#ts dragon age drabbles

[biserker-kadan]

"It's quite easy to be a murderer when you're not the one doing the killing, isn't it Loghain?" She asks, twirling her knife absentmindedly in her hand.

"If I have to say one good thing about Arl Howe, he wasn't a cowered." She smirks, angling her head down, a condenseding tilt to her voice as she looks Loghain in the eye, "Wanted to complete his objective even as I ran him through with my sword."

[rileymcdaniels]

He grabs her wrist, fingers tight enough to grind the bones together, and drags it upwards, palm out to face the Fade rift. Riley’s stomach lurches as a bolt of sickening green light blasts from her hand to the crystalline rift. Like discovering a new muscle, it takes a second for her to find the secret of it, and then she closes her fingers and yanks her hand back.

There’s an almighty crack as reality slams the rift shut. Cold air rips through her lungs again, and she, quite clearly, thinks she might pass out.

The tall elf’s grip eases, and his fingers gentle. He looks at her. She looks back. He lets her go.

That’s the beginning.

--

It’s ill-advised to sit in a snow drift well after dark, even with a flagon of ale to keep her belly warm, but here she is. Maybe it’s rebellion against this role and these expectations that have been jammed down around her without her consent. It’s probably that. 

The wind whistles over the frozen surface of the lake, and she shivers violently, pulling her coat and cloak closer.

“An interesting choice of refuge,” Solas says.

Riley looks over her shoulder. He makes a casual gesture with his hand, and she feels the snow start to melt underneath her as the air gently warms. She rubs her nose. “Nobody’s supposed to find me out here, Solas. You’ve ruined it.” It’s said without any real venom. 

“My apologies, da’len.” He doesn’t sound very sorry. “May I join you?”

She nods and takes a drink from the flagon before offering it to him once he sits next to her. He’s far enough away that he has to lean over to take the flagon from her. Their fingers don’t brush. It helps. 

She turns her gloved hands over to look at her covered palms. 

“Does it trouble you? The mark,” he asks, mild and inoffensive as always. It’s different than when Cassandra asked her. When Cassandra asks, Riley clads her heart in familiar armor and feigns strength she does not feel.

When Solas asks, Riley sighs and nods. “It doesn’t always hurt, but it’s always pulling. I only get relief after I close a rift. It calms down for a few minutes.” She feels it crackle under the leather of her gloves, and it makes her wince.

“May I try something?”

Riley’s eyes dart over to him. He hasn’t moved, his hands still clasped in his lap. His head is cocked slightly, as much a question as his words.

“I don’t want to be touched.” She waits for his irritation to rise.

“Contact is unnecessary,” he replies. “Though it will be more effective if you take your glove off.”

That’s easier. She pulls it off and shows him the mark, which flares and then quiets. Solas mirrors her and concentrates, and she feels his magic extend towards her. It feels like one of his barriers, smooth as it glides over her skin. The anger in the mark is soothed away, and tears prick at her eyes in relief.

She laughs wetly and rubs her fingers over the mark. “That’s incredible.”

“It will not last long, perhaps an hour, but it should help.”

She nods and looks up to the stars. 

“I find myself in need of a warm drink,” he says. “Will you accompany me?”

Her eyes trace a constellation and then meet his gaze. She draws in a breath and lets it out.

“Sure.”

--

Morning dawns, and Riley hasn’t slept. Well, she hasn’t really slept since she got a glimpse of that future and watched her friends throw themselves in the way of demons to give her a chance to make things right. There are distractions from it. She trains for hours with her bow until her back is a mess of knots. She searches the mountainside for elfroot. She reads books from Chantry’s shelves. But then her mind will slide back to the red fog that hung around Sera, Bull, and Solas, and she feels as though a rift will open inside of her chest and tear her apart.

She can’t stop fucking crying about it.

She adds another log to the fire in her small house through her tears. It hurts, it won’t stop hurting, invading every thought and every breath, in a never-ending flood that she’s drowning in. She can’t make sense of it. She can’t make sense of why she can’t make sense of it. The fate of the world rests on her shoulders, and she can’t even fall asleep.

She goes to breakfast, because she has to. She attends the war table meeting, because she has to. She makes the rounds to her friends, because she has to.

She isn’t listening as Solas tells her about his journeys in the Fade. She’s looking at her boots and remembering the rasp in his voice when he saw her in the future. He looked sick. He was sick, stuck in a cell with all that red lyrium. All of a sudden, she’s crying, and she can’t stop.

Solas gently guides her into his house and shuts the door against the wind. He doesn’t ask. He takes her hand, skin against skin, and sits her down in front of the hearth. It crackles to life with a flex of his hand. She’s still crying as he wraps a blanket around her shoulders.

He lets her take one of his hands and clutch it between both of hers, and he rests the other on her back. He doesn’t try to quiet her. He simply anchors her through her grief.

Her tears dry, but they stay like that until the sun begins its descent to the mountain.

