#this is my first time drawing alistair and i am NERVOUS

[squidmayo]

Jolene cousland and Alistair WIP  ଘ(੭ˊ꒳​ˋ)੭✧

click for quality

[mandoalorian]

Sugar and Spice [Maxwell Lord x Reader] - Chapter 11

Summary: When you are evicted from your apartment by your toxic ex boyfriend and have no place to go, who do you turn to? Alone in the city as the countdown to Christmas begins, you find yourself applying for a job as the assistant of the world’s biggest entrepreneur; Maxwell Lord. Little do you know, he has other intentions for you. No doubt about it, this Christmas will truly be like no other.

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Smut, mentions of a previous verbally abusive relationship, typical 80s misogyny (but very little of it), mentions of food and drink, alcohol consumption. This is a sugardaddy x sugarbaby fic soooo… a daddy k!nk too oops.

But in this chapter - references to verbal abuse and a neglectful mother.

Author’s note: After an accidental one month hiatus, I’m back! I’m nervous about posting this because I haven’t updated December Magic since I saw WW84. As you may have noticed, I have rebranded this fic and the name is now called ‘Sugar and Spice’! There is a slight time jump in this chapter, and it’s just a short one as I ween back into it, but I realised I was struggling so much continuing this fic after seeing WW84 because it just didn’t feel like the Max Lord we ended up with was anything like the Max Lord in this fic. This chapter is my attempt to make amends and draw a link between Sugar and Spice and WW84. 

While I’m here I want to give a shout out to my new on-going Max Lord series ‘I Believe In Love’, which you can read here. I Believe In Love is like my baby and I am so so proud of it thus far.  Anyways, enjoy chapter 11 of December Magic!

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS - CHAPTER ELEVEN - NEXT

He hadn’t come home for Christmas. He hadn’t come home for two months. It was fine at first. He called you as soon as he reached London, just like he promised. He expressed to you how busy he was with work commitments and how difficult it was for him to cope with the timezones. The distance between the UK and USA was devastating. Your hour long phone calls gradually became more spread out and only lasted a few minutes, and honestly? It broke your heart. There you were; living in Lord Manor, and Maxwell had kept his word: “you want for nothing”. You had everything. His weighty black AMEX card, a house staff such as a butler and a chef and your own personal driver to take you wherever you wished to go. Any material possessions you wished for… they were yours. You weren’t even working for the privilege or the money. Max was far away and yet, he made sure you still had a home and a life, and he made sure that you were safe.

But there was still an extreme void in your heart. You were missing Maxwell. You’d try calling him but there was always a dead line. Not even Raquel would answer. You felt like you were drifting apart and your whole body ached with dread as you wondered if Max had forgotten about you. You’d kept in contact with Maxwell’s three assistants at Black Gold and they had no information on the work commitments that Max was supposedly seeing too. The romance you had shared during December may have been a whirlwind, but you knew him better than any other person on the planet and you felt like he was deliberately avoiding you.

There was something not right.

***

“Kitty!” Maxwell cried, his cheeks burning red and his eyes flicking with bewilderment as the child was thrust into his arms. A ghost from his past. Kitty was an ex lover of Maxwell’s, and honestly one of many. He hadn’t thought about her in years.

“I’ve brought him up for the past six years, he’s your problem now!” Kitty spat, an evil smirk crossing her lips. “I see you on the television with all your fame and fortune, if you don’t want him then the least you can do is pay a nanny to watch him. I have nothing Max. A shitty little apartment in the east of London. I’m working for a modelling internship but it’s hard to find luck when I’ve got a six year old kid dragging my heels behind.”

“Dragging your heels?” Maxwell repeated, furiosity burning his lungs. “He’s your son for Christ sake! How can you say that? Right in front of him!” 

Maxwell turned back to the child who was standing as still as ever in the centre of the hotel room, nervously looking at his feet. Everytime Kitty raised her voice, the boy winced, and it crushed Max. This situation was all too familiar to him. 

“He’s your son too!” Kitty glared, her face just as cold as her heart. “I want nothing to do with him. Goodbye.” Kitty said, her voice venomous, before leaving the hotel room and slamming the door behind her.

Maxwell’s knees felt weak and wobbly and he stumbled to his bed, sinking down with an exasperated sigh. Max’s hands cradled his own face and he blinked away unshed tears before sitting back up and looking at the six year old boy. The boy was silent, and his dark eyes matched the sadness of his father’s. How could this have happened?

Maxwell Lord had a son.

Max didn’t know what to say. What could he possibly say? He remembered doing work in London back in 1977; it was the start of his big break, and his bachelor persona hadn’t changed much since then. When Kitty found out Maxwell was back in London, she used it as her one final chance to track him down. Turns out, a big name CEO such as Max Lord was hard to get a hold of, especially when he lived on the other side of the world. Kitty never had pure intentions. Of course the pregnancy was unplanned and the sad reality was, Alistair was unwanted by his mother. Kitty was an aspiring model, fueled by ambition and goal, much like Maxwell. She didn’t have a single maternal instinct in her. Only there was a significant difference between Alistair’s parents. Whilst Kitty cared so little about her son, Maxwell knew that from this day forward, Alistair would be his top priority. He would never let his job intervene with his son. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes his own parents did.

Maxwell never thought about children, or considered bringing any into the world. He told himself he’d never want to be a father. He had such a terrible upbringing himself and his mother was wicked, he’d be too afraid. He’d never want to hurt or disappoint a potential child of his the way his own parents had hurt and disappointed him. But when he looked into his son’s eyes he felt nothing but determination. He’d been an absent father and that was not okay. Max just wished he’d known about his son before now. But it’s not like he could turn back time. Max knew he had to make amends and he knew he had to do it now.

Maxwell opened his arms and held Alistair’s hands, bringing him close and holding him tight against his chest. “My son,” he whispered, trying to refrain from crying. “I love you so much. I know you don’t know me, but you will, and I will spend the rest of my life making you proud. You are my everything.”

“You saved me daddy,” Alistair whimpered, tears spilling and dampening his father’s pinstripe shirt. “Thank you.”

***

You waited every day for Maxwell to return, but you never expected him. You were laying on the living room sofa, a blanket wrapped around you, half asleep as the muse from the television drowned out your thoughts. When you heard the lock on the front door click open, you thought you were dreaming. There was no way. No way. Footsteps. Hell, there was more chance of an intruder than it was Max. You rubbed your eyes and cautiously rose to your feet.

Your heart sank when he entered the room. It was him. He was home. Tears filled your eyes and you couldn’t hide the excited grin that painted your lips. “Oh my god Max!” you squealed, running up to him. He looked tired, but he was smiling too. You were inclined to run into his arms, but your focus on his face left you without realizing the small sleeping child he was carrying in his arms.

You blinked in confusion, your gaze flicking between Maxwell and the boy. “This is Alistair, my son.” Maxwell informed you, his voice hoarse and low. At the mention of his name Alistair stirred in his sleep and Maxwell immediately, on instinct, shushed him. 

“You-what?” You were speechless. You knew something was wrong the second Max had distanced himself. The second the phone calls had stopped and he hadn’t come home. You knew something was wrong when his assistants said his work schedule was clear. But never in a million years did you expect your sugar daddy to come home with a son.

“I didn’t know,” Max whispered in avoidance to wake up Alistair. “It’s a long story but I promise I’ll tell you everything. I’m sorry I didn’t come home for Christmas like I promised. I’m so sorry baby. I’ll make up for it.”

You couldn’t even gather words. You swallowed the hard lump in your throat and contemplated everything. You sighed. You believed Max - how could you not? Of course, you were very interested in learning all about his secret son but you supposed that didn’t matter too much right now. All that mattered is that Max was home, and safe. You smiled and rested your hand on Alistair’s forehead, brushing his straight black hair out of his face. Alistair smiled sleepily under your touch. Max’s cheeks grew warm with admiration as you comforted his son. It meant a lot to him that you took a liking to Alistair and that you accepted the fact Alistair was in his life now, and nothing would change that.

After all, Max Lord was still hopelessly devoted and in love with you.

“Come on,” you whispered, bringing your hand up to cup Maxwell’s face. You brushed your thumb over the height of his cheekbone and Max found himself subconsciously leaning into your touch. “Let’s take him to bed and go to bed ourselves. We clearly have a lot to catch up on.”

Max nodded his head in affirmation and you followed him upstairs. He took Alistair to a guest bedroom and gently tucked him under the blankets, pressing a caring kiss into his son’s forehead before turning back to you. As you watched his gentle actions, it was like you were witnessing a whole new side to Maxwell. And it was beautiful.

Sugar and Spice taglist:  @100layersofdaddyissues @mrschiltoncat @honeymandos @thisisthe-wayson @this-cat-is-dea @blonde2bomshell @maiyaaaa0130 @autumnleaves1991-blog @justanotherblonde23 @softly-sad @laaadygisbooornex3 @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @drinkingwhileblogging @kesskirata @honestlystop​

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711  @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja190 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat

[siribear]

8a

8b

"Twin! I need your help with something."

The door to the war room swings open hard, cracking against the brick wall. Amell and her three advisors turn to stare at Alistair, who stares at them sheepishly. Leliana covers a laugh, Josephine grins, amused, and Cullen pulls away from just handing her a report. Amell rolls her eyes with a sigh and leafs through it. "Cullen, have your people keep travelers away from the valley."

"Of course, Inquisitor."

"Really," Alistair draws out the word to the brink of annoyance, "need your help."

"If you made Elissa mad somehow, that's your own fault."

"I didn't! Well, okay, maybe, but not really?"

Amell finally looks up from an update out of the Hinterlands: a high dragon has moved in to the valley near one of the Inquisition camps. Alistair shifts on his feet nervously, as if he'd rather face that dragon than have this conversation. With another sigh, she calls the council to a close. Cullen leaves with a kiss to her cheek.

"You two are adorable," Alistair says dryly.

"Don't start with me." She tucks the report under her arm. "Are you okay? I heard about Fiona."

Isolated as Skyhold is, gossip travels quickly within its walls. That, and Elissa hadn't exactly been quiet with her dressing down of the former Grand Enchanter. She and Vivienne heard it all fun the upstairs balcony.

Alistair ceases his fidgeting and closes the door only to lean heavily against it. "Oh." He stares at the floor. "Yeah."

Amell jumps up to sit on the edge of the table. "I know you've been hurt, Alistair." She remembers Goldanna, a handful of hungry children, their arms open for coin and not comfort . "But Fiona's a mage, and we don't... you remember Wynne telling us her child was taken from her? That's the only thing we've ever known, until the war happened."

"So you want me to just forgive her?"

"If my mother showed up now and asked for forgiveness, I wouldn't give it. But she had options. Fiona... mages don't usually get a future, Alistair."

She touches her cheek. If it weren't for the Grey Wardens, the war, and the Inquisiton, she wouldn't have one. And not everyone can be so lucky.

"Future..." He blinks. Suddenly his entire demeanor shifts as he goes from contemplative back to buzzing with nervous energy. "Fiona isn't why I wanted to talk to you."

She cants her head sideways. "What then?"

"I, uh." Alistair runs his hands through his hair, the sun catching the highlights in the blonde. One of the more superficial reasons they call each other twins. "I want to ask Elissa to marry me. You're her best friend, and her sister, and I wanted to ask you first."

Amell throws herself at him in a hug to rival his in the smuggler's cove. "It's about time. I was beginning to worry."

"I know. I don't want to wait any more." He pulls her off him by the shoulders. "So that's a yes?"

"It is. But remember," she presses a finger gently to his chest, right over his heart, "I loved her first. If you hurt her, there won't be enough left of you to sweep off of the floor. Am I clear?"

Alistair takes her hand and twines their pinkies together. An old ritual, not forgotten. "If I hurt her, I'll deserve it."

"Good. Now, what do you have planned?"

-

Cullen stands next to her, after the ceremony, his fingers barely touching hers. They're still feeling their way around how affectionate to be in public, even if everyone here knows them. Old habits that need to die hard. She laces their fingers together and leans into him.

"You did well," Cullen says, and she watches his gaze sweep across the crowd of guests to land on the arch.

"It wasn't all me. Josie put a lot of it together." Really, all Amell did was hand her a guest list vetted by Alistair. And stop Josephine from making it a huge affair instead of the small garden party it is. "I'm happy for them."

Cullen clears his throat. "Have you ever thought about...?"

"After a few nights in the Tower, I dreamed a prince would come rescue me on the back of a dragon and we would get married and live in a castle." Amell rests her head against his shoulder, thankful he decided to forgo his full armor. "Then I met Alistair and now I think princes are overrated."

Cullen laughs, and Amell thinks she could listen to that sound forever.

"What about you? Do they even let templars marry?"

"Some do, yes, with Chantry permission. But me? Ah," he grows quiet. Across the garden, Elissa laughs loud at a crude gesture from Sera while Alistair turns a furious shade of red. "I hadn't considered it."

"That decides it then," she says, and he looks down at her, confused. "We're doomed to die unwed, together."

"Ah. Poor us." He hums a contented sigh. "I wasn't going to ask if you would, by the way."

"No?"

"No. I want to do this right."

"Are you going to court me, Commander?"

"If you would have me, Inquisitor."

This is why she's glad she's never been to a wedding before now, she thinks as she settles more heavily against Cullen. He shifts to accommodate her. It would have broken her to know it was something she could never have.

"I'm sorry to interrupt Inquisitor, Commander."

Cullen chuckles. It's their own inside joke, at this point. "Cassandra."

Her eyes are still red rimmed from tears. Worse than Amell's, she thinks. How far Cassandra and Elissa have come from drawing steel at Haven.

"Could we speak, Inquisitor?"

Amell pulls away from Cullen's shoulder reluctantly but nods. Thankfully, Dorian sweeps in to take her place. The last she sees is the two of them sitting down at a chess table before Cassandra leads her around the corner of a hedge row.

Cassandra invites her to sit next to her on a bench, shaded by the trunk of a large tree. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to start a scandal."

The corners of Cassandra's mouth twitch into a smile. "Don't think I haven't grown used to you and your friend's teasing." She folds her hands in her lap. "I believe I have been... unfair to you."

Amell needs more than two hands to count the number of times Cassandra has saved her life. "Unfair?"

"I've been chasing Elissa and Hawke for years, hoping that maybe they could have done something to prevent all of this."

Not unreasonable, Amell thinks. People are more likely to listen to Heroes and Champions in times of strife.

"After the Conclave, I wondered if they were there they could have saved the Divine. But you were there. If you could have saved her you would have. I know that now.

I am trying to focus on what I can change, instead of dwelling on what I cannot. The Maker chose to send you when we needed you most, and you answered. I could ask for no more."

Where there was doubt, Amell feels something else begin to replace it: worthiness. "Thank you. I... That actually means a lot, coming from you. I just hope I can live up to the title."

Cassandra claps her on the back, and they rise. "You are."

-

"Cassandra and Inky sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g. Better watch out, Cully-Wully!" Sera dances away when Amell half-heartedly swipes at her.

"Oh good," Dorian says from the chess table. "Distract him for me, would you?"

Amell wraps her arms over Cullen's shoulders and places a kiss to his temple. "I'm afraid you're a lost cause, Dorian," she tells him as she inspects the board. "Two moves, tops."

"Commander, have you been toying with me?"

Cullen chuckles, and she feels it rumble against her chest. "I had to kill time until she returned."

Dorian throws up his hands after Cullen moves his last piece. "Alright, alright." He points to Amell. "You're going to help me beat him one day." At her nod, Dorian finds and follows Bull out of the garden.

Cullen absently traces a finger along her arm. "You and I should play some time."

Elissa calls the both of them over. Almost everyone else has left, and those that remain only do so to enjoy the garden. "I owe you a game, and you owe me a dance." She draws him up from his seat. "Let's go see what the newlyweds want, hm?"

-

There's no time for a game, or even for them to spend much time together, with her lessons in etiquette and dancing and learning exactly how to speak to the nobles without giving anything away.

It's exhausting. Worse than tiptoeing around templars. It's a relief when she's called to clear a rift or deal with an offshoot of Corypheus's army elsewhere, but even that comes to a stop the closer they come to the ball.

And then there's the dress.

Cobalt blue, like Elissa suggested, with a neckline that plunges down to her navel. A leather band cinches it at her waist and hips, with cords to keep the light, sheer fabric defined around her legs. A shawl, powder blue, drapes over her shoulders, held in place by more leather cords, to flow down almost to the floor with the rest of the dress. The back of it is wide open, an easy target for an arrow or blade, metaphorical or otherwise.

"Josie, what if we're drawn into combat?"

"Don't," says the ambassador as she pins up half of Amell's hair. The rest tumbles down between her shoulder blades.

Her mask, the top fashioned to look like Andraste's  crown, hides the blush on her cheeks but the cut of the dress gives the rest away.

"Even speaking at Halamshiral will be like combat, my dear." Vivienne adorns Amell's hair with sapphires. "This will be your armor. The rest of your accoutrement we will have ready should you need it, of course."

When they're finished, Amell turns to look at herself in the mirror. The shawl hides the scars from Redcliffe still lingering on her arms, and the faded white on her hand without the Anchor she can pass as defensive scars. Without those, she hardly recognizes herself.

Leliana sweeps the dress away from her slippers, strapped at the ankles and the only practical part of the ensemble. "These should be easy to move in. And a small dagger can be slipped in here," she points at a small sheathe hidden in the straps, "and here," another sheathe tied around her thigh and anchored at her hip. Both hidden in the waterfall of blue fabric, even if she does have to dance.

"And you were worried." Amell looks over her shoulder, back to Elissa in her own formal dress. "You're gonna knock them all dead before they even get to Celene."

Amell takes a deep breath, watches her chest rise and fall with it. "Right." She steps down from the short stool in front of the mirror. "One dance in this thing, Josie, just so I know how it'll move?"

Josephine smiles and takes her hand while Leliana counts her into the steps. By the end of it, she feels only slightly lightheaded but, honestly, from the quick glimpses she caught of herself in the mirror, beautiful. In the mask, she can pretend she's someone else entirely, and maybe that's the point.

Though she still feels most comfortable in her casual tunic and pants that makes up her Skyhold attire.

Elissa claps her hands together once they're both changed and all the jewels have been removed from their hair. "Great. Varric's hosting a game of Wicked Grace soon, and I'm not missing it."

His idea of preparing their poker faces for The Game, he said, but sometimes she thinks he just misses everyone he met in Kirkwall. He and Leliana share in their big hearts and using their connections to watch over those they care about.

Or maybe he just wants to have a good time and take everyone's gold while doing so.

Elissa grabs her hand. "Come on. Varric said he talked Cullen into playing. Let's go!"

-

"The poor recruit ran out into the dining hall in nothing but his knickers," Cullen laughs at the memory. The poor man standing in shock as mage and templar alike turned to look at him. The slow roll of applause as everyone began to realize exactly the kind of dare he had taken on and fulfilled.

"What did he do after?" Elissa asks with a wicked grin after Alistair coughs heavily into his drink.

"Saluted," he continues. "Turned on his heel and marched out like he was in full armor."

The table bursts into laughter. Alistair tries his best to hide behind his mug, and Cullen grins. It grows into a full blown smile when he hears Annwn laughing harder when she puts together exactly who the recruit was.

"Now there's an idea," Dorian posits, eying the dwindling piles of silver around the table. "We can always bet our clothes when the coin runs low."

-

Cullen shouldn't have agreed to play Wicked Grace that night. Should never have agreed to Varric's "lesson in deception and trickery and maintaining a poker face while getting shit-faced."

He realizes this after he's down to only his breeches, staring at yet another terrible hand through his fingers. Two knights. The lowest hand anyone could possibly have. He sneaks a look around as the others add their gold to the growing pool, drawing and discarding as each turn passes.

Varric, Elissa, Josephine and, surprisingly, Solas haven't lost a hand yet. Blackwall, Bull, and Alistair have split wins and losses. And Annwn...

Annwn has spent the last few hands staring determinedly at the wall.

In the distraction of another round of drinks bought, Cullen feels the light tingle on his skin that can only be a mage pulling at the Veil. He looks up from his hand that hasn't gotten any better to see Amell holding a conversation with Varric and the barmaid while also bending the light around a second card she isn't supposed to be pulling. He finally catches her eye when she discards two cards, again against the rules.

Her wide eyes tell him she forgot that he'd notice that little use of magic. It's up to him then. Call her out on it, force her to fold so she's forced to lose an article of clothing, or...

"Pay attention, Curly. Your turn."

She smiles, resigned. No one else noticed, apparently, Alistair too preoccupied with Elissa and the others concerned with their own hands.  If he doesn't call her out on his turn, he'll surely lose. One more lost hand would put him out in the cold, more than half naked.

Cullen calls and says nothing.

Annwn's surprised gaze goes from his face, to his chest, and back to the wall as they both turn a matching shade of red. Elissa whispers something in her ear, staring at him the entire time, her malicious grin not entirely hidden behind her hand.

"I will hex you. I'll find a way to turn you into a toad, I swear."

"You wouldn't. That would be proving Alistair right."

Cullen, unsurprisingly, loses quite badly. Elissa whistles sharply when he's forced to divest himself of his pants. Annwn can no longer look at him.

"I believe that's me out of the game for the night," he says. Cullen stands, using his discarded clothes to cover what he can of himself. He isn't as embarrassed as he thinks he should be. Not after telling his earlier story and remembering the equally embarrassing things he had to do himself. And the failing way Annwn pretends not to look at him between her fingers only bolsters his confidence.

That is, until Bull rumbles, "Why? You've still got one more piece to lose."

Elissa and Bull high five when Annwn begins to choke on her drink. "Okay, enough. Let him - "

Sera, quicker than he can react, snatches the clothes from his hands and flees the tavern. He nearly trips over his chair chasing her out. Light blinded, he can hardly see into the night. But he can hear Sera cackling and tripping over crates in the distance.

He won't be able to look his people in the face once this gets out.

It's a few minutes he spends stumbling through the dark, searching through crates and barrels, that a lone wisp comes to his rescue. The little mote lights the way and even directs him to his clothing, haphazardly stuffed into storage crates. Once he gets his shirt back on, it bobs up and down excitedly.

"Uh. Thank... you?"

It bobs up once and flies away, toward a woman walking in his direction. "A little spirit of curiosity. It thought it might be fun to help you search."

Annwn, with the little wisp in her palm, approaches, smiling. "Oh. Thank you. Did-did you leave the game just to come out here?"

"Actually, I lost after you did. I just found my clothes a lot sooner." She strokes the core of the wisp, and, like a cat, it leans into the touch.

He never thought he'd be jealous of a wisp, of all things. "Really?"

"You shouldn't have lost first, then you'd know." She takes his hand and walks with him back to his tower.

A quick drink is all it was supposed to be. They're to be leaving early in the morning for the ride out to Halamshiral. But when she puts her cup down on the edge of his desk and asks him why he didn't call her out for cheating all while worrying her bottom lip, he finds himself more interested in that than the time.

"Not that I minded the view after you lost, though."

He coughs. "Maker's breath, that's not how I wanted you to see... well."

She stands, leans forward with her hands on the arms of his chair, bracketing him between them. "Cullen," she breathes, and his heartbeat increases enough to make him lightheaded. "How did you want me to see?"

He doesn't know how he got them up to his loft, only that she's there beneath him, cheeks flush in the moonlight streaming in through the hole in the roof he doesn't know if he'll ever get patched after this. Not when it highlights the blue of her eyes, what little there is with her pupils blown wide as she stares up at him. She calls to him and he answers in the only way he knows how.

He's felt something like this before. Tainted and twisted, and every time he woke he felt sick with it, stomach roiling until he'd empty it on the bloody floor. Demons taking what little he had left, scraping his insides when he thought himself long empty, to find the scraps of his soul he'd hid away. And then the cycle would continue until she finally found him and saved him, and her reward was he barely thought she was human.

Cullen opens his eyes with a gasp and an empty bed beneath him. He buries his face into his pillow and thrusts forward in a desperate beg for friction. When he finishes, it's with a groan of relief and a sigh as the sky above him grows light behind the clouds.

He's exhausted, but it doesn't feel like the same bone-tired emptiness it used to be. The only sickness he feels in his stomach is from hunger, and the following headache doesn't pulse behind his eyes. It's a welcome change from the usual nightmares and their after effects.

Compared to those, the pit of vipers they're about to throw themselves into seems, at least, survivable.

-

Once they reach Halamshiral, Cullen doesn't see Annwn until the ball. Josephine has them stop in the High Quarter before heading into the Winter Palace proper, both for them to change into their formal wear and for him to begin moving his people into the Palace before the others arrive.

Sera, along with a Red Jenny contact within the city, helps to sneak most of his men into position to watch for any sign of Venatori. "No hard feelings, yeah?" She twirls an arrow between her fingers. "About your clothes and stuff. You found them eventually. Know that. Also saw you walking with Inky. So - maybe some Hard feelings."

"Have you seen anything yet?" he asks, ignoring her comment.

She blows a raspberry that he has to cover with a heavy cough when the nobles in the courtyard turn their way. "Been five minutes. Calm down, Cully-Wully."

"Sera, this is serious - "

She swings her feet from the branch she's perched in, narrowly missing the back of his head. "I got it, sheesh. Hey, Briala's the other one here, right? Ambassador or whatever." Another kick whiffs next to his ear. "Whatever. But there's a lot of elves moving around here. Too much purpose to just be serving people, yeah?"

"Keep an eye on it," he advises. One of Gaspard's men begins to move his way, and already he sees Josephine and Leliana heading into the vestibule.

