worse, now.”

A pause, then Ariya nodded. She grasped the back of Gwen’s head, her fingers tangling a grip in the greasy strands of her short hair. In the depths of her foggy eyes, Ariya saw a world long lost: afternoons scampering about the alienage, swiping meat pies from window sills and climbing things that ought not be climbed. It hurt, so she squeezed her eyes tight, hot tears spilling over her cheeks.

One of Gwen’s clammy hands brushed over her knuckles, too weak for a proper grip.

“It’s alright,” she slurred, her awareness fading with every passing second. “See Deidre again. And rest. I want to rest.”

“You deserve to rest,” Ariya whispered, a steel to her heart as much as a pleading for her friend. She opened her eyes and brought the dagger to Gwen’s throat. It shook and steadying her hand was a useless endeavor.

“I am sorry, my friend,” she said. It was not as unfamiliar a pose as she would have hoped. But even after all this time—well, perhaps she should only start to worry if it did get easier. “May the Maker guide you safely in the Beyond.”

A smile spread across Gwen’s face just as Ariya slashed the dagger down. Blight-tinged blood sprayed from the mortal wound, but Ariya did not flinch. In a cold sort of horror, she realized she’d already offered the rag she carried to her father before any sort of anguish clenched her heart.

But such was the nature of war. It hardened even the softest soldiers—and Ariya had never been one of those.

She reached out and closed Gwen’s eyes. At her side, Cyrion sniffled, wiping his nose on her bloody, mucked up rag.

“We should go,” she said, a soft, gentleness to the request that she hadn’t bothered with for months.

“My little girl,” Cyrion said, so quietly she almost missed it. It wasn’t really for her anyway. “What happened to my little girl?”

Her heart clenched. I told you not to watch, she thought. I said you didn’t want to know.

But now he did. She tucked the bloody cloth into her pack and gestured for her father to go before her, so he would not have to look at her as they went.

There could be no turning back.

[inquisimer]

I was tagged by @dungeons-and-dragon-age and @shivunin to create my OCs in this picrew, and their swords in this picrew! Thank you both - this was super fun! I love a good item picrew :3

these are definitely a mix of Actual Swords and Vibes, even for the OCs who actually use swords

Siobhan Hawke - no actual sword use, completely vibes, I just love her so much I couldn't leave her out. All black for Kirkwall, dripping with blood and chains for Symbolism and more Kirkwall

Nika Brosca - a dual wielder, so actual sword use! But the design, particularly the glowy lyrium blade, is all vibes. The hilt wrapped up in fabric with scraps hanging off the end is allllll dust town though. My scrappy Carta girl :3

Ariya Tabris - sword use Optional™️, only when she can't get her hands on proper daggers or an axe, until she has Vigilance. The design here is mostly vibes, especially the black vines up the blade for the Blight.

Ciel Andras - (everyone: Andras? me: the orlesian warden commander that bioware forgot ;-;) my Actual Sword user, a sword and board warrior! The sword here is literal, silverite for the blade and blue on the hilt and grip for the Wardens. Plus the hilt that I thought was close enough to Wing Imagery without being butterfly wings, and the black veins in the blade for, you guessed it, Blight Symbolism.

Ember Cousland - another dual wield sword user (sensing a type here hmmmm) and it's definitely with her family's sword no I don't care that the stats bottom out so fast. The hilt design here is to represent that, with the mirrored wheat design of the Cousland heraldry, but the on-fire blade is 100% vibes, a representation of her vengeance against the Howes.

tagging forward to: @leggywillow | @exalted-dawn | @rosella-writes | @wheat-and-wheat-by-products | @midmorninggrey |

and @thiefbird have fun friends!!

[inquisimer]

mer mer mer hi for Zevran and Ariya, perhaps:

But like earth heaped over the heart Is love grown perfect. Like a shell over the beat of life Is love perfect to the last. So let it be the same Whether we turn to the dark or to the kiss of another; Let us know this for leavetaking, That I may not be heavy upon you, That you may blind me no more.

ro ro ro hap friday beloved💜 I looked at this prompt tonight and it suddenly clicked as exactly the right way to explore Alistair's unrequited love for my Tabris, so here we go :3

for @dadrunkwriting

Alistair thought Ostagar would be his Great Reckoning. He thought that nothing could lay him so low as the loss of a family so recently acquired, the knowledge of Duncan’s corpse half-devoured and forgotten on the battlefield, the isolation that sank into his bones outside of the witch hut in the Wilds. All of the Wardens had them and he would need one so that someday, gray and grizzled, he could swig ale and bark laughter at foolish recruits who were eager to bathe their blades in darkspawn blood.

He thought it would be Ostagar.

As they set off, he anchored himself to Ariya. The only two Wardens left facing the Blight. If he was a bit too clingy, she didn’t seem to mind—surely she was as adrift and uncertain as he and he thought perhaps she clung to him in comfort just the same. She was the dagger in the back of his enemy and he was her shield against their swords. They were a perfectly matched pair.

Until the assassin came.

She’d lost her mind, for sure. Helping the elf up from the ground as though he hadn’t just laid a trap to kill them. Was she crazy? Alistair asked her as much and she gave him such a derisive eye roll that he wished he could shrink into his armor like a turtle.

“Half the people in Denerim would have killed me for less than however much gold Loghain offered him,” she said. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

And suddenly things were different. Ariya no longer came to finish off his opponents in a fight; she stood back-to-back with this Zevran, her style mimicking his more and more each day. There was no more crouching about the fire with her to cobble together a stew over the coals—at night the pair of elves snuck off together and they took the same watches, leaving a rather disgruntled and increasingly jealous Alistair with Leliana (if he was lucky) or Morrigan (if he wasn’t).

Still, not all hope was lost. Even if the assassin was warming her bed there were things he could never share with her that a fellow Warden could. Alistair was more interested in her  heart, anyhow. He thumbed the faded rose and stared out into the darkness of the woods, thinking of how things had been before Zevran came and wishing things weren’t so desperate, so she would have agreed to leave him behind.

Weeks, months passed. Despite the pitying looks and thinly veiled derision from their companions, Alistair wasn’t oblivious. Ariya and the assassin grew closer, as time was wont to make them, but Alistair knew the truth. Her eyes were warm when he managed to steal a moment of her time and she fit perfectly in his embrace when the nightmares wracked them both. Perhaps she just didn’t realize the extent of his feelings, he thought one night, a great epiphany. After all, it wasn’t as though he’d told her. Likely she was with the assassin because he’d been open with his affection from the start.

In the end the rose stayed in his pocket until Eamon brought them to Denerim. He just couldn’t work up the nerve. But now there was tension between her and the assassin and he knew the inevitable decline of that misadventure must be nigh, so he seized the moment. When they trudged back in from a day’s worth of running errands about the city, he drew her into one of the empty guest rooms and shut the door.

“Is everything okay?” she asked. She was loosening her braid and Alistair’s breath caught. He so rarely saw her with her hair down and the fiery halo the flickering torchlight gave her felt like a sign that the moment was right.