@left4dead

[vuulpecula]

5. things you didn’t say at all

send me a ship and one of these and i’ll write a mini fic | accepting | @duxbellatorum

       Trust me. Easy to say, harder to do. Trust involved something less sturdy than knowledge, it required hope. One did not easily earn hope after they’ve fallen from a tear in the sky into the ashes of the conclave. Trust me. Trust me. Trust me. Fox had wanted to tell them all that, but she was their prisoner -- their murderer, their destroyer. And the sky bled demons from its oozing wound. There was no time to speak, they had to fight, not knowing if the greenish light that emitted from her hand would save them and close the breach. Although, she herself did not know if what the elven mage had shown her would work on such an immense scale. When the others looked to her, the words fluttered into her chest. Trust me. She had hope, but she could not count on the others to bear the same. 

      I understand. Many were still skeptical of the woman marked Inquisitor, but a few gave her their trust in due time. Cullen remained guarded. He observed, he gave his confidence little by little. He helped train the young woman who’d been fighting all her life for something more. He honed those skills and Fox understood what it meant. He was doing it for the good of the Inquisition. The Commander was a good man, a strong man, he’d seen hell. It took days to uncover this small piece of information and even then, it had to be pried out word by word. She understood. She understood. She understood. 

      Forgive me, I am so afraid. The fortress was cold; those at the gates were left there as the Inquisition journeyed inside. Fox listened, but she sensed something was off. There was a darkness there, one that pooled and swirled in the pit of her stomach. She wished to send word immediately that something was wrong, but the doors shut too quickly and the men began to die one by one on their brother’s blades. The Templars, if their brave Commander could’ve seen them as thus, would he still be so brave? Then came the demon and its tricks. Enviously it infested her mind, the single piece of herself she could still hold to, and there they were. Her trusted advisors. Fox knew, she knew the words they spoke were not their own, that their bodies were dark manifestations of the people she was coming to know as friends, yet, when it was done, when she was free, her mind still remained captured. A prisoner to the memories left behind. Even as she wrote the report, her body seized with fear. They would read it, they would all read it. Not once could she look upon Leliana’s, Josephine’s, or Cullen’s face as they informed themselves. Fox fled to find solitude and when the Commander found her, for he was best versed in the mentality of a tortured mind, she broke apart. Millions of tiny fragments, crushed by the weight of it all. Reality and the picture painted by the demon melded together. If she failed, there would be nothing left. They would suffer because of her when all she wanted was to take that suffering away. She’d wanted to scream at him how terrified she was, to ask his forgiveness for being so weak, but instead, she managed only a shaky: I’ll be fine. 

      Save yourself. The fight came too early; they were unprepared. Haven was going to burn. Fox saw him at the gates, she saw the fear in the Commander’s eyes ( and all the others ) when he looked upon the hoard that headed toward them. A plan was pounded out roughly, as quickly as it could be. The trebuchets. They were their last hope. She could see the words poised upon his lips, to stay and help, but he was the Commander. He was her friend and she would not risk his life. Not now that the wretched creature who claimed himself a god had surfaced to take what he thought was his. “Go, take the people, lead them to safety.” Fox had shouted at him over the roar of a thousand racing heartbeats. Her hand was on his forearm, urging him away. The others needed to be saved, but she had to have him do so, for he needed to be saved as well. 

      Survive. Death was expected. Fox’s actions were risky; as the Inquisitor, she sent the others away and faced the monster and his pet. How she had survived... Andraste must have truly been watching over her. When she woke in a cavern made of ice, she wasn’t sure she could move. Would it not be easier to close her eyes and sleep? Thedas would continue, it would be ripped apart, but it would continue. Words floated back to her, words from her advisors, from her companions, from her friends. They taught her how to survive and survive she had to do. Bruised, broken, and battle-scarred, she made her way toward a whistle of air until she found the source. Then she dug. She dug until her fingers all turned red and bloody and then she dug some more. It was dark now. A thick blanket of snow covered the rubble of Haven and it continued to fall. Wolves howled in the distance. Fox stumbled on, finding burned logs every once in a while. The snow had erased all tracks, but the dark, ashy pieces stained the flakes black where they tried to fall. Then, in the distance, fire. She had found them once again. She had survived. Fox could not feel the furs that were quickly wrapped around her when at last she fell to her knees, mere meters from the tents. She could not feel the arms that raised her out of the snow or see the face of the man that carried her, but she knew his voice and she understood what it was saying. You found us. You found us. Survive, she wanted to tell him in return. Survive. 