"Sure, Cully. More fun than watching these snobs," she says and disappears into the tree just as the other soldier makes it to him.

"They're waiting for you inside, Ser."

He nods, pretends he doesn't notice the shadow crawling along the garden wall, and heads inside.

-

Cullen has just enough time to wonder what's taking Annwn and Elissa so long to enter before the Grand Duke swings open the ballroom door. Behind Gaspard is Elissa - beside Cullen, Alistair's breath catches - and then...

He understands now why Josephine and Leliana ensured he never saw her before the ball. Alistair nudges him and points, as if he hadn't been watching. As if his eyes weren't drawn to her the moment she entered the room.

He could be walking the gilded streets of Val Royeaux, its buildings adorned with golden statues of the prophet Andraste, and he would always notice her first.

"I believe our commander needs help picking his jaw off the floor," Josephine whispers behind him.

"Breathe," says Leliana.

He does, clearing his head in time to remember to greet her with a polite, "Inquisitor," when she passes by him on the stairs. And the back - his mouth goes dry and he prays to the Maker he makes it through tonight from that dress alone.

"Lady Inquisitor Annwn Leigh Amell, of the Ferelden Circle of Magi. Daughter of Lady Revka Amell of Kirkwall. Veteran of the Fifth Blight. Seneschal of Soldier’s Peak."

She steps down onto the floor and approaches the Empress with a grace he didn't know she possessed. Perhaps the nights away with the others were worth it. He can barely turn his gaze away from her to watch the balcony for any signs of a threat.

"Vanquisher of the rebel mages of Ferelden, crusher of the vile apostates of the Mage Underground."

Her hand twitches. Alistair leans once more to him and says, "You saw that right?" The warden grins. "If we were anywhere else, he would have gotten a face full of fireball."

"Champion of the Blessed Andraste Herself."

She turns the twitch smoothly into a bow once she reaches the platform below Celene. From this distance, he can't hear their conversation, but something must have pleased the Empress because she smiles and waves her further into the party.

Elissa is announced next, and Alistair leaves his side to join her. Then he and the other advisors, followed by the remainder of Annwn's inner circle. Sera and Cole's names are absent, even though Cullen can see the boy wandering the vestibule.

When he reaches the top of the stairs after greeting the Empress, Annwn and Leliana are gone.

-

"You're telling me Morrigan's here? As Empress Celene's... occult advisor." Alistair and Elissa are not going to be happy. "Leliana, you have to start telling us these things sooner."

"I didn't suspect her until we arrived. Amell, she has powerful friends now. I'm not sure if we can still trust her."

Morrigan always hated when Elissa chose to help someone when she thought it was unnecessary, but to assassinate the Empress on behalf of an old Tevinter Magister? "I won't believe Morrigan would be subservient to Corypheus."

"Maybe not Corypheus, but perhaps she or one of her allies would benefit from Celene's death."

They still know nothing of what she could do with a child with the soul of an old god. If that child is even still alive and the soul not within her. But with the worry she came to her and Elissa with, when she suspected Flemeth would possess her... it doesn't add up. "Have you seen her at all tonight?"

"Not yet." Leliana smiles behind her mask, a less intricate version of Amell's own. "But with the entrance you and Elissa made, I don't doubt she'll find her way to us soon. Until then, all our leads point to the guest wing. Start there."

She finds Sera - or, rather, Sera finds her - and directs her up the trellis to the second floor. The presence of Alistair and Elissa in the courtyard provides enough distraction for Sera to scramble up without drawing attention. The nobles are too invested in their recent nuptials and why, oh why, didn't they have a grander party, and why wasn't this person and that invited.

Three ladies representing Empress Celene inform Amell that the Empress will support her once Gaspard is dealt with. Amell simply smiles and acknowledges the offer, promising nothing.

A low whistle sounds across the courtyard. Amell pretends not to notice, speaking in nonsense to Dorian, and watches Sera motion for her to meet her back in the vestibule.

"Well, she certainly got the fun part of the job, didn't she?" Dorian retrieves another glass of wine from a passing servant. "I suppose I'll be here, drinking the night away. I almost expect my mother to appear."

Amell laughs. "Don't drink too much or I'll just have Bull drag you out of here."

Dorian takes a too-long sip. "Do not tempt me."

-

Easy to find in the ballroom are Varric and Josephine, stood with the ambassador's younger sister and one of the members of the council of heralds. Leliana and Cassandra are with their own group of attendees. Vivienne stands on the other side of the ballroom, pointedly ignoring Cole who has been tasked with listening to Celene, Gaspard, and Briala. Solas trails behind her, playing the part well of the elven manservant he was so poorly announced as. But it works for him, apparently, moving through the crowd as invisible as their boy-spirit.

Everyone accounted for, except...

"Are you married, Commander?"

There, stuck in the middle of what she can only describe as a murder of nobles, is Cullen. Arms folded, creasing the formal suit in the way Josephine warned the rest of them not to, looking as unapproachable as he possibly can. Not that any of the nobles surrounding him seem to notice, or care.

"Rescue him," Solas says with a discrete touch to her arm to get her attention. "I will meet Sera."

Thankful, she nods, and watches him disappear into the ballroom.

"No, I'm not married."

"Oh, then are you single?" A woman reaches for him, and he flinches away from the contact. It doesn't stop her from trying again.

His roiling sea of admirers parts at her approach, with only a few hangers-on vying for his attention. He doesn't give it, relaxing by degrees the moment she comes to be next to him. Close, but never touching per decorum.

"Inquisitor." His is a sigh of relief. He turns his attention fully toward her, much to the annoyance of the woman that reached out. With a scorned huff, she storms away, leaving them alone as they can be in the crowded ballroom. "How are things going?"

"Sera might have found something. Solas went ahead to meet with her." She stops a passing servant with a polite excuse me and thank you as she retrieves a flute of wine from the tray. It's sweet on her tongue. "How are you? That was quite the crowd of admirers you had there."

Again, that defensive posture, but her hand on his arm brings them back down. "It's frustrating. I don't know where they're coming from."

Oh. He has no idea, does he? "You're handsome, of course." She very deliberately reaches past him to put her half-full wine flute on the table behind him. "Very distinguished titles. Is it any wonder?"

This close, she watches his eyes rove down her dress. He leans toward her before he stops himself. "Maker's breath, that dress," he sighs.

She curtsies, and his gaze follows the movement. "You can thank Josephine and Leliana. I'm beginning to like it, myself."

His voice drops an octave lower when he says, "As am I. You look... You are beautiful."

"Thank you." She turns away, conscious of how little her dress hides of her growing blush. "As for your admirers, I could always place a glyph beneath you. Make sure they don't get too close?"

Cullen laughs, still a little throaty. "Don't think I'm not considering it. I can bear it, however."

She wiggles her fingers. "If you're sure. They're already aware I'm a mage." How none of them were aware before, she has no idea. Denial, likely.

"No need to scandalize the court on my behalf, my lady."

My lady - Maker’s breath is right. Though, it’s too late for that, by the looks his former crowd is giving the both of them. "Save a dance for me, then? You do owe me one."

His face goes hard behind his mask. "No."

"Oh." She tries not to visibly deflate. "I'm sorry."

"No, I - " He tries to pinch the bridge of his nose, but the mask prevents it. "I'm sorry, I've been denying requests all night, I'm doing it automatically. If-if there's time, maybe."

"If there's time. I should go find Sera and Solas - "

He takes her hand, brings her knuckles to his lips. "Please be safe."

Before she leaves the ballroom, she whispers in Leliana's ear, "Look after him for me?"

"Jealous, Amell?"

Amell eyes the lords and ladies slowly creeping closer in her absence. "I wish that was all it was."

-

From Solas, she receives a handful of missives. Some scandalous secrets, others negotiations between Gaspard and Celene. Servant movements to Briala. A letter to Morrigan. Blood on the marble floors, and all anyone can say about it is someone else isn't playing the Game very well.

Shoes click down the stairs above them. The first bell chimes, beckoning them all to the ballroom. "Take these to Leliana. She needs to see them."

Solas bows and departs, and Amell can't help notice he seems to be enjoying himself more than she thought he would.

"Must I always catch you snooping around places you don't belong?" Amell looks up at the stairs to see Morrigan descend. She hasn't bothered with a mask, herself, but her dress mirrors the Empress's. "It's good to see a familiar face here, Annwn."

Amell takes her hand and leads her the rest of the way down the stairs. "If it was somewhere I didn't belong, I wouldn't be there, now would I?" She squeezes her hand before releasing it. "I'm afraid I might be the only friendly face here."

A sadness crosses her golden eyes. All of them became close over the course of the Blight, but Morrigan's deal was a shock. And a profound betrayal. The wedge between her and Elissa paling in comparison to the valley now between Elissa and Morrigan.

"I understand. Know my duty is to protect the Empress, just as it is yours. And take this." She presses a key into her palm. "I cannot leave Celene's side, but it seems you have people enough to investigate."

Another bell chimes.

"Enjoy your dance, Inquisitor. Grand Duchess Florianne has been waiting for you all night."

-

Amell survives the dance, just barely. She only stutters near the end when Florianne suddenly switches to lead. But she learns that Florianne suspects her brother of planning something, and that Amell doesn't trust Florianne at all.

Lelianna suggests perhaps they should let the assassination take place. That all Orlais needs is a leader to subvert that dark future, and as long as that leader is willing to lend them troops, does it matter if it's Celene or Gaspard? It does, because Amell won't stand idly by and let someone die.

Bull, Sera, Solas, Dorian, Vivienne, as well as the new Cousland-Theirins meet her at the entrance to the servants' quarters. Vivienne helps Amell out of her dress, and Dorian carefully strips Elissa of hers, to be even more carefully stashed away once they're back inside the Palace.

"Could you guys, I don't know, turn around... or something?" Alistair whines as he not so subtly steps in when Dorian tries to help Elissa with her armor.

"Alistair, I've seen you both in your undergarments before," Amell reminds him. Though all three of them were mottled with bruises and near-broken bones from torture. Still. Solas clasps the last buckle on her breastplate before she turns and helps him with his. "We don't have time for modesty right now."

"Yeah, but - " he pouts. Quieter, "It's not you I'm worried about."

-

The emissary to the council of heralds lies dead in the garden, blood pooling in the grass and a dagger sticking out of his back. The fountain next to him runs red, a servant caught in the crossfire floating face down in the water.

"Gaspard isn't dumb enough to leave his weapon right here to implicate him, right?" Elissa turns the dagger over to reveal the Chalons crest. "That would be too easy. Who tipped you off?"

Amell sighs. "You aren't going to believe me."

"If you say Gaspard, I might just. It's ridiculously Orlesian enough." Alistair grins.

The Venatori sneaking through the gardens are unorganized. Uncoordinated compared to the three that once spent a year straight fighting assassins and worse. It makes talking while they chase a masked harlequin through the gardens easy.

"It was Morrigan. She's an advisor to Celene."

Alistair strings together a colorful series of curses he could have only learned from Oghren. Elissa gets that same sad look in her eyes before calming Alistair. "We'll deal with it later," she says, though Amell knows there's more on her mind.

It's with brutal efficiency that they cut down the remaining Venatori. When Briala arrives the assassin is already dead and she points the finger once more to Gaspard.

They don't bother returning to the ballroom. Briala already knows they're moving about the Palace, and Florianne already told her about the royal wing. It's their last place to check.

-

"I found these." Cole holds up an armful of decorative halla statues. "They missed their herd. I wanted to bring them back together."

They place them in little nooks around a locked door and find more blackmail in the form of one of Gaspard's men tied spread eagle on a bed.

"That's too good," Sera snickers. "Idiot."

"He didn't want to be tied up, so why...?" Elissa covers Cole's eyes while Sera works on the man's bindings. "He would say yes if you asked."

She looks to Alistair. "I'm not going to."

He sighs with relief. "Oh, good."

Amell groans. "This is far more than I need to know about the two of you."

"C'mon, boss. It's all good fun."

Cole turns to her, his head shifting under Elissa's hand. "He wouldn't like it."

"I know!"

-

They follow the sound of a man yelling further into the royal quarters and the Jardin de Rêverie. Through a door, a man in a mercenary’s outfit tied to a pillar, and a dozen archers all with their arrows pointed toward the party. On the upper balcony, Grand Duchess Florianne walks out to greet them.

“I had no idea if you’d taken my bait. The others in your Inquisition hid your absence well, but I have been watching.”

Solas takes one step toward her. A Venatori draws his arrow back in warning. It’s close enough. “Do you see it?” he whispers in her ear. A weakening in the Veil, a precursor to a rift, shimmers in the air between them all. None but he and Amell seem to notice it. She nods, slightly. “The chaos could be what we need.”

“You made it too easy to place the blame on your brother. What’s your game here?” The Anchor sparks in her palm. Amell makes a subtle gesture to Elissa - be ready.

“Celene’s death is a stepping stone on a path to a better world.” She grandstands up on the balcony, spreading her arms wide. “You have no idea what Samson and Calpernia have planned, do you? Poor you, if only you could be there to see it.” Florianne snaps her fingers, and the other archers pull back their bows. “I keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike, and Corypheus gives me the world.” She turns, takes two steps away from the balcony, and snaps again. “Kill them.”

“Now!”

Chaos erupts in a quick flick of her wrist. There’s a scream - pain, rage - then more as demons tear through the Venatori archers. From her place where she threw herself down to the ground, Amell spares a second to think, in horror: I did this. I summoned demons into the world.

Solas pulls her up to her feet in time for her to see Elissa rip an arrow from her shoulder. Alistair goes to his wife, but Elissa waves him off and continues to fire arrow after arrow at the demons. The Venatori are dead, body parts scattered across the grass and blood splattered on the white marble pillars. The demons finally defeated, she closes the rift just as easily as it opened.

The mercenary promises to testify against Gaspard if necessary, and, with the elven servant she sent to Cullen for safety, it leaves them with enough evidence to implicate everyone in tonight’s attack. “Politics,” Solas says, almost to himself, with something like a fond smile.

Amell presses a healing spell into Elissa’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“She ripped it out of her shoulder!” Alistair’s pitch rises high enough for his voice to break. “Right out of her shoulder. Did you see it? She was…”

In that moment, she understands Loghain all too well. Amell rolls her eyes. “Can you please let me heal her before you forget yourselves again?” He restrains himself for a whole thirty seconds, enough for her to heal most of the damage, before she considers them a lost cause.

“Come,” Solas holds out his hand and once more helps her to her feet. “Sera and The Iron Bull have cleared the way forward. Now, all that is left is to save the Empress.”

There’s something in the way Cole stares at Solas and Solas at her. “You’ve been… comfortable here.”

He drops her hand and walks forward, hands behind his back. “I have seen many of these events in the Fade. It has simply been interesting to experience one myself.”

-

In her dress once more, hair only slightly tousled, Amell walks full into the ballroom and stands just long enough for Florianne to notice her entrance. Against the white powder of her makeup, Florianne goes ghostly white.

“You’re safe,” Cullen breathes, approaching her at a jog. “I - you were gone so long.” He looks to Elissa nursing her arm and Alistair hovering around her protectively. “What happened?”

“It’s Florianne. She’s the assassin.”

“What? The Empress is beginning her speech soon. What do you want us to do?”

Amell takes a steadying breath. Just one last thing, and then it’s over. “Be ready. I’m going to have a word with the Grand Duchess.”

“There’s no time!”

She turns to him with a tired smile. “Trust me."

[jacklyn-flynn]

I'm so excited to be posting the first of the three prizes from my mini-giveaway! This one is for @noire-pandora and it features her Warden, Arissa. This was the HDJ she picked:

Alistair starts writing a journal when he realizes he’s falling in love with the Warden. It chronicles both his feelings for them and the events going on during the Blight. He puts in it his fears and aspirations, his dreams of them and their life together. How beautiful they look when they’re sleeping or laughing and how he feels about being intimate with them. Sketches and poems. Whatever comes to mind about them when he opens the journal that day. He gives it to them on their wedding day.

FAIR WARNING: I cried writing this. Twice. And once when I was planning it out in my head falling asleep one night.

TW: Death

Alistair settled onto the soft grass, leaning back against the cool stone that shaded him from the summer sun. “Good morning, my love.” He untied the bindings of a worn leather journal and opened it to a random page. Smiling fondly, his fingers traced over a drawing. It was a rough sketch of his beautiful Arissa sitting on a log next to a fire, though the upper torso and face had far more detail than the rest.

“Mmm, I like this one,” he said conversationally, bringing his knees up to prop up the journal on them so it could be viewed over his shoulder.

“I caught you staring at me today. I didn’t give away that I knew though because I was afraid you would stop doing it. I love it when I’m the only thing those stormy-sea blue eyes care about.” He sighed softly, running a finger along a jagged edge where a page was missing.

“I tried to draw them once, but I hated it and tore the page out so you wouldn’t laugh at me. Now I wish I’d kept it.” He turned the page and pushed the regret to the back of his mind with all the others.

He laughed aloud when he found the specific entry he was looking for. “Andraste’s toenail clippings, look at how shaky my hand was when I wrote this. I was so nervous. Which was silly I suppose. Maybe I was just worried that you wouldn’t want to sleep with me again.”

“I can’t believe it happened. With you!” he read aloud, “You’re so beautiful and I never dreamed you would pick me. To share our first time together. You were so perfect like I knew you would be. Like you always are. Nothing else mattered. Just you. Darkspawn could have overtaken our camp and I never would have noticed. The only thing I wanted to do was make you happy.”

Alistair shifted positions, crossing his legs in front of him. “All these years later and that’s still the only thing I want in the world. To make you happy, Arissa.” He looked up at her face over his shoulder, smiling at just the sight of her. “To return even a tenth of what you’ve brought me.”

Flipping to another random page, he opened the journal wide. He read the first line on the page silently, skimming the contents of the entry. “I think this one is my favorite,” he declared, cheeks flushing as the memory came rushing back to him. He cleared his throat before reading it aloud.

“My dearest Alistair, I promise I didn’t read anything! I just found the next blank page in your journal. If you want something to write about in your next entry come and find me in that spot you showed me when we got here…”

A shiver ran down his back. It was the exact sensation that he’d gotten the first time he’d read it and every time after that. They’d just arrived at Eamon’s and he’d given her a quick tour of the place where he’d spent his early childhood. At least, those areas he’d been allowed to enter. Before he continued reading what he’d written below her words, he took a moment to admire her handwriting. The only piece of it he knew existed. Her letters were fairly tight together but long and flowing with beautiful curves and flourished angles. Made to be able to fit tight notes in the margins of books.

“I don’t even know what to write, Arissa. Seeing you waiting for me in that beautiful black dress (if it could be called that) with your raven hair free and that nervousness in your glorious green eyes….it was as if all of those missed named days and Satinalia’s had come together in one perfect moment for a single present that I will cherish forever.”

“The best part was watching you relax when I told you how beautiful you were. It made my heart sing to realize that you believed me when I said it. How you went from nervous and shy to that uninhibited and enthusiastic lover I’ve come to know. You are, without a doubt, the best thing to ever happen to me. You had no idea this journal was for you when you wrote in it, but I definitely want you to know exactly what I thought about it…”

Alistair flipped a few pages over, chuckling. “Sweet Andraste’s belly button lint. I went on for three pages? I wonder how long it took me to write it. Probably a lot longer than it felt. I wrote everything that happened that night.” He paused, eyes skimming over a few sentences in the middle. “In great detail, Zevran would be impressed.”

He thumbed through the remaining pages until he was looking at the inside of the back cover. In Denerim he’d sewn in a small leather pocket. He carefully untied the waxed cord and pulled out the delicate ring wrapped in silk from inside the crude pouch.

Alistair’s vision blurred and he crushed his palm against his left eye, wiping away his tears before brushing roughly at the other eye with the sleeve of his tunic.

“The only thing that I regret was not asking you. I told myself I wanted to until it was all over but really I was afraid you’d say no. Maker, that was so stupid! Sometimes I wish I had been the one to do it, to become the Hero of Ferelden. How selfish is that? Not for the title, but so that you’d be alive. And yet, I am relieved I didn’t. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. This…emptiness. I would rather have you than a martyr but I would also rather carry this burden so that you can rest in the peace you deserve.”

“I almost didn’t come here to leave these for you. I feel like they’re all I have left of you but they were always for you. One to ask you to marry me, the other for the day you did. So you could see how I felt about you from the moment I knew I would marry you. I just never got the chance to give either of them to you.” Closing the journal and clutching the ring tightly in his palm, he stood and looked up at the white granite monument of the Hero of Ferelden.

“I wished they’d made a statue of you smiling. It was so rare that you did it and I’m afraid the world will forget how beautiful it was. But, Leliana said that your smile was a gift to the people you loved most and that all of us who were graced with it will keep that memory. I guess she was right. Every time I close my eyes and think of you, which is every time I close them, I see that smile.”

He knelt in front of the epitaph at the base of her monument and set down the journal, placing the ring on top. He pulled a cord from around his neck over his head and slipped the key into a hidden slot in the “I” of Arissa. Once it was turned, he pressed the “O” in Hero. With a small click, a lip popped out of the base. He slid his fingers into the gap and gave it a quick tug to pull out the small hidden drawer.

Placing the journal into it next to a dried rose, he laid the ring on top after a few moments of hesitation. With a sigh, he pushed the hidden drawer closed until it locked into place and the “O” popped back out. He withdrew the key and slipped the cord over his neck again before tucking it under his shirt.

Stepping down, he backed up to get a good look at her. “I’ll see you again,” he promised, struggling to talk past the lump in his throat, “should the Maker allow me to get close enough to your hallowed countenance at your place by His side.”

“Until then, I’ll see you in my dreams at night and do my best to make you proud when I am awake. To do as much as I can with the life your sacrifice has granted me and the people of Ferelden. I lo-” his voice caught and he had to take a moment to compose himself.

“I love you, Arissa.” He got the words out on his second try though they were barely more than a whisper. “I’ll see you soon enough.”

[writingfromkitchenator]

Zevran ~ One Thing At A Time

1,300 Followers Challenge!

Masterlist

Requested by @aspiring-ginger

Words: 1,230

Warnings: Neutral Dwarf Reader, minor insults, minor violence, minor angst, fluff.

It had just been a passing comment, one that shouldn’t have stood out against the noise around the four of them, the city life just passing by, and yet, it did.  Zevran didn’t know how you heard it, he barely heard it himself, but he knew as soon as you stopped in your tracks, Alistair almost crashing into you that you most definitely had.

The glare that you sent the two men, who seemed very unaware of the situation they’d just put themselves in, would’ve had lesser men scrambling for the hills.  

“Do you want to say that to my face?”

Both men froze, going pale as they looked over.

Your eye narrowed on them, your arms folding across your chest, and you ignored Wynn as she tried to remind you that you weren’t meant to be drawing attention to yourself.  “Answer me arseholes.”

“I would suggest you do,” Zevran said, rather cheerfully, enjoying the sudden change from running, what he thought, were pointless tasks.  “Y/N is not someone who likes to be kept waiting."

The two men didn’t seem to know what to do about it, both of them stepping back, drawing some attention from others in the street, as you marched closer.

“Oh, is it a little different now that you have my full attention?”  You snapped, eyes flashing dangerously, fingers practically itching towards your blade.  “Not as brave now that you’re actually facing the consequences of your actions?”

One of them seemed to gain some of their courage back.  “We didn’t say anything, and I’d like to see you prove it dwarf.”

Your anger was practically palpable, Wynn sighing as she kept herself back, Alistair looking a little nervous, and Zevran watching you.  “Is that so?  That’s why you’re both cowering in your boots.”

“Look, you clearly don’t know who are, so we’ll give you some leniency, so just run along and-”

“Then say it to my face.” You growled.  “If you want to try and play those cards, say it to my face.”

The two men shared a look, and the other one finally found their courage, stepping forward and trying to tower over you.

“Get lost dwarf,” He snarled.  “Move on if you know what’s good for you.”

“You’re getting close,” You said, and Zevran just knew you were toying with them now.  “But clearly you lack the intelligence to actually remember that far back.  I can spell it out for you if you want?  Do you need me to do that?”

“You have no place here,” The second man said.  “Get lost shorty before you get yourself into some real trouble.”

“Close enough.”

Your movements were fast, and before the first man could react, your fist sunk into his stomach, winding him and sending him to his knees, the other one taking a split second before practically falling over as he turned to run.

You crouched down next to the man.  “Don’t call me short you arsehole.  I’m twice of what you’ll ever be.”

Zevran couldn’t help but chuckle as you walk away, a barely noticeable grin on your lips, Alistair and Wynn sighing.

“Can we please go back to the task at hand?”  Wynn asked.

“Absolutely.”  You said, leading the way again.  “I feel better now.”

Zevran kept chuckling, and the rest of the day passed mostly uneventful, so much so that he almost put the incident out of his mind.

Almost.

Back at camp, you went and sat by yourself, something that was unusual on it’s own, normally preferring the company of others, but it was the slightly sad and troubled expression that had him think back on what had happened.

He didn’t think about it, going and joining you without asking.  “Ah, feeling pensive this evening?”

You cast him a small smile, again, unusual for you, normally greeting him with a wide smile, once you’d gotten past the initial nervousness from your first meeting.  “Maybe, I guess I’m allowed to occasionally.”

Zevran chuckled.  “You are indeed, considering how much danger we seem to run into it.  It is good to reflect on it occasionally.”

A soft laugh told him that everything was not okay, so he shifted a little closer, giving you a small nudge to your shoulder.  “Talk to me. I would be ashamed if you only had to listen to me and my adventures.”

