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naomifj97 · 2 years

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Eyes

“She stares at the eyes of that creature and sees herself in them: a wounded, dying, tainted thing, scarred beyond repair.

She knows she’s going to die, but she does it anyway.”

Or: Oriana slays the Archdemon.

The ending of the Battle of Denerim, when the Warden runs to the Archdemon, blade in hand and battle-cry included gives me chills EVERYTIME. With this I'm trying to tell you that I love this scene so it was a matter of time I wrote a one-shot about it.

Anyway, this one-shot follows the canon established on my previous fics (which you can find in my masterpost here), but it can be read as a stand alone without problems. This is Warden-centric, but has a huge Alistair x the Warden background and there are mentions of their relationship. All companions make a small appareance because I was aiming for the heart. Not very long, around 1k words, featuring hurt, angst and lots of tears (maybe).

Fic under cut!

The Battle is fierce. Brutal. Exhausting. Yet she feels every inch of her body vibrating with revitalizing, reckless adrenaline. There’s not pain despite her wounds, not tiredness despite the exhaustion. Sweat and blood form a disgusting scab over her face, her eyes and her mouth, and she’s sure her ribs, her eyebrow and her lip are broken. But the numbness she’s been drowning in since the Landsmeet has finally recessed. She finally feels again, even if she knows it’s just an illusion ignited by the chaos around her, and she holds onto that to carry on.

Despite the raging wind, the heat around them is suffocating and encircling, making her skin itchy and her lungs raspy. The left side of her armor is a bit burnt, but she does not care. It’s not like she’s gonna need it after today.

The sky is on fire, and there, at the top of Fort Drakon, Oriana Tabris now understands what burning in flames is. Under their feet, Denerim rages and shivers violently, asphyxiated by the fierce violence of the fighting. Yet, the city keeps holding on.

So are they.

The Archdemon’s roar rumbles in her eardrums as the mages launch a last, desperate mana clash that makes the beast retreat a few steps. The tainted dragon shrikes and writhes, its powerful paws leaving holes on the ground while it tries to recover control by stamping them on the top of the Fort.

It’s a desperate attempt; Oriana knows because she has seen a few already.

The beast is wounded, trying to recover. But the problem is that animals are unpredictable when they’re cornered, and the real, actual danger lies in that unpredictability.

Oriana should’ve known that. Should’ve recognized it. It’s not very different from what she’s been doing for months.

But she realizes too late, and, in a sudden move nobody else can predict, the Archdemon swirls its tail and sends her, Morrigan, Loghain and a few Redcliffe knights several feet away.

She feels the whole impact despite the heavy plat; wincing, breathless, Oriana turns to Morrigan, who is not wearing any, but the witch dismisses her worry with a shake of her head. She is a bit worn down and her body is stained with blood, but it doesn’t seem hers. Loghain is grumbling and, by the amount of curses he’s letting out, fine enough. One of the knights has hit his head against the floor and lies dead on the spot, his sword nailed on the ground, but the others are alive, just sored and out of breath.

Oriana then looks at the dragon again, and the moment it seems to be about to recover is when Zevran and his ballista hit, right on the beast’s head, stunning it.

This is it. That’s her chance.

That’s the opening she’s been waiting for.

Oriana does not even think before jumping to her feet, fast and quick as lighting, forces renewed, running to the abandoned sword nailed on the ground, fatherless as its wielder lies butchered near by. She takes it in her sprint, eyes fixated in her target, blood pounding on her ears, around her skull, deafening every sound, every thought.

She’s going to kill it.

She’s going to kill it and she’s going to die in the process.

She has made peace with that.

She runs to the stunned dragon, steady, powerful sword in her hands, ready for the final blow.

By the time the beast comes to its senses and raises its neck, Oriana is already there. For a moment, she hears her mother, her voice ringing in her ears as a song from a lost childhood, telling her to use the momentum and charge the whole of her strength in a unique hit against huge opponents. The Warden then ducks and sinks the blade on the thick skin of the Archdemon’s neck.

For a moment, Oriana feels her mother’s hands over her smaller ones as she teaches her how to use a sword, guiding her to inflict a mortal wound. And so, the Warden slides over the trail of blood under the beast’s throat, blood of her comrades, guiding the blade over its gullet, slicing it open from top to bottom.

The blood is warm, wet and thick, tinted more black than red, and contrasts creepily with the traces of her own. Soaks her hair, her shoulder pads and the blue fabric covering her forearms, the leather of her gauntlets, staining the steel of her armor.

The Archdemon lets out an agonic, terrifying groan of wailing pain before collapsing over its own blood, on the top of Fort Drakon. Still breaths, but the wound is mortal.

Oriana knows she has sealed their destinies, the beast’s and her own, that it’s just a matter of time before death claims them both. She could leave the dragon alone, suffering until nature does its job. But she has never been a cruel woman. And that thing may be the responsible for all the death and destruction she has endured the past year, but no one deserves to die like this.

She knows what she has to do.

She is panting heavily, worn down from the Battle, and the Blight, and the Landsmeet, and the heartbreak, and the whole bloody leadership that she can feel over her shoulders like some kind of phantom pain.

She’s exhausted.

But that doesn’t stop her from raising the sword, ready to deliver the final blow.

On the very last moment, her gaze finds the Archdemon’s. She stares at the eyes of that creature she’s about to kill and sees herself in them: a wounded, dying, tainted thing, scarred beyond repair.

It is only fair, she wonders, that two things so broken perish together. In a twisted way, it makes sense.

—Oriana, no!

She ignores him. He shouldn’t even be here. This is not his duty anymore. This is not his choice.

It’s hers.

She knows she’s going to die, but she does it anyway.

It’s the end and she welcomes it with a kind of relief.

With a last cry of rage and the whole of her strength, Oriana lowers the blade and stabs the dragon on the head.

She’s not expecting the force that emerges from the wound in the shape of a pillar of light that splits the red sky in two. It's so strong it forces her to hold onto the hilt not to fall. Under her hands, knuckles white and palms sweaty, the blade starts vibrating with a tireless fierceness. Light surrounds her, licking her arms and legs, spiralizing around her abdomen and making her shake violently. It’s just a second, but to Oriana, is a whole eternity.

In what she thinks are her last moments, she remembers.

She remembers her mother’s hands over her hair, braiding it for the day; she remembers her father’s contended sighs and her cousins bantering at the breakfast table. She remembers her party’s joyful chatting, Barkspawn’s happy barks and Leliana’s song in the camp, that night they drank too much alcohol from Oghren’s stash. She remembers Morrigan’s sarcastic replies, and Zevran’s dirtiest ones, and Wynne’s lectures about duty, and Sten’s unimpressed growls, and Shale’s complains about the pigeons, and Oghren’s alcoholic pearls of wisdom.

And she remembers Alistair.

She remembers his laugh, and his mischievous eyes, and his fingers intertwining with hers, and his steady, comforting touch, and his sweet smile, and the softness of his lips against hers, the urge of his body against her own.

She remembers him breaking her heart. Yelling at her for her decision. She hears her sword crashing against his as she stops his intentions to execute a man who had betrayed the whole country, them included.

She sees his pleading eyes, the previous night, begging her to stay, begging her to let him do it in her place.

She remembers his gaze telling her he loves her, but also leaving her behind.

And then, with a shaking of the ground, the column shoots a last wave of magical light that hits her right on the abdomen and sends her backwards, her ragged body crashing against the ground.

The last thing she hears are Alistair’s heart-wrenching cries.

After that, it all goes black.

A/N: Heartwrenching, I know. She doesn't die, I swear. I love drama, can't lie to anybody.

I know that technically Morrigan is not supposed to be there since she has not performed the ritual in this story, but I decided that if I was going to headcanon, I was going to do it big time (and have a blast in the process). So, my take is that Morrigan, despite being in absolute disagreement with Oriana's decision, decides to stay in the name of their friendship. The next post will probably be an inmediate sequel to this, heavily involving Alistair's perspective.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed it!

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age fic #dao #dao warden #dragon age oc #one shot #alistair x tabris #alistair theirin #alistair x warden #dragon age art #hero of ferelden #fic #short fic #fanfiction #grey warden #oriana tabris #alistair dao

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heniareth · 3 years

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For the OC ask meme: What does your character like in other people?, What was your OC's favorite toy/item as a child?, Under what circumstances do they find killing to be acceptable or unacceptable?, How is their sense of humor? Do they have one?, In what situation was your OC the most calm they’ve ever been?, What is your favorite thing about your OC? for your Astala :) I chose one from every category. I hope that's alright. Don't feel pressed to answer all of them if it's too much :)

Heyy!! Thank you so much for the ask, this'll be fun XD Until I play the other games, it's once again time to talk about Astala Tabris.

What does your character like in other people?

On the top of the list is definitely loyalty. There's a special place in Astala's heart for loyal and dedicated people, people she can trust and rely on (almost) no matter what.

Apart from that, she likes people who are compassionate, people who are able to smile in the face of danger, people who can take a joke and fire one right back, and people who are truthful to who they are and stand up for it. If we're talking about looks, she tends to notice smiles. Somebody with a bright smile will almost never not be beautiful to her.

What was your OC’s favorite toy/item as a child?

She had a stuffed mabari that I’ve talked about here (and you’ve probably already read it, so I’m not going to repeat it). But that was her favorit toy, so there’s still a favourite item left XD

On one occasion her mother brought home a very nice pair of red boots for little Astala. They had some spots and smelled strongly of salt and algae, but they were red and warm and to die for. She was only ever allowed to wear them inside the alienage, never when they went to the market or the docks or any other place frequented by humans. Astala understood that her boots were a secret to be kept. She assumed that they’d be taken away from her if the humans saw her running around with something so nice. This made the boots all the more special, like her family’s own little rebellion. The real reason for hiding the boots, of course, was to avoid raising suspicions as to her mother’s illegal dealings. Astala wore them proudly until she outgrew them, at which point they passed on to the kid of a friend of her father’s.

Under what circumstances do they find killing to be acceptable or unacceptable?

For Astala, killing is acceptable under the following circumstances: the person is actively attacking her and/or a friend and/or somebody who’s defenseless; they don’t back down or flee when given the chance to; and/or they have done something terrible to her or to a loved one. In this last case, the word isn’t exactly “it’s acceptable” for her and more “they deserved it”. Vaughan Urien, who’s the bad guy in the city elf’s backstory, is somebody Astala has killed (partly) out of vengeance. If a person surrenders, however, or if she beats them, she’ll almost always spare them. There are a few exceptions to this, one of them being if the person in question is a parent, which... complicates the matter very much. I’m very much looking forward to what she’ll do with Loghain. On one hand, he’s made a pact with slavers and allowed them to take her people to fund his war. On the other hand, he’s Anora’s father, Anora is right there... and he has surrendered. I really don’t know what will win in this case, her outrage over the injustice done to her people or the memory of how it felt losing her mother.

How is their sense of humor? Do they have one?

She definitely has one, although I don’t quite know how to describe it. So I’m just going to show you a bit:

"Why don't we take a moment to introduce ourselves properly? I'll start." Astala sat down cross-legged, straightened her back and affixed a smile to her face. "Hi! I'm Astala Tabris. I come from the Denerim Alienage and I've been a Grey Warden for a grand total of… For how long was I out again?"

"A night and a day," the witch, Morrigan, answered.

"I've been a Grey Warden for four days, then. I like flowers and plum-filled cakes with milk and honey, and I dislike itchy clothing and working at taverns. Alistair? Your turn." She gave him a pointed look over her smile.

Alistair pulled a face. "Do I have to?"

"Yes, you do," Astala nodded emphatically. "What else are you gonna bond over if not my terrific style of leadership?"

Alistair sighed, but shifted into a more upright position. "Right. I'm Alistair. I've been a Grey Warden for a year and a bit. I was trained as a templar before that."

"Wonderful,” Astala said, cheerful smile still plastered on her face. “Likes and dislikes?"

"Cheese and… and darkspawn? What do you want me to say?" Alistair threw the stick he had been breaking to tiny pieces into the campfire. "Where did you get this 'bonding activity' from anyway?"

Astala’s smile grew into a grin. "Why, the Chantry-run education program for us poor alienage kids, of course.”

That’s her sense of humor. It probably carries a good dose of mischief and general tomfoolery. She likes to mess around.

In what situation was your OC the most calm they’ve ever been?

At first, I was thinking about this in terms of “in what stressful situation was your OC the most calm”. And while Astala may appear calm outwardly, it’s a mask nine times out of ten.