He produced the rose and spun a metaphor of beauty and faith that he’d only half rehearsed in bed at night. When he’d finished, he looked up with a hopeful smile and held the faded flower out for her to take.

“Alistair…” her voice broke on his name, and not in the way he’d imagined a thousand times before. She bit her lip.

“I—you know I’m with Zevran, don’t you?” she gave an uncertain laugh. “I mean…we haven’t exactly been hiding. Literally everyone else has noticed, trust me.”

“Well, yes, but that can hardly be serious.” Alistair gestured aimlessly, confident in his assumption until he saw how her gray eyes went cold and flat at his words. “I mean—we’re the Wardens, Ariya, he can hardly follow—“

“We don’t even know how this is going to end,” she snapped. “Don’t presume to tell me what can and can’t be done.”

Lithe fingers twisted her hair back into a braid and ran an aggrieved hand over the plait. Just like that, the moment broke. Alistair’s hand dropped back to his side and the rose crumbled in his fist.

"You should go, Alistair," she said around a clenched jaw. "Just....go."

They didn't talk much after that. She left him to stew in Eamon's study, taking Leliana or Sten in his stead. One day they came back covered in blood as usual, but her smile was just a bit brighter, her shoulders lighter than they had been in weeks.

(He wished he could stop noticing such little things about her).

When she finished her report to Eamon and turned to go, Alistair caught sight of the little gold loop glinting in her ear and he slumped so low that the arl snapped at him to stand up straight.

He thought it would be Ostagar. Instead, it was the Landsmeet.

Whatever their personal drama, Alistair had no doubt of Ariya’s capability. Denerim was her home and she was in her element here, so it hardly surprised him to see her standing over that traitor as he knelt and gave himself over to her mercy. Alistair held his breath; justice, he thought. Duncan was about to have his justice.

Except—

“He’s right.” Ariya dropped her blades at Riordan’s objection and stepped away. “Put him to the Joining.”

“What?” In his white-hot rage, Alistair didn’t even realize it was him speaking. But all the Landsmeet turned to stare at him and for once the attention didn’t stagger him. He stared directly at Ariya and she stared back for the first time since that awkward, heart-wrenching moment at the estate.

“Alistair and Anora will marry and rule together,” the elf said. Her eyes never wavered from his, even as her voice carried around the chamber. “For his crimes, Loghain will be given to the Wardens, his fate left up to the Joining.”

For a moment, he was absolutely frozen. King? Marry Anora? Why hadn’t he heard of this plan before? Eamon had been talking about putting him on the throne all along, of course, but he’d thought that when it came down to it he’d had some say in it. Or Ariya would and she would ask him, at the least.

But they hadn’t been talking. And that was his stupid fault, but in the moment he couldn’t accept that. He felt nothing besides blinding anger.

“Absolutely not—“ Alistair stormed forward, close enough that only Ariya and the few closest to her could hear his hushed anger. “What are you doing? This man betrayed our entire Order and blamed us for the crime! He’s the reason Duncan is dead! And you would welcome him to our ranks?”

“We are not judges,” Riordan interjected. “Wardens have historically been thieves, beggars, murderers, criminals of all kinds. The Blight does not discriminate and so neither do we.”

“He’s right, Alistair—“

“No.” He cut her off, heartbroken and angry and desperately wishing he could truly blame either of those things on her. “If you do this, I walk. You all may force the crown upon me, but I’ll sever all ties with the Wardens and they’ll have no claim on me, if this is your decision.”

She didn’t even hesitate. “This is my decision, Alistair. If that’s yours well…you’ve made it, at least.”

And he had.

A week later at the coronation he stared out at the crowd. Even amongst all the nobles, she was infuriatingly easy to spot. Ashy white hair in her usual braid, griffon-stamped leathers freshly oiled and looking like they hadn’t been recently spattered in darkspawn blood.

And hanging off the assassin’s arm, of course.

He scowled at his boots.

“Chin up, Alistair,” said Anora without looking at him. He turned his scowl on her instead.

“It is good that you’ve been disillusioned,” she continued, unphased. “It was hardly going to work out between you two. Besides the political implications, just use your eyes for a moment and look at her. Really look.”

Alistair stared out across the crowd, watched how the assassin looped an arm around Ariya’s waist and pulled her flush against his side. She canted her head to let him whisper in her ear and a smile spread across her face, warm and adoring and just a hint scandalized. He couldn’t see it from here, but he could imagine how the tips of her ears were gone pink as she pressed a kiss to the corner of Zevran’s mouth.

“You see?” Anora said crisply, directly contrasting the warm smile and wave she was giving the crowd. “She is in love.”

Alistair frowned. Of course she was; that was the problem, wasn’t it?

She was in love.

And so was he.

[inquisimer]

Nepenthe

Wrapping up OC kiss week with more Tabris cousinverse, this time between Ariya and @shivunin's Arianwen. I hope it's okay that I borrowed Wen twice - when I sat down to draft these, I couldn't choose which idea I like better, so I wrote both💜 And I wanted young Wen to have a friend ;-;

read it on ao3 here

Female Tabris & Female Tabris | Rated G | 948 words | No CW

-

A great boom of thunder echoed out over Denerim. It shook the Tabris’ door in its ill-fitting frame, rattled the thin sheet of glass in their lone window, and pulled nails from boards that barely built a house. Ariya bolted straight up in bed.

Her first thoughts were of raids and purges. Fingers closing around the dagger under her pillow, she rolled into a crouch, eyes glinting, searching for the threat in the dark. Then she heard the rain—against the crumbling roof, dripping into the bucket they kept under the leak—and a streak of lightning cut across her face. She relaxed.

Her second thought was a realization that she was alone in the bed where three had gone to sleep. No need to panic, yet, she told herself. Stepping in her careful way to avoid the creaky boards that might wake her father, she checked the darkened corners and spaces underneath where a child might hide.

Nothing.

“Andraste’s ass,” Ariya muttered under her breath. Hiding her dagger safely at the small of her back, she shoved her feet into boots, wrapped herself in a cloak, and stepped out into the storm.

Rain fell in sheets, turning the roots of the Vhenadahl into a small lake and soaking right through Ariya’s stockings. It blew sideways in the wind, blinding her unless she shielded her face. Even then, water caught on her eyelashes and dripped from her chin, cold tendrils that jolted as they snuck beneath her collar .

The main path that wound through the alienage was nothing more than a mud slick now. She felt the squelch of her boots as she went, though the boom of thunder and the crack of the lightning that answered drowned out any other sounds. Sticking close to the buildings, she darted past Valendrian’s door, praying that the storm had not woken him. The only thing worse than the hahren catching her would be city guards doing the same—and none of them were going to come into the alienage on a night like tonight.

She circled the main square and skirted the edge of the meeting hall, right up to the old apartments. A generous name for such ramshackle lean-tos with no insulation and hardly a family’s worth of furniture between them. But that’s what they’d always been called. Ariya ducked inside and made a beeline for the back corner.

“Wen?” she called softly, wringing out her braid with numb fingers. “Wen, are you in here?”