“I’m okay,” You said softly. “Just…a little overwhelmed today. Those two brought up something I had been trying to ignore.”

“Oh?  That your height makes you remarkably adorable?”  He smiled at you as you give a slightly embarrassed laugh.  “Or perhaps it is that you finally acknowledge that my arm fits around you perfectly.”

As if to prove a point, his arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you close, making you smile at him.

“Well, I’m glad someone appreciates my height,” You chuckled.  “But it wasn’t so much that…”

Your gaze goes distant again and Zevran knew that this was something that was truly weighing on you.

“Talk to me Y/N.”  He said gently.

Drawing in a breath, you let out a deep sigh.  “Those arseholes today, it just got me thinking about what it’s going to be like when it’s all done, if anyone will even remember…remember who I actually was. Those two, all they saw was a dwarf that they could insult as they saw fit, and it just feels like…it’ll stay like that.”

“And that…bothers you?”

You nod slowly.  “It shouldn’t be that way Zev.  For anyone, not just me.  We should be acknowledged for who and what we are.  It shouldn’t be overlooked just because...because others think it shouldn’t, like we’re less than something because we’re not within their specifics.”

Zevran takes a moment, thinking about the right words to say, his thumb brushing over your shoulder gently.  “I will admit that it is something I have mostly learnt to ignore, the only acknowledgement I need is from myself and those I care about.  Anyone else and their opinions, is irrelevant.”

“Yeah,” You said softly. “I usually do the same, but the longer I’ve been on the surface, the more I’ve learnt and seen, the more it’s been bothering me.  Today, I guess, was just the icing on the cake, although, I guess I should just be glad they didn’t recognise me as a Grey Warden, given our situation.”

“I’m sure they did after you hit one of them.”  Zevran said, smiling and making you relax a little, chuckling.

“Hopefully, might make them think before insulting someone again.”  You looked at him.  “I know I can’t fix everything Zevran, I’m already trying to save the world, I shouldn’t be worrying about righting it too, but…”

“It bothers you,” He said softly and kisses your temple.  “And that’s okay.  Perhaps once we’ve managed to save the world, then we focus on righting it too, if that is what you want.”

It takes you a moment before you smile, leaning into him, your head resting on his shoulder.  “One thing at a time.  I like that.”

Zevran shares your smile and rests his head atop of yours.  “You should, you taught me that.”

You chuckle.  “Well, I’m glad I’m glad I’m having some sort of influence.”

“So am I.”  He said softly and feels you finally ease completely, the two of you quickly sitting in comfortable silence, enjoying the sounds of the night.

[ghostwise]

Zevran deals with ghosts of the past every day. He regards them with an aged nostalgia, remembering clearly when they were more solid, more substantial in their influence—not the gauzy and transparent feelings they are today.

Things have changed. The world has changed.

Today he can pour coffee, unhurried and uninterrupted, even as an unexpected tapping sounds at the window. He briefly thinks to reach for a weapon, any weapon, even the letter opener on the desk—but there’s no need for that. There hasn’t been, not for years. Not for decades. 

Zevran finishes pouring his coffee. Then he goes to investigate.

The tapping is persistent, but any worry he might have felt vanishes, upon seeing what it is. Who it is.

Behind the glass a raven peers up at him with golden eyes, bright, inquisitive, and Zevran opens the window to let a man clamber in, all draped fabrics and feathers and furs, and familiar eyes, and an even more familiar laugh.

“Hello! Thank you for letting me in! It was freezing out there!”

“Kieran!”

 Zevran chuckles warmly, returning his embrace. He’s tall and angular. He takes after his mother in that. “How fortunate that you arrive just as I’ve made a fresh pot of coffee. Come, sit, will you?”

“Coffee,” Kieran gasps. Ah, but he takes after his father in some regards, too.

They drink their coffee, Zevran seated at his desk, and Kieran pacing restlessly around the office, draining two cups before Zevran has finished one. There is not much talking involved with this activity, just Kieran reading the titles of the volumes on Zevran’s bookshelf. He picks up a book of love poetry, and holds it up to Zevran, eyebrow raised.

“One never outgrows love poems, my boy,” Zevran says, gesturing with his cup.

“If you say so,” Kieran hums, setting it back. “I myself see little use in such things. ‘Tis an awful lot of effort, no?”

Zevran smiles and shrugs. “Your father liked them.”

“Oh, no.” Kieran shakes his head and shuffles away from the bookcase.

Zevran feels an urge to laugh. It is Morrigan and Hamal, talking to him in turns.

The thought makes him wistful. He is barely prepared for the feeling, and all he can do is let it claim the moment, and finally pass with a quiet acceptance, sipping at his coffee, patiently regarding Kieran.

“I always enjoy your visits,” he says finally. Kieran blinks up at him, beaming, as he continues. “To what do I owe today’s?”

“Oh, you know,” Kieran waves a hand elaborately. “I was in the area. I wanted to check in with you.”

“Ah, truly?”

“Quite!” Kieran all too quickly drops into the seat across from his desk. He steeples his fingers, looking at Zevran intently. “You have been well?” he asks.

“Never better.”

“And things in Var’myathan, things are going smoothly?”

“I stay away from politics in my advanced age, but from what I hear, yes. Very smoothly.”

“I hear whispers, you know.” Kieran leans forward, unblinking. “Change is coming to the world. Not at our bidding or our involvement, but then, these things never are. I should like you to be… prepared.”

Zevran cannot help but smile, the lines around his eyes deepening in amusement. “Again?” he asks. “You don’t say. Seems the world is changing all the damn time. It has changed, what, three times in my lifetime? And I with it. You need not worry so about me.”

He pauses, and with that said, takes another sip of coffee. “How is your mother?”

“Well, I presume,” Kieran shakes his head. “Haven’t seen her.”

“Is that her choice, or yours?”

Kieran hops off his seat, giving Zevran the distinct impression that it’s the latter. His ominous warning delivered, he simply stands there, fidgeting. Always nervous in closed spaces, much like his father.

“I just wanted to check in on you. I am glad you are doing well.” Kieran sets his empty cup on Zevran’s desk. “I should be going soon.”

Zevran almost thinks that is all. But then Kieran sighs, and his voice softens. “I would like to see him, before I leave. Accompany me?”

Zevran Arainai, hahren, retired ambassador, ex-Crow, ex-assassin, widower, absent step-father to this strange man who is no longer young himself… none of these titles or roles seem to help in this moment. He simply nods, feeling a small ache under his chest, masking it with a smile.

“Of course,” he says.

Together, they descend through Zevran’s modest and homey estate. Kieran, already clad in layer upon layer of rags and finery, has no need for a coat, but Zevran bundles up before they leave. 

Snow falls in flurries upon the ground outside, catching in Zevran’s silver hair. The coffee had been well-timed. It’s a silent walk, and a long one.

“Dalish cemeteries are so beautiful,” Kieran breathes as they turn a corner, and a canopy of trees comes into view. It is as if a small forest has taken root within the city.

Back when the clans wandered—and as is still the case for those who opted to remain nomadic—the fallen were buried where they died. Here, each tree represents a deceased citizen of Var’myathan. It is like walking through an arboretum.

Some plots are adorned by small statues or signs. Some of the trees have ribbons strung along the branches, or names and messages painted upon the trunk (never carved, for to damage a funerary tree is disrespectful).

Finally, after passing by dozens of saplings and oak trees and even a few fruit trees, they arrive at the Hero of Ferelden’s grave, an alder tree standing ostentatiously with a plaque and a monument at its base.

Kieran hurries forward quickly, but Zevran hangs back. It has been too long since his last visit, and it almost shames him, but—no, nothing about Hamal could shame him. He would certainly understand.

The artist did a good job capturing his husband’s likeness. After a moment, Zevran smiles and draws near, reaching up to brush dirt and snow off his beloved’s statue.

“Hola, amor,” he says softly. “No sabes cómo te extraño.”

Kieran has wandered off, circling his father’s tree, humming some wordless tune.

Zevran, tired, sits at the base of the tree and closes his eyes to remember.

Being old is surreal. It almost feels like a dream at times. He has a veritable encyclopedia of moments and memories he would rather peruse, than to live through more. This is especially true here, at Hamal’s resting place, where he cannot help but remember their times during the Blight, their long years in Antiva, their wedding days—plural! For they were married in an Antivan chantry first, then bonded in a traditional Dalish ceremony later.

It has been far too long, and many of their companions are gone, too. Alistair ventured to the Deep Roads many years ago. Lavellan passed this summer, and her daughter, Paloma, sent word through mail. Zevran remembers that funeral, and his husband’s, too.

Bad memories, good memories. More good than bad, though.

When Zevran opens his eyes again, Kieran is sitting, cross-legged, in front of him.

“Good! You’re still alive,” Kieran quips.

Zevran frowns, annoyed. “Of course I’m still alive! Amor, mira, do you see your son? Do you hear this?” he whispers aside to the statue. “Terrible. As if I could not still strike down any foe, with my stealth and daggers.”

Kieran and Zevran then laugh despite the cold.

“I like to think he can see us,” Kieran offers finally. He takes a breath, continuing shyly. “I really wanted to visit and tell him—you, as well—that I am going by his name now. For a few years, in fact.”

The news does come as a surprise. Zevran blinks and smiles as Kieran continues.

“Kieran Mahariel. Do you think that’s alright? Is there something, I don’t know, formal I should file? I doubt my birth records exist anywhere, but… I never had a surname. Morrigan said it would be fine. I think she likes it, even. I should go see her next I suppose. Father would agree.”

“He would be proud of you,” Zevran tells him, listening to him ramble. Kieran fidgets and smiles.

And here, the visit hits on one of those unseen emotional snags. The brink of a goodbye, the need for assurance, perhaps. Zevran looks at Kieran and takes inventory.

Eyes, Morrigan’s. Mouth and nose, Hamal’s. Powerful magic, a need for solitude, Morrigan’s. Vallaslin, over his left eye, at his own insistence. Ears, softly pointed.

“Everything will be fine, Kieran,” Zevran Arainai says. “I’m doing well. Your mother will be happy to see you, as I am happy, and thankful, for you coming to see us.”

“I know,” Kieran agrees, though he sounds uncertain. “Creators. You and my parents had already done so much by the time you were my age. How did you figure any of it out?”

“Poorly,” Zevran laughs. “You must play these things by ear. That’s the nature of living.”

“Then I hope I continue to make you proud,” Kieran says, and he pulls himself out of the snow, casting one final look at The Hero of Ferelden’s tree. “I’ll try to write more often,” he adds, and Zevran nods, though he knows it is unlikely.

With a smile, Kieran flits into the branches as a raven once more, and Zevran calls to him.

“Safe travels, d’alen.”

[renee-writer]

Unexpected Chapter 27 Coming Out

“Gel, I am so bloody nervous.” I confess as we dress for this coming out dinner party. “what if?”

“If they don't approve? It would be sad, nae doubt, but we are adults love. Able to live our own lives. Their approval would be nice but not necessary.”

“Right.” She is right. But I adore my family. My mum is my best friend. My dad and Uncle Lamb equally responsible for helping me to be the strong woman I am. She sees the doubts run across my face. Coming up, she takes my face.

“They love you and want you happy. It will be alright.” I nod. She smiles and gently kisses me. “Let's go do this.”

We head into the living room. The dining room table is set up with the best china. Long candles are set in the middle. The food, lamb stew and fresh bread, is being kept warm in the kitchen. Wine chills. All is ready. I jump at the sound of the door bell. Gel squeezes my hand before she goes to answer it.

“Geillis, well aren't you gorgeous today!” her mam greets her.

“Me. Look at you. Not looking a day over thirty. And pop, looking so handsome. How many lasses did you have to fight off before you got here mam?” They all three laugh. “Come in. You remember Claire. Claire my mam and pop, Crissy and Alistair.”

“You are a vision too.” Crissy says. “Geillis said it was a special occasion.”

“It is mam. Claire’s parents, Henry and Julia and her Uncle Lambert are also joining us.” They get them situated in the living room and the bell rings again. I go to answer it on shaking legs.

“Mum, dad, Uncle Lamb, welcome to our home.” I greet them.

“My dear, you look a bit pale. Are you feeling alright?” as when I was a little girl, her hand goes to my forehead.

“Not sick mum. Just a bit nervous. Come meet Geillis parents.” They follow me in. Geillis and I make introductions. We then lead them to the dining room.

“A special occasion indeed. This is esquist.” My mum says. I smile at her while dad pulls out her chair. Alistair does the same for Crissy. Uncle Lamb does the same for both Geillis and I.

“So, my dears, what is the reason other then grand stew and grand company, that we are gathered here.” Uncle Lamb asks about midway through the meal. They were all getting along well, talking amoung themselves. But they all turn to Gel and I at his question.

“Shall we?” Gel asks me. I nod, take her hand with my right while lifting my left for their inspection.

“Claire!” my mum squeals out, “you are engaged!”

“Yes mum.”

“Well, that is wonderful but where is the lucky man?” my dad asks. Uncle Lamb, who I think, gets it, starts to talk. But Gel answers first.

“Right here.” A period of stunned silence greets this. A period that has my hand growing sticky with sweat in Gel's. Then my Uncle Lamb stands.

“Malzo tov!” he calls out. “Congratulations you two. An amazing time we live in.”

“This is wonderful. When Geillis told us she was gay, her pop and I worried that it would be hard for her to find love. We are so pleased she has you. You have each other.

“Absolutely.” Her pop echoes.

I look to my own parents. “Mum and dad, what do you think?” my voice shakes a bit.

“Well, it is unexpected. We never knew you were gay Claire. That said, does she make you happy?”

“She makes me joyful and complete dad. She and I are truly one. My present and future are her's. Nothing from my past will draw me away.”

“Then I echo my brothers good wishes. All we wanted was for you to find happiness and love.”

“Claire, my beautiful daughter, you glow around her. What more could a mum ask for.” She opens her arms and I enter them. She hugs me tight. “I love you. Now, let's plan your wedding.”

We tell them what we have planned and how we plan to make them grandparents. It is a wonderful.

[laurelsofhighever]

Thunderstorm - NSFW

The smut is finished! This is a sequel to A Way To Relieve Tension, featuring Rosslyn Cousland and Alistair Theirin.

Also on AO3

“I guess the weather really does change on a sovereign this far into the mountains,” Alistair huffed as he peered out into what mere moments ago had been an afternoon of bright, hot sunshine. The first warning of the storm had come in a sky that darkened to almost night-time blackness in moments. Before the party had had time to swap uncertain glances the first few drops had turned into a sheeting wall of rain that fell like crossbow bolts and left them soaked in the brief dash from the hissing campfire to the safety of their tents. And now, the violence of the rain on the canvas roof all but drowned out the harried goodbyes shouted across the space by his companions. Next to him, Rosslyn preoccupied herself with wringing out the end of her braid, her boots already toed off next to his just inside the tent entrance.

“Even my socks are wet,” she agreed. “It could have waited half an hour, or at least until we finished dinner.”

“That appetite of yours getting the better of you again?”

With a glare of mock outrage, she leaned across the space between them and flicked water at his face.

“Hey!”

He grabbed her wrist to deflect the attack, drawing her close enough where he could use his strength to smother any wriggling resistance, but that only overbalanced them both and gave her an opening to jab her fingers into the unprotected flesh of his side. With a squawk, he lunged for that hand too, but during their travels she had learned to be sneaky and managed to slip his grasp. Giggling, tangled, the contest changed airs, the discomfort of their wet clothes temporarily forgotten as they scuffled for advantage in the small space. It ended with Rosslyn, pouting, half cradled in Alistair’s lap, pinioned with her hands fisted uselessly in the fabric of his shirt, her face so close to his she could count the individual raindrops still clinging to his hair.

He grinned down at her. “I win.”

“I don’t think so,” she teased, leaning playfully out of reach as he stretched to kiss her. “I never yielded.”

“I’m not giving you quarter.”

“Well that’s hardly –”

Lightning flashed against her closed eyelids, and when she turned, the following thunder rattled like an avalanche through her bones, with enough force to drown out even the roar of the rain. Alistair’s grip on her waist shifted, gentling into something more protective as he moved to let her lean closer against his chest.

“We’ll be alright,” he told her. “It should pass soon.”

She glanced back to him, confused until she registered the line drawn between his brows, and slid her touch along his jaw. “I’m not frightened of thunderstorms.”

“Oh… Really? I mean –” He flushed, though it was hard to tell in the gloom. “I didn’t mean to sound disappointed, it’s a good thing, but… well…” Moving closer again, he let his fingers trail gooseflesh up her arm, the act self-conscious, nervous, but one that nonetheless made the breath stutter in her chest. “I thought, if you were scared, it would only be gentlemanly for me to do something about it.”

“Like what?” she asked, with a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

He shrugged, entirely too nonchalant. “I could comfort you, I suppose –”

“Oh?”

His breath fanned across her cheek, tempting a kiss. “And I could make sure you were warm…” A cold hand questing under the hem of her shirt – “Keep you… distracted.”

At the last instant he ducked aside, the smirk that would have fallen against her mouth nipping at her neck instead, and only widening with the gasp it drew between her teeth, the way her grip tightened on his collar.

“You know…” she managed, torn between the blunt scrape of nails across her waist and the attention being lavished against her pulse – he’d exchanged a bite for the glide of his tongue, and seemed determined as he pulled her hair out of the way to wash every single bead of water from her skin.

“Were you going to finish that sentence?”

Her eyes opened. Smaller peals of thunder chased each other through the dark. A retort found its way to her lips, but before she could loose it, his mouth closed on her neck and his touch raked up her spine, and the words dissolved into a moan. Whatever part of her damned his smugness, it was drowned out by the need to keep him in place, to have more, to satisfy the hunger he bloody well knew he was rising with every passing heartbeat. Her grip went to the back of his neck, trailing through the soft bristles on his scalp as she turned the rest of her attention lower, along the curve of muscle leading down to his hip with a touch light enough to make him shiver.

“I was going to say you don’t have to wait until I’m frightened to comfort me.”

Alistair pulled back to plant a quick kiss on her lips. “I should hope not, or I’d never get any comforting done.”

“I am afraid sometimes,” she replied, brushing a thumb over his cheek. After all, they faced death almost every day, and not a battle ended without the instant of panic before all survivors were counted. She tugged at the top button of his shirt as she bent down to capture his mouth. “We should get you out of these wet things.”

His tongue darted across her lip. “What an excellent idea.”

Before she could react, the arm across her waist tightened. Alistair twisted, throwing them down onto the bedroll, her yelp of surprise drowned by another flash and a roll of thunder as he settled above her, palm splayed across her back and one long leg draped deliciously between hers. His mouth found to hers again, deep and eager and slow enough to make her feel every inch of the weight he pressed against her, while all she could do was cling to him as the cool, sweet scent of the rain was chased away by the warmth of their shared arousal.

The fabric of his shirt clung to his skin, dragged where she tried to lift it, and she turned her face from the kiss to better concentrate on the goal of removing it.

“Shut up,” she grumbled as he laughed against her shoulder. “This isn’t my fault.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Planting a kiss against her collarbone, he lifted back onto his knees and brushed her hands aside, flinching against the chill as he pulled it over his head.

Even in the dim light, the flex of his torso held her captivated, a play of shadows that drew her fingertips in lazy arcs across his hips, but not one to enjoy for long. He shifted to free her other leg and caught her hands, pulling her up to meet him with a kiss before discarding her own shirt. The sudden lick of cold air left her arching into him, her legs clenching about his waist and one arm thrown behind her for support as he fiddled with the knot holding her band in place.

“Hey you,” he murmured when it finally came loose and slipped to the floor.

“Hey…” He was so close. Their breath mingled; his hands burned against her skin, teasing where her nipples pinched tight against the cold; between her legs, the hard line of his cock twitched beneath its trappings. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing bad,” he assured her, letting his touch rove upwards from her waist, lightly over ribs and back so that it was an effort to not just close her eyes and fall into the sensation. “I was thinking about what you… did for me, earlier. While we were getting water. I was wondering how to ask… may I… if I could return the favour?”

For an instant, Rosslyn froze. Her mind skipped to an image of him, broad hands on her thighs and a wicked grin on his lips as he bent his head – and there he was now, in real life, waiting patient and hopeful for her answer. Excitement arced along her limbs. She tilted his chin to kiss her answer against his mouth, and by slow degrees he pushed her back until they were both laid prone on the bedroll, and anticipation stoked the flame in her chest until it roared high enough to cast off the cold. Thunder rolled across the sky again as Alistair paused above her pulse.

“I love you,” he murmured.

She kissed his shoulder. “Show me.”

Chuckling, he worked his way down her neck, using mouth and hands both to make her squirm, and as his touch went lower, she watched through heavy-lidded eyes as he turned from the direct path along her sternum. They had discovered together how sensitive her breasts were, and he delighted in turning that accident into a skill, in seeing all the reactions he could coax from just a few simple touches. He flicked a glance at her as he dropped his head to lap at her skin, grinning as the broad swipe of his tongue over her nipple made her arch up in a wordless plea for more. When he bit down, the sharpness brought a curse to her lips, a frantic push against his shoulders and a whined demand to go lower still.

“Already? But I wanted to take my time,” he huffed, but with the unsteady edge that let her know he, too, was losing his self-control. “After all the teasing you were doing earlier, I thought I should do things properly.”

She frowned. “I don’t recall teasing you at all.”

He hummed at that, but only moved to the other breast, leaving the one abandoned to the sting of the air – but only for a moment, until his palm roughed over it, kneading and pinching and drawing long sighs up her throat.

“Alistair, please.”

His weight shifted. The friction of his cock left her as he leaned back again and raked his hands along her sides. Whatever murmur of appreciation passed his lips was swallowed by the rain, but she caught his smirk in a flash of lightning, an instant before those same hands reached down and squeezed her arse. Her own indignant expression was lost to the darkness.

“Lie back.”

She held his gaze as he pulled at the laces of her breeches, and further as the thunder caught up and he slid the last of her clothing from her body, leaving her entirely exposed in a way that even a few weeks ago would have been unthinkable. For a moment she thought he would join her in nakedness, but he only loosened the ties on his own breeches before smoothing his palms up the backs of her thighs, coaxing them apart as she shuffled higher up the bedroll to give him more space to lie down. Her heart throbbed heavy in her chest, sending pulses of heat through her belly, to every inch where their skin met, where he traced a line to the covering of her pubic hair and where her hand clutched on the nape of his neck. When his finger dipped lower, testing her, she arched into the touch and the coldness of the exploring digit, kissed him blindly as he set a teasing pace that by this point was entirely unnecessary.

One last kiss, and he repeated his trail along her stomach, patience swallowed by eagerness as he settled between her legs, peppered hot, open-mouthed nips across her inner thighs. He breathed against her and she fought to keep herself still. Their hands sought each other’s in the darkness.

The first long sweep of his tongue was clumsy, the feeling not what she expected.

“Was that alright?” he asked, pulling away.

She opened her eyes, smiling. “Don’t stop.”

With answering relief, he propped himself more fully on his elbows, wrapping an arm around her waist to steady them both as thunder once more boomed overhead. A vague worry about being washed down the mountainside wandered through her head, but then Alistair’s fingers found her sex and parted her, rousing with deft movements until she strained against the pressure, needing more, and this time when his mouth descended, the lightning flashed behind her eyes.

Her breath grew ragged after that. At first, her gasps came in equal parts arousal and frustration as he fumbled through the movements, but every jerk of her hips became a lesson, every swipe of his tongue a response, and at last she writhed and hissed and had to bite her lip to keep herself from flying away. He had already long learned the pace she liked, the firm, deliberate movements that would build her until she shook apart, and he moaned as he applied it with a warrior’s discipline, with his shoulders hooked under her knees and one palm flat across her belly to keep her from bucking too hard against his face.

“Look at me.”

He had stopped. Bewildered, she rolled her gaze to him, to the way her hand tangled in his hair and his chin glistened with evidence of his work.

“Are you –” she swallowed, tried again. “You alright?”

He kissed the inside of her wrist. “Never better. You?”

Whatever answer she might have given dissolved in a bubble of half-hysterical giggles as she dropped her head back against the bedroll. Her hair had fanned loose from its braid without her noticing. It fanned out behind her head, knotted and still wet from the storm, and she turned her face into it to hide from the trembling in her limbs. If he hadn’t stopped…

She felt his lips against her thigh. His tongue flicked out, tasting with each closer step, and even that was almost too much. And then he was on her again, lapping and kissing with renewed intensity, pulling her focus down and down to the point of light being built at her core.

Something in her changed, tipped like a full glass about to overflow. She went still, couldn’t breathe. She begged, but only in her mind, waiting, needing just a little bit more – a little bit more –

She gasped as the first wave overtook her. Alistair kept going, still building her pleasure even as it tore her apart, dragged her breath from her lungs in sobs, left her fighting against every muscle all at once as the feeling consumed every inch of her skin. Eventually, she mustered the strength to push him away and roll onto her side as the last twitches gave way to smaller, lighter tingles, and then to the seep of exhaustion as her breathing steadied. She barely paid attention to the man behind her as he traced his way back up her body, over skin so sensitive his touch flared like magefire, but when he settled next to her the pride she expected to read in his expression was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he gazed at her with a tenderness that hid both care and worry in its depths.

“That looked like fun,” he murmured, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

She could only manage a low, drawn-out hum, but it made him chuckle.

“It looks like the storm is – careful!” He jerked away from her, glancing down to where her knee was raised to hook around his waist. At some point he had taken off his breeches, though she couldn’t remember it. “I’m, uh… still a bit delicate there.”