The most calm she’s ever been is probably a few days after defeating the Archdemon. She’s still in that kind of post-battle haze where she wants to do nothing but lie around, maybe sleep for a while, maybe eat something, and this time she actually doesn’t have to do anything but lie around (Wynne expicitly told her so). The smoke clouds over Denerim have finally vanished, she’s home, her family is safe, her companions are alive and unharmed or have been healed, the Blight is over, Zevran is there... The future is a mystery and she doesn’t know what she’ll do next with her life, but that can wait. Right now, she has a chance to rest, and she grabs it with both hands.

What is your favorite thing about your OC?

I’m very attached with her reluctance to leave anybody behind and her fear of death. It’s something I can relate to and they make for good storytelling; at one point she’ll have to decide which of the two she’d rather do >:) . I also recently decided that if she’d ever have a symbol associated to her, it’s the sea and particularly the waves crashing against a rocky cliff, tunneling through the stone and dragging gravel in and out of the tunnels in an ever-thundering cacophony of sounds. The waves just have something relentless and unstoppable about them, and they smooth out even the hardest and roughest stone. I haven’t worked out yet if Astala is the stone or the waves; probably a bit of both. But I like this piece of symbolism.

---

Thank you so much for the ask!! These questions really are a ton of fun (and I got to share some writing! Yey! :D). It’s also amazing how much they can help to flesh out characters, or to reveal things that I knew but didn’t know I knew, if that makes sense. Anyways, I had a lot of fun with this and I hope you had fun reading it as well ^^

#astala tabris #warden tabris #dao #dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age: origins #da:o #da: o #da: origins #the warden #hero of ferelden #the hero of ferelden #ask game #for fun #my ocs

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allisondraste · 3 years

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Announcing: Ambivalence

It has been exactly one year to the day since I published the final chapter of my Nathaniel Howe/F!Cousland long-fic, Temperance, and I could not think of a better time to unveil it’s first sequel, which I have had on the back-burner while I took a much-needed hiatus from writing.

This will be a far briefer story than it’s predecessor, but tells an important part of Nate and Liss’ story.

I hope you all enjoy!

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe x Female Cousland

Story Summary: It has been just over a year since Nathaniel Howe and Elissa Cousland were reunited, childhood friendship forged into a love that endured a decade apart. However, every love is tested at some point. Presented with circumstances that could either make or break their relationship, Nate and Liss are no different.

[AO3 Link]

Chapter 1: Pity and Pride

Chapter Summary: It is no secret that there is trouble in paradise, and Nathaniel is quickly becoming tired of his friends’ concern.

Vigil’s Keep, Solace 9:33 Dragon

Sunlight poured into the room, undeterred by curtains carelessly drawn open the night before, forming a halo around the woman who lay next to him with bare limbs draped comfortably across his body. It was rare that he awoke before her, rarer still to catch a glimpse of her sleeping peacefully, features unmarred by the nightmares that so often plagued her rest. It was difficult to fret over their privacy when the uncovered window painted such a beautiful portrait. How many years had he longed for moments such as this, fleeting and perfect, always just out of his reach?

And now Liss was there, snoring softly and tangled in bedsheets. Unable to quell the urge to touch her, to make sure she was real, he reached forward and brushed a lock of hair from her face before allowing his fingertips to settle on her cheek. She stirred, thick brows pressing together as her eyes flickered open, rich, brown, and sparkling with a groggy smile.

“Good morning, Nate,” she said quietly, voice hoarse as she shifted beneath the sheets and brought her hand up to cover his, an intricate ring glittering on her finger.

“My love,” he whispered, allowing his eyes to blink closed just briefly.

Then, he awoke.

Nathaniel sighed as his eyes opened, not to a lovely sun-soaked room in Antiva, but rather to his own tomb-like quarters in Vigil’s Keep, with nothing but low-burning sconces illuminating the depressing stone walls and floors. It was too cold, and he rolled over to be closer to the warmth of his bed partner, stretching out an arm to drape across her.

However, his arm fell only against a mound of blankets, his dreams having played a cruel trick on him once again. This was not the first time in recent days that he’d woken up to find his bed empty, the woman who had lain with him the night before gone without a trace other than the turned back sheets and coverlet on her side of the bed. In fact, it seemed that he woke up alone more often than not.

“Liss,” he asked the empty room, as if it could summon her for him, as if he did not know she was already up and running about the Keep pretending that everything was fine.

When the room did not answer him, he sighed and sat up begrudgingly, shivering as the chilly air met his bare skin, and slid out of bed. Without any windows, discerning the hour proved difficult, yet he figured it was past time that he got ready and behaved as an acting Warden-Constable anyway.

In peace, vigilance , and all of that.

A rustling from his closet drew him from his thoughts and his head darted toward the direction of the noise out of instinct. Cautiously, he made his way over to the door and placed an ear up against it, hoping to get a better idea of what lay inside.

Meow .

Nathaniel sighed and shook his head as he opened the door, glancing down to a pair of bright green eyes examining him. Ser Pounce-A-Lot was a ridiculous name for a creature who only ever snuck about and examined the world with cold calculation, pouncing very little, if at all.

“This,” he grumbled, stepping out of the animal’s way, “Is how curiosity kills your kind . ”

The cat tilted his head in an almost unnatural way before mewing again and sauntering forward, snaking himself around Nathaniel’s leg and purring gratuitously for several long moments.

“You are keeping me from my duties, Your Lordship ,” Nathaniel said, glaring down at Ser Pounce, who appeared wholly undeterred, before stopping, blinking up at him, and then chomping down on the back of his heel. He hissed in pain and pulled away reflexively.

Reaching down to give the cat a scratch behind the ears, Nathaniel said,“Perhaps you were meant to be a war beast after all.”

Ser Pounce nuzzled into his hand, gave a final meow, and pranced out of the room as if nothing had transpired. He wondered how he had ended up caring for the damnable creature in the first place. Then again, it was not as if Anders had been in any sort of condition to care for a pet when he fled the Keep, nor was Nathaniel certain Justice would have allowed him to. He shook his head free of the disappointing, bitter memories of his friends. He had more pressing matters to attend.

It took him little time to dress himself in his Warden attire. The days had been short and peaceful since The Mother and her spawn were destroyed, yet he preferred to dress the part of a Grey Warden, armed and prepared for an attack at any moment. In the aftermath of Loghain’s slanderous campaign against them, and with the decision to allow Amaranthine to fall looming over their heads, the Wardens had ample other enemies now, enemies that the Darkspawn threat had once held at bay. Anything could happen.

Appropriately equipped, Nathaniel straightened his posture and stepped out into the hallway.

It was an odd experience to reside in his childhood home, yet on an entirely different floor and wing. When Delilah assumed control of the arling, she had kindly offered that he keep his old room, as part of the Howe family. He promptly declined, having no fond feelings for the room to which he’d been unfairly banished more times than he could count. Besides, he preferred to stay with the other Wardens, his new family.

Nathaniel made his way through several dark corridors and down multiple flights of stairs, feet guided more by muscle memory than sight, until he’d reached the ground floor. He couldn’t say for certain he would find Liss in the great hall, but it was as good of a place as any to start.

The largest room in Vigil’s Keep, was the only room with any semblance of warmth. One of the longest-standing, impregnable fortresses in Ferelden had no use for stained glass windows, open courtyards, or natural lighting of any kind. His father had always declared that it was called a keep and not a castle for a reason, an underhanded criticism of the things Nathaniel pretended not to love about Castle Cousland when he was a child.

He scanned the space before him, nearly vacant with the exception of pages and scouts milling about waiting to be assigned tasks. He thought to approach one of them to ask if they’d seen Liss, but thought better of it. They likely had no idea who she was or what she looked like, and they no doubt had better things to do than participate in this unnecessary game of hide-and-seek.

“Morning, Nathaniel,” called a voice off to his side, a voice he did not particularly wish to hear at present. He turned to see Alistair standing several feet away, wearing that lopsided, cheerful grin that usually occupied his face. The younger man had thickened up slightly since they’d first met over a year prior, an effect of safety, security, and not carrying the weight of a Blight on his back. He looked healthy and happy, and Nathaniel envied his ability to bounce back.

“Morning, Alistair” Nathaniel replied dryly. He paused, eyes darting around the room in another cursory sweep before returning to the other man. “Have you seen Liss, by any chance?”

Alistair flinched at the question. “You mean, you haven’t seen her this morning?”

“No.”

“Damn...” he shifted his weight, laughing nervously and bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his head, “I, um.. I haven’t seen her either.”

“Wonderful,” Nathaniel muttered, shaking his head.

“Listen, you know how she is,” Alistair said, placing a hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder in what was undoubtedly an attempt at reassurance, a gesture of pity. “She probably just got one of those wild hairs of hers, ran off to the library in the middle of the night, and is now passed out under a pile of books. I’m sure everything’s fine.”

Nathaniel blinked at him several times, then looked down to glare at the hand that was resting on his shoulder. “Uh…huh.”

The other man withdrew his hand awkwardly, frowning. “Sorry,” he remarked pointedly, holding his hands up in defeat, “Remind me to wait until you’ve woken up properly next time I decide to show you basic human decency.”

Nathaniel deflated at Alistair’s words. “No, I apologize. I am just a bit tense as of late.”

“Yeah.” Alistair looked down at the floor and kicked at the stone with the toe of his boot before looking back up. “I know. For what it’s worth, if I was in your shoes I’d… I don’t know what I’d do. Probably fling myself into the nearest body of water.”

Nathaniel snorted derisively. “Thanks.”

“That sounded bad didn’t it? What I meant is--”

“I know what you meant.”

“Right.” Alistair let out a nervous laugh and shook his head. “I’m going to stop talking now, before I put my other foot in my mouth.”

Nathaniel offered him a hint of a smirk to indicate that there had been no real harm done, then teased, “I believe that is a wise decision.”

Alistair smiled in return and nodded. “Anyway, I was actually meant to inform you that the commander would like to speak with you. She’s in her study right now.”

“I shall see her at once.”

“And if I run into our Dear Lady Cousland, I will tell her you were looking for her.”

“Please, do.”

Concluding his conversation with Alistair, Nathaniel headed immediately toward the corridor that led back to the commander’s study, the room that had previously belonged to his father’s portraits and trophies. As a child, he’d spent many hours hiding away in that damned room, dreaming himself up a better father than Rendon would ever be. He was grateful Lucia now occupied the space, her solemn kindness and humility painting over the history that had once lived there, and he hoped that with time, she would eliminate his father’s stain completely.

The large wooden door was left slightly ajar, a small band of lamplight leaking out into the hallway. He still stopped and decided to knock, rather than just entering as others would have. Despite her open-door policy, he refused to startle her without need. Three quick raps, and he waited for her response.

“You can come in, Nathaniel,” she called just loud enough for him to hear her.

He pushed the door open and entered, laughing. “How did you know it was me?”

Lucia looked up at him with a hint of a smile. “You’re the only person I know who knocks when the door is open.”

“Right,” he replied, pressing the door closed behind him.

The young woman he called his friend and commanding officer stood bent over her desk, despite a perfectly adequate chair sitting just behind her. She propped herself up with one hand flat on the surface of the desk, as she thumbed through pages of some antiquated tome with the other. Though her long, dark hair was styled in a low ponytail, it still fell down and cast a shadow over her face. Surrounding her were stacks of other old texts and scrolls.

Lucia had been rather consumed by research as of late. An unassuming journal had found its way into her hands, one with writings that had been identified as Warden-Commander Duncan’s. In it, he had documented an encounter with their very own Architect. She hoped the record would provide them with some valuable information about the unsettling creature, and it had. But it had also made mentions of an unnamed Grey Warden, a mage, who was freed from her calling, tainted blood healed and unable to be re-joined.

Ever since, Lucia had been pouring over Grey Warden lore and history and manuscripts about obscure magics, no doubt searching for something they all wanted deep down: A cure. As honorable as membership in the order sounded, the same power that granted them their Blight-stopping capabilities became an unbearable curse in peaceful times, each moment that passed one breath closer to The Calling. The commander was so young, and he understood her newfound compulsion to find a solution. She was not the only one struggling to cope with the reality of a Grey Warden’s fate.

“You asked to speak to me,” he stated tentatively, almost as a question.

Lucia’s gaze darted up to him, and she straightened her posture. “Yes, I did.”

“And?”

She walked around her desk to stand in front of him, piercing eyes searching his face for an answer to a question she had yet to ask. “How are you holding up?”

A twinge of irritation sparked through him. “Holding up?”