      Smile Commander, it’s all part of the game. Their new home took up much of her time after the journey from Haven. Together they worked upon the castle until it turned into a picture in their minds. For a brief period, there was an illusion of peace that washed over each and every one of them -- but it was short lived. For politics reared its ugly head at the Winter Palace and the Inquisition could not sit idly by when Corypheus was sure to make his next move. Josephine taught them how to play, but the game was much different upon the marble floors of the place. Dangerous, yes, but also fun. Once in the halls, as they walked side by side after speaking with an old general about the Duke, the Commander was approached by a small group of ladies. They fawned over him and for once, the Inquisitor could fade into the background. No one asked her how she was, no one pressured her for what she would do next, or worried her with memories of the Seeker Fortress. Fox could relax, and she did, watching as Cullen became flustered and uncomfortable. Smile, she’d wanted to tell him, for the game, she would’ve said. In truth, his smile was warming. There was a comfort within in that reminded her of dreamless nights at Skyhold -- when fear did not invade her sleep with its icy hands. Perhaps it was for the game, but it was a different sort of game. 

      I’m still falling and I can’t stop it. Adamant Fortress. Fox had seen the look of trust within the Commander’s eyes as she left his company to continue into the Warden’s lair. It gave her the strength to fight. A fire was ignited deep within her and she would not let him down. Not again. Not like with Haven, when so many of their men and women died. Everything went according to plan, they were winning, but then the dragon appeared. A creature all feared to be an archdemon. It attacked and the weight of the massive beast and the magic used to harm it, broke the fortress. And she was falling, falling, falling. The Fade opened; their survival. Within it, the truth was discovered, and one was left behind. Andraste was not Andraste, she was not the Herald people believed her to be. Then the choice, the choice to leave one behind. It was a burden too heavy on her heart. She screamed to stay, to help, but she was dragged back into the realm of the living by those who survived. When she again saw her advisors, she wished to fall at their feet. She wished to beg for their forgiveness, for she did not have the strength to stand, knowing she would again fall. Since Haven, they had very little loss, and now it suffocated her. Guilt was a deep pit, but it was one she could not voice. 

      Keep yourself safe. Battle was more frequent as they neared the end. The Arbor Wilds were filled with demons and nightmares alike. Corrupted creatures of the fade followed their master into the lush greenery and all fought. He was the Commander of the damn army and yet when she looked upon him, for perhaps the last time, Fox wanted to beg him to keep himself safe, but she knew what he’d say in return and she wasn’t quite sure she could promise him she’d do the same. 

      Do not weep. It was to be the end. Her hand pulsed with green light as a squire helped her into her armor. This would be the last time, she told herself. It had to be. They had the knowledge that it took to defeat the creature that plagued the land. A magister out of place, out of time. Josephine came first, she hugged Fox so tightly, she worried a rib had cracked. Then came Leliana, who whispered of secrets and bow skills that would surely aid in the fight. Finally, came Cullen. His hand on the hilt of his sword as if he too planned to join her. Already she had fought all of them to stay behind. “Maker preserve me,” he began, but she cut him off with a gentle hand to his cheek. Offering up an encouraging smile in return. Never had she lied, yet now, she shared with him something she did not yet know was the truth. “I’ll return,” only the Maker knew if it was true or not. Fox hadn’t wanted to lie, she wanted to tell him not to weep, to not mourn her if Corypheus did what he set out to do ( or she died killing him ), for it would tear her apart for him to hurt further. And so she gave him hope and trusted that he knew how fragile it was. 

[shelivesinthewoods]

Writers block

Y’all I need some inspiration to get me through. Give me thoughts, prompts, drabbles, head cannons .. anything 😭

Mostly for Choices I lean toward:

Drake x MC

Jake x MC

Grayson or Kenji x MC

But I’m willing to try others... I haven’t read tf/ts enough to confidently write it (book 1 tf only) nor have I read all of tcatf.

I’m also open to writing Avengers fics with character insert or any of the Dragon age games. My writers well is kind of dry. Blegh. ☹️.

Message me; respond here; anon me; whatever you’re comfortable with. 💙

[biserker-kadan]

'You don't touch the Inquisitor.'

The first time some noble dignitary tries to touch her in Skyhold, she hisses; baring sharpened teeth and narrowing her eyes.

The noble in question flinches back with a short shriek before Josie gently lays a hand on Xanthes back, leading her away from the scene with an apology as Vivienne takes over - leading the shaking human the opposite way.

"Herald, please, you mustn't hiss at the guests!" She exclaims, hands thrown in the air in distress - Xanthe knows she wants to run them through her hair but she wouldn't dare mess up the braid that Xanthe did for her that morning.

"Xanthe." She answers, standing tall and refusing to wither under Josephine's frankly terrifying glare.

"Xanthe." Josie sighs, a disappointed little thing that makes Xanthe feel odd.

Everyone knows Xanthe doesn't like humans; thinks they're dumb and arrogant, but she likes Josie. Josie is the only one who has made an effort, who hasn't offended her or tried to force this Andrastian Religion onto her. She likes that she's equall in Josephines eyes.

"I will...try." She concedes, bowing her head in goodbye before she makes her way back to her room.