“You alright?”

Smiling, he caught her wandering fingers before they could descend too far, and brought her knuckles to his lips. “This was about you.”

“You’re sure?” she asked. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m not sure you could stay awake long enough to do much about it.”

“Hmmm. That’s your fault.”

A smirk. “Yes, it is. Rosslyn?”

Her eyes had closed, her breathing even and hands stilled against his chest. Biting back a chuckle, he glanced around the tent and found their things cast aside by their enthusiasm – really, he should hang their wet clothes from the crossbeam to give them chance to dry, but a nice word to Wynne in the morning would probably sort that out. Instead, careful not to jostle the woman nestled in his arms, he snatched the blanket from its crumpled pile by their weapons and draped it over them both. Rosslyn murmured something unintelligible as he tucked the corner in at her shoulder, but didn’t wake, so with one last kiss to her forehead he counted her breathing and let himself follow it into the Fade.

[ask-the-phan-site]

Phan Cam: The Festival of Our Dreams

WARNING: This post may be a bit long. Also, there’s a chance some posts may not show on time.

>The stage for the Dream Festival was all set up and ready. The idols were doing some last minute rehearsals before the first concert. Dream FES will last six days from Monday to Saturday this year. The first event takes place tonight on Monday which will be like any other concert. The second event takes place on Wednesday where it’s Open Mike Nite and anyone can perform on stage, even with the idols. The finale takes place on Saturday where the competition to see which Rookie Idols, Skull included, will get to become True Idols and possibly record a CD takes place with the idols finishing it with a huge show stopper.

Okay, so I stand here and I announce the groups when they come out. I think I got it.

Good. Now when you announce them, don’t hold back, give it as much energy as you can so the audience can feel it.

MC: I’ll do just that.

Worker: Hey, they stylist is calling for one last check!

MC: Coming!

>The MC leaves. Haruto also goes back stage.

>The dressing room. KUROFUNE was getting ready for that night.

God, this is just so great! We’re gonna blow this place tonight!

Calm down, Ryuji, I’m just as excited as you are.

Skull: I know. But this isn’t like all the other times I performed with you guys. This is the big time.

The real big time.

I’m glad to see you’re hyped for this. Now we know the songs we’ll be performing?

Yuto: First, we perform OVER THE SEVEN SEAS. Then, Treasured Hearts. And we finish off with Whole New World.

Skull: I like that choice. Though I wish I coulda written another song before all this.

Keigo: This year’s Dream FES is a week long to correspond with the End of Summer. You’ll have another chance soon.

??????: I hope so.

>They turn to see DearDream and Haruto come in.

Keigo: What brings you here?

We wanted to wish you luck... Or is it “break a leg”?

Either way, we hope you’ll do well.

Keigo: Thanks.

Yuto: What songs are you performing for Dream FES?

We’re starting with Dream Pulse. Next, we’ll do Up to speed!. And finally, GO TOMORROW!!!!!

I’ve added something new to our finale.

Skull: Really? You added something new to that last song?

Actually, he’s talking about the finale where both our groups perform.

Haruto: Actually. it’ll be three this year.

For real!? There’s more this year!?

Haruto: (smiling) You’re Ryuji Sakamoto, am I right? KUROFUNE’s newest member.

Skull: It’s a part-time job, actually. But I hope to work full if I can.

Haruto: I see. Well, this year, ANSwer will be joining you.

Kanade: So Asuma san, Chikage san, and Eiji san will be singing with us?

Haruto: That’s what the producers said. Letting one of the newer idol groups perform with two of the legendary idol groups, especially with KUROFUNE’s newest idol would gather more people.

Shin: That sounds a little... Big.

Haruto: That’s business. But don’t worry. I know you can do it. I’ve seen you do more impossible things than I can count.

Kanade: No doubt.

Haruto: So, can I count on you to do this?

KUROFUNE and DearDream: Yes!

Haruto: That’s the spirit. Well, see you tonight.

>With that, he leaves... And we come in.

Sounds like a big job.

Skull: I’m sure we can pull it off. With all of us here.

Keigo: That’s right. By the way, I like your concert outfits.

Thanks, my mom helped me put them together.

Keigo: God bless you, Katherine sama.

Wait until the Wednesday event, will have something really great on.

Chizuru: I’m already looking forward to it. By the way, how’s Suzui san? I hear she’s taking part in the Stride Tournament.

Panther: She’s doing fine. I’ll tell her you wish her luck.

Chizuru: And don’t forget to tell her that we love her.

That’s a little too much for her to take, but okay.

But thanks for wishing her luck, though.

>Then, Peter, Harry, Gwen, Miles, Anya, Aleksei, Randy, and Liz arrive. Also with them are John Jameson, Flash Thompson, even Alistaire Smythe, and three new faces: A young man with glasses, a chubby boy in a school uniform, and a young woman in a sweater.

You made it!

It wasn’t easy, we almost lost our luggage.

Only because one of us didn’t exactly packed light.

Well excuse me if this is my first trip overseas!

You should have just taken my advice and only packed what you really needed. Me? My football’s all I need.

So, you didn’t pack anything else? No clothes, just your ball and the clothes you already have on?

Flash: ... Okay, maybe there’s more than a ball that I need.

If he’s stayin’ with me and Harry, I draw the line at lendin’ my clothes to him.

Relax, Ryuji, I made arrangements at the Wilton Hotel.

Good. I don’t think any of the places our Japanese friends stay are wheelchair accessible.

Actually, my apartment has an elevator.

Yeah, we saw it the last time we were here.

So, how excited are you that you’ll be doing this?

Skull: I’m a little nervous, but everyone’s here, so I’m okay.

Speaking of everyone, aren’t you going to introduce us?

Peter: Right. Everyone, these are some of the friends I talked about. This is Kamala Khan.

Kamala: It’s nice to meet you.

(outfit altered to avoid being flagged) It’s nice to meet you, too, Kamala chan.

Harry: Ollie Osnick, he was a student at Oz Academy.

Actually, I’m already acquainted with Ryuji san.

Skull: Really? How so?

Ollie: ... It’s complicated.

Peter: And last, but far from least, Grady Scraps.

It’s nice to meet you. お会いできて光栄です。

名誉は私たちのものです。

Grady: Sorry about the uniform. It was in such a hurry, this was the only thing I could get on.

It’s alright, Grady, we’re here until the 24. We have plenty of time to shop for new threads.

Grady: That’s good to hear.

Chizuru: Then might I suggest Peace Parade. Sheep Heavenly is good, too.

For real!? Idol Brands can be bought as well?

Keigo: Normally, it isn’t. But remember, even though they are used in the Dream FES System, the clothes are still made by designers and they use our concert to promote their clothes.

Panther: It’s true. Mom does it sometimes, too.

Fox: I see... I wonder if I should feature my art in a concert.

Maybe on Wednesday. I know they'll love it, Yusuke.

And that’s why I love you, Ren.

>We both smile.

They’re the same as always. Even though we just saw them not that long ago.

Queen: Anyway, now to introduce ourselves.

>We introduce ourselves. Even Yuto, Keigo, and even DearDream introduced themselves.

Ollie: Nice to meet you all. But it seems you’re missing a couple of people.

Queen: Diego and Mishima are already in the crowd. We’ll be meeting up with them soon.

Skull: I just wish Axel and the others could be here, but they went back to Landmark City. I’m sure we’ll see ‘em again soon.

Oracle: Me, too. I’ve heard of this guy called Garrett and I really hope I’d meet him.

Worker: (coming in) Hey, the concert starts in a few minuets. You guys better get ready. (leaves)

Joker: Well, we’ll see on later on. Have a great show.

Enjoy the show!

>We leave.

>In the crowd, we meet up with Diego, Admin, Shiho Suzui, Boss, Sae, Mrs. Sakamoto, and even our councilor, Takuto Maruki.

About time you got here. This place is getting hyped up and packed.

(sorry if she’s still wearing her old uniform) He’s right, a lot of people showed up this year. Look over there.

>She pointed and we saw that Japanese fencer, Kagami Tsurugi, was here with French teen model, Adrien Agreste.

Panther: Are they here as a couple?

Shiho: I doubt it. They brought their friends.

>She is right, there are seven more teenagers with them... Two of which I recognized, but I won’t say more on it.

Not just them. Look there.

>He pointed to who is unmistakable the “Super High Schooler”, Moyuru Koda, and his teammate/boyfriend, Junichi Kotoba. They’re holding each other really tight.

It looks like we have some royal visitors, too.

>She was right. Not too far from where we were are the Royal Family of Attilan with their fellow Inhumans, Inferno, Iso, Haechi, and Flint Jaycen. (We’ll just call him Jaycen because we already know a Flint.) Not too far from them is King T’Challa of Wakanda, aka Black Panther. And next to him is Thor Odinson of Asgard.

I see a few other celebrities, too.

>I look around. I also see Hifumi is here. I also spot Rise, Yu, Yosuke Nanako, a man who I can assume is her father, and Teddie. I don’t think they notice me. With them is model/actress, Yukari Takeba. Not too far from them is the American author, Phoebe Halliwell and her husband, Coop. They were in deep conversation with... A young dark-skin man with pink dread locks who was accompanied by another dark-skin young man with brown cornrows, a young man with facial hair and glasses, a young man with long blonde hair, and, was was unmistakably, a brown and blue mecha.

This is getting too much. How’d I get dragged into this, anyway?

Oracle: (smirking) Because you just can’t say no to a face like this.

Boss: Heh! Maybe.

?????: Maybe you’re just getting soft.

>We turn to the newcomer... We were shocked.

What the hell are you doing here?

Are you saying it’s wrong to visit family once in a while?

Crow: Says the man who abandoned me and my mother in our hour of need.

Shido: That’s all water under the bridge now. Let bygones be bygones...

Besides, I happened to be a fan of Sankishi. Is that alright with you?

Crow: ... Just behave yourself, alright?

Shido: Like a church mouse. (sits quietly on his seat... Next to Crow)

This is going to be a long week.

?????: No kidding.

>Then, another comes in... You’ve got to be kidding.

I never pegged you to be someone who like theses events.

Now do we have to be such a downer? ... By the way, how do you like my anime look?

Seriously? What is it with older men and anime?

Stark: Just dressing for the occasion.

???: Actually, I kind of agree with her.

>Then, four new faces join in.

But at least your beard looks good.

Stark: That’s something, I guess.

Still, I guess it’s a slight improvement from your last two anime forms.

I’ve never seen that, so I can’t judge.

Eh, he’s still the same, either way.

Stark: (in defeat) Let’s just enjoy the show.

Mrs. Sakamoto: (whisper) It’s nice of you to come, by the way.

Energetic boy: (also whispering) Thanks.

?

>Then, the lights dimmed and the crowd starts cheering louder. The lights on the stage come on. The MC comes on stage.

MC: HELLO, TOKYO! WELCOME TO THE DREAM FESTIVAL 2019!

>The audience was hyped.

MC: Now before we begin, I first would like you all to give a big warm welcome to some famous people in the crowd tonight. Let’s give them a hand!

>The crowd cheered for all the people the others mentioned. Although, I’ve noticed that the Inhumans got little while Black Panther and Thor got a lot... Man, they’re cruel to them, they’re just like us... Only with power and slightly different appearances. Koda mostly got cheers from the girls while Rise and Yukari got cheers from the guys.

MC: And now, with out further ado, let’s welcome our first act for the night. The legendary idol group with a million cheers in one night, our very own Sankishi!

>The crowd cheered loud for the first idol group.

Haruto: Good evening, everyone! How are you?

>The crowd cheered.

Susa: That’s music to our ears. And we know that we’ll be music to your ears.

Ichika: Let our voices reach to you, tonight. Your hearts will glow for us.

Haruto: And we will glow for you. Let’s soar to our future.

Sankishi: TOGETHER!

Dorika Time!

Shido: I believe this one should suffice.

Crow: How... Fitting for you.

>We load our wands and launch the cards into the stage.

Catch Your Cheers!

Haruto: I shall wear your cheers with honor!

Catch Your Cheers!

Susa: My heart goes out to all of you!

Catch Your Cheers!

Ichika: The songs we sing shall be the pride of tonight!

(sorry for the chop job)

White Orchid Series! Complete!

>Sankishi begin their performance. The audience and us really enjoyed... But we know what we’re really looking forward to, but Sankishi is good, too.

>After some time, Sankishi finished their songs.

Haruto: Thank you all! I hope you enjoy the next group as much as you enjoyed us!

>They leave and the MC comes back.

MC: I’m so sure they will, Haruto san. Now for your next group. They were practically born for this show. Heck, they’re basically named after it. Give up for the idol group that puts the Dream back in Dream FES! DearDream!

>Everyone cheered.

Kanade: Before we begin, we would like to give a big thank you to Moyuru Koda, who is a big fan of ours, for coming here.

If you can really live up to your group’s name, I’ll really be hyped for the finale on Friday.

Junya: Then I guess we shouldn’t disappoint now, should we?

>The crow gave a little laugh. Then, I notice Koda is holding his arms and chest. I use my Third Eye to take a closer look at what he’ saying to Junichi.

It’s alright. We took all the precautions. I don’t think it’s going to happen here.

Koda: I know... I’m just worried. After what happened at that party... What I almost did to you.

Junichi: It wasn’t your fault. No one could predict that would happen.

Koda: Oh yeah? ... Tell that to your missing leg. You nearly lost your place on the team.

Junichi: But I didn’t give up... And you shouldn’t either.

Koda: Normally I would side with the winning team. I always saw you as that... But I realize, it never really was about winning or losing.

Junichi: And what’s that?

Koda: ... If I knew that, I would own the world.

>The two young men smiled in joy.

DearDream: Alright then, let’s being our show!

Dorika Time!

Junichi: If their first song is Dream Pulse, I think this one will work.

Koda: (smiling) Yeah, I think so, too.

>They loaded their cards and launched away.

Catch Your Cheers!

Kanade: Thank you so much!

Catch Your Cheers!

Shin: Thank you for your support!

Catch Your Cheers!

Junya: Your cheers will light up!

Catch Your Cheers!

Itsuki: Thank you, we’ll do our best for you!

Catch Your Cheers!

Chizuru: Your cheers will strengthen my love for you!

(Reminder: The following images are not in violation of the Tumblr policy as they do not actually contain sensitive or adult contain. They only show the upper half. Please do not flag.)

Candy Block R Series! Complete!

>DearDream performs their song, Dream Pulse. The audience really applauded when they finished.

>Meanwhile, with T’Challa and Thor.

I am still unfamiliar with this. Do all Japanese idols transform like that?

According to Stark, only those who work for this production company. Though I still wish I knew how.

(who couldn’t help but overhear) No one really knows. It’s one of Japan’s greatest mysteries. Although, I’ve heard the System works on the dreams of the idols and the people who go watch them... But that’s just one theory.

Thor: I see... I think.

King T’Challa: (looking through the Dorika) Let’s see. I was told when they first performed Up to speed!, they used this.

Iso: The original Candy Block Coord. That should be good.

Thor: Yes. Very elder school.

Iso: That’s old school.

Thor: What’s the difference?

Can you hurry up, Iso? They’re about to start up again.

Iso: Right.

Dorika Time!

Catch Your Cheers!

Kanade: Let’s get things up to speed! ... Okay, not a good job, but still.

>DearDream change their clothes.

Candy Block Series! Complete!

>DearDream performs their song, Up to speed!.

>Meanwhile, with the Investigation Team.

I brought the snacks!

Thanks, Yosuke senpai.

Yes, thank you.

Yes, thank you.

I don’t think you need to copy that.

Just be careful, Yosuke, that looks like more than you can carry.

Yosuke: Sorry, Dojima san, I guess I didn’t expect a certain bear to order so many.

Teddie: (shocked) Now that’s just rude!

Yosuke: But you’re the one who- WHOA!

>Yosuke tripped.

Koda: (who noticed) Hold it!

>As if he were as fast as the wind, Koda quickly catches Yosuke and all the snacks before they hit the ground.

Koda: Your friend is right, you have way too many snacks here.

Yosuke: (a bit surprised) R- Right!

Teddie: (pouting) So mean.

Rise: (also surprised) Wow, you caught my senpai so quickly. No wonder you’re the Super High Schooler.

Koda: (helping Yosuke back on his feet) Thanks.

Nanako: (amazed) You’re the Super High Schooler? Wow. Actually, my big bro is a bit of a super high schooler himself.

Koda: ... (laughs) I doubt it. I have something he probably will never have.

Yu: And what’s that?

Koda: ... If I told you, they would kick me out of the tack team.

>The Investigation Team just stares in wonder. Koda begins to make his way back to Junichi when he suddenly felt like he was being watched. He turns... Phoebe Halliwell and the young man she was talking to were watching him. he quickly turns, pretending not to notice, and returns to Junichi.

>With them.

(using comic appearances to avoid getting in trouble) You saw it, too, didn’t you?

No doubt. So he’s really... That sucks. He’s boyfriend will probably be disappointed.

Hold on, Kaz, I don’t think we should act just yet. He hasn’t done anything, so I think we’re safe for now.

Kaz: Hope you’re right.

(sorry, this is the only picture I could find) Be patient, sir. We’ll have our chance.

Kaz: Right.

Yo, Kaz, they’re about to start.

We thought it over and we thought this should be used for GO TOMORROW!!!!!

It’s no Gucci, but I think this is just as fabulous.

Kaz: Right.

Dorika Time!

Catch Your Cheers!

Kanade: Let’s go on to our future together!

Rose Bullet Series! Complete!

>They being their song, GO TOMORROW!!!!!. The crowd really cheered, even us and the Royal Family joined in.

Looks like you guys have a favorite group.

Maybe.

Just a little.

...

Fine, a lot. But only because we can sense the heart in their songs.

As can I. If they were like us, we would definitely wish to bring them back with us.

*bark*

Iso: It’s one of the few things that makes us no different... Music.

Haechi: You might get your chance.

Kanade: Thank you for tonight’s cheers! Be sure to give that same love to KUROFUNE!

>With that, DearDream leaves and the MC arrives.

MC: For our next group, they have sailed through the trail and hardships, but have made it all they here tonight. They even recently picked up a new member. Ladies and gentlemen, weigh anchor and raise your colors for the Gold, Silver, and Bronze: KUROFUNE!

>As KUROFUNE gets on stage, the crowd cheered a lot. Me and my friends were cheering the loudest. I also notice the Investigation Team cheering really loud, too... I hope Skull gets the win on Saturday.

Yuto: The time has come to set sail to dreams ahead!

Keigo: The stars shall guide us to your hearts and your souls!

So join us on our adventure to find our passion!

KUROFUNE: Let KUROFUNE be your captain tonight!

Dorika Time!

Catch Your Cheers!

Yuto: The great seas are calling us!

Catch Your Cheers!

Keigo: Your cheers will be our map to you!

Catch Your Cheers!

New Sailing ver. Ryuji

Skull: Alright! The wind is blowin’ our way!

(Reminder: The following images are not in violation of the Tumblr policy as they do not actually contain sensitive or adult contain. They only show the upper half. Please do not flag.)

>Skull was wearing the same thing, but with a more Bronze color.

New Sailing Series! Complete!

>KUROFUNE begin their song, OVER THE SEVEN SEAS. We were cheering loudly for them.

Skull: (after finishing the song) This next song is a song I wrote. I would like to dedicate to my friends and family who supported me all this time. Especially, Ren Amamiya, Goro Akechi, Peter Parker, and Harry Osborn.

Thanks so much for everything you’ve done! I love you all!

We love you, too, brother!

We know you can do it, Ryuji!

Peter: You and KUROFUNE can do it! Together!

Harry: This is your dream! Go for it!

>Suddenly, the boy known as Makoto, leaped up from his seat.

Makoto: THAT’S RIGHT! JUST TAKE FLIGHT AND YOU CAN DO IT!

(whisper) Thanks, little bro.

Dorika Time!

Catch Your Cheers!

Innocent Pirates ver. Ryuji

Skull: I’m gonna enjoy this!

Catch Your Cheers!

Yuto: Now we shall sing to your hearts!

Catch Your Cheers!

Keigo: Your cheers shall brighten the stage tonight!

(Imagine Skull wearing the same outfit, but Bronze in comparison to Gold and Silver.)

Innocent Pirates Series! Complete!

>They being to sing Treasured Hearts.

>After they finished, a Wakandan guard comes to us.

Wakandan guard: My king and his fellow Avenger wish to speak to those Ryuji Sakamoto spoke of.

Really? They wishes to speak to us?

Wakandan guard: I also have been asked by Lady Crystal that Chloe, Kamala, and Makoto of the Future Avengers come as well.

Makoto: Only Bruno comes.

Bruno: (in defeat) Please don’t drag me into this.

Peter: Well, we should at least see what they have to say.

>We make our way to the VIP Seats where the royals were waiting for us.

Hello, Future Avengers and Web Warriors and friends.

Chloe: Hey, Triton.

Triton: We will be speaking with Chloe, Kamala, Makoto, and Bruno. King T’Challa and Thor will speak with the rest of you.

Peter: Alright.

Chloe: Tell them I’ll speak to them later.

>Me, Crow, Peter, and Harry go over to King T’Challa and Thor.

Thor: You are friends of Ryuji Sakamoto?

Joker: Yes, we are.

Peter: We support him in his dreams and what he does.

Thor: Yes. I know you two as Spider-Man and Stealth Spider, so I can say that you have made many great friends.

King T’Challa: That is true.

Crow: Is that all you just wanted to do?

King T’Challa: Maybe. I have heard a great deal about you, Goro Akechi, the Detective Prince. And your father.

Crow: What about him?

Thor: We know that Inhuman reside here in Japan as well. But they mysteriously disappeared... After the sudden appearances of psychotic breakdowns and mental shutdowns.

...

King T’Challa: But now that’s passed thanks to the Phantom Thieves of Hearts. After some time, Japan’s Inhumans are slowly resurfacing.

Joker: Yes, we know. Some of them are even at our school. But we have no problems with that. They’re not doing anything wrong.

They make Japan feel like we’re part of something bigger.

Thor: That is true... However, there is one thing that troubles us.

Crow: What’s that?

King T’Challa: ... Actually, it can wait until after the show.

Harry: You’re right. This is Ryuji’s show. Let’s not spoil it. We’ll talk later.

>We return to our seats. Chloe stays behind to talk to King T’Challa and Thor.

Stark: So what did they have to say?

Bruno: We’ll tell you later. Right now, KUROFUNE is about to sing their last song for the evening.

Adi: (nods) I searched the deck and I think I know just the cards to use for this song.

Crow: I think that will be just perfect.

Dorika Time!

Catch Your Cheers!

Yuto: Now for our finale for tonight!

Catch Your Cheers!

Keigo: Thank you! This will keep me going!

Catch Your Cheers!

Skull: Nothin’ is between me and your Cheers!

(Skull’s has bronze colored feathers on both shoulders.)

Infinite Voyage Series! Complete!

>KUROFUNE performs their last song of the night, Whole New World. (Not the song from Aladdin, in case you were wondering.)

>With the Investigation Team.

(Can’t believe I didn’t get to talk when we came to the scene with Kida.) That song was great. It’s definitely nothing like the Disney one... Actually, they’re both good.

Nanako: I want to vote them to win the competition.

Rise: Well technically, KUROFUNE already won in a previous Dream FES. They’re not Rookie Idols anymore. Except for Ryuji, so I guess we can vote for him.

Nanako: Then I’ll vote for him.

Yu: That’s good of you, Nanako.

Teddie: Yes. Beary good.

Rise: If he ever makes it, I so want to help him with his CD. Yosuke senpai, you help, too.

Yosuke: (a little confused) Why me?

Rise: Well, you always have headphones on. Maybe you can lend a hand.

Yosuke: (groans) As if I have nothing better to do. And I have a relative who’s an idol, too.

>With us.

Way to go, KUROFUNE!

Adi: I agree!

Mrs. Sakamoto: I love you, Ryu kun!

(Does she have to shout out my pet name?) 

Keigo: Thank you! And we hope you will share that love with Ryuji san and vote for him for the competition!

>The whole audience really cheered as the MC comes back on.

MC: I’m sure they will, Keigo san. And good luck to you... Ryu kun.

(trying to walk off stage quietly) (Keep it together. Keep it together.)

MC: And now, for our last group of the evening. They help with the most difficult questions in your life No matter what, they are the ones you are searching for. (Mostly because they were voted for that name.) Ladies and gentlemen, give a big hand for ANSwer!

Akiomi Inamasu: Good evening, Tokyo!

Nanao Hidaka: We may be last, but we’re really not the last!

Souji Kibino: Yes.

ANSwer: Now let’s get to it!

(Since they’re a minor group in Dream Festival, we’ll be skipping their song. Sorry, guys. Maybe if they make a third series.)

MC: Weren’t they spectacular? Make you wish they really were the answer, then every student would pass their test.

>Everyone laughs a little and the joke as they applauded.

MC: Well, that’s it for tonight. When we come back on Wednesday, we’ll be having our Open Mike Nite. Anyone wishing to perform doing whatever show they wish to put on, good luck to you all! And remember... If you wish to use the System, you have to sign in and pay the fee in advance before Wednesday. If you haven’t, you have to pay double.

>All the idols join the MC on stage.

Haruto: The Open Mike Nite is here to remind us that you are just as important to us as we are important to you.

Kanade: You have just as much talent as we do. If not in singing or dancing, then in other ways. No matter what.

Yuto: We wish only good luck to you for showing us just how well you do what you do. Not in competition, just for fun.