“Perhaps it is presumptuous of me to say as your commanding officer, but we are also friends, and as your friend I feel obligated to point out that things with Elissa have been a bit… tense since you two returned from Highever.”

“That is presumptuous,” Nathaniel replied through his teeth, “Even as my friend.”

Lucia stood, unfazed and blinking. “You can be annoyed with my concern if you wish, but that won’t make it go away.”

“Your concern is wasted.” His words were clipped, and he crossed his arms. “I am fine.”

“Nate,” she urged him, dropping her typical formality and reaching forward to place a hand on his arm, a gesture of which he was quickly tiring. Still, they were friends, and he wondered if it might give him some clarity to discuss the matter with the woman.

He opened his mouth, prepared to provide a more honest answer, but clamped it shut as a knock rang out on the door behind him. He released the breath he’d been holding, never more grateful for an interruption.

“Who’s there,” Lucia asked.

“It’s Liss. I just spoke with Alistair, and he said you wanted to see me.”

Nathaniel glared at Lucia waiting for an explanation that she did not provide. Instead, she released his arm and moved to sit down in the chair at her desk. “You can come in.”

The door creaked open slowly, and Nathaniel turned to see Liss. She froze in the doorway when their eyes met, wincing as if his presence had inflicted physical pain. Then she blinked suspiciously between him and the commander before flashing a smile and bouncing into the room. ”

“Good morning, Lucia,” she announced cheerfully, as she moved to stand beside Nathaniel, giving him a confusing, playful nudge with her elbow. ”Hey Nate.”

“Now that you’re both here,” Lucia began formally, “I have an assignment for you two.”

“Oh?” Liss perked up, and fidgeted excitedly.

“Some sort of Warden business, I presume,” Nathaniel asked, making every effort to hide both his discomfort and his relief.

“Yes. ” Lucia nodded. “As you know, a new Junior Warden was transferred to us from the Warden Fortress at Montsimmard last week.”

“The woman from Kirkwall?”

“Her name’s Bethany,” Liss corrected with a quick laugh, “I met her in passing near the baths. She didn’t seem too keen on having a conversation with me at the time.”

“Warden Bethany has been through quite an ordeal in the past six months,” Lucia explained, “She is an apostate who was living as a refugee in Kirkwall with her family after they fled Lothering during the Blight. She was Joined by a contingent of Orlesian Wardens after an encounter with darkspawn in the Deep Roads.”

Nathaniel frowned and brought his hand to his chin. “The Deep Roads? What was she doing in the Deep Roads?”

“It seems pretty fortunate that she would have stumbled into a group of Grey Wardens, too,” Liss chimed in.

“It had nothing to do with fortune,” Lucia continued, words stern and direct. She stood up, clenching her fists at her sides. “Bethany and her older sister were part of an expedition into the Deep Roads to search for artifacts and treasure, accompanied by one of our own, who provided them with confidential Warden maps to help them navigate.”

The palpable vitriol from Lucia meant one thing, and one thing only.

“Anders,” Nathaniel asked.

“Yes,” she responded defeatedly, “According to Bethany he’s been living in Kirkwall ever since he deserted, running some sort of healing clinic. He is the reason they were able to find the other Wardens.”

“Wow,” Liss remarked, “That all seems uncharacteristically noble of him.”

“Uncharacteristic of Anders, perhaps,” Nathaniel stated, “But not of Justice.”

“Right.” Lucia’s gaze was fixed on the ground, deep in thought. She looked up at them before sighing and speaking again, “As unorthodox as it may seem to assign a mission based upon personal feelings, I believe my reasoning is sound. Anders is still a Grey Warden, one who I conscripted, which makes him my responsibility. I would like for you two, along with Bethany, to travel to Kirkwall and pay him a visit. ”

“And do what exactly,” he asked, annoyed by what felt like a waste of time, “Drag him back to the Keep by his collar?”

“That would be a sight.” Liss chuckled at his side and he rolled his eyes. “Ten silvers he sets your little chin hairs on fire.”

“He would have to catch me first. Twelve silvers.”

She smiled and winked at him. “It’s a bet.”

“If I am being completely honest about my intentions, I just want you to check in on him, “Lucia continued more softly, paying no heed to their irreverence to the task, “Make sure that he is safe and warn him against sharing too many delicate Warden secrets.”

“So this is not “official” Warden business then,” Nathaniel asked.

“I’m not sure the Wardens ever do anything ‘officially,’” Liss stated flatly.

“This is just for my peace of mind,” Lucia answered with a sad smile, “Besides, I thought you two might enjoy some time away together.”

Her investment in their relationship shamed him, causing his face to flush. Lucia had so many other things that she could and should have been fretting over instead. He flicked his eyes over to Liss, wondering if she felt as he did.

She only frowned and shrugged out a reply. “I could use a vacation.”

“Kirkwall is a shithole,” Nathaniel told her frankly, words more pointed than he’d intended,”It won’t exactly be a vacation.”

“Not with that attitude, it won’t be,” she chirped, not missing a beat.

“Will you go,” Lucia asked.

“Of course,” he replied, with a reassuring smile. Liss nodded along with him.

“Thank you both.” Lucia seemed to relax, and sat back slowly into her chair. “You all should prepare to head out to Amaranthine first thing in the morning. I’ve arranged passage for you there.”

Nathaniel nodded in acknowledgement, noticing Liss do the same as she spoke, “Is there anything else you needed, Commander?”

“No,” she shook her head, “You are free to go. Safe travels.”

When he turned to face Liss , she was biting her lip and appeared to be lost in thought, a small wrinkle between her brows. It was ridiculous to ache for someone who slept beside him each night, to miss her. And yet he did. Maker did he miss her. That their companions sensed some sort of tension between them was not inaccurate, and had he been honest with Alistair and Lucia, he would have admitted that things were not “fine.” He just was not ready to broach the topic of what happened in Highever with anyone other than Liss, and she had been all but avoiding any opportunity they had to discuss it for the better part of two weeks.

Shaking himself free of his own thoughts, he nudged Liss with his elbow and held his arm out to her. There was no guarantee that she would accept it, but he would be damned if he did not offer it to her. When she glanced over to him, then down at his arm, and back up to meet his gaze, her face lit up, bright and warm, and relief washed over him. Thank The Maker he could still make her smile.

Without hesitation, she looped her arm through his and blinked up at him expectantly. “Shall we?”

A quiet chuckle escaped him. “Of course, my lady.”

Liss had always been adept at filling silences, or at the very least making them comfortable; however, as they left Lucia’s study together, arm-in-arm, an oppressive and awkward quiet fell over them. Nathaniel was no stranger to uncomfortable silences, but to share one with Liss was an entirely new experience. He racked his mind for anything to talk about that would not cause her to withdraw from him, but came up short. Hopefully he would be able to suffer his own discomfort until they made it back to their shared quarters.

“So,” she spoke up suddenly, much to Nathaniel’s relief, “Kirkwall. Just the two of us… and that Bethany person, of course. This’ll be fun.” She held his arm more tightly and let her head fall to rest against his shoulder.

“You really think so,” he asked, amused at her optimism.

She pulled away suddenly to look up at him, a pain he did not intend to inflict buried in her expression. “You don’t?”

“That’s not what I—” he paused, immediately frustrated and attempting to keep his composure— “It wasn’t meant to be serious.”

Liss continued to glare up at him, tears welling in her eyes, and he did not have a shred of an idea how to respond. She had never been a rational person, but this was a bit extreme. He squeezed and released his hands at his side as he fought the urge to reach out to her.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she muttered, looking down at the ground, “You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m just—”

“Liss,” he urged, hoping that she would finally open up to him, give him some clue as to why she kept pushing him away and erecting walls between them that had never been there before.

“Nate,” she whispered, a single tear falling from her lashes and rolling down her cheek.

Without thinking he reached forward to wipe it away with his thumb, allowing his hand to linger on her cheek. Her gaze softened at the touch, and for a moment he thought her defenses might falter, that she might let him in. She brought her hand up to cover his, briefly allowing her eyes to flutter closed. When she opened them again, there was steel in her expression and she grabbed his hand, gently pulling it away from her face. With that, he withdrew his hand completely and stared back at her in disbelief, jaw clenched.

“Talk to me,” he pleaded, voice hushed, “Please.”

“I can’t… do this right now.” She shook her head frantically, emotions barely held beneath the surface. “I’m sorry.”

“This is not something you can run from and hope it disappears, Liss,” he replied tersely, his frustration getting the better of him, “You can’t keep avoiding me.”

“I’m going to get some air,” she snapped, indignant and completely ignoring his remarks, “We can prepare for our journey after I come back.

“Liss, wait—”

“I’ll talk to you later, Nate,” she interrupted as she turned to walk away toward the front door.

They had done this dance too many times for him to be taken aback or even confused. No, the only thing he felt at the moment was exhausted. Countless times since they’d returned, he’d tried to get her to discuss how she was feeling, or to at least listen to how he felt, but she’d consistently found excuses or other ways to escape an actual conversation. It was ridiculous and immature, and he was at a complete and utter loss.

Ego bruised and chest aching, he made his way over to the bench along a nearby wall and sank down, resting his elbows on his knees as his face dropped into the palms of his hands. What was he to do next except give her space and hope that things would be sorted out with time?

His ruminations were cut short as his ears caught the distinct shuffle of footsteps that slowed to a stop as they neared him and a hushed murmur of women’s voices. He could not make out what they were saying, but the voices were familiar, and it was obvious they were attempting discretion and failing miserably.

“You two are not subtle,” he said with a sigh as he looked up to see the elf and dwarf blinking at him sympathetically, a look that had become all too common since he’d returned from Highever. Did people sincerely believe him to be so pitiable? His friends, especially, should have known better.

Velanna glanced between Nathaniel and the empty space beside him on the bench, brow furrowing slightly as she asked, “May I?”

“Be my guest,” he replied motioning to the seat, then letting his head fall to his hands again briefly before sitting up straight and watching as she sat down beside him. Sigrun remained standing, but moved to lean against the wall.

Nathaniel glanced from one to the other several times, noting their heavy silence and persevering looks of pity. He settled on Velanna, whose pinched expression he presently found the most irritating and asked, “Is there something you wished of me? Or do you intend to continue staring at me as if I were a lost puppy?”

“We are not—” Velanna began to retort, words echoing off the walls. She sighed and continued more quietly, “We are simply concerned for you.”

“There is no reason to be concerned for me,” Nathaniel protested, “I am fine.”

“Hah,” Sigrun interjected, laughing, “You don’t think we’re going to buy that, do you?”

“You don’t have to,” he retorted sarcastically, turning to face his other friend, “I am offering it to you for free.”

“Come on, Nate. We’re your friends, and we know better,” she pressed, “Besides, with the way you’ve been moping about the Keep these past two weeks, there are lost puppies I feel less sorry for.”

He bristled at her words, muscles tensing as he clenched his fists. Just as he was about to snap, Velanna’s hand fell on his shoulder and his gaze darted back to her instead.

“ Lethallin ,” she said firmly, a word from her own language. She’d once told him it was a term of endearment for her People, one used to signify the closeness between friends. He relaxed slightly, and she withdrew her hand to rest on her lap. “Was it not you who once told me I needed to stop viewing every expression of sympathy as a personal attack.?”

“That does sound like something I would say.” Nathaniel shook his head, snorted out a laugh, and slouched forward. “I can’t say I expected that to come back and bite me in the arse.”

It was silent for several beats, then he continued, apologizing for what seemed like the thousandth time in just an hour or so. “I am sorry, truly. Everyone is so concerned about me, and I know that I should be appreciative, but... if I am being completely honest, it’s humiliating.”

“That is…” Velanna said, “Understandable.”

Sigrun nodded her agreement. “Definitely.”

“I—” he began to speak again, but was interrupted by the loud bang of a door slamming back against the wall. Several scouts and pages gasped in surprise at the form that entered the hall, battle axe slung effortlessly over his shoulder. “Nevermind,” Nathaniel muttered quickly.

“Never fear, Ol’ Oghren’s back and better than ever,” Oghren shouted at the far end of the hall as the door slammed closed behind him. He appeared to scan the room, perking up when his gaze met Nathaniel’s, and immediately sauntering over to the bench.

Velanna sighed and rolled her eyes as Sigrun straightened up to wave and greet him.“Hey Oghren! How’s the family?”

The dwarf had been away for just over a month visiting with Felsi, and their brood. Ever since the turmoil in Amaranthine had ended, and most of the resulting mess cleared up, he’d been taking intermittent leave to be a more present husband and father. He was certainly rough around every edge, but he was trying to be better, and that was admirable.