The second time it happens, she doesn't hiss at them, but she does not allow them to keep their hand on her. With little effort she grabs their hand, twisting it back and forcing them backwards as she pushes it away from her.

The noble scoffs, glaring at her - a glare that she answers with indifference. Save for the burning gold hue that flares to life in her eyes as her magic comes to life around her.

This time it's Varric who comes to the poor shems rescue.

"Lord Davish, a pleasure, have you spoken to Prince of Starkhaven lately?" He weasels his way into conversation smoothly, smiling pleasantly as he stands beside Xanthe, a little in front of her - a move that makes her feel warm.

She frowns.

"I have not, perhaps you could convince him to answer my letters, hmm?"

"Of course, of course, now-" Varric moves as he talks she's noticed; a hand thrown around without a care, his foot tapping out a rhythm only he can hear. She knows it's all calculated and this situation is no different she thinks, as Varric leads the man away with a wink thrown over his shoulder.

Xanthe breathes' out a sigh of relief, turning on her heel and marching away towards Leliana - there are discussions to be had.

And wine.

The third and final time, she freezes. Josie had been in her ears for weeks about the importance of this particular woman. This arrogant, greedy, self-serving noble who demands a kiss on the hand with her greeting and eyes her like a stain on her dress - a nasty, dirty, smelly stain.

Xanthe feels her ears twitch involuntarily, anger building as this woman picks at her clothes, fingers in her hair and traces her ears with a sinister look, one that grows darker with every notable difference in race.

But she promised, and Xanthe adores Josephine too much to destroy the Inquisitions reputation again.

"She's not a plaything, she's the damned Inquisitor, stop fucking touching her."

Xanthe feels the tension in her body release as the woman steps back with an audible gasp, hand flying to her mouth as outrage lines her face.

"Excuse me?!"

"You heard me." The Iron Bull stands tall behind her, close enough that she can feel the heat from his body beneath her own cloth. She breathes out quietly through her nose as her racing heart begins to slow, "You don't fucking touch someone without asking, and even then, if it's a no, it means no." He's hissing this time. Growling even.

Now her hearts racing for another reason and she hates the flush she feels on her cheeks.

"This is an outrage!" The Lady screeched, "I came here as a favour to your Ambassador and this is how you treat me?!"

"You came as a favour, and hopefully you will leave as another." Josephine states, snapping Xanthe out of her state.

Eyes wide she stares at her Ambassador, her friend, who does not spare her a glance, too busy staring down the noble with a stone coldness that leaves Xanthe more than impressed.

"I...I-"

She barely begins to talk before Vivienne snaps her fingers, freezing cold frost biting at the hem of the old bats dress - a nostalgic reminder of the first time Xanthe met the fierce mage.

"I don't believe you have anything to say darling, you best leave before I tell everyone at your little soirées about how you've made an enemy of the Inquisition." The words are harsh, not even a subtle threat and the hag seems to realise this if the wide eyes and hasty retreat mean anything.

"Xanthe! Are you alright?" Josie calls her attention away from the fleeing noble and Xanthe doesn't hesitate to hug her. Pulling her close and tucking her head into Josie's neck.

And heavy hand lays itself on her back for a moment before it retreats and The Iron Bulls walks away. Her lips turn up slightly, she'll thank him later.

Peeling herself off Josie, Xanthe schools her features into something soft as she takes both their hands in hers, "I am not sorry she is gone. I am sorry I did not bite her."

Vivienne laughs, a rich chuckle that warms Xanthe nicely and Josephine can't stop her snort.

"Feel free next time." Josie winks, taking the pair of them - Inquisitor and Court Mage - to her office. A spot of tea and cakes to calm them down and a very scathing letter to write to anyone who dare come to Skyhold - no touching the Inquisitor.

[biserker-kadan]

Saraya, after the Winter Palace, keeping her hair in a tight braided (courtesy of Myrinah) because as much as she loves her long hair, she's sick of asshole grabbing it in fights and using it against her.

-

"Just cut it off."

"No!" Saraya gasped, hands already fisted tightly around her ponytail, "How dare you..."

Myrinah rolled her eyes, placing a hand over Leliana's and in turn, placing the scissors on the table, "There's no need for that."

Nudging the Inquisitor gently into a seated position, she ran her fingers through Saraya's hair, "You don't want the length?" She asked, curious as to why Leliana was so ready to cut her hair.

Saraya sighed, hunching her shoulders in embarrassment, "I haven't ever fought before, I didn't realise how many people would aim for my hair in a fight."

Myrinah nodded, understanding immediately, "People fight dirty, and having your hair so long and far from your head is a great way of subduing you."

"Exactly!" She exclaimed, "But it took me so long, and it's so healthy now, I don't want to lose it..."

"You aren't the same person anymore Saraya." Leliana spoke gently, not wanting to antagonise the woman, even if she understood where she was coming from.

"I know that! I know...I just, it's my hair..."