Akiomi Inamasu: So let’s see what you can do that night. So until then...

Idols: Our goal is the Dream Festival! Dream FES is about to start!

>Everyone in the audience, including us, cheer happily.

>In the dressing room, we, including, the Investigation Team, Tony Stark, and the Future Avengers, came back to congratulate KUROFUNE for their performance.

Flash: That! Was! AWESOME! ... Though it will never be as cool as Spidey.

Peter: Aw, thanks, Flash.

Flash: (unimpressed) Don’t push it, Parker.

What Mr. Thompson is trying to say is, you guys did well tonight.

Keigo: Thank you, Makoto chan.

Makoto: That’s gonna be tough. My name is like hers.

Queen: I don’t mind being called Mako chan if that’s alright with Haru.

Noir: It should be fine.

Mrs. Sakamoto: Ryu kun, I’m so proud of your performance.

Skull: Thanks, Mom. (And enough with the Ryu kun, already.)

Rise: Just keep it up and might win that CD debut.

Skull: Yeah. I’m lookin’ forward to it.

Yu: We’ll be supporting you all the way.

Yuto You have good friends, Ryuji san. Be happy with that.

You know it.

Oracle: This calls for a celebration!

After-party at Leblanc! Sojiro, let’s get a turkey.

Now hold it! I don’t think it’s big enough to fit us all.

Oracle: In that case... 

Let’s pull our funds and get some sushi!

Diego: (really happy) I can get on board with that.

Fox: That could be hard. I’m low on cash at the moment.

Skull: Let me guess, art supplies?

Pretty much.

Harry: I’m rich. I can get the sushi.

Stark: I better pitch in, too. I still remember from what happened the last time I had some.

Bruno: I doubt you’ll be attacked this time.

I’m not going to ask what that means.

>We begin to make our way to the exit. I notice that the dressing room used by Sankishi. I hear voices in there. I couldn’t help buy listen.

Randy: Hey, Ren, you coming?

Joker: ... My shoelace came undone. You go, I’ll catch up.

Flash: Alright, but hurry up. I really want to taste that sushi.

Diego: I want some sushi, too... But I’ll stay behind and help.

>With that, the rest of the groups leaves while me and Diego stay.

Diego: What’s up, Joker?

Joker: I thought I heard something in Sankishi’s dressing room. I’m very suspicious.

Diego: Alright. I’ll see what I can do.

>Diego changes back to Morgana form and sneaks into the room. I access his collar cam with my phone... I was a little shocked.

Shido: Is that any way to talk to an old friend? Or even a fan?

Haruto: We’re not friends. But we still accept you as a fan.

Susa: And after knowing your secret, I doubt we’ll be friends now.

Ichika: Sorry. Guess stuff like this just happens.

Shido: I merely come here to congratulate you, and this is how you treat me? ... After everything I’ve done for D-Four?

Haruto: Tch! Don’t remind us. I’m surprised we’re still going after what happened with the Phantom Thieves... And what you did to your son?

>Shido, his face full of fury, bashes his fist against a mirror, shattering it.

Listen and listen well, you fucking, ungrateful fools! If it weren’t for me, D-Four Productions and you would have lost everything. The three of you would be out of a job. Your little proteges would be out of a job...

So I suggest you be a little more nicer.

Haruto: (looking down) ...

>Morgana returns to me and changes back to Diego. Just then, Shido walks out and notices us.

Can I help you two?

Well...

Shido: (staring at me) You look... familiar.

?????: I see you’ve met my new intern.

>I look up to see Tony Stark and Yuto coming up.

Shido: (unconvinced) Really? I don’t see someone like you hiring someone like him, Stark. What is this about?

Stark: (firm) It’s exactly as I said. Now if you don’t mind, I was about to treat my intern and his friend to sushi. So if you’re not too busy, you’re welcome to join us.

Shido: ... I’m due back at the Wilton. See you on Wednesday.

>With that, he leaves.

Yuto: We better go. Everyone’s waiting.

>So, we leave.

>The sushi restaurant in Ginza. While everyone partied, Stark and Yuto spirited me and Diego to a stall.

Yuto: How much did you hear?

Joker: A lot. What was that about?

Yuto: As most people probably don’t know, but there was a time D-Four Productions almost ceased to exist.

Diego: (a bit surprised) Really? What happened?

Yuto: ... Calystegia.

Joker: The song by Kanamin Kitchen originally written by deceased idol, Yuko Osada?

Yuto: Yes.When they sang it at the Love Meets Bonds Festival, their popularity skyrocketed... And they totally forgot about the Dream Festival. Only about 250 people showed up.

Diego: That’s harsh.

Yuto: With everyone so focused on Kanamin Kitchen, who works for Takura Productions, sales for D-Four were dropping. If that kept going on, many idol groups would have to be let go. Sankishi included. Even Amuse, Lantis and Bandai Namco, the companies that birthed D-Four, would have severed their ties with them to avoid being dragged down. Then, they would have filed for bankruptcy and their only salvation is to be bought out. Mostly likely their competitor, Takura Productions, or an overseas company, like Apollon Media.

Joker: Why would Apollon be interested in the Dream Festival?

Yuto: I don’t know. And I don’t care to find out. Anyway, Masayoshi Shido, who was already a major and well believed politician and a big fan of Sankishi, bailed them out by raising their popularity back up by showing his support. As a result, the next Dream Festival... The same Dream Festival KUROFUNE and DearDream first appeared, was a huge success.

Diego: So you owe him?

Yuto: Well, that’s what Shido thought. After his heart was changed by yo- The Phantom Thieves, our deal with him was over... But D-Four itself wasn’t.

Stark: Yeah, you’re welcome.

You helped them, Mr. Stark?

Stark: I got curious about why Shido loved Sankishi. So I listened to their songs... And I truly understood why they are famous for the night of a million cheers... That, and I was curious how the Dream FES System worked. Or even where it came from. So, I bought D-Four Productions. Now they’re members of the Stark International Family and those other companies didn’t have to sever their ties.

Diego: That’s quite generous of you, Mr. Stark.

Stark: Yeah, well, I still want to know more about the System... Maybe another time. Anyway, I wouldn’t worry about Shido now. But just to be sure, we’ll keep an eye on him.

Yuto: And Ren, Diego, about what we just told you...

Diego: It’s our little secret.

Yuto: (happy) Thank you.

Joker: And than you for keeping D-Four open, Mr. Stark. It means a lot to Ryuji.

Stark: You can thank me by not calling me Mr. Stark. Just call me Tony.

Joker: I don’t think we can do that.

Stark: Why not?

For starters, we already know a CEO named Tony.

Stark: I see... But for the record, I’m a way better Tony than that skate punk.

>I smile a bit. And we rejoin the others.

[hawkbucks]

It’s my fanfic blog and I get to choose what fandom to do fic for. 

DA:O, Julien Tabris/Zevran, sort of Alistair’s P.O.V. Let it be known that I would gladly die a thousand deaths for my Best Boy Ali. Many typos, probably. 

“You and Zevran earlier--” Alistair leans against a tree; they’re far enough from the main camp that no one would be able to hear their conversation, especially considering the hushed tone that Alistair is speaking in-- “what was that all about?” Although he and Zevran do get along quite a bit better than they did before, he’s never been too... fond of his and Julien’s relationship. It just seems too convenient in his opinion. Zevran was originally sent to assassinate the both of them, after all. All Julien needs to do is turn his back for a second too long, sleep for a minute longer than he usually does... not that Alistair would actually voice these concerns of his out loud. 

Well, actually. He did. Once. That got him a pissed-off Julien telling him to mind his own business. He can’t really help it though, can he? Julien has quickly grown to become one of his closest friends--being the only survivors of a terrible betrayal tends to build camaraderie. Add that to the fact that it’s painfully obvious that this is Julien’s first real relationship and you’ve got a good reason for Alistair’s “big brother instinct” to shift into overdrive, only made worse by the small scene they have caused a few hours before. Rapid whispers were exchanged, then Zevran left for his tent in a huff, shoulders tense, leaving Julien awkwardly standing there before joining Leliana in cutting up some vegetables for tonight’s stew. 

Julien crosses his arms. “Zevran offered me his earring. I said no.” 

If there’s one thing that Alistair likes about Julien, it’s his straightforwardness. No having to decipher any insufferably vague sentences or tying him down as he’s beating around the bush. “His... earring?” Alistair’s head tilts towards the side. “I didn’t know he actually took those off, honestly. Why’d you say no?” As far as he’s concerned, they’re both head over heels for each other. There’s seemingly no reason for Julien to have rejected anything coming from Zevran. 

“I told him that I didn’t want it unless it meant something. I want commitment. I don’t want this to just be bodies warming each other because of the Blight, because there’s no one else available.” Julien gestures at Zevran’s tent, looking like a mere blob of cotton awash in yellow-orange light. Zevran hasn’t exited that tent since their little tiff. “I... like him, Alistair, but I don’t know if he likes me the same way. He got shifty when I asked him about it, then he took it away from me.” He looks away from Alistair at that point, gaze turning down onto his boots. “I know it’s partially my fault. I shouldn’t have tried to rush him like that. I know about his past relationships; commitment wasn’t exactly a prominent part in any of them.” He drags a single hand down the side of his face. “I’m an idiot.” 

“Hey, you said it, not me,” Alistair chuckles. Then, after a moment’s silence, he sighs, shaking his head. “I think you guys’ll be fine. Just give Zevran some space. Maybe try not to mention the c-word next time you guys talk.” He reaches over to pat Julien’s shoulder. “He cares for you, you know. I doubt he can stay mad at you for long. You guys will bounce back from this.” 

Julien manages a small smile at that. 

Alistair can’t help but to watch as Julien and Zevran have yet another conversation by the bonfire in the middle of camp. He’s seated next to Leliana, the both of them playing a game of Diamondback. 

“We’re five hands in and you haven’t even made a joke about how the Priestess card could poke an eye out with her crown,” Leliana comments. “It’s your turn, by the way.” 

“The Priestess card could poke an eye out with her crown.” Alistair exposes a card of his own. “Sorry. I’m... distracted.” 

“You’re watching them, you mean.” Leliana places down a Magician card to complete her Priestess play, winning the game. “You know, you’re usually better at this. But I suppose I can see the entertainment in watching our resident couple.” 

Alistair’s cheeks flush and Leliana titters, hiding her mouth behind the tips of her fingers. “I mean--” he frowns and gathers up his cards-- “Julien’s my best friend. I want to watch out for him.” 

Leliana hums as she takes Alistair’s cards and reshuffles the deck with the grace of a Bard. Her hands are a blur and, honestly, Alistair is starting to get a headache just looking at it. “You’re cute,” she teases before dealing the cards back out. 

Alistair grumbles something, then he catches Julien drawing Zevran in for a kiss out of the corner of his eye. He fully turns away. He can give them some privacy in that respect, at least.

“I’m engaged.” Julien drops this bomb as he walks up to the simmering pot.

Alistair snorts his drink, eyes watering at the burn. “You’re-- shit-- fu-- you’re what?” he splutters. Is he hearing correctly? Did Morrigan slip something into his water? His porridge? Maybe the Taint’s caught up with him? 

“Zevran offered me his earring again.” Julien ladles out some porridge into his own bowl, eyes squinting and hair still bedraggled, before sitting down next to Alistair. It’s dreadfully bland, something that Zevran has complained about time and time again, but they don’t have the luxury of spices when they’re constantly on the road trying to save the world. “It was a proposal. He was... trying to propose to me the first time, he just didn’t know how to say it.”

“Someone that has been through the stuff he has, I’m not surprised. I don’t imagine that he’s had plenty of experience in that area.” He’s overheard some of their conversations. Zevran’s prone to some flowery language, but all in all... he understands. Perhaps he judged Zevran--and by extension, his and Julien’s relationship--too harshly. That’s something to reflect on when he’s lying in his tent and trying to ignore the cicadas outside. “At least it worked out.” 

“Yeah.” 

They continue eating in relative silence. Alistair makes a mental note to pick up some pepper the next time they pass by a city no matter how expensive it might be. 

“So...” Alistair sets his bowl down at his feet. “I can be the best man, right?” 

“As if I would have anyone else.” 

“Alistair.” Zevran pops up beside him.

Alistair is pleased to say that he didn’t scream. Much. Morrigan gives him a dirty look. “Maker!” He clutches the shirt that he was folding close to his chest. “Would it kill you to make a little noise? I could’ve had a heart attack!” 

“Ah, but you didn’t!” Zevran gives him that shit-eating grin that he’s so used to seeing. “I came here to thank you, my friend. I was also going to ask you to be my best man, but it appears that I am too late as you have already offered to be so for Julien.” 

“You were going to ask me to be your best man?” 

Zevran waves a hand. “In case you did not know, all of the people I could have asked are dead. And, excuse me, but I doubt Oghren or our stoic friend Sten over there would be up for the task.”

Sten grunts in agreement. 

“But, yes. You have grown to be a good friend, Alistair. It brings me great joy to be able to fight by your side. And, you know, if you ever want to join us...” 

Zevran cackles out loud as Alistair buries his face in his shirt. 

“This is Alistair,” Julien says, gesturing at Alistair. A female elf--Shianni--stands in front of them, her red hair kept bobbed with a couple of decorative ribbons tied around a handful of locks. “This is Morrigan--” Morrigan simply quirks her eyebrow up-- “and this is Zevran. My fiancé.” 

“A pleasure to meet you.” Zevran bows. “I see beauty runs in the family.” 

“Wow.” Shianni looks at Julien, both of her eyebrows raised. “You’re already engaged again?” 

“Again?” Alistair blurts out. Zevran himself turns to Julien with a questioning look. 

Julien shakes his head. “It’s a long story. Not one you would want to hear.” 

Alistair is pretty sure he’s sweating buckets. After an arduous trial in the Alienage (during which they met Julien’s father, a lovely man who offered Alistair a cup of tea) and the rescue of Queen Anora, he’s watching as Julien duels Loghain--the entire reason they came to Denerim--for the throne of Ferelden. 

Julien’s not going to be the one on it, no. 

Alistair is. Julien’s fighting for him. His entire destiny rides on his friend’s blade. 

“He’ll be fine,” Zevran says. “You are worrying too much.” 

“Maybe you’re not worrying enough,” Alistair bites back. 

“Nonsense. Julien’s a fine fighter. I taught him some tricks, and I’ve heard from him that his mother was no slouch either.” Zevran clasps his hands behind his back. 

Alistair takes the time to scrutinize Zevran a bit: his back is ramrod straight, perspiration forming on his brow as the corners of his mouth are dragged down. He might not be saying it, but Alistair knows that Zevran is just as nervous as he is. 

The sound of metal hitting stone reverberates around the entire room as Loghain collapses on the floor. 

Julien’s eyes look extinguished of all light, a brand new gash on his cheek that’s more than likely going to scar. He picks up Loghain’s sword and tosses it at Alistair, who fumbles before catching it in his gloved hands. 

“It’s your turn,” Julien says, “Your Majesty.” 

Anora glares at Alistair, tears in her eyes, as he brings the sword down on Loghain’s neck. 

King. It still seems wrong on Alistair’s lips. His words can’t wrap around the syllables just yet. He’s king. He got his revenge on Loghain. For Duncan. For all the other Wardens needlessly killed after that coward pulled out.

He watches, like he usually does. He watches as Julien takes Zevran’s hand into his own and kisses the palm, both of them illuminated by the moon. 

A sudden longing makes itself known in Alistair’s chest. He’s not interested in them, per se, but rather what they have. Julien is his best friend, yes, and Leliana always listens to him whenever he needs her, but he doesn’t have anything like that. He doubts he ever will. 

He’s covered in blood. There’s a darkspawn corpse at his feet. Even more are littered behind him. The air stinks of corruption and decay, questionable liquid flowing in between the cracks in the ground. 

He thinks about what Morrigan told Julien before she ran off. About how a Warden must die in order to kill an Archdemon. There was a... ritual that she said she could perform to stop this from happening, but neither he nor Julien wanted to be a part of it. When the time comes, he’s more than willing to be the one who strikes the final blow. 

This is a Grey Warden’s duty. In death, sacrifice, right? He knew what he was signing up for. 

All of their breaths come ragged. After a simultaneous fight with two ogres and a particularly hardy Hurlock mage, they’re not in the best shape right now. Alistair winces as he rubs a poultice on one of his bruises, and Wynne is chugging lyrium potions like there’s no tomorrow--and there very much could be no tomorrow if they don’t succeed right here, right now. 

“I love you,” Julien whispers to Zevran. 

Alistair can’t help but to eavesdrop. They’re so bunched together after all, there’s no way he can avoid overhearing their conversation. 

Zevran responds with a kiss.

Alistair turns away once more. 

“Promise me you’ll protect Zevran,” Julien says--no, he demands. He’s bleeding from the temple. Another cut recently joined his face after a Genlock slashed his upper lip. The Archdemon is lying weakened behind them, body shuddering with each breath. There’s no way it’s going to get up anytime soon. 

This is it. 

“Julien--” 

“Promise me.” There’s a wild glint in his eye. His grip on his dagger gets tighter, knuckles turning white. 

“I can do it,” Alistair counters. “I’m a Grey Warden. It’s my duty.”

“We’re both Grey Wardens. It’s as much my duty as yours. Plus, you have a kingdom to run.”

“Does Zevran know?” 

Julien flinches. 

Zevran looks at the both of them as he’s helping Wynne up to her feet. 

Alistair levels Julien with a look. “Let me do this. What could a better first act as king be besides stopping the Blight? I die, so what? Ferelden still has Anora.” 

“You’re the one that wanted to be king, Alistair,” Julien shoots back. “I fought so you could become the damn king. I can’t let you do this. I’m sorry.” 

Alistair’s hand reaches out to grab Julien’s wrist, but he’s a millisecond too late. He runs after the man, wide-eyed, but there’s only so fast he can go in his clunky, heavy armor.

“What is going--?” Zevran takes in Alistair’s panicked face as the man draws closer and his head immediately whips towards Julien, his breath catching in his throat. He starts to take off, Wynne standing in shock behind him, but he’s stopped by Alistair’s hand closing around his elbow. 

“He wanted to do this, he wanted to do this,” Alistair says, sounding more like he’s reassuring himself than reassuring Zevran. “He told me he wanted to do this.” 

“Alistair! Alistair! ” Zevran tries to rip himself away from the other man. Once he realizes he won’t be able to get out--stomping on Alistair’s foot would do nothing considering the armor and he’s not tall enough to be able to headbutt the man--he goes slack. “He is going to die, isn’t he?” he sounds uncharacteristically quiet. Despondent. 

Alistair stays silent. 

“Bastard.” 

Julien regards them with one last look, one last I love you to Zevran. He raises his dagger--

Zevran reaches out. 

--and swiftly brings it down on the Archdemon’s head. 

Wynne gasps as a column of bright light immediately shoots up into the sky. Julien screams in pain, writhing, but unable to let go of the dagger. 

Alistair feels Zevran’s body shaking. 

He looks away. 

Alistair lays down a few flowers near the statue. It’s been a couple of years. The statue of Julien--the Hero of Ferelden--has just been completed. Its bronze plaque shines in the morning sun as it stands proudly in the middle of Redcliffe. 

Being king hasn’t been easy. He’s been dragged here and there and here and there and he’s never really had the patience for all of this politicking and cursory smiles. Still, he has a job to do and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do it well. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” a familiar voice says. They sit down on the base of the statue, swinging their legs. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the castle, Your Majesty?” 

The corner of Alistair’s mouth quirks up. “Aren’t you supposed to be hunting down your fellow Crows, ser Arainai?” 

“Ah-ah-ah.” Zevran points a taloned finger at him. “I am not a Crow anymore. Not since...” not since he threw himself into the assassination mission, fully expecting to die, not since he ended up making friends among the others, not since he and Julien got together, not since he finally told Julien he loved him, not since, not since, not since. “It has been a while.” 

“I bet.” Alistair smiles at him. “But you’re... are you doing alright?” After Julien’s funeral, Zevran worked for the throne for a mere year before the Crows found him again and he was forced to leave. Alistar’s heard a couple of their master assassins have gone missing. Zevran’s doing, no doubt. 

Zevran shrugs. “Some days are worse than most, but I do believe I can live with it. By the way, your sculptors got his nose wrong. The nose tip--” Zevran clicks his tongue-- “it was wider.” 

Alistair laughs. 

[vivalaegghead]

Hhhmaigawd this thing has been sitting on my To Do list for much longer than I was anticipating. I’m not 100% happy with it, but it was one of those things that I needed to stop doting over so I could move on with the story. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading it, and as always feel free to comment, like, or share! 

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences 

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Courted - Chapter 7

How shall I call you,

My lover, my forever

What name shall I utter

For the rest of eternity?

              The gaudy walls of the castle blurred by Zarina as she stalked through the hallways, Elgar’s claws clicked alongside her against the marble as he matched his owners quickened pace. Confused murmurs of ‘Princess’ from castle staff and visiting dignitaries soared past her, but they were unable to land within Zarina’s ears. She must have been a sight, donned only in a thin white satin slip that tangled up around her bare ankles, hair half done from the night before. The people and greetings passed by her in shades of grey, all she could focus on was the aging expanse of the castle garden, but she wasn’t sure if her feet would stop at the garden’s edge.

The russet brick of the courtyard expanded before her, she took a solemn step from the smooth marble floor to the unfinished edges of red brick. Her toes curled, greeting the new surface, thanking it for being imperfect. Stained leaves pirouetted over her feet in dizzying circles, inviting her to dance with them. Zarina hurried across the red expanse of brick, her heels dragged awkwardly over the masonry, leaving the skin on the bottom of her feet raw.

Shems hate rough feet. A mischievous grin trickled over her freckled face, and she continued in this manner, relishing in the blasphemy. The garden was a place of worship for Zarina, and she was their goddess. The flowers offered their plum-colored petals, the trees relinquished the last of their leaves, and the earth promised its warmth. This green expanse is the kingdom Zarina wished for, not the walls of the castle that blubbered heavily with jewels and gossip. Her feet carried her past the flowers that Sebastian planted to remind her of her homeland, past the trees that would have hung shamefully under the grand oaks of forest her clan inhabited. A chilled wind bit at the exposed skin and tore relentlessly at the silken garment that clung to her curves, but Zarina failed to take notice. The land past the castle grounds consumed her mind, the painted meadows began relinquishing the lush of their greens to the melancholy colors of death. A lake was nestled between the grove of oaks and a far off stable, accompanied by a leaning cabin. The sweet smells of seasons past tugged playfully at Zarina.

The outskirts of the castle grounds had served as Zarina’s refuge when she first arrived many years ago. For months, the small elf could be found curled stealthily among the tree branches. Tracks in the underbrush would signal what she wanted, and the release of an arrow from her taunt bow would bring her some sense of comfort. She needed that release, the ability to take care of herself once more, to provide for her and Elgar like she had in another life. A week had passed before the palace guards, led by a concerned Sebastian, finally caught her in the woods. A fresh kill was slung over her shoulder, a mixture of blood and dirt stained her wrinkled tunic, much to the shock of the hunting party. Sebastian guided her back to the castle under the cover of night in an effort to not draw attention to the wild elven princess, and she was hastily cleaned and her bow was relinquished from her. Sometimes she could still feel the firm vibration of a strung bow on her fingertips, and a soft hum of a singing arrow filled her ears.

Zarina’s feet halted her escape, then turned to face the tower her tutor resided in as if she were a compass that had finally found true north. The tower loomed mysteriously in the sky, the red brick only gave way to a weathered oaken door and two small windows. Zarina had never witnessed the tower from the inside, Sebastian made sure that her and Solas interacted in public places with prying eyes on them at all times. She would catch herself in her thoughts, which concocted tales about the contents of the tower. Bookshelves of aged oak would line the curves of the tower, sunken over the weight of dusty tomes. A small desk tucked under the staircase that was always lit with a half burned candle. The dust from the shelves would float up with the smoke from the candle, carrying its distinct scent to the loft were a sleeping Solas lay, eyelashes softly fluttering at the arrival of dawn.

A cold nose pressed to Zarina’s calf alerted her that she had begun to dote too long on the memory. Elgar nudged her again with a large black snout, signaling her to continue with the soft wag of his tail. Zarina’s hand found its way behind the wolf’s perked ears, a scratch brought about an excited wiggle that overcame the animal.

“Ghilana, Elgar.” She clucked to the wolf, who answered with an excited yip. Elgar continued down the path that led to the lake, large paws padded quickly against the brick. His gait carried him along the path in an “S” formation, allowing him to simultaneously check both sides of the road while keeping a protective gaze over Zarina. As the princess fell in line behind the wolf, she wondered how long it would take for Josephine to send Alistair after her. Hours? Days?

I am too valuable for them to stall that long. A bitter tone overcame her. The wedding loomed ever closer, therefore Josephine would try to avoid a clamor at all costs. The Antivan was probably furiously searching for her guard, with a timid Merrill in tow. Always check the kitchen first. A childish smirk curled at Zarina’s lips as she fondly remembered when Alistair was caught sneaking pastries from the kitchen when he was scheduled to be watching a younger Zarina. They were ignorant to the fact that he was trying to win over her friendship with brightly iced cookies and tarts.