“Oh you know, same ol’, same ol’,” he answered jovially, stopping as he stood just a few feet away from the rest of them. He brought one hand up and stroked his elaborately-plaited auburn beard proudly. “Felsi’s expectin’ again.”

“Maker’s Blood, man! Are you intending to father a legion?” Nathaniel exclaimed with a laugh that was cut short by a sudden realization. He squinted at Oghren and continued, “Wait. Congratulations and all, but... how is that even possible?”

Oghren shrugged. “Beats the shit out of me. The Commander told me Grey Wardens weren’t s’posed to be able to… y’know...”

His words trailed off into a low chuckle and he waggled his eyebrows, eliciting a groan of disgust from Velanna. At the same time, a mischievous smirk crossed Sigrun’s face and she tilted her head, crossed her arms and said with faux innocence, “No, Oghren, I actually don’t think we know.”

“Do not encourage him, lethallan ,” Velanna scolded, standing up as if preparing to escape.

To Nathaniel’s surprise, Oghren ignored the opportunity to pop off with an inappropriate joke, and instead looked at him, a hint of a genuine smile sparkling in his eyes, but hidden beneath his beard. “So, Howe, I figure congratulations are in order for you too, eh?”

Nathaniel stiffened, heart sinking like lead into his abdomen. He shook his head and let out a laugh that was more bitter than he had hoped. “No. No that won’t be necessary.”

“Wait… what?” Oghren scowled and examined Nathaniel for a moment before protesting. “Don’t tell me you changed your mind? Didn’t take you to be a chickenshit.”

“I didn’t.” Nathaniel stood up abruptly at the words, startling the others. “And I’m not.”

“Shit, I—”

“I’d prefer not to talk about it.”

“Nate,” Sigrun said gently, grabbing his arm.

He shrugged her off and stepped away. “I should go prepare for my trip to Kirkwall.”

“Nathaniel,” Velanna urged him, “Wait.”

“Thank you for talking with me,” he said flatly, glancing between Velanna and Sigrun, then over to Oghren, “It is good to have you back, my friend.”

“Yeah… sure.”

With that, Nathaniel gave his friends a nod, and turned to make his way to the nearest stairwell, heart racing as he struggled to remain calm.

“What crawled up his breeches,” he heard Oghren ask behind him.

Nathaniel did not linger to hear Velanna and Sigrun brief Oghren on the events that had transpired while he was away. He did not need to be reminded.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age origins awakening #nathaniel howe #nathaniel howe x cousland #my writing #ambivalence tag

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felassan · 4 years

Text

Extended thoughts on the Dark Fortress preview pages [spoilers at link]

(Would I be an MJ if I did not do this? This post is under a cut due to spoilers.)

I like the preview pages a lot, I’m excited for release - roll on March 31. There’s a lot packed into just these limited pages, so I’m looking forwards to seeing the issue and its contents in their entirety.

A flashback to the Battle of Ostagar all those years ago is the last thing I was expecting when coming to this comic and it hit me with a one-two of feelings and nostalgia. Up there just off-screen, the Hero of Ferelden and Alistair have just lit the beacon in the Tower of Ishal. In these panels, the rain, the lighting, the atmosphere - it’s surreal (not in a bad way) seeing these fateful events again, back where it all kinda began really, and that page does a good job of replicating that cutscene and the heavy feel of it in a different medium. It’s a nice touch seeing surprise/unsureness and even conflict on some of the soldiers’ faces as Loghain gives the order to retreat. A couple of them even seen disconcerted as they walk away (looking at one another in askance). I like this take on Ser Cauthrien, and I wonder if Aaron ever encountered Aveline, Wynne, Carver or non-mage Hawke at Ostagar before the battle...?

Loghain’s words “He must do what his honor compels him to do” almost feel like a bit of metacommentary, i.e. on Loghain’s character in addition to obviously being about Ser Aaron.

In-universe before now, there have been varying accounts of Ser Aaron’s experience at Ostagar. Did he miss the fight, did he kill two ogres, etc. Now we see the truth of the matter is exactly as he told Vaea, which speaks of the trust and close relationship between the two. I’m not going to lie, the “I am coming my king” and subsequent panels make me cry on this re-read. Aaron reaching out for Cailan in his sleep with his other fist clenched, jerking awake from a nightmare in a cold sweat.. Aaron is so brave, he was the sole or one of the few soldiers in Loghain’s company to make this kind of stand (and you can see that there was a moment when he did turn to leave and considered it before turning back), and these panels convey the extent of the trauma that he experienced on the field of battle that day. I’m positive that in panel 2 here, it’s the exact moment when he sees Cailan die. It also hurts to think that not far from there, Duncan is seeing the same thing. They’ve done a good job integrating the new characters’ pasts with previous canon events with things like these. It’s like, expanding on things, but without anything conflicting.

When Aaron reaches for his alcohol skin I’m pretty sure his hand is shaking. Vaea is so tender and understanding/supportive at this part and it’s a really poignant and soft moment for them.. Aaron’s nightmares are a regular occurrence it seems. I love her and their relationship so much.. keeping watch over him while he sleeps a bit away from the others and the fire. ;; Also Autumn’s ears here, she’s lying down but still listening to what’s going on with and between her people. ;;

Brief pause here: I always appreciate getting a good sense where different events are taking place in the additional media. Also we now have in-universe confirmation that in the timeline we’ve now reached 9:45, as opposed to only external word-of-god. Do you guys ever think about your Wardens and how it’s been 15 years for them?

Aaron is like a father to Vaea 😭

Fenris has two daggers now in addition to his twohanded sword. The better for ending Danarius’ bloodline my dear 🔪

Have they tweaked Fenris’ hairstyle a bit, compared to Blue Wraith? Possibly also his skintone and eyebrows, compared to Blue Wraith? (I find this kind of thing hard to tell. If I’m incorrect here please feel free to correct me.) He looks good in this preview.

Poor Francesca. Tessa is really kind at this part and it’s nice to see more moments like these between female characters (women supporting one another). It reminds me of the moment in a previous issue where Vaea hugs Francesca on the ground. Tessa makes a great point here that true strength isn’t necessarily being stoic and unemotional, it’s standing up for what you believe in and for the greater good, even at great personal cost. It’s not 'not crying' and hiding your sadness. That’s a nice message, and again, Fran has really grown on me.

I also think it speaks well of Fenris and his character development after all these years in-universe that he was looking for a way to help Aaron, then immediately thought to go speak to Francesca when she was upset to see if he could help her in turn.

hhh brooding silent Marius staring broodily and silently into the flames and not responding to Fenris’ attempt at making conversation tho, the gentle lampshading.. That’s so true to his character. These might be my favorite panels in the whole preview. Fenris’ dry wit and facial expressions, the general composition, Fenris peacing out like “ok bye ig” lmao. You also get the sense that Fenris is reeling a bit and feeling abandoned since Hawke and co split up. After trying to do something to help both Aaron and Fran above, he then tries to make conversation with Marius. He’s trying to lighten the mood but also to connect after being alone for some time. He has missed having a group around him, and I suspect this group with its varying troubles and issues reminds him a lot of Hawke and co. That both the humor aspect and this characterization comes through in these 3 panels is pretty brilliant.

We reach the titular dark fortress! If ever there was a fortress for a bad guy, huh? x) The narrow exposed causeway being the only approach is a smart line of defense, strategically. Also, the realization that this is where Fenris lived while he was a slave of Danarius’ :| It’s a horrible-looking place and will be full of bad memories for him.

If this is how stormy the Nocen Sea gets in places - well, it reminds me of the lore that in Thedas naval exploration beyond the known map has been historically limited by different factors like pirates, Qunari dreadnoughts, stormy seas and sea creatures etc.

Characters speaking their native languages in places is always a nice touch. Now we’ve heard “By the Maker!” in Orlesian.

Aspects of the style and architecture of the Tevinter buildings in this preview, like the window shapes and the red lights and stuff, echo or remind me of what we’ve seen of Minrathous in the most recent trailer and some of the recent pieces of concept art for the next game. Neat.

We have our name and identity for the mage on the cover! Tractus Danarius, bastard son of Danarius. Danarius fucked around huh. “Tractus” has a Latin root, fittingly for a Tevinter name. Its different meanings are quite interesting: being dragged, extracted, plundered, an anthem sung in some masses, an elongated area or abnormal passage... I wonder if one of them will come into play somehow, the name possibly having been chosen for a reason? I also wonder how young Tractus is relative to Fenris, and if their paths have ever crossed in the past.

Tractus makes his entrance with two elven slaves or servants in tow. Like on the cover, his eyes are red. The head of his staff is a red sphere, also. Can we assume a connection to red lyrium, then, given these factors and the villains’ interest in using red lyrium to power the sarcophagus? I would guess that as normal magic was required to make it work with blue lyrium, the thing required to make it work with red lyrium is blood magic? A blood magic ritual. My guess is that the thing Tractus shows Marquette and Nenealeus is probably a chained up dragon or similar, which they plan to sacrifice and use the blood/power derived from that to fuel the magic/ritual. This is considering blood as a theme in this setting, blood as a source of power mechanically and the dragon-like beast on one of the covers which has clearly at one point been shackled and collared. (Here’s some previous speculation about Dark Fortress based on the covers.)

Although Tractus’ relative youth and inexperience compared to Nenealeus comes across in these pages, I get the feeling that Nenealeus will regret talking down in this manner to Tractus later in the comic.

It seems Tractus paints his nails dark. His commitment to aesthetic I give 5/5 stars

Remember the fall of Ventus/Qarinus to the Antaam invasion in TN? The Antaam must be progressing through Tevinter if people fear that Neromenian may soon fall also.

I appreciate that everyone’s horse is different! It’s a nice touch. A lot of the time in media groups of people ride identical horses like they’re clones or automatons as opposed to actual creatures.

Tractus’ smile when he’s asking if they’re going to wait for Qintara to arrive is slightly manic, lol, he’s giving off “Are we there yet?” car journey energy here. The doorway in this panel - is that a portcullis-style door? It seems like it has spikes at the bottom which would sink into the floor, and that there’s some kind of mechanism running along the floor towards it. Presumably to contain the [dragon?]?

I forgot Nenealeus has a sword - I guess then he knows magic artforms similar to those of a Knight-Enchanter or Arcane Warrior. Also here, Marquette echoes the Executor in TN, with the sentiment that Qintara fell with Ventus. Nenealeus is then referencing Gaius, the impersonator Qintara, right? That’s interesting; Gaius’ true master was Fen’Harel, on whose behalf he accessed important information about the world. This means then [?] that some of the time when Gaius believed himself to be working on behalf of Fen’Harel, he was really being manipulated by Nenealeus. Poor Gaius, at different points Fen’Harel and Nenealeus were pulling his strings. Does Nenealeus’ manipulation refer to Gaius trading it away to House Danarius for information?

Marquette references the red lyrium idol, and suddenly my Dragon Age 4 ears are pricking the way Autumn’s do. x) He mentions that it makes weapons, referencing I assume Meredith’s lyrium sword, Certainty and the ritual blade that pops out from the base of the idol during The Dread Wolf Take You. I wonder when the events of this comic take place in relation to the stories related at the spy meeting in TDWTY? Is this before or after the events of the Mortalitasi’s tale? At any rate, Marquette voices something we’ve been obsessing over: what else can and does the idol do specifically, beyond just making weapons and being Ominous and Powerful? Because whatever it is, it’s key to Solas’ ongoing plans, and Solas obviously knows.

So it seems that the villains’ plan is to use the red lyrium idol’s sword part with the sarcophagus, red lyrium, a ritual and [the thing Tractus shows them in that panel - the dragon?] in order to transform Shirallas into, essentially, a Red Wraith, a Red Lyrium Fenris. And then to arm him, under Nenealeus’ control, with the sword.

Does Shirallas still have his vallaslin - is it just the lighting and the angle in that panel? Also, that panel with Shirallas and Nenealeus looks so ominous and foreboding 😭 .. (and reminds me somehow of Fenris and Danarius when Fenris was still his slave and bodyguard) Shirallas, we really are in it now 😭 This is a really cool panel btw, like the composition, the lighting, the dramatic-ness.

Nenealeus is motivated by a desire to route the Antaam from Tevinter (like the mage in the Mortalitasi’s tale in TDWTY) and reconquer lost lands in order to restore the glory of the Imperium (which reminds me in a way of of Aurelian Titus, who also wanted to restore the Imperium to greatness). Classically Tevinter here.