Leliana sighed but conceded to Myrinah, as the Elven woman raised a hand, "So don't lose it. Braid it, tightly to your scalp. Keep your hair, you're not losing yourself by changing."

Saraya looked up, wide eyes looking so much younger in that moment - like the idea, the thought, had never even crossed her mind.

Being Inquisitor had changed so much of her; her life, her magic, herself. She was so different to who she was prior to the Conclave, she didn't want to lose more of herself.

This time it was Leliana offering the words of wisdom, "Change isn't a loss, it doesn't mean you aren't you."

[biserker-kadan]

I couldn't not, I hope it's sweet and blushy and nice! @smolpocketmonstercoffee

-

"What are you doing?" Riddick laughed, the smile lighting up his face in a way that not many people were ever privileged to see - and Aether felt warm all over that he was able to see it, to be the reason it was there.

"If you're going to keep surprising me with kisses, I'd like you to be able to keep from rubbing your neck afterwards." Aether teased, smiling softly but openly enough for Riddick to see the worry etched beneath it.

Riddick sighed, not in anger or disappointment but more so embarrassment, "It's not that bad..." he mumbled.

Aether only shushed him, reaching between the space between them instead of up like usual to cup his face. They were pretty even in height now, Riddick noted, knocking the apple crate with his foot. Aether followed his line of sight with a wry grin and a light chuckle - the sound coaxing a matching one from his love.

"I asked Bren about the salves she's been making, you haven't been as sneaky as normal, my dear." Aether used one hand to grasp Riddicks chin gently, tilting his head up to meet his eyes, "Promise me you'll tell me when you're going to kiss me, sothat your neck call heal a bit."

Riddick furrowed his brows, "It's not a surprise then."

"What's that matter?" Aether asked, still gently stroking his cheek, still standing on the apple crate.

"You get this smile on your face when I do, I like seeing it, I want to see it. If I tell you..." he trailed off, smiling warmly, eyes softening as he took in the slight awe and all the love plain as day on Aethers face.

"Riddick, no matter whether you tell me or not, I will always cherish every kiss you give me - just as you do when I kiss you." He whispered, leaning closer, voice teasing but so full of adoration. It made Riddick dizzy and lightheaded and oh so warm, that someone could love him that much.

Riddick finally nodded, stepping closer until his feet touched the crate and his own hands found Aether's waist, "May I?"

Aether didn't answer, only leaned forward, smile still in place and kissed him.

Riddick felt the tension leave his body, the enjoyment rush through and hit his heart at full force as he returned the kiss, lips pressed against his, wet and warm and sweet.

Sweet like apples.

[biserker-kadan]

'Get him killed, and I'll feed you your own eyeballs Inquisitor.' It would have been cute, or at the very least threatening if not for Hawke having already given some semblance of a shovel talk to her, but coming from Bianca?

Well, it was just insulting and Heidi smirked viciously at her, the bitter smile looking deadly on her usually pretty face.

'Cute. Deliver anymore Red Lyrium to Corypheus, and I'll-'

'Heidi!' Varric sounded mad, but the other Dwarf only turned one last sneer on Bianca before turning on her heal and marching away, pushing past Varric with a harsh shove and taking the outstretched arm of Vivienne, the two ladies waltzing past the dead with their heads held high.

Varric sighed, 'Fuck.'

[biserker-kadan]

'When we get back, you're gonna spend a nice evening with Candy...'

'Bull!' Saraya turned harshly on her feet, glaring at him. So mad in fact that the temperature around her knocked down a few degree's and the merc actually took a step back.

'Boss?'

Solas smirked and Cole look a little confused as Saraya stared down Bull, the only one in the Inquisition she hadn't actually fought with yet.

'Don't you dare pimp out my son.' She hissed, rushing forward and taking Cole by the shoulders, ushering him away all whilst continuing to glare daggers at the Iron Bull.

Finally, when the Inquisitor and Cole were out of earshot and the temperature was back to normal around him, Iron Bull let out a huge sigh, practically curling in on himself as Solas howled with laughter.

'Glad you find it so funny.' He grumbled, and the elf did little to compose himself before choking out an 'I could've told you so, but it wouldn't have been as funny'.

[biserker-kadan]

Xanthe has favourites, she always has. Even as a child, there were things and items and people she appreciated and favoured over others.

Her parents over the Elders, Rhydian and Eirianwen over Alithia and Freddy - she has her friends, Myrinah and Valerio, and she prefers them over others.

She finds herself doing the same in the Inquisition. Josephine becomes a fast friend after she tries, first welcoming Xanthe in her own tongue and then when introducing her as 'Mistress Lavellan' - wrong but sweet. Dorian is easily next, she trusts him after everything and he makes her feel normal - he appreciates the strength and in turn, she finds his attitude refreshing and straightforward.