Another peal of thunder shook the building—louder and closer than before. The cracks in the windows gave way and Ariya barely heard an alarmed squeak over glass clattering and the roar of the wind rushing in.

Hastily, she pulled the shutters closed and held them with a scrap of wood wedged into the latch. She kicked as much of the glass as she could see into in a pile, then knelt alongside an old wardrobe.

In some storm previous it had rotted through and collapsed, forming a small nook against the corner. Splinters would shred her hands if she tried to move it. Instead, she laid herself out prone and looked through the gap between it and the floor. Two wide eyes blinked back at her.

“Wen?”

“Ari?”

A sigh of relief pushed the tension from Ariya’s shoulders. “What are you doing out here, a stór?”

“Shia said we should climb up and see the lightning from the roof. That only pathetic babies would be scared.”

Shianni. Ariya frowned. Their cousin ought to know better—did know better, really, and just needed to think more. “Did she leave you here, Wen?”

Fabric rustled against wood as Arianwen shrugged. “She said she was going to get Soris, and she would be right back.”

Hm. Perhaps Soris convinced her to stay inside, or maybe the storm had worsened and she couldn’t make it back. Either way, she would have words with Shianni about dragging Wen into such nonsense. There were enough scamps giving the girl trouble without her cousins doing the same.

“I’m sure she meant to and got caught by the storm,” she said. “Would you like to go home and dry off?”

Hesitant silence met her request. “It’s…a lot of noise,” Wen finally said.

“What if you cover your ears?”

“Then people make fun of me. And I have to punch them, and then I get in trouble. It’s easier to stay in here.”

“There’s no one here but me.” Ariya couldn’t help a smile, even as she coaxed. “Do you think I’m going to make fun of you?”

A long pause. “…no. Probably.”

“Will you come out then? I’ll cover your ears with my hands if you want yours free for punching, just in case.”

“Really?” Wen poked her head out of the tiny gap and Ariya scooted back along the dirt floor to make room for her to squeeze through. At least they had stopped for cloaks before venturing out, she noted, not that either of their cloaks had done a very good job of keeping them dry.

Capturing Wen’s palms between her hands, Ariya blew hot air over both their fingers. A shiver wracked through Wen and little droplets of icy water sprayed off of her.

Unclasping her cloak, Ariya wrapped it around Wen’s narrow shoulders—it wasn’t dry, but it was the driest thing between them. She tugged the newly bundled girl into the circle of her arms and pressed a comforting kiss against her dampened crown.

Another peal of thunder shook the building and Wen tensed. But Ariya’s hands were already over her ears, stroking reassurance down the line of her jaw.

“Really,” she promised.

[inquisimer]

vivamus, moriendum est

OC Kiss Week day 3! A piece set in the Tabris Cousinverse, where my friends and I take our Tabris (and other city elf OCs) and put them in each others' worlds, AUs, and any other excuse we can think of for OC crossover content 😌🌸

Some tooth-rotting fluff between @exalted-dawn-drabbles' Shaesa and my Ariya :3

read it on ao3 here

Female Tabris & Female Tabris | Rated G | 826 words | CW: implied/referenced fantasy racism

-

In a haze of sleep, Ariya barely registered the brush of lips across her ear. She shoved out mindlessly and her hand met a squishy mass—a nose, in fact.

“Hey, stop that,” hissed Shaesa. Her breath was hot and indignant against Ariya’s cheek. Rubbing the grogginess from her eyes, Ariya propped herself up on one arm. At this pre-dawn hour, darkness still utterly blanketed their shack, but her eyes glinted their ire just the same.

“It’s so early, Shae,” she complained. “What are you doing?”

“I want to try something. C’mon!”

“Why do I need to get up if you want to try something?” Ariya grumbled. She burrowed deeper under her meager blanket. A futile effort—it was only just Wintermarch and their poorly patched walls did nothing to keep the chill out. “Go on, before you wake my father up.”

“He loves me,” Shaesa smirked. With a scowl, Ariya flicked a finger against her arm.

“Exactly—if he catches us up at this hour, if we wake him up at this hour, it’ll be my hide on the tanning rack. If you want to go and do something foolish, I’m not stopping you. But go.”

Shaesa pouted. “You’re no fun. What do I have to do to get you to come with me?”

“Wait a few hours?”

“Assume I won’t be doing that and give me a better answer.”

Ariya sighed and twisted to face her cousin again, tangling her legs in the blanket. “How likely are you to crack open your skull doing whatever it is you’re planning?”

To her credit, Shaesa actually paused to consider for a moment. “Like…forty percent? Less, if things go really, really well.”

“Maker’s mercy.” Ariya shoved her blanket to the foot of the bed with a reluctant groan and tugged on her boots. After a moment’s consideration, she fluffed up her measly pillow and pulled the blanket over it instead. Best not make it too easy, if Father should wake and catch her out of bed.

Shaesa dragged her down the alienage’s rough dirt path, over to one of the abandoned shops. Checking over her shoulder, she ducked through a gap in the rotting planks, leaving Ariya to squeeze behind her. In the former storage room, a branch had fallen over the alienage wall and cleaved away half the roof.

“Yes!” Shaesa punched her fist into the air, grinning. Not at all following her line of excitement, Ariya blinked blearily and looked around.

Then she saw it: a ladder, leaning casually against the far wall. Shaesa tested a few of the rungs before propping it against the crumbling outer wall.

“C’mon,” she urged. “We’ll miss it!”

“Miss what?” Ariya hissed, but Shaesa had already scampered up the ladder. Minding anything that might snag her cloak, Ariya followed.

When she poked her head up out of the hold, she was surprised to find an unobstructed view out to the ocean. Not a good view, mind you—the alienage was too far inland for that. Only rich shems lived on the coast. But even a window like this was a rare find; humans liked building tall structures around the alienage wall, so they could pretend it wasn’t there.

“How did you find this?” she whispered, forgetting they were well beyond the range of any hahren’s ears now.

“Used my eyes.” Shaesa smirked—insufferable, but she unpacked some crusts and a wine skin from her satchel, so Ariya was inclined to forgive a little lip. Gingerly, she scooted across the cracked tiles. It seemed solid enough, but they’d also climbed through a massive hole, so some caution was warranted. She leaned back against the long-cold chimney, one leg pressed along the length of Shaesa’s, and took a swig of the wine.

Shaesa gestured toward the horizon with a half-chewed crust. “Any minute now. It’ll totally be worth it.”

The sun broke over the Amaranthine Ocean before Ariya could even scoff her skepticism—and it was worth it. Pinks and reds and oranges painted the sky and reflected off the rippling surface of the water, more beautiful than any stained glass Chantry window. Ariya’s breath caught. Any annoyance at the rude awakening, her father’s potential ire, vanished with the dawn.

“Oh, it’s wonderful,” she breathed.

“Told you so.”

They watched the sun climb the rest of the way over the horizon, washing the nearly stale bread down with wine until the skin ran dry. Eventually, though, the rest of the alienage began to stir and Ariya felt reality and responsibility creeping along the edges of their little bubbly.

Shaesa knew it too. She brushed her lips over Ariya’s cheek and smirked.

“Thank you for indulging me.”