“Danarius the Lesser” is a sick burn. I’d guess Tractus’ life thus far, as a bastard, has had themes and struggles with inferiority and consequent lack of power but desire for it (being disrespected, but craving respect, being connected to a certain world but not really part of it, in fact rejected by it). Venatori connection confirmed. That the Venatori had to be convinced to accept someone as a Danarius - implications for the role of the Venatori remnants and their role in Tevinter and things in general going forwards? Lightning flashes overhead as Tractus and Nenealeus have this face-off in that panel, emphasizing the tension between the two. I wonder what the magic in the fortress and in the courtyard can do? It’d have been no mean feat to escape from this place as a slave, it seems, especially bearing in mind there’s only one proper way out, that causeway (passage not included). Tractus’ staff-head lights up when he’s making a threat (uh-oh), and then wow! Shirallas moves so quickly, in the blink of an eye suddenly appearing out of nowhere and startling the guard-mage onlookers. He’s fast and formidable.

I wonder about Tractus. Is he a “half blood” because he’s a bastard and his mother wasn’t an Altus, or even wasn’t a mage, or because he’s a bastard and his mother was an elf? Or both?

Will we see a face-off between perrepataes (Marius and Shirallas)? Will Marius face-off against his former master, Nenealeus? Perhaps a showdown between the Blue Wraith and the “Red Wraith” is on the cards?

Back to our team in the tavern! There’s a looot of great character content packed into these pages, which is really cool. Each brief character interaction conveys a lot, and in general this sequence is just well-executed imo. How troubled and tired Aaron looks at the bar (my heart.. it hurts); Fran worrying for Aaron; Vaea knowing that she can’t pressure him too much because that’s just not how it works when it comes to folks who struggle with issues like these; Vaea asking after Fran’s wellbeing; Fran struggling to come to terms with what happened to her father; Fenris watching the door waiting for news (he’s so vigilant isn’t he? safety, an escape-route..); Marius Broods Harder; Vaea’s [relative] pacifism being highlighted; Vaea engaging Marius looking for reassurance; and the choice of having Marius break his silence now is meaningful and impactful in that it shows what happens when one becomes ‘numb’ to the constant murderizing of people, so to speak. Fenris then rightfully points out that becoming numb to killing and violence isn’t really a good thing and is worse, really, than being ‘soft’ or uncomfortable with it. I wonder if he’s speaking from experience here, given the hundreds of people Hawke and co kill their way through during the Kirkwall years, for example. Then Vaea’s concern for Aaron and his state of mind, and Fenris’ uncanny insight into that, of a man he’s only recently met.

Tessa looks so cute when she comes in the door! I love Vaea’s lil “:D” face when she sees her, and I wonder what the tavern food on the table is.

Those two panels, when Fenris talks about Hawke and Leandra, are the biggest emotional gut-punch in the preview pages 😭 omg.. I’m not strong enough for this.. bls... bruh... This is then compounded by (hitting me when I’m down!!) the look of sheer... fear, fury, alarm, upset, shock - that appears on Fenris’ face as soon as he hears “I found Danarius”. Seriously, look at his eyes here. He (understandably) still has a trauma-response associated with the name/man.

Bless Tessa.

I have to say, it’s very Metal of Fenris that not only did he kill Danarius in DA2 (in those universes), but he has also been going around Tevinter since then killing all of Danarius’ [adult] heirs, and that his response to learning there’s still one remaining is to grab his sword and go to march off with the aim of ending the bloodline a second time. Very metal

I love the final panels in the preview as well! Vaea’s sense/smarts and how she wasn’t afraid to tell Fenris no, Autumn’s giant ears, how Autumn also moves with Vaea to step in front of Fenris to stop him (SHE! HELPED!!!), Autumn’s Happy Face and furiously wagging tail and agreement with Aaron, and Proud Dad Aaron rising from his slump to praise Vaea with the most Proudest Daddest expression that you ever did see... ( ´•̥̥̥ω•̥̥̥` )

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casperthecuriouswriter · 4 years

Note

So if you're comfortable writing for him can I get some Loghain x reader in here? He's an absolute son of a bitch but I care for him anyway

LOGHAIN X READER - A Bastard’s Reprieve

1069 words

TW - mild cursing, references to some of the plot of origins, Loghain being kind of dickish, and as much hurt/comfort as I could figure out for him lmao. And OOC Loghain, I’ve never written him before, so bear with me. Also not beta read

Also, Grammarly is very upset with me because it doesn’t know half of what I was writing, and also its 10pm, and yeah. And I am so sorry for not actually answering the asks in my inbox, I swear I will try to get to them as fast as I can, quarantine has just been kicking my ass with depression, and then I’m also trying to get ready for college since I have to move in. AND I FIGURED OUT THE READ MORE LINK IT ONLY TOOK ME HOW LONG????

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You knew he was a bastard the moment you’d met him. The infamous Teyrn Loghain, who had fought alongside Maric in the war for Fereldan. A War Hero. Some hero, you thought, watching as he stalked angrily down the hall towards the castle library. You had come with the last of the Grey Wardens for the Landsmeet and knew full well that Alistair was itching at the chance for revenge. He’d deserve whatever he got, after letting the King, his King, his best friend and brother-in-arms’ son, his daughter’s husband, be brutally slaughtered by darkspawn. But still, your Fereldan heart ached at the thought of someone who had fought so hard for this country, dying by the blade of its only heir.

So you followed him.

Found him sitting, slumped over in a chair with his head in his hands as his shoulders heaved. What he had done, the lives he had sacrificed, he knew the blood was on his hands and his hands only. And you were sure that he was aware that Alistair would get his revenge, Duncan would get justice.

Loghain turned at the sound of your footsteps, and he glared at you as you propped your hip on the table beside him. “What do you want?” He practically growled, getting ready to shove off away from the table.

“You look like shit.”

He let out a dry, bark of a laugh, and ran his hand down the side of his face as he sighed heavily. For once, the Hero of River Dane was wearing something other than his usual heavy armor, and he looked smaller without it. He was still a big man, of that there was no doubt, but he looked, worn and tired. In the dim lighting of the library, parchment sprawled out in front of him with a dry quill and a sealed pot of ink, he looked ready to give up. “And I suppose you’ve come to mock me? I am well aware of what your, companion,” he spat, clearly referencing Alistair, “seeks to do. As much as he’d hate to know it, he certainly does act like his father.”

Furrowing your brow, you hopped up onto the table and crossed your arms. “No.” At his withering glare, you continued. “Honest. You were my best friend’s hero growing up, and, I mean, well, I suppose I feel guilty. Because of tomorrow.”

“I am not some Chantry Sister for you to confess your sins to.” Damn, you were starting to regret following him if this was all the conversation you were going to get out of him.

“Never said you were.” You sighed, holding back the urge to roll your eyes. “Look, Loghain, you did some horrible shit, not going to deny that. You’ve also had to deal with the weight of helping Anora and Cailan rule Fereldan. I’m not here to rub in the fact that there’s a high chance of you dying tomorrow.”

“You just did.”

“Not the point.” This time you did roll your eyes. “I just wanted to say that I hope you don’t die. And that, I’m sorry you had to go through everything and got manipulated by Howe. Lissa told me what he did, the right prick, and I know he fucked you over too.”

Loghain leaned back into the chair, dark and weary eyes looking up at you as you spoke. His lips were pulled tight into a frown, and the part of you that you were trying to tamp down wanted to reach forward and run your fingers across the wrinkles that formed on his forehead. “What are you playing at?”

“Not going to lie, I wanted to see how you were. You’ve been through some rough shit, and are bound to go through more. You may technically be my enemy according to, well, everyone, but it doesn’t mean you have to go through it alone.”

He snorted, raising one eyebrow and looking at you in a way that made your breath catch in your throat. The man before you paused, seemingly waiting for you to continue, but when you didn’t elaborate, he took that as a cue to stand. He moved towards the far end of the library, and it was then you noticed that you were the only two in the entire room. No guards posted at the doors, no scholars on the higher levels searching through the dusty old tomes, just you and him.

Loghain turned to you once he had reached the wide doors to the balcony, smirked, and gestured for you to follow. The faint light of the moon made the bruises under his eyes look so much darker, and you bit your lip as you waited for him to speak.

“What exactly were you expecting? When you came in here after me, wondering after my wellbeing like we’re friends. That Alistair wouldn’t be too pleased, now would he?”

You were silent, not answering him as you slowly lifted a hand, giving him plenty of time to move away or to grab your wrist, and cupped his cheek. Loghain’s body went rigid, a genuinely confused look gracing his stern features, before he leaned into your touch. You smiled sadly at his reaction, and ran your thumb along his cheekbone, your other hand quickly coming up to mimic the action on the other side of his face. You couldn’t remember when his wife had died, but with how content he looked with his face in your hands, you knew he hadn’t felt a friendly touch since.

“I had hoped you would let me comfort you, even just a little.”

He cracked his eyes open, hands coming up to cup yours where they were still on his cheeks. “I will die tomorrow, won’t I?”

The quiet, almost vulnerable sound of Loghain’s voice made you pull back and grab him into a hug. He sank down into the embrace, and you reached a hand up to card your fingers through his hair as the other drew small circles on his back. You couldn’t lie to him, couldn’t promise him that you would try to talk Alistair out of killing him, couldn’t promise that he would live to see the sunset tomorrow. So you held him, as tight as you could and for as long as you could.

Loghain would die tomorrow, one way or another. And there was nothing you could do.

#loghain mac tir #loghain x reader #dragon age x reader #i am so sorry this took me so long #but I'm back #for now at least #so here take some loghain hurt/comfort angst stuff in this trying time

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prince-everhard · 4 years

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Prince’s Whumptober 2020 masterpost

Gonna have links, titles, summaries, and all that jazz under a readmore because i decided to really push myself and do all 31 prompts separately. Thank you to everyone who liked and reblogged my work; your support means the world to me and makes me want to keep writing!

multiparters here have been listed in chronological order rather than posting order for ease of reading.

FAHC

No 1. LET’S HANG OUT SOMETIME Waking Up Restrained | Shackled | Hanging

Title: another duck joins the flock Fandom: FAHC Character(s): Geoff, Michael Rating: T Warning(s): blood, handcuffs Wordcount: 728 Summary: Or how the Fakes gained their most famous muscle. [tidied up/expanded this never-to-be-posted fahc wip for whumptober]

Naruto

No 2. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY “Pick Who Dies” | Collars | Kidnapped

Title: and the worst part of waiting is the anticipation Fandom: Naruto Character(s): Team 7 Rating: T Warning(s): blood, vomit Wordcount: 951 Summary: Team Seven gets captured. [part of the whumptober au]

No 3. MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY Manhandled | Forced to their Knees | Held at Gunpoint

Title: A Teaching Moment Fandom: Naruto Character(s): Sakura, Kabuto Rating: T Warning(s): none Wordcount: 498 Summary: Kabuto makes her an offer she can’t refuse. [part of the whumptober au]

No 29. I THINK I NEED A DOCTOR Intubation | Emergency Room | Reluctant Bedrest

Title: Graduation Fandom: Naruto Character(s): Sakura, Kabuto, Rating: T+? Warning(s): blood Wordcount: 835 Summary: Kabuto has one more test before Sakura can be considered a true medic-nin. [part of the whumptober au]

No 15. INTO THE UNKNOWN Possession | Magical Healing | Science Gone Wrong

Title: Arboreal Fandom: Naruto Character(s): Sakura Rating: T Warning(s): needles Wordcount: 803 Summary: It was only a matter of time before Sakura found something that could help her escape. [part of the whumptober au]

No 9. FOR THE GREATER GOOD “Take Me Instead” | “Run!” | Ritual Sacrifice

Title: no good deed goes unpunished Fandom: Naruto Character(s): Naruto, Teuchi, Kyuubi Rating: T Warning(s): violence against children Wordcount: 972 Summary: Something goes wrong on his seventh birthday. Naruto might never be the same again.

No 26. IF YOU THOUGHT THE HEAD TRAUMA WAS BAD… Migraine | Concussion | Blindness

Title: Degradation Fandom: Naruto Character(s): Kakashi, Sakura, Naruto Rating: T Warning(s): dismemberment ment Wordcount: 187 Summary: Kakashi knows that power comes with a price.