Varric is kind but wordy and Solas is downright pompous, but useful. Sera leaves a bitter taste in her mouth but they are slowly becoming friends and Vivienne herself is complex, but well meaning, even if Xanthe doesn't agree. Blackwall is odd, he'd make a good Elf she thinks sometimes, watching him whittle wood in the silence of nightfall.

Cassandra is horrendously religious and Leliana is as well, to an extent. Cullen is odd, loud on the field but quiet and sunken - not very confident in himself when he is without a sword and orders - it's easy to sit in silence together, drinking tea and pretending to ignore each other until she leaves him with a riddle and a smile.

Cole and The Iron Bull are different. Cole is kind and misguided at times, but he's not dumb nor naive. She enjoys the complexities of his thoughts, they make her think. The Iron Bull on the other hand is a character, loud and unafraid and he thinks he has secrets, but he plays them too far from his chest. He cares about his Chargers and he calls her Boss even though she knows she has no power over him - she likes the tongue twister.

Apart of her will miss the ragtag group when this is over but apart of her will most definitely not, she thinks when she finds uprooted flowers in her bed.

The loud screech from Sera's room followed by a bellowing laugh almost makes the dirt on her legs and the hours she spent collecting earwigs worth it.

Almost.

[biserker-kadan]

Drabble AU-ish.

"I...have I ever told you I really like the way you wear your hair?"

The question came as a surprise and Briar could hardly stop the small, but genuine smile that lit her face up. Bashfully she fingered some of her silver locks between her fingers, "Really? It's so stubborn sometimes."

Leliana smiled and began to ramble, words tumbling out faster than Briar could comprehend. And Briar could only laugh along, for once in such a long time, feeling like the young girl she truly was under all that grime and dark spawn blood.

Pausing for breath, she blushed brightly and looked down, apologising for her rambling and could Briar could do nothing by grin. Laying a gentle hand on the girls shoulder, she gave her a little shake.

"Relax, we're friends are we not? I don't mind you're rambling. Reminds me of an old friend anyway." She waved her hand dismissively and suddenly, like she would have to her old friends, wrapped an arm around Leliana. The bard stiffened, a little shocked that the usually indifferent and cold Grey Warden was hugging her before gleefully hugging back.

How odd, in all this war and bloodshed, it was so easy to forget the the Warden was but a young woman. Not the warmest, not the sweetest - but genuine.

[biserker-kadan]

9 from the angsty asks? With whoever you'd like :)

Thankyou!!! It's a little sad and very short, one of which is always fun.

“Is that what you think of me?”

Myrinah sat hunched over her drink, tracing the peeling wood beneath her fingertips as she blocked out the sound from the tavern.

She wasn't one to usually sit in despaired silence, her silence was welcomed, usually. However, she wasn't feeling very welcoming at the moment. With a scowl, deep and dark, she threw back the rest of her drink and slammed her cup down.

Immediately it was full again and she grunted her thanks, gulping the burning liquor down.

"You're upset."

Myrinah lifted her eyes to the boy sitting in front of her.

"Cole. Don't start." She tried to make the words nice, or at the very least, less harsh. The fact that they were spoken between clenched teeth didn't help with changing the tone.

"Anger, vibrant and hard. A fist through a wall, close enough to feel the stone hit flesh, blood between your fingers. Teeth bared and sharp, you bite and snarl, caged away within brick walls - a monster."

Myrinah had froze when the young boy started talking, but now she was like a statue. Made of stone and unable to flinch, her eyes wide as she stared at him. It wasn't the first time she had been compared to a beast, a monster, but it was the first time in a long time someone had so freely spoken it to her face.

She swallowed air, unbidden tears making her sight murky and whispered, "Is that what you think of me?"

Cole cocked his head, appearing confused, "No."

"Then what was that!?" She shouted, feeling shame flush her face right away, "What was that?" She repeated, quieter; afraid of the answer.

Cole was different, but she cared for him. A little brother, a friend, someone she felt protective over. Someone who has her back and was trustworthy. She didn't think she could accept that he thought she was a monster, that any of them could.

"That's what you think of yourself."

[biserker-kadan]

"Those things will kill you, you know?"

Meira chuckles humourlessly, "And the taint won't?"

Alistair freezes, half seated on the log.

She hums, exhaling more smoke, "Thought I didn't know?"

He sits, a worried look on his face, "...I didn't think anyone told you."

Meira eyes him as she breaths in another drag, "It wasn't hard to figure out."

Zevran joins them, lips curling in disgust, "Really, my dear Warden, smoking?"

She levels him with an ice filled look, "We all have our vices."

He makes a noise but she dismisses it, staring right into the fire, right hand flicking off the ash and left fiddling with the ring she still hasn't taken off.

Alistair follows the movement, "Were you married?"

Zevran follows his gaze to the golden band shiny in the light, "A secret lover?" He teases.

Meira exhales harshly.

"No."

Both men pause, eyeing her curiously and she sighs, stubbing out the butt and flicking it into the fire.

"I was engaged. He died."