Ariya caught her hand and squeezed, matching her with an indulgent smile of her own. As if she could ever say no to her cousin.

“Let’s go,” she said, gesturing reluctantly to the ladder. “We need to get back before we’re missed.”

[inquisimer]

OC in Three

Post three pictures or images you feel relate to a character. They can be face claims, famous artworks, photos, or anything you think fits the Vibe™

thank you for the tag @shivunin! I love the Vibes™️and this was a great excuse to dig through ye old pinterest aesthetic boards :3 under a cut, as Too Many OCs strikes again, lol

tagging forward to: @leggywillow | @rosella-writes | @plisuu | @kiastirling-fanfic | and @dragon--sage

Solona Amell

Neria Surana Lavellan

Ariya Tabris

Siobhan Hawke

Acacia Trevelyan

Sari Mahariel

Léan Hawke

Nika Brosca

Ember Cousland

[inquisimer]

on the brink of an unknown future

I'm back with more mirrorverse for OC kiss week day 4! @shivunin's Arianwen (Tabris) falls through an Eluvian and meets my Ariya (Tabris). Thank you for letting me borrow your girl! I hope I did her justice with this piece :3

Honorable mention to @exalted-dawn-drabbles, whose OC Talenna Ethera makes a guest appearance as the multiverse bartender

read it on ao3 here

Female Tabris/Female Tabris | Rated G | 2406 words | No CW

-

Arianwen’s daggers were in her hand before she’d lit the lantern in her quarters. Quiet blanketed Vigil’s Keep, the distant sounds of the Wardens who’d returned with her fading into the night. Battered and bloody, she’d been looking forward to her first real bath in weeks. But—

There was a mirror. A mirror where one hadn’t been before. Where it didn’t belong.

It was tall and beautiful, as such things go. Burnished glass framed in dark metal that twisted like branches at the peak and pooled like roots at the base. Artistry that was out of place against the simple Fereldan stone of the Vigil.

And out of place in general. It hadn't been here when she left. She'd had no word that it would be here now. Never a particularly good sign—she'd certainly encountered stranger attempts on her life, if not more confusing.

Gripping her daggers, Wen crept along the perimeter of the room. Her sharp gaze never left the mirror.

Nothing else was out of sorts. None of the furniture shifted, her desk undisturbed, no odd shadows lurking in the corner. Appeased, but still wary, Arianwen approached the mirror.

Her own reflection stared back: fraying braid, scarred face, grimy, spattered armor. Nothing unusual. When she brought her palm to the frame, the metal was cold and solid under her hand.

Not a hallucination, then. Probably.

The thing to do would be to call the others. Ask the Seneschal when the thing had been delivered, if it had, in fact, been delivered and not planted here as a means to kill her. But no sooner had the thought crossed her mind then the surface started to glow.

Wen hissed and dropped her hand as if burned. The mirror rippled like she’d thrown a stone into still water; smooth glass turned to a million small sharp edges. Sparkling shades of purples and blues lit up the chamber like sunlight through a diamond. Arianwen held her daggers ready, but the threat she expected never materialized.

Of course it didn't. It was a bloody mirror.

Still, she was curious. She took a few wary steps forward and reached out so just the tips of her fingers brushed the sparkles. No energy arched out, nothing zapped her for the exploration. Whatever the glass had become, it buzzed against her skin, an icy hum.

And was that...laughter? Wen frowned, leaning forward to hear better. That was her mistake.

The not-glass of the mirror locked onto her hand and tugged her forward. Swearing under her breath, Wen struggled to yank her arm free. But it was a battle already lost. In a last, desperate, effort, she unsheathed a dagger and threw it at the door of her chambers.

It connected with a solid thunk, vibrating slightly, then the darkness swallowed the Warden Commander whole.

-

She landed on her feet, as she always did. Daggers still in hand and braced against the scuffed wooden planks, she took in her surroundings.

It was…a tavern? A decent sized room with a smattering of tables and a tall rack of liquor bottles behind a long, smooth bar. Heads turned on her entrance, but there was barely a dip in the noise as they all returned to their conversations without missing a beat. Wen frowned, scanning the room suspiciously.

“You lost, falon?”

“That’s just rude, Talenna. Of course she’s lost.”

“I’m not lost,” Wen snapped out. A reflex. She wasn’t lost, she could see, which meant she could find a way out. That wasn’t lost.

Her eyes finally found the welcoming committee. One was leaning at the back of the bar, a smirk pulling at the purple tattoos that branched across her cheekbones. Across from her sat another elf, barefaced and wearing armor that glinted a familiar pattern of silver and blue.

A glance back showed the portal she’d fallen through was a similar mirror, though now it lay cold and flat and dark. With little other choice, she sheathed her daggers and approached the bar. Her skin prickled with the wariness of an unfamiliar place.

The Warden kicked out an empty barstool. Wen caught the back of it, but did not sit down. Not just armor, she realized as the Blight sense stirred within her. The woman was and actual Warden. But not one she knew. From Orlais, perhaps? Or the Marches—it wasn’t as though she’d had extensive contact with the Order beyond Ferelden.

Behind the bar, Talenna pulled out a fresh glass. “I think you are lost, falon. No shame in it. Want something to drink? I find the explanation goes down easier with a nice beverage.”

“No. I—“ Wen paused, not sure of the right question to ask. “Who are you people? And where are we? How did I get here?”

“Through the mirror—there was a mirror, yes?”

Wen nodded.

“Good, good. It doesn’t often happen without an Eluvian, but it gets much harder to explain that way.”

“What gets harder to explain?” Wen demanded. Her fingers clenched around the thin back of the barstool. “So far you haven’t explained much of anything.”

Something clattered across the bar top and Wen caught it out of instinct. She looked down at the familiar crest of Ferelden’s Warden Commander.

Immediately her hand flew to her hip. But the crest she wore clipped on her belt was still there. She held them next to each other.

They were identical.

“This does not even begin to answer my questions,” she said flatly.

“The mirrors connect different worlds. Universes where the broad strokes are similar but the details—“ the Warden took her badge back and flipped it over, held it up for emphasis “—the details are different.”

“The details…” As no apparent threat showed, the adrenaline faded, leaving Wen with only an exhausted reminder of the sleep she wasn’t getting. And the bath she wasn’t taking. Still, they could be lying. She narrowed her eyes. “So you are both Wardens? Warden-Commanders? You all battled the Blight?”

“Not me!” said Talenna cheerfully. “All that…main character business is far too exposed for my taste. I had the good sense to be a bit player in all of the insanity. But this one, yes.”

“Careful, Tal,” said the Warden. “Let’s see how much she knows before we spout off.”

Hm. Well, if it was a trap, they’d certainly gone to a lot of effort for it. And they weren’t even lying to gain rapport. Slowly, she lowered herself onto the barstool.

“How much I know?”

“The mirrors span time as well as worlds. Some of us have lived through things that are still coming for others. It wouldn’t do to….spoil it.”

“I don’t know,” Wen muttered. “I can think of a few things I wouldn’t have minded knowing ahead of time.”