           A loud bark erupted from Elgar and the massive animal took off at an extraordinary gait towards the stables. “Elgar!” Zarina’s heart skipped a beat at the urgency with which her wolf ran. “Garas!” She yelled after the wolf, who continued to fly towards the building. Zarina gathered the hem of her silk slip in her fist and took off after the animal, who had quickly put distance between them. Muscles extended and retracted in ways that once came naturally, but now felt foreign. Legs that had grown accustomed to stagnation were now carrying the elf over beds of flowers and grass, quickly gaining ground on the wolf. The wind ripped at Zarina’s dress, trying to slow her from reaching her target, but her legs kept carrying her. She almost forgot what it felt like to run, to have adrenaline snake through her veins. She almost forgot what it felt like to be alive.

           Elgar skidded to a stop in front of the stables, hackles erect and teeth bared. A young boy had placed himself between the sharp teeth of the wolf and the erratic shuffling of a nervous deer. Hands wrapped in stained cloth were raised apprehensively towards the poised wolf, his lips moved quickly but Zarina was still too far to make out the words.

“Elgar!” The final plea was ripped breathlessly from Zarina’s lips by the wind. A few more strides brought her to the scene, and to a fearsome wolf who had relinquished its teeth and offered its belly to the curious boy. Her bare feet brought her to a halt, and she unclenched the train of her dress to allow it to lick her exposed ankles once more, golden eyes took in the frail form of the boy. Gentle hands were covered in blisters, yet they ran over Elgar’s wiry coat without hesitation. Deep set eyes void of color were barely visible behind shaggy blonde hair, and cracked lips whispered calmly to the mass of dog beneath him. The lanky deer that once stood erect from panic was now grazing peacefully behind him, ears still alert to the boys words.

“I’m sorry about him.” Zarina began, she shifted from foot to foot uneasily. “He usually listens to me.”

“That’s quite alright.” The boy’s voice was smooth and quite, unlike his rugged appearance, and he spoke without looking up from the wolf. Zarina broke her gaze from the boy and her wolf, and she looked at the barn that stood worn down on the edge of the castle property. Wood from the surrounding forests had been gathered to construct the simple building, and the rain and sun made quick work of wearing the wood smooth. A small corral was adjacent to the barn, two chestnut colored horses nosed through patches of grass.

           The strange boy stood suddenly, then turned towards the deer that grazed silently behind him. Elgar shifted to his side in disapproval, soft whines escaped him as he watched the boy move quietly away from him. Zarina clucked her tongue, signaling a reluctant wolf back to her side. Zarina eyed the boy curiously, then began to follow behind him.

“What exactly do you- oh!” The deer perked at her approaching, black eyes widened with fear, the deer bolted into the expanse of woods. The young boy helplessly watched at the deer shot between bushes and trees before disappearing in the thick of the forest.

“Oh gods, I am so sorry!” The frame of the boy turned on Zarina, and his eyes picked over her frame as if dissecting the elf before him. A moment passed between the pair and the forest that surrounded them held its breath, the boy shuffled his feet before finally responding.

“My name is Cole.” The words soared towards Zarina on the breath of an exhale. “I’m the groundskeeper.” His eyes fell to his hands, unable to hold Zarina’s questioning gaze, and a rough hand adjusted the bandages of the other. The frail frame of the boy seemed to shrink into his surroundings, as if he were a ghost of the barn. His eyes circulated his surroundings, but continuously failed to land on the fiery-haired elf before him. A soft whine escaped from the wolf at Zarina’s side, and he began to furiously wag his tail when the boy’s gaze fell on him.

A soft smiled spread across Zarina’s lips. “You have a way with animals.”

           The boy fell onto his knees and the white mass of wolf excitedly scooted into Cole’s arms, tongue falling from his black lips as Cole’s hands found themselves behind the back of Elgar’s ears. An unspoken innocence seemed to radiate from the boy, as if he were a new spring bud that managed to push itself from the earth with a content sigh. Where there was innocence, sadness also seemed to lurk, like a stubborn weed that continued to harass the new bloom.

“Animals don’t ask for much.” His voice was smooth like glass, and each word was spoken with care. “I don’t either.”

“Princess! Zarina!” Sharp voices broke the calm that had settled between the elf and the boy. Elgar rolled away from Cole, body alert and rigid as his eyes scanned the party that was ascending on them. Josephine led the group, skirts gathered awkwardly in her hands to prevent her gown from dragging through the grass while still keeping the hem at a modest length. Merrill and Alistair closed in behind the Antivan, and Dorian kept a steady pace behind the leaders, face painted with a disheveled flair. Zarina stood to face the approaching group, fingers anxiously buried in Elgar’s scruff.

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” The Antivan exclaimed, furious eyes taking in the sheerness of Zarina’s dress and the dirt that had gathered between her toes.

“I’m sure you have.” The words dripped with venom as Zarina pulled her face taunt with a smug grin. Merrill appeared from behind Josephine, bright eyes begged for Zarina to surrender to the group.

“We’re sorry about what happened.” Merrill’s voice was frail as she chose her words carefully. “Please come back with us.” Zarina’s gaze rested on each of their faces, forehead wrinkled from frustration. She turned to fall back into the calm that was the groundskeeper, but found that the boy had vanished back into his surroundings. The princess hesitated, then relinquished her grip on Elgar.

“Fine. Let’s go.” Her voice wavered despite her effort to conceal her emotions. Josephine’s lips parted, as if to offer a final word, but her painted lips were unable to form a comment. She simply turned towards the distant castle, hiked up her dress to expose a toned calf, then proceeded through the meadow. Alistair remained tight lipped, nodded to Dorian that they were to return. Dorian responded with a moody breath of disapproval, whipped the sweat that had accumulated on his brow, then followed the guard.

           Merrill linked arms with Zarina, and the pair flanked the rest of the group with Elgar keeping pace beside them. Silence settled awkwardly between the pair, both unsure of how to process the chaotic morning. Anger rooted itself at the base of Zarina’s consciousness, she knew that Merrill meant well but her friend’s loyalty resided with her. Shame, or something of the sort, tried to soothe the anger, tried to reason that Merrill owned nothing to her. Zarina’s face flushed, and she tried to swallow the emotion.

“Here.” Merrill’s voice dropped to a suspicious whisper as she cast a wary eye over those that lead them. A hurried palm pressed something into Zarina’s, and a cluck of the tongue demanded Zarina’s silence. The princess’ fist fell to her side as she cast a confused eye over her friend, then chanced a look at the contents that she bore in secret. Parchment, with the edges unraveled from a fire. She could make out the simplicity of Solas’ writing.

“Is this..?” A sharp elbow in the princess’ ribs once again demanded her silence, but also confirmed her suspicions.

“You know magic is forbidden.” Zarina tried to curb the sharpness of her tongue, but she feared for her friends. Most of Orlais remained unforgiving of magic unless it was used for parlor tricks, Sebastian continuously lamented the use of magic, often described it as an uncontrollable plague. No one in the castle knew of Merrill’s power, of how she had accidentally burned Zarina’s eyebrows off when they were children. If the nobility were to find out, Merrill wouldn’t make it out of Orlais alive.

“You deserve to be happy, my friend.”

[talesfromthefade]

DA Satinalia- Awakenings

Marina Amell & Cullen Rutherford, meeting again at Skyhold for the first time since the Blight, for @dasatinalia

“Cullen,” Marina asks, eyes growing wide as she takes in the other man where he is hard at work on reports behind his desk. Amber eyes snap up at once to greet the familiar voice and slightly older face of the woman he once knew so well.

“M- My lady Amell,” the commander manages to get out, absolutely floored. He’d wondered, of course, of course, he had, from the moment Hawke had brought Warden Alistair into their fight against Corypheus what had befallen his fellow Grey Warden and hero of the last Blight. He’d not yet been able to bring himself to even speak to the other man yet, however, much less to ask after her whereabouts or well-being. There were stories about the two of them, songs probably, about legendary romance and kisses over the corpse of the Archdemon. Exaggerated, no doubt, but enough of them there must be at least some truth to their being involved, and he’s simply not that much of a glutton for punishment, even if his feelings were perhaps youthful fancy.

“Just Marina, please,” she corrects with a small laugh, and a wave of her hand, though she supposes she has in fact accrued several titles in the time since the two of them last saw each other. “It is you,” Marina marvels softly, shaking her head in quiet disbelief.  “Ali told me that you were here too, but I suppose I had to see if for myself,” she admits. There’s a moment where her hand twitches at her side, as though contemplating reaching out, touching him, before she seems to remember herself and reconsider it. Ali, he registers, has a ring of familiarity and affection to it that rather confirms the rumors flying around Skyhold, and talk of the touching and enthusiastic reunion the two were said to have shared in the Courtyard.

“You left the Order,” the mage observes, breaking the silence between them. “I never thought that you–” she doesn’t have to finish the thought, both of them know well enough what she’s getting at.

Had she not been made a Grey Warden they might have continued as they were- lingering glances and dancing around one another, but it’s just as likely nothing would have come of it even if she had remained in the tower. She was a mage, and he a Templar. Such liaisons did happen now and again, of course, but they were forbidden, a punishable offense, and nearly always resulted in the mage being made Tranquil and the Templar reassigned elsewhere if they were discovered. Fortunately, his belief and sense of duty to the Order always kept him in line then, even when his eyes might stray and linger where they shouldn’t, when his heart would skip a little in his chest at her approach or when she smiled at him. That, and the fear of never seeing that smile again, of her becoming like Owain and the others without mind or will of their own but to follow any directives given to them.

Of course, had she remained, had she been there when Uldred had returned… it’s entirely possible she could have been among the dead. Certainly, she would never have agreed to be possessed willingly. He fights down a shudder at the image the thought conjures up and does his best to push it back down. It’s not the first time he’s imagined or had nightmares about the alternative future.

“You look good,” she assesses, pulling him back from his reverie and drawing a slight blush to the back of his neck as he looks away. “Healthy. Happy. It’s a good look for you,” Marina smiles softly.

“I- thank you,” he nods politely for lack of a better idea of how to respond. “And you? Are you? Happy?”

“I am,” the mage nods with a soft, entirely fond smile. “Better for being home again,” she adds appreciatively, though, fleetingly Cullen thinks that her sun-darkened skin and lightly freckled nose suit her well. Another rather awkward silence settles between them, as both seem to search for something to say. Brief conversations between tasks and passing in the hallways seem a lifetime ago now. He is both more and less than the man she probably remembers- if she remembers much of him, he amends thoughtfully. As she likely is to him. But the memory of their last meeting, his venomous words haunt and shame him.

“Marina, I-” he interjects cautiously, drawing large and curious blue eyes back up to meet his own. “The things I said the last time,” Cullen begins, but Marina shakes her head.

“Wounded me at first,” she interrupts, making the commander feel impossibly small and somehow even worse about the whole thing than he already had been. “I- I cared about you. A great deal while I lived in the tower. You were always kind. Fair. You never looked down on us or treated mages poorly the way some of the Templars did. I didn’t recognize the man I saw that night when we rescued the tower. That certainly wasn’t the Cullen I remembered leaving behind.” The one I kissed goodbye, Marina thinks fleetingly. “When we first started back to the Circle,” she whispers softly, “I thought… well, it doesn’t matter. They were girlish fantasies. It was naive to think that there could ever have been anything more between us, but the way you looked at me that night- the things you said- they broke my heart.” Cullen feels like the Blight, like that dark slimy film of corruption the Darkspawn leave in their wake.

“But-” she continues, holding up a hand when he opens his mouth to try and find the words to speak again. “Time mends,” she offers with a patient smile. “You went through a terrible ordeal before we arrived at the tower. I won’t ask you to recount it. I know enough from what Wynne told me and of what I saw and had to fight through to get to Irving, and I suspect it’s not a memory you wish to dwell on.” No, Cullen thinks, it most certainly isn’t, though his unconscious mind seems to find it often enough regardless.

“I forgave you long ago, Cullen,” the mage offers kindly, drawing him back from his thoughts, his amber eyes returning to searching hers, though he can tell she is being entirely sincere. “I am sorry that you have carried around the guilt of this for so long. You needn’t have. Please, if you can, don’t dwell on it a moment longer.”

“As my lady wishes,” Cullen nods with a small smile, drawing a small familiar laugh from her.

“That’s better. So, tell me about this Lady Trevelyan. Herald of Andraste, Inquisitor, Hero of Redcliffe, she’s been racking up quite the list of titles in my absence. Should I be feeling threatened?”

“Ha. I- uh,” Cullen stammers, rubbing a nervous hand over the back of his neck, and trying in vain to fight down the blush that floods his cheeks.

“Oh really,” Marina brightens with a giggle, wriggling her eyebrows suggestively at him. He really is too easy to get to, even after all these years, she thinks with amusement, recalling the way he’d all but fled from her the first time she’d been bold enough as to test the waters and suggest they find someplace more private to talk and get to know one another. “So there is some truth to the rumors, then. And another mage, no less, Commander,” she teases.

“Maker’s breath, can we please speak of something else?”

“Of course,” Marina laughs softly with a shake of her head. “Perhaps you could show me to the gardens, I’ve heard they’re quite beautiful. If you have the time,” she adds thoughtfully. “Alistair suggested I might meet him and another old friend there when we were done talking, but I’m afraid he forgot to give me any directions.”

“Sounds like Alistair,” Cullen smiles softly, shaking his head, before stepping off from where he’s been leaning against the front of his desk. “After you, then.”

“It truly is good to see you again,” Marina offers softly, pausing in the door to turn around and face him again briefly. “And to see you happy. You deserve that.” Privately, Cullen thinks that this woman, who cannot be aware of his many sins and the other ghosts of his past from Kirkwall, may be wrong about just what it is he deserves, but for the moment, her forgiveness and smile are a much-needed balm, and it’s enough that she thinks so. Perhaps, he thinks, mind flitting briefly to the Inquisitor as he spots her familiar form making its way towards the tavern, finding happiness amidst all this mess isn’t such a ridiculous or far-fetched notion.

[ponticle]

7pm [12 Hours to Solve This Anderstair Challenge]

Alistair x Anders, Modern AU, Coffee Shop Universe

[challenge masterpost]

[Read it on Ao3]

Chapter Summary:  Alistair officially misses his flight home. He tries to get the conversation back on track, but they again get diverted into memories. Rated M: implied sex, language, and this memory is a bittersweet one.

7pm

“Oh my god…” I breathe. “I've never felt so fucking good in my life…”

He laughs and rolls off of me to face the ceiling. Because of where we are in the bed, his head lolls off the edge when he tries to relax it. I reach across to pull him back toward the middle.

“Was this worth missing your flight?” I ask.

He laughs, “If I get to do that every time I miss a flight, I'll never fly again.”

I catch my breath and look at him seriously, “Can I blow you?”

He shakes his head. “I'm good.”

I raise an eyebrow in disbelief, “Can I at least touch you?”

He rolls toward me. “No… I want to talk to you.”

“Let's do both,” I suggest. I reach down and grab him. I don't know why he'd reject my advances. He's obviously super aroused and I just fucked him in every position we know—he must be aching to come.

“Anders,” he rolls his eyes and backs away from me. “Come on… we need to figure this out.”

I'm trying not to read too much into it, but we've had sex dozens of times this weekend. Why is he drawing the line now, of all times—when we've said we love each other; when we’ve made overtures; when we should be the most ready to fuck?

“Do you regret this?” I ask.

He squints at me skeptically.

“Do you wish you'd walked away from me on the sidewalk?” I bite my lip.

He grabs the side of my neck and thumbs the corner of my mouth.

“Andy…” he clears his throat. “I love you. I'm ready to talk… and I don't want to waste another minute.”

We blink and breathe in unison.

“Okay,” I sit up suddenly. “I need you to put pants on.”

He laughs. “If it will help.” He crosses the room and opens his suitcase, which was neatly packed, to find a pair of sweats.

“Better?”

“I mean, no…” I tease, “...but yes.”

He sits back down on the bed with me. “How can we guarantee that we don’t break up again?”

“I don’t think that’s a thing,” I answer.

He scowls.

I grab his hands, “I mean, I don’t want to break up—” I pause. I’m talking like it’s already happened—like we’ve already solved this. “...if we got back together, I wouldn’t want to… but there aren’t any guarantees…”

He looks crestfallen.

“That being said,” I lean in and kiss him as punctuation, “I was really different when we were together before…”

“What do you mean?”

“I wasn’t very confident,” I say. “I was unhappy with my life in general and that made it easier to think that you would value me as little as I valued myself.”

He squints at me. “I wished I could shake you until you saw how great you were…”

“Right? I’m super hot and smart!” I laugh.

He hits me with a pillow.

“I had to come to it on my own, I guess.” I shrug and smile.

“So you’re new—do you think that’s really enough to fix us?” he asks.

“I hope so.”

“When did you start to feel different?” he asks.

“Hmm…” I squint, trying to remember. “I think when I went back to school and didn’t fall behind.”

He nods and smiles.

“I actually rose to the top of my class really quickly,” I continue. “Before I knew it, people were coming to me for help.”

“I’m not surprised,” says Alistair. He pulls me down into his chest and hugs me.

It feels so good, I don’t even try to get my mouth free of his skin. My next few sentences are nearly unintelligible, but he gets the idea: I was old Anders and then suddenly, I was new Anders. And new Anders loves him—more than old Anders was ever capable.

“How’s everyone at home doing?” he asks.

“In what way?” I ask.

“Like… is everyone well? Doing cool stuff?” he laughs.

“Yeah, definitely…” I sit up, “Bethany got into law school,” I offer.

“That’s great,” he says. “It seems like everyone is growing up.”

We sigh together.

“I remember the first time I saw you after our separation… at the white coat ceremony,” he says. “I could tell you were different already.”

Alistair looks forward to going back to BU. Medical school was a stressful, but wonderful, time in his life. It’s not only when he started to feel like an adult, but also when he met the two best friends he’s ever had. …and now they’re together, which is strange, but good. He’s starting to be happy for them. So tonight, when they all go to the white coat ceremony together, it will feel like he’s going home.

The school still smells the same, even though this building didn’t used to exist. It’s a newer addition based on some grant from the National Institutes of Health. It’s supposed to be for research, but Alistair thinks they’re using the money to court more donors at events like this one. As evidence of that fact, there’s an elaborately stocked open bar at this black tie event.

Black ties and white coats—the clothes that define his life. He’s having a black tie wedding too.

Icis didn’t go here, of course. She went to Tufts, which makes them rivals, in a way. She harasses him frequently. It’s all good natured and gentle. She’s wonderful.

“Hey,” says Dorian. “I’m glad you made it… I wasn’t sure you were going to come.”

“Why would you say that?” Alistair asks.

He shrugs. “I’m not sure… I just didn’t know if you’d want to come back to Boston…”

It’s an innocuous sounding sentence, but Dorian and Alistair both know what he means—that Anders lives here.

“Well, you know I love visiting the old alma mater,” Alistair jokes.

Icis smiles at them both and departs to find the bar. She’s great in groups. She’ll probably have a whole flock of new friends before the night is over. Alistair is slightly less good. He’s nervous in crowds and he feels strange being back in his old stomping ground.

“How does the new class look?” Alistair asks Dorian. They stand side by side and fold their arms, sizing up the group.

“Like idiots,” says Dorian. “There’s never been a class like 2011…”

They both laugh.

“Some of them aren’t hard on the eyes, though,” says Dorian. He points to a clump of young men on the opposite side of the room.

Alistair laughs. He hasn’t really looked, but it isn’t because of Icis, exactly. He can’t remember how to be interested in people who don’t fall explicitly into his lap. He knows it has to do with Anders, but he doesn’t admit that—even internally. It hurts too much—still.

Dorian is looking, though—deeply. It doesn’t matter that Cullen is just a few feet away at the bar. Their relationship seems solid, so it’s safe, in Alistair’s estimation.

“Where is Cullen anyway?” Alistair asks.

Dorian gestures vaguely toward the bar behind them. “I think he saw Renee.”

“Renee’s here?” asks Alistair. He likes Renee Trevelyan. He used to be a student of Cullen’s and he’s sort of a friend of theirs now. He looks up to Dorian, especially. “What’s Renee doing at a white coat ceremony?”

Dorian shrugs. “Go ask him.”

Alistair turns and takes in the scene. Cullen’s head pokes up a bit above everyone else’s, so he finds them easily: Cullen and Renee and—holy fucking shit.

“Dorian,” he whispers, curling his fingers into the fabric of Dorian’s cuff.

“What?” Dorian looks at him incredulously. “You’re wrinkling me.”

“Dorian… tell me I’m losing my mind,” Alistair stammers.

“You’re losing your mind. Happy?”

Alistair rolls his eyes and gets even closer to Dorian’s face. “Anders is over there…”

“What?” Dorian’s eyes widen. “Where?”

“Talking to Cullen…” Alistair lets the words escape through a clenched jaw in case anyone can lip-read in their immediate vicinity. Not that saying Anders’ name is an egregious error… but it feels intimate—that name on his lips, in his mouth. “Dorian, am I losing my mind or is that him?”

“It’s him,” confirms Dorian.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Alistair breathes.

“Go ask him.”

Alistair’s mouth drops open. “Are you nuts?”

“Fine. I’ll ask him,” offers Dorian.

Alistair wants to argue, but Dorian is already walking away. He sidles up to Cullen and wraps an arm around his back. It’s a gesture Alistair knows well—possessive and statement-making. He’s allowed; he’s certainly fought hard enough for this kind of freedom.

And then it happens, Anders turns so that Alistair can see his face. He looks perfect—full of life and zeal and something new that Alistair hasn’t seen before: a confidence he doesn’t expect.

Icis is suddenly at his side. “I got you some champagne,” she offers.

He smiles and takes the glass. At the time same, several other women from his class recognize him and start the usual questions: where do you practice? What’s your specialty now? Etc. etc.

He smiles and answers, and Icis shows off her ring—it is quite beautiful. He keeps looking over his shoulder, though. He can see Anders doing this thing with his hair… he pushes his fingers in at the crown and pulls the top section to the extreme right side of his face. A few bangs always fall back into his eyes. It’s a gesture Alistair thinks of often.

Then something happens—Anders rushes toward the exit. Everyone looks a bit bewildered. Alistair is about to chase him when Dorian appears at his left ear.

“He’s in this class,” whispers Dorian. “And he’s here with Renee…”

“With Renee?” Alistair gapes. “He’s like 12 years old…”

Dorian shrugs and smiles. “Anders seems kind of happy… well-adjusted, even, if you can believe such a thing.”

Alistair is torn. He wants Anders to be happy, of course, but happy without him hurts.

“I’ll be right back,” he says to Icis. He kisses the top of her head absently, like she’s his sister, not his fiancé.

Outside, Anders is leaning against a railing. He looks like he’s going to vomit—so much for well-adjusted.

“Anders?” Alistair puts a hand on his shoulder—it’s a habit. “Are you okay?”

The look of pain on his face as he turns stops Alistair in his tracks. He had a speech planned—almost—but none of it works now. They run through the act of being cordial—every piece of it burns.

“I’m so proud of you,” Alistair finally blurts. It’s true—he is. Even though Anders looks like he’s falling apart right this second, he seems different—braver, taller, more intellectually substantial.

Anders kisses him. His mouth feels like home and Alistair makes fists at his sides to keep from ruining everything. He manages to push him away—he doesn’t know how.

The rest of the words pass like daggers between them. Alistair is getting married and there’s nothing to be done—they’re separate. They have new lives that they lead in different cities.

 And suddenly it’s all done. Alistair gives a speech. It goes as well as it can under the circumstances. They leave. Anders goes on with his life—hopefully happily.

Presently

“I had no idea that affected you as much as it affected me,” I say sadly.

Alistair sighs, “I was fucked up for months. I wrote you a whole notebook of letters, actually.”

“You did?” I ask.

He nods. “They were really sad, mostly. All about the mistakes we made…”

I lean in and kiss him. He looks like he needs it.

“...but there were happy ones too. Some of them were about how great you seemed—how strong and fierce and brave.”

I blush. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He runs a hand up and down my side gently. “And it was all true…”

“I love you,” I whisper. I’ve said that so much today, it’s starting to feel like punctuation.

“But the point is,” Alistair smiles, “That I knew you were different right then… and this week you proved it even more. You’re magic.”

[the-fae-icarus]

@mr-henry-lascelles Saturday sees three riders plod through the sloshy streets of London from Bruton-street, not towards Hyde Park, but the relative wilderness of Hampstead Heath. Mr Lascelles, who owns the beasts, is huddled in a great coat (a recent acquisition) with a hat pulled low over his forehead, though he cannot disguise his profile or his tall narrow frame. There are, in any case, not a lot of people about for a London noon. The weather is enough to keep all but the most desperate indoors. The wind beats wet snow into their faces until they reach the heath and Lascelles makes it stop - now there really is no-one around to see, to comment.

He turns to Dr Macneice, wiping the freezing water from his face. "Where to now? What instructions has your friend given you?"

@the-fae-icarus Alair shakes themself vigorously, sending water droplets everywhere, much like a bird with damp feathers would. "Just beyond the trees," they say, pointing to a cluster of oaks up ahead. "Elin wanted some protection from the wind."

They dig their heels into their horse's side, edging it slightly ahead of the other two to lead. They glance back every so often, to see how far back the other men are, and to check on Felix.  It is another fifteen, freezing cold minutes before they reach the Ivensen campsite. There is a roaring fire built up, that had somehow been unseen from the heath; a wagon with a faded blue covering and peeling gold letters spelling "Ivensen: Repairs, Inventions, and Potions;" and a dun colored work horse tethered to a tree, chomping at the bits of grass peeking up through the snow. Alair climbs down from the saddle and ties their horse's bridle to the same tree, greeting the Ivensens' horse with no small amount of affection. "Hello, boy," they coo, stroking his head. "Did you miss me? Is Maria or Elin here?" 