Alistair's eyes widen, "Oh. Oh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have...I mean..."

Meira rolls her eyes, throat oddly choked up, "Don't. I didn't know him."

Zevran looks at her with a new gaze - curious and interested, more so than usual, "You sound as though you did. No ones feels that much for a man they barely knew." He points out.

Meira scoffs, toes digging into the dirt, "I didn't know him. Not really. It was arranged and then...it wasn't."

"You left him at the alter? You sneaky girl."

Meira blinks back tears.

"...Meira?" Alistairs lays and gentle hand on her should, cautious.

She doesn't shake him off and Zevran makes another noise.

"We never made it to the alter." She explains, "Living in the Alienage meant living under the thumb of greedy and vindictive shems who believed they owned you. The Arls son was one of them."

"Was?" Zevran inquires and Meira turns a blood thirsty but satisfied grin on him.

"Was. I killed him. Slit his throat and watched him choke to death." She speaks calmly, almost as though talking about the weather or something equally as boring.

Alistair swallows hard, "Why?" He whispers.

Meira gets lost in the flames, "He decided he wanted play things on my wedding day. I said no and he knocked me unconscious. When I woke, I was locked in a room with 5 other girls..." she trails off.

Zevran laughs but it's bitter and hollow, "His mistake."

Meira nods, "His last. My cousin and...my fiancé came for me. My fiancé didn't make it."

She fiddles with the ring again.

"So why do you wear it?" Alistair asks.

Meira thinks for a while, "...To not forget." She finally decides, "Because the person who he gave this ring too, the one he spoke with, came for - she doesn't exist anymore. She died with him. She died for him and for her family. I'm someone else, I'm here because of him. He deserves to be remembered for that."

[biserker-kadan]

Saraya Odette Trevelyan - Elemental Mage, way too polite for her own good and a softie for the curly boy.

'My Mother used to always tell us to think twice before we acted, first to come up with a plan and second, to forget about that and improvise.'

-

'What's this?' She asked, curious as she poked at the rough and worn armour, holding it close she felt how tough the fabric was and the absolutely dizzying way it pulsed of Mana.

Leliana smiled, softly but bitterly, 'It belonged to Thea. Thea Surana, my dear friend and the Hero of Fereldan. It's one of her old Grey Warden armours. She was quite fond of it. Eyes and ears have told me how much trouble you're having with your own armour and I thought you might appreciate this.'

Saraya looked startled, eyes wide, 'Are you...giving this to me? Are you sure?!'

Leliana nodded, 'Someone should use it. I believe it would suit you well, should you do some minor alterations.'

Saraya swallowed, 'Why me? Don't you want to keep it for her?'

'She has plenty.' Leliana laughed, reaching out to pat the Inquisitor gently on the arm, fingertips brushing against the fabric, a fond smile on her face as she followed the stitching and line of the armour with her eyes, 'She'd want someone strong and capable and kind to have it. She'd like you.'

[biserker-kadan]

She doesn't wish to return to Orzammar.

Fears that it might be the end of her. They don't really know who she is, to be honest. They call her Loga, her name having died with Duncan.

But returning to her birthplace will bring all that back; all the fear and emotions and most importantly, Eliza.

Alistair is getting annoyed, Morrigan and Sten more so. Leliana is kind enough to not mention it and Zevran seems happy enough to take her mind off it whereas Wynne frowns and tutts at her like that will make her change her mind.

They go everywhere but, ending up in Denerim of all places. After all, they have no business in Denerim, not yet at least, and once again Alistair pulls her to the side, "We must go to Orzammar - we have the treaties and you are a Grey Warden! Whatever happened doesn't matter!" He's frustrated, she knows this - but she can't bring herself to say anything in return, the lump in her throat too large.

She doesn't nod, and he throws his hands in the air with a huff, stalking off to the markets. Zevran finds her stationary, staring into the dirt like it holds all the answers.

"What are you so afraid of, my dear Warden?" He asks, but she has no answer.

How do you explain an irrational but totally logical and paralysing fear to someone when you can't explain or reason it to yourself?

She shakes her head and moves to follow the rest.

She finds Gorim by accident.

"My lady? My lady Aeducan? You-"

Whatever he goes to say, she cuts him off by wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close.

He startles, after all the last time they did this they feared death, and before that they were children, but he still wraps his own around her and squeezes tight.

Her companions have gone silent.

"Thank you." She whispers, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, "You saved my life Gorim, I owe you everything friend."

He pulls back and she peeks at the smile curling beneath his beard, "You don't ever need to thank me." He shakes her, voice stern, "Never, you hear me?"

She nods and steps back with a deep breath, "How have you been?" She asks, eyes roaming over him in turn - he looks good, happy and strong.

His owns eyes flicker over her and she knows she looks worse for wear. She hasn't showered in days, her armour rusted and hair a mess - she's also thinner than she's ever been, even if she's been fighting more than ever. Food is scarce even if darkspawn are not.