The Warden’s smiled, not unkindly. Was it pity? Wen didn’t think so, but she prickled a bit just in case it was.

“Bar policy is just to let everyone fuck up in their own unique, uninfluenced fashion,” she said. “So, that’s Talenna, and I’m Tabris. How should we call you, Commander?”

“I’m—sorry, did you say Tabris?” Wen drew up short. Tabris leaned back on her stool, grinning, as if Wen’s reaction confirmed something for her. She nodded.

“I did. Getting the sense that might not be enough, though. Ariya Tabris, originally of Denerim, currently Warden-Commander of the Order in Ferelden.”

Wen exhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. But nothing about Ariya’s held steady under Wen’s scrutiny; nothing about her suggested a lie.

“Arianwen Tabris,” she finally replied. “Originally of Denerim. Currently Warden-Commander of the Order in Ferelden.”

Two thunks broke the tense moment that stretched between them. Talenna poured a fine looking ale into the glass mugs and slid them across the bar.

“Well, now that’s all sorted,” she said with a grin. “Drinks?”

-

It was all a bit surreal. In fact, as she settled into the cold sheets of her bed back in the Vigil, Wen was half-convinced it had been a dream. Only the looming shadow of the mirror from the corner of her eye said otherwise.

But in the morning, it was gone.

-

When it next appeared, Wen stepped through without hesitation. Only Talenna was in the bar this time, but she poured a drink and gave Wen that insufferable smirk of the well-informed.

“The mirrors come when we need them,” she said, when Arianwen asked. “Or, when someone on the other side needs us.”

-

So whenever the ornate frame appeared, Arianwen went through. Most frequently she saw Talenna, but she was popular and not often free for more than a brief chat. Ariya was there nearly as often, though, and the two elves gravitated together. Perhaps it was as Talenna said, and the mirrors were bringing them together for a reason.

Which was ridiculous. Ridiculous that she’d even thought it. Then again, she was in a magical bar that existed in a pocket dimension, the only entrance to which was a series of enchanted mirrors.

So maybe it wasn’t that ridiculous at all.

It took them a few passes to work beyond the awkwardness. They shared a name and a past, to a certain extent, and speaking of their experiences sometimes gave Wen the same headache as blurry double vision. They both spoke of the alienage, of Ostagar, of Alistair and Morrigan and Leliana. Both had gathered the same allies and defeated the same archdemon atop Fort Drakon.

"They're not really the same," Ariya said one night, as they shared a basket of deep fried cheese and spoke of their former companions. It was one of few safe topics—more years had passed since the Blight in Ariya's world; she knew roughly where Wen was going and remained frustratingly tight-lipped about it all.

Wen tapped her fingers along the edge of the plate. "They're not all that different, though. They can't be."

"Can't they? How much did they change, in the short time they traveled with you? How much did you change their lives, by what you did?"

That gave her pause. She had influenced Alistair, certainly, and Zevran of course. And Shale. And—

"Point taken. But surely you affected them as well, in your way."

"Of course I did. But I'm not you—we say different things, make different choices. All of our friends change, but the difference lies in how they change." She shrugged. "And who's to say they all had the exact same experiences before they encountered us? I don't know about you, but I wasn't exactly doing background checks when I was picking up strays."

Wen snorted. "The opposite, really."

"Truly."

-

She did not know it would be the last time, when it came. The world was increasingly fraught, the situation in the Free Marches devolving, and Zevran’s mission against the Crows pulling him away more and more often. It was a relief to see the ornate frame in her quarters and she eagerly slipped through to the bar.

"You know, I'm still waiting for one of these things to take me to your world," she said, sliding into the barstool beside to Ariya. They told her it was possible, that sometimes the portals connected worlds directly. She had yet to see it for herself. "They just keep bringing me to this bar."

"Maybe the universe thinks you always need a drink?"

"Well the universe isn't wrong." She called for one and took it from the bartender—not Talenna, who was absent for once. Wen took a long pull from the glass, closed her eyes and rubbed at the bridge of her nose.

"That bad, huh?"

"Yeah. Just...a lot going on. Stupid people doing stupid shit that is going to get a lot of other people killed."

Ariya's ears perked up, her gaze going sharper than the edge of her blade. But Wen shook her head.

"You said I would know when it happened. Nothing that big. Yet." Her lips quirked. "What if it's not going to happen in my world?"

"Yours would be the first." Ariya gestured to the dozen or so people scattered across the tavern. "All of these worlds. It always happens. And it doesn't sound like things are looking so peaceful in yours, anyway."

"No, I suppose they aren't." Taking another sip, Wen looked sideways at Ariya. "So. It's all about to go to shit for me. What's new with you?"

They passed—well, Wen wasn't sure exactly how long. Time moved differently here. But when the nagging in her gut said it was time to go, she polished off her drink and stood. Ariya followed her to an Eluvian that lit up at her approach.

"Well," Wen said, uncertain, as always, how to say 'see you when the magic mirror says so’. "Next time, then?"

Ariya hesitated. That was disconcerting—she always had a well-placed farewell quip. Wen's gut twisted at the unanticipated change.

"Of course," she finally said. Something in her held back, though. "Wen, I—"

She broke off, laying a hand against Wen's arm. "I just don't feel good about what's coming. For either of us. And I..."

Her hand found Wen's cheek, traced the scars there, twisted the wisps of hair that had come loose from her braid. After one, two heartbeats, she lifted herself on tip toes and her lips found Wen's.

She kissed softly, but Wen felt the sharp edges underneath, the ones that would kill anyone foolish enough to make her an enemy. But they didn't scare her—she was made of edges just the same.

They parted, but Ariya did not draw back. She dropped her hand to lace their fingers together and squeezed.

"Just be careful, okay? Even if it's some time before we get back here, I like to think of you taking the horrors by storm. So just...don't die."

Cryptic, as always. Wen wondered what she wasn't saying, what she knew or what she planned, what dread foresight she couldn't explain. Hopefully it was something she could stab.

"I won't," she assured Ariya. "I'm a cockroach like that—basically impossible to kill at this point."

That drew out Ariya's familiar laugh and some of the tightness she'd put in Wen's chest eased. She squeezed Ariya's hand quickly in return, then took a breath and stepped forward.

"Good luck, Wen," Ariya whispered. And the Eluvian took her home.

[inquisimer]

HAPPIEST DADWC ANNIVERSARY DEAR FRIEND!! How about for Ariya Tabris/Zevran, some sexy sexy hands: [ palm kiss ] – for the sender’s muse to kiss the palm of receiver’s hand.

THANK YOU FRENNNN have some post-DA:A zevran/tabris, on their joint mission to bring down the Crows :3

for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

Rivain was more humid than she’d expected. Even with the lightweight sheath she wore—the merchant had called it a dress, but she had her doubts—the moisture in the air clung to her skin like leeches.

She’d be expected to return to the dance floor shortly. Anyone who lingered at the edges of the party too long became suspect and that wasn’t the goal, at least not yet. Not until Zevran returned from his reconnaissance.

One hand smoothed back the wisps of hair that had escaped her updo and she rejoined the foray of swinging arms and gyrating hips.