@captain-f-merivel That Alair should be speaking to the horse as if expecting an answer probably shouldn't be that surprising. Merivel has seen them do the same with Table and the salamanders. For all he knew, the animal was answering.

The Captain dismounts, glad to have solid ground under his feet again. He greatly admires the horse as a beast, but he is a rather an indifferent rider, and it has been some time. He's been striving to keep his posture and to feel the animal's rhythm (out of desire not to torment his steed, but also not wishing to make a fool of himself in front of his friends), and his back is beginning to ache.

He looks at the wagon with undisguised curiosity, Another in his place might have been suspicious - it brings to mind the picture of Gypsies, thieves and charlatans, but Felix feels a natural sympathy for people, who carry their homes with them wherever they go. It is a sort of a... land-ship. And they are Alair's friends.

@mr-henry-lascelles Henry takes the reins of Merivel's horse a well as his own and ties them to the branches of a second tree. No reason to crowd Ivensen's horse. Besides, Alistair is a skittish. It would be a poor introduction if one of his horses bit Ivensen's on the day of their first meeting.

His opinion of this Ivensen is plummeting. Naturally any magician left in England would have to keep a low profile, or Norrell would have suppressed her by now, but he really was not in the habit of associating with ragged vagabonds. He is happy for the weight of the pistol in his inner coat pocket, even if that is unlikely to be much use against magic. He reminds himself he is here on a friendly mission, and for Felix, and suppresses the thump of excited aggression in his chest.

@the-fae-icarus It is another few moments before anyone comes out of the wagon, but soon enough a young woman in her thirties, red-haired and visibly pregnant, climbs out. She is carrying what looks to be an entire basket full of herbs, which she promptly sets down by the fire when she spots the three men. "Alair!"she says, rushing over and wrapping them up in a hug. "We weren't expecting you for another hour, with the weather; Elin's out getting firewood. How've you been? Have you been eating well?"

Alair rubs the back of their neck, sheepish.  "Well..."

She sighs and puts her hands on her hips. "You're staying for dinner. No ifs or buts about it."

They laugh, posture finally relaxing for the first time that day. "As you wish. Now I believe I have some people to introduce you to? Maria, meet Mr Lascelles---he's the ice magician I was telling Elin about; and Captain Merivel, who is why we've come down here. Mr Lascelles, Felix---meet Maria Ivensen, brilliant alchemist, former resident of Dublin, and my good friend." 

@captain-f-merivel "Miss...is Ivensen." The Captain nods to her, as politely as he can, but keeps his distance. He watches her with suspicion and curiosity, unsure what to do next. Should he compliment her? Congratulate her? How much small talk would be necessary, until they get to the point?

@mr-henry-lascelles "Good afternoon, madam." Henry touches his hat. Ignoring a lady's delicate condition and her simple gown is no hardship when there is good cause, but he is puzzled by the warmth of her greeting to Dr MacNeice. Perhaps it is not so remarkable among the working classes. She is not, in any case, the ice magician. The Christian name of the woman they are looking for is Elin, he is sure of it. A sister, then? "Alchemy is a complex branch of magic, and something of a natural science as well, I understand; I commend you. A most admirable pursuit."

@the-fae-icarus "I'm glad you think so, sir." Maria gathers up the basket again and tosses handfuls of the herbs into a pot over the fire. "I'm sorry, but these need to get into the pot soon or they'll be useless. I'm sure you all want to get out of the cold; would you like to wait in the wagon? I'll be in in a moment."

Alair nods at the others---it's fine, it's  not an imposition, come along---and leads the way into the Ivensens' wagon. It...is much larger than it appears on the outside. Larger than the last time they were here, but that was to be expected with a child on the way. And cleaner, except for the mounds of gears and bits of wire and scattered tools that usually cluttered Elin's workbench. They shake their head a little and set about finding chairs for everyone.

@captain-f-merivel More magic. Merivel fights the urge to run outside and survey the dimensions of the wagon - the fear of presenting himself as an ignorant fellow prevails and stops him from commenting on the matter. He scrutinizes the various parts, tools, and half-finished devices on Invensen's desk with suspicion and clings close to Alair's side, so much so that he puts himself on their way.

"Let me take it," he says, embarrassed, after Alair's third attempt to get past the man while holding a chair by the backrest. 

@mr-henry-lascelles Were there a tenant nearby, Henry would very much like to address one upon the subject of the wagon's dimensions. He assesses widths and lengths and draws a floorplan in his head; if it weren't so impolite, and their need for these people's help so great, he would take out his notebook and scribble one on paper. He racks his brain for similar magic in his books. Is it in Sutton-Grove? He has no idea. The only person ever to memorize that dreck was Norrell. And so he does not notice Merivel's distress.

@the-fae-icarus "No, no, I can handle it. Thank you, though. " Alair smiles softly at Felix, setting the chair down momentarily and wrapping an arm about him in a hug. They seem to pause a few seconds, searching Merivel's face. "You're nervous," they say---more of a statement than a question.  "Are you alright?"

@captain-f-merivel "Oh, yes, perfectly..." the Captain laughs awkwardly, but he is grateful for the embrace. "I am only to be prodded and picked at."

@mr-henry-lascelles Henry gives the captain a calculating look. Of course he is nervous... It is only natural. Henry is nervous himself. He is out of his element and about to be evaluated. These are more Merivel's people than his, but they are women, so it is entirely possible Merivel has it worse than him. Then again the captain is terrible at hiding his emotions, so he is unlikely to be more distressed than he appears. Henry judges he will survive, and goes back to inspecting their surroundings.

@the-fae-icarus "You won't be. Not if I have anything to say about it." Alair brushes their hand against Felix's cheek. "An hour and a half, two hours at most. Do you think you can get through that?" Lowering their voice so that Lascelles can't hear, they continue: "I believe you said you know a women with a parrot? If you're feeling up to it after this, we could pay her a visit."

There is a creak from the direction of the entrance, and Maria comes slowly up the steps, empty basket in hand. She is speaking to someone behind her, too muffled to make out what the words are. Alair draws away to a polite distance just as she sweeps into the room, Elin trailing after her. "Right then," Maria says cheerfully. "Mr. Lascelles, Captain Merivel---my wife, Elin Ivensen. Elin---Mr. Lascelles, Captain Merivel. Now, I have a dinner to be making, I'm afraid, so I'll have to leave you to it." And with that she steps into what presumably is the wagon  kitchen.

Elin  is tall---a bit above six feet, if Alair recalls correctly---and somewhat stocky, somewhere in her forties, with loose dark blond hair and eyes the same washed out grey of her gown. She regards the three men in her home calmly, even  kindly. "Hello," she says in a brittle-sounding baritone. "Hope I didn't keep you all waiting too long."

@captain-f-merivel Merivel had began to ask who would be that woman Alair is speaking of, but is interrupted by the Ivensens. He tries, he really really tries not to stare.

"N-not at all," he stammers. "We only just arrived..."

@mr-henry-lascelles Henry does not do much better. He turns to the couple with a pleasant social smile, which freezes into place. He stares, quite openly, for approximately 40 seconds. It is that long that it takes him to process the words 'my wife' coming from a woman, and the sight of the person she so referred to. This is no bearded lady or rough-hewn washer-woman. Then all the clashing reference points click into position, he blinks, relaxes, and bows slightly. "How do you do, madam."

@the-fae-icarus Elin nods a polite acknowledgement to Lascelles, then turns to Alair and says something quick and quiet to them under her breath. Whatever she was saying,  she says it with a slight frown on her face, and Alair grows increasingly sheepish as she goes on. They offer what sounds like an apology, and Elin is instantly mollified.

"Again, my apologies," she says at a normal volume. "May I ask which one of you is Captain Merivel?"

@captain-f-merivel "That would be me, madam. How do you do," Felix adds the last part somewhat hastily, remembering he hadn't greeted Elin properly. He stands at attention stiffly, like a midshipman about to be scolded and seeks Alair's eyes for approval. Or for any reaction at all. The last thing he had wanted was to embarrass them in front of their friends, but it seems he had managed to do just that. 

@mr-henry-lascelles Henry feels somewhat superfluous to the scene, almost invisible. He stands with his hands behind his back and his head inclined downwards and remains silent, like a schoolboy waiting to be called up. 

@the-fae-icarus Alair smiles encouragingly over their friend's shoulder. It's fine, go on. You're doing well.

Elin, meanwhile, holds out her hand for Merivel to shake. "I am well, thank you," she says. "I've heard some good things about you, Captain." There is an undercurrent in her words, something that seems to say: I hope everything I heard is true. "Well, no use beating around the bush anymore. My workshop is this way; you can bring someone with you if that'll make you feel more comfortable."

@captain-f-merivel "I believe I can manage on my own, thank you." Felix follows without looking back. Being seen is what he fears more - not by Alair, with them he is feeling quite comfortable, but Henry... Henry is another matter.

@mr-henry-lascelles Henry watches him go, hoping until the last minute that Felix might look back. He had looked at MacNeice for encouragement... He feels an ugly twist of jealousy in his chest, but quickly steers his thoughts away from the line of thought--from the worry, as well. This is no time for displays of emotion, as tense as the situation may be. They are guests.

He looks around to Maria Ivensen. His hands are behind his back, careful not to touch anything. What compliments can one give to a home that is a wagon? "What a picturesque spot you have chosen to stop in, madam."

@the-fae-icarus Ivensen leads Merivel a little further down the hall and pulls aside the curtain to their workshop. It is not a very large room, but nor is it cramped. Blueprints in various stages of drafting are tacked up on the walls, and there is a desk covered in clock gears, tools, and random bits of metal, tucked into a corner. The rest of the floor is taken up by a sea of boxes ad the paths between them.

"You can take the desk chair, if you like," Elin says. "I am going to get the apparatus out, and then we'll see how it fits and what adjustments I need to make." *** Maria smiles, gentle and more than a little amused. "Thank you, sir. I take it you're not used to caravans?"

@captain-f-merivel "Thank you, I, um, I'd rather stand for now, if it's all the same to you." Felix joins his hands behind his back and straightens his posture, trying to assume an indifferent air. He has the suspicion that his attempt would not fool anyone and it's just as well that Ivensen is not looking in his direction.

"I was wondering," he inquires in a louder voice than it is strictly necessary, "if the maintenance would be too much of a hassle? Would I be able to do it myself?"

@mr-henry-lascelles "Indeed, no, madam. I do not believe I have ever been in one befroe. I could not help but notice that yours has an interesting spatial quality. Your wife's work, I assume?"

He stands at the doorway to a fully functioning kitchen, inside a caravan that from the outside looked hard-pressed to accommodate so much as a four poster bed. It discomfits him less than the entirely uncommon act of speaking politely to a strange traveller woman in her workspace.

He feels a pang of longing for his Miss Volkova. She would laugh heartily at his discomfort, he is sure.

[artsybecca]

  Very early into their relationship, and it shows.

       Day had fallen into a cool night, shadows cloaking the dense forest. Some of the party was spooked by the too-quiet atmosphere, while others were content with it. With full bellies of a stew consisting of vegetables and random assortment of meat, the crew retires for the night. Avarielle was first on watch, so she set up by the roaring fire, soaking in the warmth while she kept part of her attention on the forest around her and the other on her mabari; awaiting any signs that she may miss. Hogan had a knack for looking unassuming all the while he kept vigilant watch over his master and her companions. Avarielle scratched behind Hogan's ear, resting her chin on her knees.

         The day was fairly uneventful, traveling to where they had hoped they would find the closest Dalish camps. They had come across a few stragglers of Darkspawn and bandits, but for the most part there was little to fight. Avarielle had spent most of the day talking about the areas that the Dalish typically camped around, seldomly sneaking in tiny bits of information about her clan. She rarely talks about her life with the Dalish, and her companions shared smiles when she wasn't looking.

         Avarielle yawns, covering it with the back of her hand. She stays in the quiet darkness for a while, just her alone with her thoughts, until a twig snaps behind her. She quickly looks back, her expression softening when she spies Alistair grumbling and cursing down at the ground. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," Alistair apologizes as he get closer. Avarielle takes in his bed head, the wrinkle across his cheek from his pillow, but moreover; his paleness. Even in his smile to her, he looks weary.

         "Nightmare?" Avarielle asks quietly. Alistair shrugs, gaze shifting between the fire and the ground. "Here, sit with me," Avarielle motions to the space next to her that was not taken by a large dog.

         "I don't really want to be a-"

         "Sit," Avarielle insists, and really, who is he to refuse? Alistair settles himself down next to the elf, the warmth of the fire soothing his anxiety and aching bones. They sit like that for a few moments, before Avarielle leans over a little and rests her head against his shoulder. Alistair's chest warms. Her acts of affection at this point in their relationship can be random and unpredictable, and he wouldn't take it any other way. It took forever for him to confess his feelings, and he felt like the luckiest man in the world when he was reciprocated with a tender kiss. That moment felt both so long ago and like yesterday. Alistair doesn't realize that he had took to staring down at her, so bright blue eyes were not what he was expecting when he had snapped back to reality. "Ah-aha...sorry about that," Alistair mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. But Avarielle doesn't look away, nor does she say anything. She's intently staring at something, and Alistair's brow draws together in confusing. "Avi? What are you staring at?" Alistair asks.

         "Scruff," Avarielle states.

         "Huh? Scruff?" Alistair asks, bewildered. His hand automatically drifts to his chin. "Oh! This?" Avarielle nods. "What...about it?" Alistair asks slowly.

         "Mmm...nothing. I'm just not used to it, is all," Avarielle says, leaning back a little but keeping her eyes on the same spot. Alistair then realizes they've hardly ever been this close while alone. He's amused by the near fascination hiding under her schooled expression.

         "Have you really never seen facial hair before?" Alistair asks, amused.

         "Not really. The humans from when I was little...one of them did. But my mind was a little preoccupied by not being shipped off to Orlais as a slave," Avarielle says. Alistair's jaw tightens. The thought still makes Alistair's blood boil.

         "Elves don't grow beards?" Alistair finally asks after a pause. Avarielle shakes her head.

         "Not that I've seen. We don't grow much in the way of body hair," Avarielle explains. She pauses, her eye training again. "It looks prickly." Alistair pulls an amused smile. He never realized the fascination that could come from something that he was so use to.

         "A little, yeah. The Blight hasn't warranted as much time for shaving as I would like," Alistair chuckles. "You didn't feel it when I kissed you?"

         "Not...really...My mind was a little preoccupied," Avarielle mumbles, face flushing and turning back to the fire. Alistair grins. His brave warrior with eyes so sharp that they could make Darkspawn go cold, flushing over a simple act of intimacy. But who was he to joke? She can make him a puddle of goo with the right look. "C'mere," Alistair says softly, reaching for Avarielle's hand.

         "What?" Avarielle asks quickly, gaze shooting down to his hand. "What are you doing?"

         "I said come here, silly," Alistair laughs, sliding a little closer to her and bringing her hand up to hover by his face. Avarielle has a mixture of confusing muddled by an embarrassed flush spreading across her face.

         "Alistair-"

         "Come oooon," Alistair pushes gently, not even trying to hide his amused grin. Avarielle's lips pout in contemplations for a few moments, and Alistair be damned but he found it adorable.

         "You are ridiculous," Avarielle grumbles.

         "I seem to recall you enjoying the fact that I am utterly ridiculous," Alistair states. Avarielle lets out a frustrated groan, but peaks back up at him. She's staring at his chin again, her hand just hovering near it. After a few moments, Alistair leans his face inwards, allowing Avarielle to place gentle fingertips. "You're not going to hurt me, Avi," Alistair says softly, sensing the light tremors in her hand. She was nervous, and he could sense it. He tries to school his face out of a grin, not wanting to startle her away. He's learned that he needs to be careful. It took him a while to even be able to get close enough to comfortably sit next to her without her jittering out an excuse to leave. He feels her hand slowly stretch, eventually cupping the side of his jaw. He closes his eyes, enjoying the contact. Avarielle rubs her fingers against his stubbly skin, and he does smile at that. He's so focused on her touch that he does not register her sliding in closer until her knee bump into his thigh. As he opens his eyes, her other hand rests on his other cheek. He's met with a pair of brilliantly blue eye, much closer than they were earlier. Alistair lets out a shaky breath, suddenly feeling warm. It's the fire. Clearly.

         "I-um-I-I-" Avarielle stutters, flushing at her actions. Their faces are inches apart, and she's practically in his lap. "I'm sorry-I don't-" Avarielle mumbles, ashamed, and goes to pull her hands back. Alistair catches them, fingers gently wrapping around thin wrists.

         "Please don't look like that. It's okay, I promise," Alistair stresses, bringing her hands up to kiss her knuckles. Avarielle mumbles, ducking her head. Her hands were trembling, and Alistair's chest ached. "Why are you upset?" Alistair asks gently.

         "Cause..." Avarielle's voice is barely above a whisper.

         "Because...?" Alistair prompts.

         "Because my brain is being stupid," Avarielle sighs, clearly frustrated. Alistair gives her a moment. "Y-You're making my brain be stupid." Avarielle grumbles. She looks up at him just a little, and her face is more embarrassed than angry.

         "Well, you make my brain go all stupid, so I would say we're even," Alistair grins, dimples prominent. The corner of Avarielle's mouth gives the smallest twitch. "Other than that, why are you upset?" Alistair asks, gently caressing his thumbs over her knuckles. Avarielle chews on her bottom lip, eyes darting from side to side.

         "Can I kiss you?" Avarielle finally asks, her voice too timid; too quiet. Alistair's brow shoots up.

         "Can you kiss me?" Alistair parrots. "You're asking to kiss me?"

         "Y-Yes. Yes, okay? Yes, I am," Avarielle stumbles over her words, voice pitching awkwardly.

         "Why are you asking?" Alistair asks, trying to stifle his little coo of endearment.

         "I don't know!" Avarielle squeaks, posture and tone stiff with defense. "See? You make my brain all stupid and I don't like it!" Avarielle pulls her hands from Alistair and buries her face into his arm. "I don't like this. I don't! I've never felt this way before and I don't know what to do. Sometimes you are so impossibly infuriating, and other times I just want to pull you behind a tree and kiss you!" Avarielle lets out a pathetic, frustrated whine and a gentle punch to his leg to punctuate her sentence. Alistair snorts, really, he can't help it! And then he laughs. That strong, hiccup-y laugh that he does that usually makes Avarielle's chest flutter and tighten. Not this time, though. Avarielle's eyes prickle at his laugh. "Don't laugh at me! You jerk! Here I am, laying my damn heart out and you just-!" Avarielle's head shoots up, and oh shit she actually looks angry. She shoves his arm and pushes away from him. She goes to stand, but Alistair quickly grabs onto her arm.

         "No no no! Avi please! I'm sorry. I wasn't laughing at you!" Alistair tries to assure.

         "Bullshit! Yes you were," Avarielle growls. Shit shit shit. This was not how Alistair wanted this to go. Avarielle can go from zero to one hundred very quickly, and Alistair is still trying learn what not to say.

         "No I wasn't, I promise! Please, Avi? Please sit down? I'm sorry," Alistair begs, he doesn't care. He just wants to fix this. They have come so far, and he's terrified of fucking it up. Avarielle glares down at him, contemplating, before ultimately giving in and settling back down; at a considerably further distance than before.

         "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you mad. It's just-what you asked and the way you did it...I-I thought that it was so damn adorable and it made me so happy," Alistair explains, placing a hand on the grass between them and leaning in a little. "I was also a little confused because you don't need to ask."

         "...Like I said, stupid brain and...all of that..." Avarielle mumbles, plucking at the grass beneath her. Carefully, Alistair inches his hand closer to hers.

         "Just know that...that I've come to care for you. Deeply care for you, in fact. I'm new to this, too. I've never felt like this about anyone before. You are an incredible woman. You make my brain go all stupid, too," Alistair grins sheepishly. Avarielle blushes at his confession. "And you can kiss me if you still want to."

         "...I still want to," Avarielle turns to look at him, a small smile playing on her lips. "And I'm sorry for yelling at you..."

         "My wounded pride will survive if I am kissed by a lovely woman," Alistair says with a toothy grin, leaning in a little further.

         "Oh, okay. Let me go get Leliana. Or would Morrigan be more your type?" Avarielle grins, and then laughs at Alistair's deadpan stare.

         "I deserved that," Alistair sighs.

         "You did," Avarielle agrees before leaning in towards him. Alistair is surprised at the lack of hesitation, her movements completely fluid. She places a careful hand on his jaw line before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Maker's breath, her lips. Her lips are an unholy softness, plush and plump against his. He's a little self conscious, wondering if his lips are chapped. But she's smiling into the kiss, he notices. He smiles. After a few moments, Avarielle pulls back a little, not before Alistair manages to sneak in a quick peck over her scar. They're both smiling, giddy like children; giddy like their first kiss.

         "I'm keeping the beard if it gets me kisses," Alistair teases fondly, pressing another quick kiss to Avarielle's forehead. "A lot of the Wardens had big, bushy beards. Sometimes I wondered if they were hiding a bird or two in them." Avarielle pulls a face, nose crinkling up. "Okay! All right, no bushy beard," he laughs. Avarielle shakes her head, smiling to herself.

         "Didn't you originally come out here because of a bad dream?" Avarielle asks, smoothing a hand over his shoulder. Alistair shrugs.

         "Mmm, you're right, I did. But as always you fight them away," Alistair says. "My big strong elven lady warrior."

         "You're delirious. Go back to bed," Avarielle giggles. "Your watch isn't for a little while longer."          "Will you tell me a bedtime story?" Alistair asks, grinning.

         "Sure. There was once a boy that pissed off a witch because he woke her, and he was turned into an adorable little toad. The end," Avarielle punctuates the end of her story with a smile and nod. Alistair frowns, no, pouts.

         "I didn't much care for that story. The poor boy. Was he handsome, at least?" Alistair asks, still pouting.

         "Creators, you are impossible," Avarielle says, rolling her eyes. "Go to bed," she leans in and gives him another quick peck on the lips.

         "All right, all right. I'll be banished to my cold, dark, lonely tent. Alone," Alistair sulks dramatically. Avarielle snorts.

         "Good night, Alistair," Avarielle says.

         "Good night, my dear," Alistair kisses the top of her head before walking to his tent. Avarielle sighs, trying hard to suppress her smile with her palm. The damn fool was always making her blush and scatterbrained.

[theramblingscribe]

Warden Reborn

Chapter 2: The Changeling

Nyx entered the old building. The structure appeared to date back to the Tevinter Imperium, and still stood though the area had been claimed by dragons. Ariane was still wiping off the blood from the dragonlings they’d slain on their way in. Finn was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that they’d also faced a Valterral, a creature of elven myth and legend that he was certain was not actually supposed to be real. For a mage who wielded the powers of nature in his own two hands, he had a hard time believing in the fantastic.

Nyx held up a hand as they crossed a small bridge inside, stopping her companions behind her. Morrigan stood just ahead, clearly waiting for something or someone. Nyx approached slowly, uncertain how this would go. Morrigan could be angry and choose to fight. Or Morrigan might fear the same of Nyx, and flee if she got too close.

“I thought it might be you, but I had to wait and be certain. Come no closer, or I will leave now and your questions will remain unanswered,” Morrigan said. It had been so long since Nyx had heard that voice, she nearly cried. She’d trusted this woman so much, until that one night where it seemed her trust ran to an end.

“How did you know it was me?” Nyx asked.

“You don’t expect to ask so many about my whereabouts and escape all notice, surely?” Morrigan said. “I wasn’t certain, but it seemed like something you might do. And here you are, so I was correct. To have followed me so far, there must be more important things you want answers to than that.”

“What are you planning? You take ancient elven knowledge, but for what purpose?” Nyx asked.

“You know better, Nyx,” Morrigan said. “I never trusted you with my true plans, and the one time I did you denied me the ritual that could have saved Alistair’s life.”

“Do not speak his name!” Nyx shouted. She felt her hands curled into tight fists. Nyx had spent so long heartbroken, sad, and lonely, she’d almost forgotten the pieces of her that were angry.

“I will do this, but only because I see how it pains you. I mean no torment, I am simply stating that which we both know to be true. You could not let go of petty selfishness, you could not trust me after all we had been through together, and Al- your Warden died for it,” Morrigan said.

“I know,” Nyx said, casting her eyes on the ground. “I want to fix it. That’s why I’ve come looking for you. I don’t care what you have planned. I just need your help.”

“After you refused to help me? I don’t see why I should, but you have made me curious, so I suppose I can at least hear you out,” Morrigan said.

“I heard stories, old ones, just whispers of a name. The Changeling. Said to know how to alter time itself, rewrite histories. I want to find him,” Nyx said. This, she had told no one. Not since Zevran. It was the other reason he had left her. The real reason, if Nyx was honest. He insisted she was obsessed with dark magic, forces she ought not meddle in. Zevran would have no part in Nyx’s self-destruction. He cared too much to see his friend lose herself.

“To have even heard that name… You must truly be serious about doing this,” Morrigan said. “He will not be easy to find, but I’ve left some things, just there. They will hold the information you need. As well as your Dalish book. I see no reason to stop you, though I warn you that his magic is darker than my ritual ever would have been.”

“I understand that. I intend to go back. To allow you to perform the ritual. It was a mistake to deny you,” Nyx admitted.

Morrigan scoffed. “If you’d seen it then, perhaps you would not be standing here. Though changing that moment alone will not win him back, you must be aware of that.”

“I am,” Nyx said. “But as long as I am Dalish, he would never have me.”