Dragon Age

No 6. PLEASE…. “Get it Out” | No More | “Stop, please”

Title: Like Dogs Fandom: Dragon Age Character(s): Female Tabris, Shianni, Soris, Nelaros Rating: M Warning(s): implied/offscreen rape, violence against women, blood Wordcount: 1640 Summary: It was supposed to be a good thing, getting married. It wasn’t. [this is really just a love letter to the origin that fucking shooketh me]

No 19. BROKEN HEARTS Grief | Mourning Loved One | Survivor’s Guilt

Title: all’s fair but war is not without casualties Fandom: Dragon Age Character(s)/Pairing(s): Female Cousland, Alistair; ex-Alistair/Warden Rating: T Warning(s): none Wordcount: 695 Summary: Ten years after the Blight ends, Elissa Cousland runs into someone she never thought she’d see again. It, uh, doesn’t go quite as planned. [mostly canon compliant; Loghain is spared and becomes a warden]

No 11. PSYCH 101 Defiance | Struggling | Crying

Title: Duty Fandom: Dragon Age Character(s): Female Cousland, Eleanor, Bryce Rating: T Warning(s): blood, betrayal, last stand Wordcount: 633 Summary: Even without interference, history marches on. A what-if scenario if Duncan wasn’t there to recruit the Cousland. [part of iron & ash]

No 23. WHAT’S A WHUMPEE GOTTA DO TO GET SOME SLEEP AROUND HERE? Exhaustion | Narcolepsy | Sleep Deprivation

Title: To Ostagar Fandom: Dragon Age Character(s): Female Cousland Rating: T Warning(s): none Wordcount: 545 Summary: Jasmine is determined to get vengeance for her family. [part of iron & ash]

No 14. IS SOMETHING BURNING? Branding | Heat Exhaustion | Fire

Title: Consequences Fandom: Dragon Age Character(s): Female Surana Rating: T Warning(s): none Wordcount: 368 Summary: Surana helps her best friend escape the Circle, and the consequences are more than she bargained for.

No 21. I DON’T FEEL SO WELL Chronic Pain | Hypothermia | Infection

Title: Corrupted Fandom: Dragon Age Character(s): Female Mahariel, Duncan Rating: Gen Warning(s): none Wordcount: 192 Summary: It’s a long journey from the Brecilian Forest to Ostagar for someone with blight sickness.

No 31. TODAY’S SPECIAL: TORTURE Experiment | Whipped | Left for Dead

Title: Big Sister Instinct Fandom: Dragon Age Character(s): Female Hawke, Unnamed Templars Rating: T Warning(s): torture, violence against women Wordcount: 325 Summary: Marian Hawke would rather die than betray her family. She might even just get the chance to do it.

Mass Effect

No 4. RUNNING OUT OF TIME Caged | Buried Alive | Collapsed Building

Title: never forget to bury your regret (before it buries you) Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Male Shepard, Human OC Rating: T Warning(s): cave-in, blood, character death Wordcount: 450 Summary: Survival training goes south in the ICT.

No 7. I’VE GOT YOU Support | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker

Title: First Contact Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Turian OC, Human OC Rating: T Warning(s): injuries, broken bones, vomit, vehicular crash Wordcount: 1150 Summary: Decimus isn’t ready to die, but he’s especially not ready to die on a stupid scouting mission to a stupid alien colony. [set during the First Contact War; probably not canon-compliant but idgaf]

No 18. PANIC! AT THE DISCO Panic Attacks | Phobias | Paranoia

Title: what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger (and what does makes you scarred forever) Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Female Shepard, Edi, Tali’Zorah, Garrus Vakarian Rating: T Warning(s): panic attack, open space Wordcount: 662 Summary: Shepard isn’t afraid of getting spaced. No, really. [a closer look at the geth dreadnought mission]

No 28. SUCH WOW. MANY NORMAL. VERY OOPS. Accidents | Hunting Season | Mugged

Title: Torfan Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Female Shepard, Major Kyle Rating: T Warning(s): blood, guns, drugging Wordcount: 589 Summary: How the Butcher came to be.

No 25. I THINK I’LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKS Disorientation | Blurred Vision | Ringing Ears

Title: Rest Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s)/Pairing(s): Female Shepard, Anderson; referenced Shepard/Vega Rating: T Warning(s): blood, character death Wordcount: 1018 Summary: A father-daughter moment after they open the arms of the Citadel. [part of Alder]

No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING? On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue

Title: they found you on the floor Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Female Shepard Rating: T Warning(s): alcohol, vomit, underage drinking Wordcount: 348 Summary: Like mother like daughter; Shepard deals with her trauma after Mindoir. [part of Gloria Shepard]

No 22. DO THESE TACOS TASTE FUNNY TO YOU? Poisoned | Drugged | Withdrawal

Title: there’s easier ways to die Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Female Shepard, Ashley Williams Rating: T Warning(s): DTs, vomit mention Wordcount: 368 Summary: Shepard takes a stand against her own demons. [part of Gloria Shepard]

No 17. I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING Blackmail | Dirty Secret | Wrongfully Accused

Title: you crawled up on your cross Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Female Shepard, Jacob Taylor Rating: T Warning(s): alcohol Wordcount: 645 Summary: Shepard gets a morale boost from a crewmate. [part of Gloria Shepard]

No 16. A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY Forced to Beg | Hallucinations | Shoot the Hostage

Title: Cornered Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Garrus, Female Shepard Rating: T Warning(s): broken bones Wordcount: 1281 Summary: Garrus gets into some trouble. [part of the omega non-reaper au]

No 20. TOTO, I HAVE A FEELING WE’RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE Lost | Field Medicine | Medieval

Title: Ancient History Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Female Shepard, Garrus Rating: T Warning(s): injuries, death, self-destructive/suicidal actions Wordcount: 1223 Summary: Jane is an enigma and Garrus just wants to figure her out. [part of the omega non-reaper au]

No 8. WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO? “Don’t Say Goodbye” | Abandoned | Isolation

Title: After Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Garrus, Female Shepard Rating: T Warning(s): injuries, death Wordcount: 440 Summary: Jane comes for Garrus after the gangs’ assault. [part of the omega non-reaper au]

No 30. NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? Wound Reveal | Ignoring an Injury | Internal Organ Injury

Title: Debt Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s)/Pairing(s): Garrus, Female Shepard, Mordin; mutual pining Shakarian Rating: T Warning(s): painkillers Wordcount: 590 Summary: After the gangs’ assault, Garrus overhears something. [part of the omega non-reaper au]

Undertale

No 13. BREATHE IN BREATHE OUT Delayed Drowning | Chemical Pneumonia | Oxygen Mask

Title: Drowning Fandom: Undertale Character(s): Toriel, Asgore Rating: T Warning(s): character death, child death Wordcount: 156 Summary: Asriel brought Chara home one last time.

[replacing no. 27] Alt 7. Found Family

Title: The Door Fandom: Undertale Character(s): Frisk, Papyrus, Sans Rating: Gen Warning(s): none Wordcount: 357 Summary: Just a little look at what could be a meeting with Gaster

Red vs Blue

No 12. I THINK I’VE BROKEN SOMETHING Broken Down | Broken Bones | Broken Trust

Title: Being a twin is a Hard Thing Fandom: Red vs Blue Character(s): South Dakota Rating: T Warning(s): psychological trauma Wordcount: 281 Summary: In the days before Wash finds them, South gets… introspective. [canon compliant? taken from a wip I was never going to finish so I fleshed it out for whumptober instead]

Original Fiction

No 10. THEY LOOK SO PRETTY WHEN THEY BLEED Blood Loss | Internal Bleeding | Trail of Blood

Title: please leave a message Rating: T Warning(s): blood Wordcount: 537 Summary: A detective’s work is never done. Antonia deals with the news that her most famous case’s subject is on the run again. [original fiction]

No 24. YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE Forced Mutism | Blindfolded | Sensory Deprivation

Title: Secondary Location Rating: Gen? Warning(s): kidnapping Wordcount: 143 Summary: Antonia wakes up on the wrong side of the city. [original fiction]

#whumptober2020 #prince fic #masterpost #long post #holy shit y'all i did it

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abigailsfictionalothers-archive · 4 years

Text

We’ll Go Down in History - Alistair x Me

A/N: Been feeling really sad and stressed today because of some big news, so what did I do? Ignored all of my responsibilities and wrote 2000 words of Alistair x Me fanfiction in one sitting! Figure some of y’all might enjoy seeing it as well, so here you go! This is a continuation of a little later after that piece I wrote last week :) Also this concept is HEAVILY inspired by an imagine I saw that I reblogged a little while ago!

Word Count: 1926

Warnings: Light, light, light allusions to violence and character death

Tagging: (Some who asked to be tagged, and others I thought might be interested! Anyone else lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future works!)

@sacredempressnatlyia

@nekociapek

@imagine-your-love-story

~~~

I always hated being around for royal business, but as long as Alistair had to attend to it, I would be there to support him. I could hate having to stand there and watch him dealing with rude people who felt entitled to his time and energy, but of course he had it worse in that situation, and I would do just about anything to help ease his discomfort over it; even if it meant just standing to the side and watching.

On any normal day, I would be out around Denerim on my own, finding jobs to do, helping people, keeping myself occupied. It's not as if I technically needed the work anymore, I lived in the palace now, officially an advisor to the king. I did advise him from time to time, but it was far less professional than most thought. While most assumed that the king had taken on his old friend and war time companion to advise him in a time of dire need, the truth was that we had finally been reunited after nearly a decade, when we went on an epic quest to find the truth about Alistair's long lost father, and had finally admitted that we loved each other along the way. He had asked me to come live with him in Denerim so that we could be together, and despite the stresses, of course I agreed. I tried to retain some of my old adventuring life, where I traveled all across Thedas, with the daily outings, and Alistair encouraged it, but of course I had to forgo that sometimes to keep up the front we had invented for ourselves in the effort to keep our relationship a secret. Which led to days like this one.

The king was due for a royal outing, to check on the well being of his subjects. He tended to enjoy this responsibility more than most of his other ones, although it still made me nervous. Who knew what random person would be horribly rude to Alistair in some way, shape, or form, leaving me to watch his discomfort helplessly? Or worse, what if someone attempted to harm him? He could defend himself, and had an insane amount of guards ready at every turn, I knew this, but still, the thought of someone trying to hurt him made me sick. Still, whatever my worries, I would stand there, and observe, so that every few minutes, Alistair could look over at me, see me smile, and strengthen his resolve to continue with his responsibilities.

So there I was, watching him talk to some of his subjects in the street. He glanced over at me and I did my best to smile lightly, as I was finally beginning to accept that nothing horrible would happen. He smiled in return, and if his smile didn't set my stomach to fluttering and make my heart squeeze almost painfully, I would almost have to scold him for his lack of subtlety. I was sure any person paying enough attention would be able to tell that the exchange wasn't a platonic one.

"Are you the king's advisor Ser Wallace?"

I was shaken from my thoughts when one of the ladies that had been talking with Alistair addressed me, "Oh, yes, that's me."

Immediately, much of the crowd turned to look at me. Well that was just fantastic.

One of the younger adults in the area stared at me in awe, "It's so incredible that you've returned to Ferelden to advise the king! Given your history, you must make such a fantastic duo!"

"Our history?" I panicked for a brief moment.

"You two do seem to be the best of friends, and what with your shared history of fighting the Blight and all! We've all heard the stories of the part you played as a team to help bring down the Archdemon!"

It was Alistair's turn to speak up in confusion now, "Stories? I wasn't aware of the tales of Ser Wallace and I still get told so frequently.”

Many in the crowd nodded eagerly. The young individual who had spoken up spoke again, "Of course they do! Even if you weren't king, Your Majesty, the two of you were an epic duo during the Blight! National heroes, you are! All the children that have been born since the Battle of Denerim have been told the tale of how Ser Wallace pledged allegiance to the Grey Wardens after they saved her from some nasty hurlocks in the woods, and spent the next year fighting with you to eradicate the evil from this land! Or how the two of you defended the gates of Denerim in the final battle, leading the troops in battle! You two are like heroes of legend!" Many of the children around had worked their way to the front of the crowd now.

I remembered both those days so clearly. The day my life had changed forever, when I'd been gathering some herbs in the forest near Gwaren for the apothecary, and had been attacked by darkspawn. They'd been so terrifying, such monstrous creatures, and even as I wielded my daggers, trying my best to force them off, I had been certain I was going to die. Brosca and her team, including Alistair, had burst forth from the woods, then, and had surely saved my life. It wasn't hard to see that they were Grey Wardens, but even with all the nasty rumors Loghain had spread about their involvement in the death of King Cailan, I didn't really care. I knew then and there that if the Blight truly meant an army of those monsters were coming, I had to do what I could to stop them. I wouldn't say I pledged my allegiance to them so much, but I vowed to help them from there on out until the Blight was over, and I changed my life forever in doing so.

And the Battle of Denerim. Oh, how could I forget it.

"Your Majesty, Ser Wallace, will you tell us about the Battle of Denerim please?" One of the children spoke up, once again shaking me from my reflection. I turned to Alistair, waiting for his response.

He raised an eyebrow teasingly, "What do you say, Ser Wallace? Up to tell some old war tales?"

I had to refrain from rolling my eyes at him and smiling, "At your discretion, my King."

He grinned and immediately turned back to his audience, beckoning me closer at the same time, which I complied with, "The sky was red as blood that day-"

~~~

I thought that I was surely going to die, along with everyone I loved, as I looked up at that sky. Murky, cloudy, blood red, it signaled my doom, along with all of Thedas. As much as I hated to say it, I was angry at Brosca for leaving me at the gate. The darkspawn only came in waves here, and at least if I was inside, constantly fighting, I wouldn't have the time to contemplate the sky. But instead, she had taken Morrigan, Leliana and Zevran, and I was left behind to hear the Archdemon die from afar.