They’d come to Ayesleigh on a tip from one of Zevran’s contacts. A Guildmaster left his tail end foolishly exposed, as if no one would take advantage. With two of their number down you’d think they would be more cognizant of their personal safety, but it seemed they were all supremely confident in their abilities of self defense.

Fools, the lot of them.

Ariya dipped in time with the music and as she lifted herself upright hands caught around her waist and shoulder.

“You put them all to shame, mi amor” Zevran murmured, pulling her firmly against his chest on the upbeat. His eyes glittered behind a black half-mask and Ariya couldn’t resist pushing up to press a passing kiss against the corner of his mouth.

“What took you so long?”

Her lover spun her out to arms length, then wrapped her back into his embrace. “A dastardly set of pressure plates.”

“I told you you should have let me come with you.”

“Ah, but with such beauty out here, I was assured privacy in the Guildmaster’s quarters.”

“Flattery won’t get you everywhere, Zev.”

“It will get me somewhere, though.” He favored her with a brief flash of cocky teeth. “It’s gotten me here, after all.”

Ariya rolled her eyes and slid between his legs, popping up between his shoulder blades and catching the very edge of his ear between her teeth. With how her body was pressed against his, she felt the invisible shiver that passed through him at that.

“It’s not the only thing,” she murmured against his ear. “And don’t you forget it.”

“I could never.” Zevran’s dagger-calloused palms pressed through her shift and lifted her over his head, spinning her about and then pulling her against one hip. He trailed one hand up her leg and caught her wrist where it rested at her side.

There was a lull in the music, a holding pattern of drums and strings for people to exchange partners or leave the floor. All the while holding her heightened gaze, Zevran brought his lover’s hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her palm.

Ariya’s breath caught in her throat, between her chest heaving at their exertion and the heady, adoring look Zevran was giving her. Her tongue darted across her lips and Zevran’s eyes followed it, even as they both moved to keep in time with the new tune the band was stringing out.

“Any promising leads?” she asked, swinging under his arm and catching his other hand where it flung out to meet her.

Zevran hummed. “A few. We may need…a distraction.”

Her shoes clicked against the tiled floor and it was Ariya’s turn to grin salaciously. Torchlight glinted off her teeth, just as it had been glinting off the daggers surreptitiously concealed in her heels all night. She kicked one foot up to meet her hand and just like that, she had a blade between her fingers. With a fleeting kiss over Zevran’s lips, she released him.

“I think I can manage that.”

[inquisimer]

happy friday mer! what about "an overheard conversation about your OC" from more codex prompts for ariya tabris? 👀

thank you aster!! taking some liberties with this one - not a conversation, per se, but a recounting of a conversation

for @dadrunkwriting

A crumpled page of newspaper found near the gates of the Denerim alienage. The back is marked with hastily scrawled charcoal.

—heard from Luisa that she let the Teyrn live! Conscripted him! I was there when the Warden conscripted her and he certainly doesn’t deserve that honor. Not after what he done to Valendrian.

Can’t believe one of our own would do that.

Maybe Luisa knew wrong, but she’s always been the most reliable of the queen’s handmaidens. Never given me a bad tip. And with something as big as this—

Well. It’s not like that Tabris was ever coming back here anyway. Always did think her britches were a bit too big for us lowly folk, and she’s just provin’ what we all knew all along.

Shame, though. Cyrian would have been a good hahren.

[inquisimer]

and for Tabris & Loghain!! ❛ it’s not for you. it’s not a favor. it’s the cruelest thing i could do. ❜

thank youuuuuu for indulging my very specific brainrot asdfsjkl, Tabris & Loghain tension be upon ye

for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

The entire room held a singular breath, their collective attention focused on an elf with more power than a knife-ear had held in Denerim’s living memory. Ariya felt the tension that spiraled out from her, catching each of her companions in its net. She felt, rather than saw, Zevran’s calm, reliable gaze on her, watching always watching her back. Leliana and Morrigan whispered in each other’s ears like Orlesian theatergoers and Sten had a steadying hand on her mabari, whose low and plaintive whine was somehow lost to the silence. To her left, Alistair was red faced and nearly shaking; if she didn’t decide quickly, he was liable to drive her blade forward himself.

Her blade, which currently rested against the neck of Teryn Loghain Mac Tir.

“Wait!” Riordan’s shout stayed her hand. Even a year of bearing the responsibility of success and survival on her shoulders could not erase the instinct to defer to an elder. She did not flinch, nor did she withdraw her weapon. She stared down into the eyes of the man who left her to die and sold her family into slavery while Riordan explained the alternative.

“Absolutely not!” Alistair objected, of course. The fool idiot, always seeing honor and light where there were none. He’d projected his own experience onto the Wardens as a whole and Duncan had done him a disservice by letting that attitude fester. Best to shatter it now in one fell blow.

Ariya dropped her dagger.

There were threats, but they were empty. Alistair lacked the spine to carry through on his anger and that same foolish honor wouldn’t let him back out of an agreement. So it was that the traitor teryn rose from his knees and followed the last two Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden to Eamon’s estate.

“Traditionally we would have you collect the darkspawn blood personally,” said Riordan, setting a simple chalice on the arl’s desk with a clink. Did all senior wardens just carry those around with them? “But given the circumstances—“

He uncorked a vial and emptied it into the chalice. It smoked slightly and hissed against the metal. There were no words of poetry or chivalry; Riordan did not ask and Ariya did not offer. Perhaps it was just another piece of the illusion Duncan painted for his charge.

“From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden.” He extended the chalice, and Loghain drank.

He survived, because of course he did. Because the universe had not taken pity on Ariya Tabris and it wasn’t about to start now. And now she had to endure not only Alistair’s hostile absence,  but the sidelong glances and smothered commentary of her other companions as well. Barely smothered, in some cases.

She cleaved the head off a hurlock, baring her teeth as its lifeblood sprayed across her face. Each drop rang with the archdemon's song, the call echoed in the spatter, and it did not scare her. Not anymore. As the battle fell silent, instinct turned her head, checking that they were all upright, and looking for goods and chests to loot.

A soft glow already enveloped Leliana’s arm as Wynne pressed healing magic to a jagged gash, but otherwise everyone seemed—

No. Her gaze caught on Loghain. For all intents and purposes, he seemed fine. But her keen eyes caught on the shift in his gait, the way he favored his left side. She cast a quick glance at Wynne. The mage had finished with Leliana, but pointedly ignored the former teryn. Not interested in reigniting the argument, Ariya withdrew a poultice and some bandages from her pack.

“Where?” she asked. If she shook, it was merely frustration and anger, that she was here, that she had to mitigate rivalries when the fate of the world sat in their very hands.

“You need not concern yourself with me.”

“Wrong.” Gritting her teeth, the elf tipped her chin back and gave Loghain the same steely, gray glare she’d given Vaughan Kendells before burying a dagger in his gut. “Throw away your pride, harrellan. It has no place here. Where are you injured?”