“No, you are correct. At best you could be a concubine, and you don’t really seem the sort for that life,” Morrigan said. “But the Changeling knows many secret magics, many ways of changing the tides of time. Perhaps you do not need to be Dalish.”

“I don’t understand,” Nyx said, brow furrowed.

“But you will. If that is all you came for, then I must go. I’ve already stayed too long, and there is much for me to do. If you succeed in changing this reality, making it to your liking, I may be a different Morrigan than the one you first met. But know this, I am not, nor have I ever been your enemy. I hoped at one time we might even be friends, but that...that does not matter now. If you fear anyone, fear Flemeth. She has fooled us all, even me. No matter what life you remain in, she will remain the same. She will remain a danger,” Morrigan warned.

“I understand,” Nyx said.

“No, you truly don’t. Be careful, Nyx. ‘Twould be a shame to see Ferelden lose its hero,” Morrigan said.

“It already has.”

“Yet you seem to be the only one who believes this,” Morrigan said. She stepped back, facing towards the eluvian again. She ran a hand over it tentatively, throwing her head back for one final warning. “Change is coming to the world, regardless of your choices. If your intent is to reclaim your Alistair, then I suggest you do so swiftly, and hold onto him tight. Soon, no one will be safe.”

Nyx ignored the use of his name, as this time it was said in kindness, rather than spite. Nyx nodded, though Morrigan’s vague warnings didn’t give her much of a clue as for what to look out for. She watched as Morrigan stepped through the eluvian, realizing only now that it worked as a portal. Its surface glowed for a moment more after Morrigan left, then faded back to looking no more special than an ordinary mirror.

Ariane and Finn ran up to Nyx right after, full of questions. They had overheard a lot, by the sound of things.

“Who is this ‘Changeling’ person? How do you know you can trust him?” Ariane asked.

“Why didn’t you tell us about this?” Finn said. His voice cracked in offense.

“Because you would have tried to stop me!” Nyx insisted, taking the materials Morrigan had left behind. “You would have tried to warn me against it, tell me to stop and think about what I was doing. But I already know. I’ve made up my mind and I am going to find this mage.”

“I’ve heard stories,” Finn said, looking even more nervous than he usually did, “of a mage by that name. He nearly tore the Circle apart in his experiments, trying to change time itself! The magic he wielded was dangerous and unusual. At least with blood magic you know what’s involved. With this...this is why the Chantry thinks of mages as cursed. The old Magisters were too proud, thought themselves more powerful than the Maker himself. The Changeling is likely the same.”

“It doesn’t matter what either of you think,” Nyx said. “I appreciate all that you have done to help me, and I’m glad we found your book, Ariane. But this is where we part ways. I’ve made up my mind and nothing can change that now.”

“I never would have dreamed that one of the Dalish, one of my own who could become a hero would be so...so arrogant! Think of the consequences this could have if it goes wrong. Just think for a moment!” Ariane insisted. A stream of angry tears were running down her cheeks. Nyx had never meant for anyone to be hurt, but she couldn’t let them stop her.

“I have. Anything that I have to face, it will be on me to deal with it,” Nyx said. She was ready to leave them behind. Perseus whined at her side. Not even her mabari approved of this plan, but she would not turn back.

“Fen'Harel ma ghilana,” Ariane spat. Finn looked puzzled, but Nyx knew the meaning. Perhaps Ariane was right, and the Dread Wolf was among the ghosts that clawed at her back and lead Nyx forward. Not even that would stop her, were it true.

“Ir abelas, Ariane,” Nyx said. “But I’ve made my choice.”

Nyx watched Ariane carefully, preparing herself to draw her bow in case the Dalish woman turned her sword on Nyx. But Ariane put up no fight, instead appearing to slump her shoulders in defeat. After so long with Nyx, Ariane could not bring herself to fight the Hero of Ferelden. Even if her actions could doom them all.

“I hope you find whatever it is you seek, lethallan,” Ariane said. The harshness of her voice before was replaced with a gentle sound of sorrow. “I know I cannot stop you.”

Nyx left them behind without another word, her mabari the only one to follow. Since Zevran had left, she knew she had to walk this path alone. Those couple of weeks spent with company, Nyx nearly fooled herself into thinking she could keep people close again. As she suspected from the start, however, there would be no one to understand the justification of her actions. Sometimes, even she had doubts, but as she thought of Alistair’s face, the soft smile he gave her on the top of Fort Drakon, she left all doubt behind.

Nyx was wrapped in furs as she approached the old cavern. Even for Ferelden, this particular area was freezing cold. She tried her hardest to keep her hands warm on the off-chance that she might need to draw her bow. It was hard to fire arrows with frozen fingers. She struck a bit of flint against the stone, holding a stick that she hoped would catch some of the sparks. Unless she had a torch, Nyx could travel no further without stumbling into darkness.

The flame came up faster than she’d expected, and Nyx nearly dropped the torch in shock as she watched it grow. With luck, she held fast, and now she had a source of light. How the Changeling could live in a cavern so dark was beyond her, but she’d studied the maps and texts Morrigan left her for days, and Nyx knew this had to be where he was. She only hoped he hadn’t moved on, or this was all for nothing.

Perseus was still with her, though she noticed the mabari growing slower. He had been an older hound at the time she rescued him in Ostagar, the caretaker had said as much. Now his age was really starting to show, though he kept up with Nyx through it all. Her constant journeying had done nothing to help his aging body.

“Hello?” Nyx called into the cavern. Both she and Perseus could use a rest, but she had to find the Changeling. Not until she was certain he was not here would she stop.

She continued to call out, crawling deeper into the dark cave. Unless her eyes were deceiving her, Nyx was approaching a light. As if someone might actually be there with more torches lit. Nyx hastened her steps, trying her best not to slide on some of the slippery patches of rock beneath her.

“Hello? Is someone there?” Nyx called again, cautiously hopeful. She whipped around a bend in the path and found a whole little living area, illuminated by nothing but glowing mushrooms and bits of full lyrium crystals set on display. An old man sat in the corner in a handmade chair, slumped over and lifeless. Her heart stopped. She’d never considered what she would do if the Changeling was dead. As long as she hadn’t found him, she could try new leads, follow new paths until she tracked him down. But dead...?

Nyx swallowed the air trapped in her mouth. She moved through the room, noting the fine rug that appeared to have Tevinter designs on it, the Orlesian silverware and plates, and the bedspread that looked as if someone’s grandmother had knitted and stitched it all together. The whole room was like that. Anything that didn’t appear to have been made by some amateur was incredibly fancy. None of it matched, and she could see signs of almost every region she knew of, and even some things from places she couldn’t name.

Nyx looked down at the old man, who had a large bald patch on the top of his head, and the barest of white wisps of hair falling around it. He was near covered in liver spots, standing out starkly against the paleness of his skin. The man’s wrinkles had wrinkles, and Nyx couldn’t tell if this man was eighty years old, or many hundreds. If he was truly dead, it would not be a terrible shock, but it would mean the end of her journey.

As Nyx reached a hand towards his shoulder, thinking to shake him gently and see if he woke, the man’s head snapped up. Nyx screamed as he grabbed her arm and squeezed his long, clammy fingers around her wrist. He grinned, his face uncomfortably close to hers.

At this angle, she could see the oddest thing about the man. His eyes, and the area around them, appeared to be at least thirty years younger than the rest of his body. Nyx pulled herself away sharply, but the man was already releasing her, causing her to stumble backwards from her own force.

The old man laughed, voice loud and grizzled. “You walk in here like you own this place, and you’re the one who’s startled?” he said. “No manners. No one has manners anymore.” He cleared his throat and started to stand.

Nyx was quick to get back on her feet, if only so she could back away from the man. He had appeared so small in the chair, but now that he stood she remembered that he was a shemlen, and she was still an elf. Not that all shems towered over her, but the height of this man rivaled even a Qunari. Perseus growled defensively beside her, but she attempted to soothe him. This man could be dangerous, whether he was who they were looking for or not.

“I apologize for the intrusion,” Nyx said. She was trying her hardest not to tremble. “My name is Nyx Mahariel. I have come here seeking a mage who goes by The Changeling.”

The old man laughed again. “You Dalish and your fairytales. You would believe anything if it sounded mystical and ancient.”

Nyx’s jaw tightened. “People will believe anything if they think they can get something out of it,” she said. Given the circumstance, she did not want to react, but hearing him insult her people was not easy to swallow.

“A wise observation,” the man said. He still didn’t sound too impressed, but he no longer sounded like he was ready to mock her. “So, you have admitted you seek to get something from this mage of yours. Entertain my curiosity. What would you ask of him?”

“I have heard that the Changeling knows how to bend time. I need to return to a time before I made a horrible mistake,” Nyx told him.

The man grinned wide. It was eerie, but more so when she looked into his young eyes, set against an old man’s smile. Nyx had to look away, though she knew it made her appear weak. He had the power in the situation, and knew it well.

“There are many mistakes one can make in a lifetime. What makes yours so dire that you would seek the aid of forbidden magic?” he asked.

“This could undo the death of the one I love,” Nyx said.

“Ah,” the man said, breathing deeply. “A noble goal indeed, though far from selfless. Unless this was someone important to Thedas. To the land of Ferelden.” Now she saw something new in the curl of his lips. He knew, somehow.

“He would have been king,” Nyx admitted, her voice choking as she said this.

“A Dalish elf and the King of Ferelden?” the man said. “Hardly a situation that would work in your favor. Perhaps it is best to leave him dead, find someone new. There is plenty left in the world for you to experience. Would you really abandon all you know for him?”

“There is just one moment,” Nyx insisted. “Just one moment to change so that he may live.”

“But you will not have him,” the man said. “You will still be Dalish.”

Morrigan had mentioned something similar. But the Changeling knows many secret magics, many ways of changing the tides of time. Perhaps you do not need to be Dalish. The words had made no sense to Nyx at the time. Yet, now she gave it more than a mere moment of thought. What could the Changeling offer her?

“The only way to remain with him…” she began, processing the idea, “...would be as a human noblewoman. But this is entirely impossible. Even if an elf could be nobility, I could never turn myself into a shemlen. I would not wish to!”

“Even if it gave you all you wanted, you would choose not to become human?”

“I...it isn’t possible, so it doesn’t matter,” Nyx said.

The man reached behind him, grabbing a shard of glass that had been resting on the table beside him. It was one of many pieces of destroyed objects that sat in the cave dwelling. He cut into his arm, and blood flowed forth. It floated, under his control, to cover his face. Nyx nearly gagged at the grotesque noises it made as it molded over him, cracking and stretching and…changing him. The blood fell from his face, covering the floor, and revealing a much younger man. He now looked like he was in his forties, and his eyes better matched the rest of his features. His hands had not changed, and remained the hands of an old man. He noticed Nyx looking at them, then ran a bit more blood over his hands, motioning as if he were washing them. Again, the blood fell from his skin and his hands were younger.

“What is a human, but a person who looks different than an elf?” the man said. “Would you truly change so much, if you were human? Inside, you would hold the same values and have the same personality. You could keep your eyes, your hair, your cheeks and lips. All of it. The only things we would change are the ears and your tattoo, which you already hide,” the man said.

Nyx could barely breathe. Her hand flew, without thought, to the bangs that covered her vallaslin, making sure the hairs were still in place. What magic she had just seen was nothing she knew. It was something she did not think any mage she’d ever met could explain. Save for, perhaps, Flemeth, but the old witch would likely not answer any question of Nyx’s in any way that made sense. The First Enchanter, Wynne, and even Morrigan would not have the knowledge to tell Nyx who or what this man was. Save for the name he went by.

“You are the Changeling after all,” Nyx said, still breathless after his display.

The man gave a slight bow. “At your service, Nyx Mahariel. Though I suppose this shall not be your name for much longer, if we can complete our task properly,” he said. “You will need a noble name, a noble house, but the right circumstances as well.”

He was drawing out vials of lyrium, sipping at one like a fine wine. Where he got all of it, Nyx hadn’t the faintest clue, but he had more than enough to sustain any mage for ten years. She also remembered the crystalline forms spread around, and wondered how he had not gone insane. Though that was, of course, assuming that he wasn’t already crazy. Perhaps he was truly a mad genius. And still he was her best chance.

“Tell me what to do, and I will see it done,” Nyx said. Determination was the only thing that remained to drive her. That, and the feeling of ghosts clawing at her back. She would be rid of those, soon.

“Patience, patience. You have all the time in the world, after all,” the Changeling said, then laughed at his own joke. Even though his features now seemed to match with one age, he terrified her. It was not just the eyes before, Nyx admitted to herself, but his presence as well. She remembered feeling a presence like this in the Archdemon, one who had the spirit of an old god. How could a mortal mage command a similar effect?

“You will need a girl, a young noblewoman whose place you can take. Someone whose circumstances align with yours in a way to bring you back to your love,” the man said. “Bring her here, to me, as well as the blood of the Archdemon.”

“Why the Archdemon?” Nyx asked.

“Even dead, the body commands power. It takes an extraordinary vessel to contain an old god,” the Changeling said.

Nyx remembered asking Riordan about creating more Wardens once. It wasn’t just a bit of darkspawn taint in her, but Archdemon blood as well, kept and preserved. It had the power to change her mind, give her the ability to sense darkspawn and this psychic connection to them. Surely, it had other uses.

“Is there anything else you require?” Nyx asked.

“You say this as if the task I’ve already given is so easy,” he said with a slight chuckle. “I require something from your past, something significant. Have the noble you select bring an object from her past as well. The rest of the...ingredients I need, I already have here. Those things should suffice. Though if you happen upon extra lyrium, it would serve well as payment.”

“Just lyrium potions?” Nyx asked. “This is no simple magic, I do not expect that you would do this for lyrium, when you already have quite the supply.”

“No, wise girl, my price is not the lyrium itself. But we can discuss these things later. First, I need to see if you can actually get the things you need before I am gone,” the Changeling said. The way his grin bared his teeth made him look like a rabid animal.

“You would leave? Getting to Denerim and back alone will take days! Not to mention the time I need to find your supplies,” Nyx said.

“You know where I am now,” the Changeling said. “If I remain too long, I risk further discovery. You know what you need to do, the limitations are your challenge to win. I suggest you get started. I will give you the time you request, but only if you are in time.”

He laughed again. She had no idea why she would trust in the word of this madman. By the amount of lyrium around him, he had to have completely lost his mind. But she remembered another strange man, the hermit in the Brecilian Forest. He had been mad, yes, but Morrigan warned he was also deadly powerful. Madness and power were not mutually exclusive to one another.

Nyx agreed, and urged Perseus to follow her back out, Her torch had, thankfully, remained lit, up until they stepped back out into the cold of the Frostback Mountains. How she would do any of this in a week she’d no idea. She at least knew she had one thing already. Nyx opened her bag to look at it again, the broken shard she’d picked up in the ruins. This eluvian had ruined her life, and at first, she kept it as a reminder of her power over it. It no longer held corruption and could not make her sick. It could not hurt Tamlen, who had been laid to rest. Now it was her connection, her piece of the past.

Nyx reached Denerim in record time. She’d barely stopped to rest, eating only when she desperately needed to, and stopping just for a breath every so often. Nyx had fought sleep with all her might, only giving into it when a caravan headed to the city saw her, looking like death as she stumbled forward, and offered to carry her and Perseus the rest of the way. She’d thanked them, and slipped them three sovereigns as insurance that they would not harm her. With luck, the noble she brought back to the Changeling had a horse or two they could ride back the other way.

Nyx knew she could not do much of anything until she’d gotten a decent meal and a bed to rest in. Keeping herself cloaked, to avoid recognition, she entered the Gnawed Noble Tavern, just by the market stalls. With all the reconstruction, she was glad to see that few things had changed. Gorim shouted his usual sales pitch, “Dwarven crafts! Direct from Orzammar!” Nyx never had the heart to tell anyone that this wasn’t entirely true.

Making her way to the counter, she was pleased to see that the same shady man was tending the bar. Familiarity was a comfort, even if she mostly remembered his associations with illegal dealings. Nyx was hardly one to judge anymore, involving herself with a known maleficar, so she didn’t. It was understood by most people that one did whatever they could to get by. Nyx had once thought she was different, that she could be better. She no longer believed in lies.

“A room, please. And have a warm meal and a pint of ale sent to it. I want to remain undisturbed, understood?” Nyx said in hushed tones. The man raised a brow, but when she produced a fair amount of coin, he nodded.

“Last one down that way, on your left. I’ll have one of the girls bring you something soon as I’m able. Anything else you’ll need?” the bartender asked.

“Privacy and quiet,” Nyx said, eyes narrowed. Her usually sweet face made it hard to look too threatening, but under the hood of her cloak, she looked mysterious enough to add to the effect. The bartender nodded again, looking slightly more nervous than a moment ago. She would take no risks in her dealings. Nyx did not wish to be discovered.

“First them bleedin’ Crows stay here, now everyone seems to think they can just push me around,” he muttered as Nyx walked away. She ignored the careless comments. He would be no threat to her as long as his mouth remained shut. No one had recognized her thus far, anyway, so perhaps the whole quest would go so smoothly. Nyx could only hope.

The food was a typical Ferelden style stew, grey and mealy. It reminded her of Alistair’s cooking, and for the first time, she found herself able to genuinely laugh at a memory of him. Nyx spent so much of her time mourning his loss, she had nearly forgotten to celebrate his life. Through the laughter she then found tears, a more familiar feeling, though this time they were bittersweet. Nyx remembered all the reasons there were to love Alistair, all the reasons she needed him back. She would sleep alone tonight, but promised herself that it would not be that way for much longer.

When morning came, Nyx pulled on her usual set of dragonskin armor, with a thick wool cloak over that, and shook Perseus awake. She had one job to do before she went to the palace, where she would look for Queen Anora. It was a good a start as any for who to ask about the nobility.

Her hound followed her out of the tavern and around to the quiet warehouse. She still held the map Riordan had once given her, leading to the secret Grey Warden cache. Nyx had been so caught up in the Landsmeet and everything that followed, she never took the time to stop by and check what was in the storage. Since she’d avoided the Wardens since the end of the Blight, they remained untouched and undiscovered. Not even the darkspawn had infiltrated the building to take what remained.

This was where Riordan said there might be stores of Archdemon blood and the Ferelden records on how to perform the Joining. The place was a dusted-over mess. Nyx sighed deeply, and got to work going through everything that remained. There were old stores of potions, armors, and weapons. She found a few extra arrows amidst the supplies, enchanted with elemental magic. Nyx packed them into her quiver, worried about what dangers she might face on her return visit to the Changeling.

Perseus barked, causing Nyx to jump. She hurried over to his side, and found that he was sniffing at a selection of vials. There was a symbol on the outside she didn’t recognize of a dragon curled in on itself. Nyx lifted one to the light to examine it. It was like darkspawn blood, thick red with thin black strands like worms constantly moving within, but had an odd sheen to it like oil. She swirled it around to watch it catch the light. This had to be the archdemon blood.

Nyx gathered a few vials, packing them carefully in a pouch, and tucked them into her bag. The glass was fairly thick, so they wouldn’t smash too easily, but the last thing she wanted were exploding and leaking vials of darkspawn blood. Her mabari whined. Even closed there was a foul smell leaking from them. Nyx scratched behind Perseus’ ear, hoping to soothe him. He couldn’t stay with her much longer.

Nyx left the warehouse, ready to make her way to the castle. At the gates, she finally removed the hood of her cloak, and introduced herself properly as the Hero of Ferelden. She might have abandoned all her duties as a Warden, but the title was still hers to carry. It helped when she needed to get into places that were heavily guarded. Nyx showed the guards a medal bestowed on the Hero of Ferelden, just in case her word was not proof enough for them. They let her pass.

“Well, when I was told who had asked for an audience with me, I scarcely believed it. But here you are, Hero of Ferelden. I am told by the Wardens at Amaranthine that you have still not shown your face there. I make no suggestion that we can tell you what to do, but they might like to see you stand with them,” Anora said, practically gliding into the throne room before she sat. She looked even more regal than she had the day Nyx last saw her. She wore her hair the same way as always, but her gown was the likes of something one might see in Orlais.

“Your majesty,” Nyx said, bowing low. “I apologize for my absence. There have been matters of great importance that needed seeing to. Secret missions of the Wardens, passed onto me from Riordan, before he died in battle. I now require your aid, in these matters.”

“This is the first I have heard of such a thing,” Anora said. She was not going to be easy to convince of the lie. Nyx had known this even before she entered Denerim. What Anora lacked in compassion, she made up for with cleverness. She was not a kind queen, but she was fierce and did what was needed to keep order in Ferelden. Nyx regretted ever thinking she was the better candidate for the throne.

“I mean no insult, my queen, but if you had heard of it, my mission would no longer be a secret,” Nyx said. Anora nodded, apparently accepting this logic. “I require the names of any noble families whom Duncan might have visited before his arrival at Ostagar. He assessed many recruits before selecting me, when he happened upon my clan by chance in the Brecilian Forest. I was told that he sought recruits amongst the dwarves as well as some of the human nobility. We Wardens hoped to look into those potential recruits once more, to get our numbers back up.”

“Interesting,” Anora said, raising a single brow. “Your fellow Wardens in Amaranthine, placed there at my behest, tell me they have received a fair number of recruits since the incidents there. They were inspired by your bravery, and that of your peers. But still you seek more to join the Grey Wardens?”

“It is not about numbers alone, your majesty. Those whom Duncan was sent to meet among the nobility were said to possess great skill in battle. These are not simply recruits for Amaranthine, but recruits for myself. I seek only the best to travel at my side,” Nyx said.

She only vaguely remembered her time alone with Duncan, on their way to Ostagar, but she remembered enough to spin this tale. Nyx had asked almost incessantly, “Why me?” Duncan would say time and again that her skill was great and that she had proved herself to him. Only once did he tell her about the others he had sought.

There were brave warriors among the dwarves, but they had such pride and many of them did not wish to become surfacers. There were those with cleverness and strength in the Alienage, but after a scandal arose with the nobles, there wasn’t much of a choice for him there anymore. There had been few amongst the nobles themselves that seemed worthy of the Joining. Duncan seemed particularly sad when he said that he’d hoped to recruit one young lady, but she had fled his side after he’d rescued her. He never explained why she might have left, or what he’d rescued her from, but she knew for a fact that there had been a young female noble who had once been worthy of becoming a Warden. That was the person Nyx hoped to find.

“I understand, though you must know that the noble families are still busying themselves with fortifying their lands after the Blight. The darkspawn do not discriminate in whom they kill. Many nobles suffered losses of their own. Do not be surprised if they turn you away,” Queen Anora warned.

“I only wish to meet them. It will be their decision whether they join me or not,” Nyx said.

Anora nodded sharply, then called for her steward to bring the records. She found what she was seeking with impressive quickness, then gestured for Nyx to approach and collect what was needed. The steward brought along parchment with a quill and some ink, so Nyx could copy the names. There was only one that Nyx needed, the very last whom Duncan had visited.

“The Couslands?” Nyx read aloud. “I don’t remember them being a part of the Landsmeet.”

“They weren’t,” Anora said simply. “By that time most of the family was slaughtered. In fact, many thought they’d all died together. Apparently Rendon Howe, the bastard, betrayed them even before my father made him Arl. He’d been a scoundrel from the start. However, after the Blight, the two young siblings of the family resurfaced. Apparently the sister had escaped the night her house was massacred, and went to find her brother. They remained in hiding for a time, uncertain that their family could see justice. They only showed up after the Blight had ended, hoping to reclaim the land that Howe had stolen.”

“How awful,” Nyx said. She had known Howe was a terrible man, but never thought him capable of going to such lengths as this. Now she could have no doubt in her mind that killing him had been the right thing to do.

“Indeed. Anyway, I granted them the land back, though I couldn’t afford to send many soldiers to help remove Howe’s men who remained there. Not after our losses at Denerim. I heard word that they gathered what coin they had to hire mercenaries and thugs to help them. They have their land back, but at a price, it seems,” Anora said, scrunching up her nose in disgust.

“That is...unfortunate,” Nyx said carefully. “Thank you, your majesty. That will be all I require. The sister still lives, is that correct?”

“Yes. Her name is Hera Cousland. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d been meaning to send a missive about their land,” Anora said, waving to her steward once more to fetch the letter. He returned a minute later with a sealed letter, the royal seal stamped in wax on the outside to seal it shut. “Bring that with you, Warden, and hand it to Fergus Cousland, Hera’s elder brother. It should also help you gain entry, as it bears my seal.”

“Thank you, your majesty. I shall see this done immediately,” Nyx said. She bowed again and was preparing to leave.

“Oh, and Warden?” Anora said, stopping Nyx in her tracks. “Please return when you are able. There is...unrest, in the Alienage once more. Perhaps if they heard from one of their own, we could make a deal to help them settle down.”

Nyx tried not to react too visibly, instead simply nodding. “As you wish, Queen Anora.” She did not mention that she would not be returning to Denerim, not as she was. Anora would not have an elf in her pocket anymore, to quell anger without needing to actually care about the plight of the elvhen.

Leaving Denerim behind, Nyx set her sights on the lands of the Bannorn, to find the home of the Couslands. With luck, Hera Cousland would be easy to convince to join her. If this was the same woman who had left Duncan to help her brother, playing the Grey Warden card was not likely to work as it did on most others. She would have to get to know this woman before Nyx could bring her along. Nyx hoped that she would not grow fond of the Cousland woman, for if what she feared of the Changeling’s ritual was true, the Cousland would not survive it.