I didn't know at the time that I would never see Brosca again.

"Next wave!" I heard Alistair yell, and I readied my position. When I saw the darkspawn coming, all I felt was anger. What a difference from one year ago, when just seeing a darkspawn had scared me enough to make me change the course of my whole life.

When that wave was over, Alistair approached me. "Is everything alright on this side?"

I grimaced, "We're hurting, but it could be worse. Just need Brosca to hurry up and kill that overgrown lizard."

Even with all the destruction around him, Alistair smiled at my ill-timed joke. Oh, how I had wanted to kiss him then.

"With any luck, it will be over soon. For good."

"And then you'll be king."

He frowned. "And then I'll be king."

"Does it scare you? I thought you said once that you preferred to follow. As compared to leading."

"It does. I do."

"You'll be good at it anyway, you know. Just look at what you've helped make happen here to day! All these soldiers trust you."

"That doesn't mean I won't still need help. Support, that is. Wallace, when this is over, woul-"

"Your majesty! Another wave incoming!" One of the generals shouted from the walls.

I smiled at Alistair, "Ask me later, yeah? When everything is good."

"When everything is good."

~~~

"-and then we saw a big explosion coming from the top of Fort Drakon, a light that blinded us all, and as it cleared, and the remaining darkspawn began to flee, it became clear that we had succeeded, and the Archdemon was dead!"

All the kids in the crowd echoed little sounds of awe, while most of the adults shuddered, remembering the day.

I chuckled lightly at Alistair's dramatized telling, the details of which varied slightly from mine, "As exciting as it was, it's getting late, my King. We should probably be headed back to the palace." All of his guards and other members of his entourage sighed in relief.

Alistair pouted slightly, and all the kids made sounds of disappointment, but he still straightened himself and began to bid his farewells to the crowd anyway.

~~~

Later that evening, we sat in Alistair’s study, as we do every evening, and he went over his papers that needed to be reviewed and signed, while I read on the couch, in front of the fire. I had recently picked up a history book from the library. As I read about all the epic feats these people had accomplished, I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened earlier in the day.

Soon, I heard Alistair’s quill get set down on his desk.

“So I suppose we’re a duo worthy of legend to the people, then?” I turned to him to find him grinning mischievously. I rolled my eyes at him and smiled, freely this time.

“Who would’ve thought, huh?”

He laughed a little, “Is it so hard to believe? We do make a pretty awesome pair.”

I found myself laughing now, "We do, honestly. Still, I never saw myself as the legendary type."

"Neither did I, to be fair."

I scoffed dramatically, "You're the King of Ferelden!"

"And you left behind everything you knew of a basic village life to fight in a war and protect your people. That's pretty epic all on it's own, wouldn't you think?"

"I think being a king and Grey Warden is more cause for stories and celebration than some 19-year-old who decided it would be beneficial to me to fight monsters I was scared shitless of."

"If I was to go down in history for anything, I'd much rather it be because I was fighting beside you than anything else."

Once I had registered his words, I had to fight to hold back my tears, "Alright, you big sap, you can reign it in. Since we're legends and all, how about we head to bed early tonight? I think we deserve that much."

Alistair smiled softly at my deflection, "You're right. We deserve the rest." He moved to put away his things and stand.

"Hey Al?"

"Yes, love?"

"The day of the Battle of Denerim, you were going to ask me something, when we were at the gate, but you got interrupted. Do you remember what you were going to ask me?"

I found him biting his lip, thinking about it. Soon enough, his eyes found mine, "I was going to ask you to stay with me. In Denerim. Like you are now, I suppose."

I was a bit shocked, "Even then?"

"I always knew you were the only support I wanted or needed."

I found myself fighting back tears once again, "I'm glad I can be around to help. I'm sorry it took so long."

"I'm just happy you're here now."

"So if you've finally asked, I guess that means everything is good now?"

"Everything is good now."

#my writing #otp: king and longing heart #self ship writing #selfship writing #self insert writing #selfship #self insert shipping #selfshipping #self shipping #self ship community #selfship community #self insert community

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tabikato · 4 years

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If you had asked Hue what his thoughts were on Lothering he would give the response that it was very...brown. The further they moved towards the village, the more open the fields were but what surprised him more was that there was a serious lack of green. Sure there was the occasional bushes and some grass, maybe a tree or two, but everything was so...open. Open and not much excitement save for the occasional darkspawn to kill and raider to chase off. Speaking of which...

“I do not see why you did not just do away with them”, Morrigan frowns, crossing her arms as Hue descended the stairs, the raiders from early chased off easily enough. Though it was rather amusing to see a bunch of grown men run in fear from an elf of such short stature, there was no way Hue could know they wouldn’t come back with reinforcements. Especially with the peculiar information the raiders spouted out, something about these two killing the King. As if Alistair had any sense to accomplish that kind of feat, Hue on the other hand, probably not either but he was much more unpredictable to say the least.

“You suppose I should have killed them?”,he questioned, crinkling his nose at the thought, “Driving them off solved the same problem, what’s the point of killing just because you can?” Well, point taken, though she didn’t have to agree with it. Better to be cautious than to be merciful but then again, she wasn’t one of the mighty Gray Wardens here. Speaking of useless Gray Wardens…

“Well, there it is. Lothering. Pretty as a painting.” Alistair extended his arms out, presenting the hodge-podge village with more flair than needed. Hue leaned on the stone banister, looking over the village in a mixture of awe and disappointment. After Ostagar, the village seems a little lackluster in comparison. Houses made of wood and thatching, patchwork fixes to keep the weather at bay. Dirt roads flattened by the consistent to and fro of workers to their daily tasks. The large stone structure was pretty interesting, so large you could fit a few families in it with a high wall and open arch. So many sounds and smells wafted with the breeze, all so unfamiliar that he fought the urge to jump down and begin exploring. And the people, he’d never seen so many gathered about in different clothes and conversations other than Ostagar! Clothes in various shades of brown, gray, and white greeted his eyes from a distance. It wasn’t “pretty” in his mind but it definitely was fascinating.

“Ah. So you have finally decided to rejoin us, have you? Falling on your blade in grief seemed like too much trouble, I take it?” Oh no. He had forgotten for a moment that these two, for whatever reason, really, really did not get along. Maybe Alistair would ignore her, act the bigger man and they could continue to the tavern...

“Is my being upset so hard to understand?!”, Or fight back, “Have you never lost someone important to you? Just what would you do if your mother died?!”

“Before or after I stopped laughing?”

“Right. Creepy. Forget I asked.” Ruffles whined and he pet the Mabari behind the ears before turning his attention to the two squabbling hens.

“Are you sure you two aren’t related?” They both gagged, turning away from each other to yell at Hue but he had other plans, “What did you want to talk about, Alistair?”

“His navel, I suspect. He certainly has been contemplating it for long enough.”

“It is a nice navel.”

“Are you honest--what?”, anger rose and fell within seconds, scowling eyes turned from Morrigan to narrow ones at Hue, “No. No, nevermind, I don’t even want to know where that trail of thought is going.” Hue just shrugged, the beginnings of a smirk pulling at his lips.

“Down to your navel it seems.” Okay, Alistair decided to ignore wherever that was going.

“So, I get it. This is the part where we’re shocked to discover how you’ve never had a friend your entire life”, his mocking tone earned a scoff from Morrigan, gaining some satisfaction out of her offended look.

“I can be friendly when I desire to! Alas, desiring to be more intelligent does not make it so.”

“Wait...you think friends make you stupid?” Morrigan blinked at the chuckling elf, eyes narrowing.

“I’m beginning to suspect, yes.”

“Anyway...I thought we should talk about where we intend to go, first.” Alistair interrupted, saving them all from yet another looping conversation they were prone to have. The only saving grace of those was that it made the trip seem shorter.

“Got any ideas?”

“This should be good” Ignoring Morrigan’s sneer, Alistair turned to his fellow Gray Warden.

“I think what Flemeth suggested is the best idea. These treaties...have you looked at them?” Hue’s large blinking eyes told him all he needed to know and he sighed, knowing the question about to spill forth, “The treaties, Hue, the ones we got from Flemeth. With these we will be able to ask for assistance, maybe even raise an army.”

“Oh! Those things!”

“There are three main groups we have treaties for: the Dalish elves, the dwarves of Orzammar, and the Circle of Magi. I also think that Arl Eamon is our best bet for help. We might even want to go to him first.”

“My clan’s already moved north…”, Hue cocked his head, eyes turned to the sky, “but there’s another that’s usually in Brecilian forest. Wait...why are you leaving this up to me?” With a furrow brow, he turned his gaze back to the human. Shouldn’t he be the one making the decisions here?

“Well, I don’t know where we should go! I’ll do whatever you decide!” Alistair’s voice cracked a bit, shoulders tight as he deflected back onto the other. “Arl Eamon is a good man, but I don’t know for sure he’s where we should go. I’m not going to fight about it!” That was...weird. Aside from the moping, which would be normal for such heavy losses, Alistair had been more on edge. He'd assumed the added tension and constant bickering with Morrigan was it but now he had his doubts. Was Alistair...lost?

“O...kay. Well, I am a hunter so...I guess that’s fine?” What more could he say? Aside from some hunts, Hue’s never led anything his whole life and now Alistair was just expecting him to do just that. “Still, I’d like to know what you guys think too. The group should be in agreement. What about you Morrigan?”

“Go after your enemy directly. Find this man, Loghain, and kill him. The rest of this business with the treaties can then be done in safety.” Okay, she has a point, it’s a great point but also just a very bad idea in general. One, they have no idea where Loghain was, second…

“Yeees, he certainly wouldn’t see that coming! And it’s not like he has the advantage of an army and experience and-”

“I was asked for my opinion and gave it! If your wish is to come up with reasons why something cannot be done, we will stand here until the darkspawn are upon us!”

“Guys!” His voice cut through, stopping them both, “Morrigan’s right, we can’t fight about this.”

“But we-”

“And you’re right too, going after Loghain now is too risky. There’s no way he hasn’t buried himself in his den, we’d walk right into a trap. For now, let’s get some food and figure things out as we look around.” A heavy sigh left his lips, both humans looked at least a bit guilty. They were all tired and probably just hungry, some food and rest would clear their heads and then they could make all those important decisions.

“There is a tavern not far from the entrance, come.”

All he had wanted was some damn food, maybe a drink, and be off his feet for a moment. Just to relax next to a fire and pretend for just one moment the world wasn't ending. What he hadn’t wanted was to be pulled into a fight right as they walked in the door. The tavern had been full of patrons, chattering and gossiping in a way that filled the whole room with noise. On the upper part he could hear a lute being strummed to some unfamiliar tune. And the smells! He had been eager to try food cooked in a tavern, it always made him curious when the other elves told him about it after their ventures into the villages. His eyes on the prize he hadn't expected to be stopped by some guards, guards that definitely looked like they wanted trouble.

“By order of Loghain, we are to kill the traitorous Gray Wardens.” Again? So this was Loghain’s doing, huh? Not enough to be a coward and let people die in Ostagar but now he was trying to hunt them down? To do what, eradicate the Gray Wardens? Did he hate them that much? A woman with red hair and a soft voice interrupted, dressed in a robe that he had seen people around the Chantry nearby wear. A “sister” Alistair had called them. Sister to whom he had no idea.