He frowns but she only tilts her head, I know she's saying, please don't.

He frowns but it's easily swept away by the smile that lights up when he talks about his wife and their patient waiting of their firstborn.

"I can't wait to meet her, to meet them!" She exclaims, and is happy when he only nods and grins wider.

"As if I wouldn't. She'll be thrilled to know you're alive and even more so to meet you!"

"She's not jealous at all?" Zevran cuts in, curiosity in his voice.

She's mentioned Gorim to Zevran before, explained how close they were - family in all but blood.

"Of Lady Aeducan?" He sound incredulous, confused and she has to smile at that, "Why would she be? My lady is my lady, my friend, the best I've ever had!Nothing more."

Loga reaches out and grips his hand, "We're family. More so than my own." She frowns, scowls, glares as she says it.

"Funny you should mention that." He starts, voice low as he pulls something out from underneath the stall.

"Aeducans Shield?" She cries, voice shrill in surprise. He hushes her.

"Before I was exiled to the surface, your father asked for me. I was furious." He explains, fiddling with paper now, a letter now she realises, "...but even so, in all my life, I've never seen a man so...regretful. It was unlike anything I've ever seen. The decay..." he shudders, handing the shield and letter to her.

She takes both with shaking hands.

"It was like he tore out his own heart and sent you away with it."

She opens the letter and is immediately struck with heartbreak - it's the only way she can explain it.

"He didn't hate me." She whispers, voice so quiet under the cities bustle, but they all heard her.

"No. He didn't, doesn't, and now all he has left is Bhelen." Gorim growls.

"No." She can tell by the way they all recoil from her that she sounds mad. Hell, she surprised herself with the absolute hatred in her voice.

"Bhelen will not succeed." She continues, fingers clenched so tight onto the flimsy paper that they're white.

Gorim grins, bloodthirsty as she is, "I wish you well, my Lady."

[biserker-kadan]

"Are you really going to let her do that?"

Eleanor watched her youngest grin toothily at her brother and the young Gilmore, wooden sword in hand and dark splatters of brown mud on her new silken dress.

Her husband had warned her, and she had paid no mind - she was regretting that now, watching as Ophelya slid across the dirt to knock her brother down with a mighty battle cry.

"I win! I win again!" She cried out, laughing gleefully as that wretched dog barreled into her and knocked her onto her back. Ophelya giggled away, arms and legs flying all over the place as 'Marby' slobbered all over her face.

"I mean honestly Eleanor, she's making such a mess. I could never allow it. My daughter would never be caught dead playing in the mud like some ruffian."

Eleanor turned her gaze to her companion. Took in the extravagant jewellery and outrageously expensive looking clothes and shoes and frowned.

Truth be told, she had no idea who this person was - just another high-born Lady expecting Bryce Cousland wife to know her.

She purses her lips, lost in thought as she took in her companions daughter, a sweet looking girl; all prim and proper standing tall with her chin held high.

She looked miserable.

For one moment, Eleanor felt an intense sadness crash over her.

Could she imagine her own girl like that? Ophelya, as rambunctious and loud as she was, just being so...still and poised, like a living doll?

Eleanor had complained over and over to Bryce about Ophelya - 'She's so much like her brother, how will she ever find a husband?'

What does it matter?

Could she be happy if her daughter was not?

Ophelya loved playing with her brother and the others. After all, she wasn't the only girl in the castle eager to pick up a sword and wave it around. Why should she be denied that?

What mother would keep her child from play?

Eleanor smiled, though her eyes were cold and lips closed. She leaned in close and whispered, "My daughter is fine just the way she is, perhaps you should not be speaking so freely and without thinking of consequences? Hmmm?"

The Lady paled.

With that and a very pointed glare, Eleanor called out, "Ophelya, Fergus, Gilmore, come along."

"But mother!" Fergus whined, sighing when Ophelya only nudged him and stomped forward, brows pulled together and the most murderous look a 7 year old can make on her face.

"It's not even lessons yet! Dad said we could play until the shadow hit the trees!" She argued, staring defiantly up at her. Eleanor smiled, open mouthed this time and pulled her into her side.

"I know, but I figured you three would be much happier having a go at it in the courtyard with the soldiers and the training dummies?"

Excited squeals and yelling followed her announcement and she laughed under her breath as she shooed them along ahead of her.

Eleanor watched out of the corner of her eye as Ophelya stopped and looked back. She smiled as spoke to the other little girl, "...and if you would like to come as well, I'm sure your mother would have no objections?"

Ophelya, always one step ahead of the others - so much like her mother - walked back and held out a hand, "It'll be really fun." She promised.

The girl spared one single glance at her mother before nodding decisively and taking Ophelya's hand with a shaky smile.

Eleanor followed the two girls down the path, both as equally excited as they rushed on ahead, talking in low tones and grinned.

Her daughter, no matter how well she was with a sword or her words, was going to rule.