For a beat she thought he might refuse. Her resolve would shatter, undoubtedly. But he was ever a soldier and he bent to his commander’s will, unbuckling his chestpiece and revealing an arrow wound in his side. The projectile had gone clean through; it would need only a salve and time, since Wynne refused to touch him.

“Sit.” She nodded to a nearby stump. She unhooked her canteen from her belt and poured the frigid water over his skin, drawing a hiss between his teeth.

“It would have healed without care,” he said lowly. “The wound was clean.”

There was no question and Ariya had little patience for small talk that danced around the issue, so she said nothing. She scooped the salve from it’s jar and smeared it over the wound.

Another hiss, and a grunt. “Why do you show me this kindness?”

She paused, her hand resting just a hair’s width from his skin. “Do not mistake what I have done to you as a kindness.”

She wiped the excess salve on her leg and unwound a fresh bandage. “This is not a path for your redemption or forgiveness. This country will not forgive you, on behalf of their king. And you cannot forgive the rest of the world for not being Ferelden.”

She cinched the bandage tight against his ribs. “It is an unspeakable agony to live in a world that has no place for you. And it is the cruelest thing I could imagine for you. That is the only reason you still draw breath—make no mistake.”

His eyes lingered on the top of her head as she collected the supplies and stowed them away. When she straightened up, he still wore the mask of ambivalence he’d been hiding behind. She wished she could sense his mood the way she sensed the Taint coursing in his veins. She wanted to know that he burned the way she did, with every step away from the home she’d always known, with every tie she had to sever for the greater good.

“Your life is not a favor, Loghain Mac Tir,” she spat, kicking her boot against the land he was named for. “It is a burden you must now bear.”

[inquisimer]

HELLOOOOO MER I come a-crawlin and a-beggin for Ariya & Loghain with "We're a strange pair, aren't we?" from the Fall list?

HI RO thank you for this one, I'm holding them gently🥺 they're friends dammit

for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

Ariya’s daggers thrummed as she thrust them deep in the hurlock’s chest, sending wave of the Blighted song up through her arms into her mind. She pulled her blades free in a spurt of black blood and the corpse fell to the ground with a surprisingly mundane thud.

She scanned the field, ready to leap on the next foe, but it was empty save for a lone warrior. Loghain was already wiping his blade with a thoroughly stained cloth, cleaning the acidic darkspawn blood from the silverite edge.

“Took you long enough,” he said.

“Sorry we aren’t all muscle-bound giants with swords,” she muttered, dragging the felled hurlock over to the pile. She pulled her flint and striker from the pouch at her hip and set the sparks to the corpses, quickly stepping back as flame roared, consuming the putrid flesh.

“If you wanted to take the time to learn, there’s a spare blade right here. Even your spindly arms could lift one, in time.”

Ariya scowled, but there was no bite in the gesture. “You’ll be eating those words next time your caught in one of those claw traps.”

A good natured smile curled his lips as he held his hands up in surrender. “Say no more, serah. Shall we make camp?”

The sun had dipped below the horizon as they fought, leaving only dregs of light across the greying skyline. Ariya wrinkled her nose at the decaying bonfire before them.

“Downwind, perhaps?”

Scant weeks had passed since they put the Fifth Blight to bed. Every morning and all day long Ariya caught herself tripping, jerking upright, as though she’d forgotten a treaty, an alliance, some angle that would give them leverage against an irrational, mindless opponent. She dreamed of Blighted dragons, roaring in her face as her companions turned away, and she woke with an aching heart and sweat slicked hair.

But the archdemon was dead. Her companions had left her, but not until the end, and they would come back if she asked, she was sure of it.

Well, most of them.

Loghain had a proper fire stoked and chunks of potato roasting over the coals by the time Ariya had pitched the tents and returned from a quick bath in the nearby river. He took his turn to rinse the residual darkspawn blood from his skin and armor; just because it no longer posed a deathly threat to them didn’t mean it was any more pleasant when it lingered.

Dinner was ready when he returned and they ate in mutually comfortable silence, taking turns scratching Rinn behind his perky ears and slipping him scraps of meat when they thought the other wasn’t looking.

“We’ve largely cleared this region,” Loghain finally said, clearing his throat and staring up at the moon that had long since risen in the sky. “Where will we go next?”

Ariya hummed thoughtfully. The Thaw was well underway and there were few resources to combat it. Despite Alistair’s mitigating influence, the Arls and Banns were loathe to allow any Orlesian force—even one under the Warden banner—to cross their boarders. The last word she’d had was that they were mustering a force from the Free Marches, but communication there was sparse, at best, and they had to travel across the Waking Sea to boot.

So really it was just the Ferelden Wardens against the lingering darkspawn. All two of them.

She sighed and dragged a hand through her damp hair, shaking it out in the heat of the fire. She had a few haphazardly drawn maps, a slapdash list of areas to go, squirreled away to her by Zevran and Leliana in their underhanded ways. It felt as though she’d never have anything more official, despite Weisshaupt’s clear treatment of her as the local Commander.

“Up toward West Hill, I think. Seems to be where they’re fleeing.”

“We can skirt around Highever, then, clear out any stragglers along the border.”

Ariya nodded. “Teryn Cousland has a handle on his lands, but I’m sure he’d appreciate the help.”

“From you, perhaps.” Loghain snorted. “I’m sure he’d rather I not come within ten leagues of his territory.”

“Ah, but it’s good you’re traveling with such a scrawny elf, then, no?” Ariya chucked her empty stake into the flames; they flared, sent a shower of sparks into the inky night. “A scrawny elf who earned the unending devotion of Highever by saving their country and avenging their mutiny.”

“Howe was a fool.”

“He wasn’t the only one,” she remarked, but there was a smile in her quip. They’d hashed and rehashed, screamed and stabbed their mistakes and regrets to death. Perhaps strangers looking in wouldn’t understand, but Ariya took great comfort in a companion who, at the very least, was no worse than she had been at times.

Life went on, as her mother had liked to say. Their hearts beat out a Blighted duty and it was only that which held them to answer.

“I’ll take first watch,” she offered, reaching for her whetstone. “Can’t have the old man drifting off when there’s darkspawn on the fringe.”

His bemused snort tickled her ears and she smiled. It was a Blighted world, but they made it work.

[inquisimer]

Happy DWC! ❝  it wasn’t just about needing someone tonight.  it was you i needed.  ❞ for Zevran and Tabris?

happy dadwc friday!! Apparently I'm in a warden-and-LI-waking-up-together mood tonight lol

for @dadrunkwriting

Waking up in Denerim is so different than waking on the road.

Ariya rolls over and there are no cricks in her neck, no kinks in her back. She stretches her arms above her head and strains her feet; her fingers and toes meet no canvas and suffer no chill for leaving the cocoon of blankets and Zevran’s arms.

Her sleep was fitful. Too many months sleeping on thinly covered rocks, she thought, and before that on a stiff cot all her life. She’d sunk into the plush mattress at Eamon’s estate and her aching muscles and bruised limbs hadn’t known how to take it.

Zevran has no such qualms, based on how he’s nestled in the bed. His hair is mussed from both their activities last night and sleep; one stray piece has settled over his lips and flutters slightly with each exhale. Ariya turns in the circle of his arms and loops her own back around his neck. She rests her head on Zevran’s chest and enjoys the beat of his heart against her cheek. The gentle rhythm of his breathing lulls her back toward the Fade and she drifts, not quite asleep and not quite awake, floating in that hazy place where darkspawn and human tyrants dare not tread.

She stirs with the gentle press of lips against her crown.

“Good morning, mi amor.”

Ariya tilts her head back and smiles, leaving a trail of kisses up his neck and under his chin before sealing her lips over his.

“Good morning indeed.”

Now that they are both awake, an awkward tension has thickened between them. Ariya hates it, because things between them have always been smooth and easy. They understood each other in a way their upright, Chantry-going companions could not. The edge that came from living under a constant gaze, be it Crow master or human lord; the rush of a pocket successfully picked or a stab mortally landed—experiences they couldn’t explain or share, but saw within the other all the same.

But then. But then. She caught feelings. And he did too. But the both danced around the issue like children ‘round the Vhenadahl, because they both wanted to give in and also both clung to the easy way they’d fallen together.

And now they are here. Waking in the morning light, their first night together in many, many nights and she struggles to find the words to explain. He watches her as only an assassin can: like he is picking out the details of her weakness and yet lays his heart open to offer her the same.

“It wasn’t just about somebody,” she finally blurts and the tension snaps like a twig underfoot. Words fall out of her mouth faster than she can form them and it’s probably incoherent but she needs to get it out. “I needed you, Zev, and I’m tired of pretending it’s anything less. It’s not fair and it cheapens this and if that’s too much for you then—“

His hand presses against her mouth and stems the tide of words. Her instinct wants to lick his palm but she holds back—neither of them needed an excuse to avoid a serious conversation.

His other hand traced up her side until it reached her face and followed the line of her ear, up and around the pointed tip. She shivered at the touch—maybe she was willing to forgo the serious conversation actually—and then his fingers settled at the lobe, toying with the earring there.

“Amore, amore, amore,” he murmurs. They’re sharing a breath and she feels his words across her face and against her lips.

“It was about you,” he whispered. No hesitation, no doubt. He tugs lightly on the earring. “It was always about you.”

Oh.

Oh.

She surges upward and kisses him with the passion of a thousand suns, somehow also tender and gently like moonlight. I love you I love you I love you, she thinks, and she urges the words through her lips and her tongue and her fingers that tangle in his mussed up hair.

“I love you,” she murmurs when they both pull back, gasping. His face lights up like a mage’s staff and she can’t help but steal one more gentle kiss, wants to taste the delight he’s feeling. She says it again just to feel him spark against her and suddenly she’s beneath him, staring up into sparkling eyes.

“And I, you,” he says. Then, because they cannot stay serious in love for long, a mischievous grin cracks his face and he peppers kisses along her neck and up the line of her ear.

And it is easy again.

[inquisimer]

MER HELLO for dadwc consider maybeeeeee:

Zevran: "There was no one left to save them."

Tabris: "There's me."

HAPPY FRIDAY RO have some doubtful Tabris ft. devil's advocate Zevran 🥰🥰

for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

She shouldn’t be able to see smoke from the alienage this far off.

They’d reached Denerim after hours of hard riding, only to find it already decimated by the darkspawn presence. Riordan was on top of issuing orders, directing their motley group of defenders where they’d be most effective. But Ariya couldn’t hear his words—she stood in the plaza, staring south and trying to restart her heart.

A column of thick, dark smoke rose from a location that could only be the alienage. It was far enough to be beyond the river, but too close to be the Pearl, or one of the random alleys that made up that section of the city.

Shianni—Soris—the orphanage—

A calloused hand encircled her wrist and Ariya realized she’d taken half a dozen paces away from the group.

“Mi amor,” Zevran spoke quietly, but the concern was apparent in his voice. “Where are you going?”

“I—“ Ariaya stopped short, because she spoke sooner than the words had articulated. He knew, of course, about Shianni and Soris, about the trials and tribulations of growing up alienage, about the failed wedding and the shattered, traumatic remains she’d left behind when she joined the Wardens. She’d told him, in vulnerable moments over naked bodies and campfire watches. But she still wondered how much he really understood.

“Look.” She nodded toward the smoke, though there was no way he hadn’t already scouted the surrounding threats. “I can’t—what if—they need my help and I’m right here. Fuck whatever plan Riordan has—I haven’t followed the Wardens’ game plan until now and I’m not about to start.”

“Are they worth it?” Zevran spoke evenly, and Ariya would have smacked him, if not for the understanding that he was merely a sounding board, reflecting her own doubts back at him. “The Warden will expect you to seek out the greatest threats. Is the alienage worth so many other lives, should one not be there?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said fiercely. “They’ve been forgotten—or worse, under him” —she gestured roughly at the greasy-haired man they’d recruited against her better judgment. “I can’t let that be their last stand. If the Blight would take my family and spare the world, I’d rather die.”

“Would you? Would you see your family here” —his hands swept across Wynne, where she instructed Morrigan on mass healing spells, to Oghren, who was reviewing their group formation with the new recruit— “reduced to ash at the cost of those neighbors who remain in the alienage?”

“Yes—“ The declaration was out before she comprehended the meaning. That she would sacrifice all of them—Zevran included—for the alienage’s well being.

Ariaya grabbed his wrist as he attempted to draw it back from her shoulder. “Zev I—“

“No.” He shook his head. The anger she expected never materialized though; he merely watched her through even-keeled, expressionless eyes. “Do not break your convictions for me, amor,” he implored. “I would not ask that of you.”

“It’s just—“ Ariya broke off, staring down at her fingers twisted together. No one ever looked out for the alienage. Even within the walls, there was a certain amount of “every elf for themselves”.

Adaia had been the one to teach her that—and to tell her that it was wrong. That they should care for each person, elven or otherwise, to the their ability.

“If I don’t go to them now, who will?” she whispered, bringing Zevran’s knuckles to her forehead.

“No one will save them,” he said evenly. “There is no one left.”

“There’s me,” she affirmed, looking up at him with steel in her gaze. “I’m here—and the Wardens can’t take my heart from me. They can’t have any of my hearts.”

She squeezed his hand with as much determination as she willed into her voice. They would save the alienage and she would save him. The Wardens and the archdemon be damned.

“Zevran and I will attend the alienage,” she declared, voice cutting loud and decisive over Riordan’s idyllic plan. “The rest of you, preserve the city. Riordan, Loghain, if you see the chance—“

“Of course, milady.”

She waited for the inevitable pushback, but it never came. Her lover tugged on her wrist.

“If we are to offer any meaningful aid, we must go now.”

Ariya nodded, steeling herself for the greater horrors she would face in short order. “Lead on, amor.”

“Lead on?” said Zevran. “I wouldn’t dare. Don’t you know it’s rude to lead a woman to her own doorstep?”

Ariya laughed, the chuckles coming between smoky breaths. “Hold on to that attitude, my love. If my father is still alive, it may be enough to distract him from my mother’s influence and my fiancée’s demise.”