“Please, there is no need for violence here.” Had to give her credit, it was worth a shot but the guards were having none of it. Then they drew their weapons and it was chaos. Drawing his bow, he had to be much more precise in such an enclosed space. One miss and he might hit an innocent, the idea that these so-called “guards” didn’t even care about the people screaming in fear around them just made him angrier. Between the five of them, sister included, they had managed to take care of this mess...non-fatally of course. Wow, he’s on a roll today.

“Tell Loghain we know what he did and we’re coming for him” Teeth bared, his red eyes lit up from the fireplace glow, feral as one of the beasts he hunted. With a tight nod they scrambled, pride turned to fear, tripping over themselves right out the tavern. Well, that takes care of that.

“I apologise for interfering, but I couldn’t just sit by and not help.” Anger melted from his face as he turned to the woman...sister. She was pretty and her hair gave off a warm glow in the firelight, as if the flames themselves coloured the strands. The style cupped her face, a braid on the side, with a few strands falling gently on a pale face. Her eyes, blue and clear, were steadfast, holding his gaze before he realised he had yet answered her.

“I appreciate that.” The accent was different though, was she not from Ferelden? It didn’t sound like Marcher.

“I am glad you found it in your heart to offer those men mercy.” A tilt of her head, smile tight, “Let me introduce myself. I am Leliana, one of the lay sisters of the chantry here in Lothering. Or I was.”

“I”m Hue.”

“They said you were a Gray Warden. I’m surprised you’re an elf, but elves must want the Blight defeated as much as humans, no?” Her voice held genuine such curiosity, he didn’t have the heart to interrupt her, “I know after what happened, you’ll need all the help you can get. That’s why I’m coming along.” He blinked. Once, twice, letting the words sink in and when they finally hit him, he let out a confused sound.

“Wait, what? Why?”

“The Maker told me to.” Again...what? The Maker told her to follow him? His confusion must have been plain on his face because her confidence suddenly deteriorated, “I-I know that sounds...absolutely insane. But it’s true! I had a dream, a vision!”

“More crazy? I thought we were full up” Alistair whispered, scoffing at the idea. Considering he was the more religious of the three of them, if even he didn’t believe her…

“Look at the people here. They are lost in despair, and this darkness, this chaos will spread! The Maker doesn’t want this.”, her voice shook, so desperate in her plea that he actually started to feel for her, “What you do...what you are meant to do, is the Maker’s work. Let me help!” Aside from the fact that he was very much not Andrastian, he found he couldn't argue with her. She so passionately wanted to help, to stop this Blight and save people and whether it was the will of the Creators or Maker or what have you, he wasn’t going to turn that away.

“Well then, welcome to the party Leliana!” Arms spread wide, he welcomed her with a smile, warm gesture causing a smile on her face. The other two humans seemed to look a bit incredulous that they suddenly had a new...traveling partner.

“Perhaps your skull was cracked worse than Mother thought.” All that followed Morrigan's statement was more laughter as Hue walked over to order food. Finally!

After the meal he set about exploring Lothering, drawing exasperation from Morrigan and curiosity from Leliana when he flitted about like a hummingbird. Both women were assured that yes, this is normal, he does it all the time, please don't question it from a defeated Alistair. There was so much to see, so many sounds and smells and people to talk to. What he hadn’t expected was how many people needed help and despite Morrigan’s complaining he solved a few problems around the village, earning thanks and even some rewards. It was nice to be able to do things and it not turn into a giant mess for once.

Giving the elder some of the extra potions he had stored away, he caught a glint of metal. Curiosity moved his body faster than anyone could utter a word, forced to follow after the elf as he made his way to a large cage just outside the village arch. He heard before he saw; a deep voice reciting something in an unfamiliar language. Inside was a man, a giant of a man! Grayish skin stretched over large muscles and tight features, a strong jaw, sharp brow, and large nose made up his face. Large white braids were fastened tight to his skull, drawing to the back. One of this man's arms was at least equal to both the elf's legs! Red eyes widened in pure awe as Hue took in the giant who stood so still, he almost seemed like a statue. That is until eyes opened up and stared him down.

“You aren’t one of my captors.” Short, deep, to the point. Hue wasn’t sure why but that voice had him standing up straighter. “I have nothing to say that would amuse you, elf. Leave me in peace.”

“What are you?” Words, innocent as they were, left his mouth without filter.

“I am Qunari, is that not obvious?” Head shook no but it was only answered with a deep sigh.

“You’re a prisoner? Who put you in there?”

“I’m in a cage, am I not? I’ve been placed here by the Chantry.”

“The revered mother said he slaughtered an entire family...even the children”, Leliana’s voice reminded him that his friends had followed him, all standing behind the elf. Wide eyes froze, turning back to the strange man with that new knowledge.

“It is as she says.” Admittance; plain and simple. Something about that seemed...off to Hue though, what kind of murderer just admits their guilt and with such a tone? “I am Sten of the Beresaad--the vanguard--of the qunari peoples.”

“Ah, I’m Hue. Gray Warden. Nice to meet you.”

“You mock me.”, eyes narrowed but then replaced with confusion, “Or you show manners I have not come to expect in your lands.”

“Well, I mean...you introduced yourself so politely…”, finger scratched his cheek, was he not supposed to do that? The way this Qunari?...was staring at him was a little nerve-wracking, it was like the taller man was reading him like a book.

“It matters little, I will die soon enough.” Suddenly it dawned on him that Sten was actually locked in that cage, probably meant to starve to death or worse.

“This is a proud and powerful creature, trapped as prey for the darkspawn. If you cannot see a use for him, I suggest releasing him for mercy’s sake alone.”

“Mercy?”, Alistair snorted in surprise, “I wouldn’t have expected that from you.”

“I would also suggest that Alistair take his place in the cage.”

“Yes, that’s what I would have expected.” Morrigan’s words made Hue pause, ignoring their bantering as brow creased in thought. A use for him? It seemed leaving anyone to the fate of darkspawn was much too cruel, that he knew. If Sten had done what he said then yes, he did indeed deserve punishment but Hue just couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to this. It felt...odd and whenever he felt something was odd, he knew it wasn’t what it actually was. Was it?

“Are you guilty?” Sten was silent for a moment, furrowed brow regarding the elf.

“Are you asking if I feel guilt, or if I am responsible for the deed?” A pause and then his expression was stone once more, “However I feel, whatever I’ve done, my life is forfeit now. My regret will not bring back the dead.” And there it was, his decision made, he was going to get Sten to join them and that was that.

As much as he wanted to run and explore the Chantry and all it's nooks and crannies he was on a mission. Soldiers were standing around in various spots, Templars, as Alistair pointed out to him,. So that symbol was did mark them as Templars, that information would be useful for later. Who knows who might become their enemy and if the shem want to run around with large symbols emblazoned on their shields and armor to alert everyone who they were well...that seemed a them problem. Before any of that he marched his group right into the study in the back, determination set on his face.

Despite knowing the crime Leliana had actually helped him convince the Revered Mother to let them release Sten, as long as it was in Hue’s custody. She had caught on to his plan pretty quickly, offering assurances where he could not. Impressed, he smiled at her as they headed back into the main part of the Chantry.

“You’re really smart Leliana!”

“Oh? Thank you...I’m not sure what I did though.”

“You helped me get Sten out”, his smile was bright, genuine and she couldn’t help her own growing, “like redemption right? If he did do it, then stopping a Blight is better than him rotting away right?” Yes, she had guessed that was what he was thinking but it felt good hearing the words spill from his mouth. The Maker had truly chosen a merciful one. She watched as Hue approached the head templar, hands moving in animated fashion to his speech and the templar nodded. Seems he was quite pleased to hear that Hue had taken care of some bandits outside of the village. Her eyes followed the rest of her new companions; Alistair was busy talking to a knight nearby and Morrigan was near the door, eyeing every templar as if they’d attack on spot.

“Let’s go get Sten!” Hue’s cheerful voice popped up, his business done as he looked towards his friend, “Hey Alistair, let’s go!”

“Go ahead, I’ll join you.” With a nod, Hue walked right out the chantry with the two women, heading back to the cage.

“You wish something more of me?”

“Yea, I’m getting you out.” Sten’s eyes widened as the small elf started to unlock the cage, key in hand.

“I confess, I did not think the priestess would part with it.”

“She only agreed as long as you came with me.” The door swung open, Hue looked him right in the eye and Sten could only meet them in kind.

“Fine then, I will follow you against the Blight. In doing so I shall find my atonement.” Stepping out, he stretched out the limbs that had been cramped in that damn cage for too long. A warm smile greeted him, almost child-like in its happiness.

“Thanks Sten! Glad to have you with us!” These thanks and platitudes were undeserving to him, even if he was fighting a Blight he was still doing it for selfish reasons.

“May we proceed? I am eager to be elsewhere.” With a laugh, Hue led his new friends back to go pick up Alistair as well as some equipment for Sten and be on their way. To where? Creators knew but with two new friends, he felt like it was going to be interesting. They decided to take the back way from Lothering, marching up the stairs when they heard a commotion. On the bridge were two dwarven merchants, cart trashed and boxes strewn about, screaming at their attackers. Only the attackers weren't raiders, the unholy growl of darkspawn was turned upon them as soon as they came into view. Foul creatures wasted no time at all running at them, swords meeting swords as they engaged. Luckily with Leliana and Sten now in their ranks it took no time at all for these damnable things to be slain, pulling an arrow embedded into one's chest. Maybe they could do this after all...

"Mighty timely arrival there, my friend. I'm much obliged." The thankful voice had him turn, looking upon the dwarves who no seemed afraid. He smiled back at the one with the beard, nodding his head.

"You're welcome, uh..."

"The name's Bodahn Feddic, merchant and entrepreneur", that last word seemed important but Bodahn continued on, patting the other dwarf on the shoulder, "This here is my son, Sandal. Say hello, my boy."

"Hello."

"Road's been mighty dangerous these days. Mind if I ask what brings you out here? Perhaps we're going the same way." Hue shrugged a shoulder.

"You can but I don't know if you want to travel with Gray Wardens."

"Gray Wardens, hm? My, that does rather explain a lot", Bodhan stroked his beard, not even thinking on the prospect, "No offense, but I suspect there's more excitement on your path than my boy and I can handle. Allow me to bid you farewell and good fortune, though."

"Goodbye."

"Same to you." With that, Hue waved at them before joining up with his friends. Those two seem nice enough, hopefully they don't find anymore trouble. He could hear Bodhan's voice distantly as their feet carried them further on.

"Now, then. Let's get this mess cleaned up, shall we?"

#dragon age origins #dragon age #zevran x mahariel #zevran x m!warden #dragon age fanfic #Hue #Tabi writings #Alistair Theirin #morrigan

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laurelsofhighever · 5 years

Text

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 58 - The Bear and the Falcon

Chapter Rating: Explicit Chapter Warnings: Animal cruelty, Sexual Threat, Canon-Typical Violence (incl. Torture) Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fereldan Civil War AU - No Blight, Romance, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Cousland Feels

Read on AO3 Or start at Chapter 1

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An ache in her arms; cool, damp stone against her cheek that held a faint, sour-animal odour; darkness. Her throat burned with thirst. The quality of the silence told her she was inside, and – after a few more careful breaths with her eyes still closed and tension forced out of her body – alone. Her heart throbbed, but the terror it compelled would be of no use to her until she knew more about her surroundings, so she swallowed it back and forced her attention elsewhere, to her arms bound behind her back and the pins and needles in her leg. Bruises, but nothing broken.

Finally, she cracked an eye and levered her protesting body up into a sitting position, flinching when her back met cold iron bars. Her oilskin and gambeson had been removed, along with her weapons, but as her examination passed from her self to her surroundings, she noted with a sick kind of relief that her shirt was still tucked into her breeches and the laces fastened neatly. Even so, it meant little considering who had taken her.

To distract herself, she examined her cage, and the rest of her prison beyond it. Light fell dimly through a grated door at the end of the room, just enough to reveal a narrow space with a low, vaulted ceiling above her, and more rows of iron bars stretching away from her into the darkness. Small windows were set high into the walls, but the pitch dark outside offered no help. It was night, then – but which one? Was it days, or merely a few hours since the battle at the cove? She couldn’t remember seeing Windcaller escape, only Cuno lunging for one of Howe’s soldiers, and Alistair –

No, she told herself firmly. Don’t think about it – either of them. She could worry about them later, once she had a better hold on her situation. Forcing a deep breath, she turned her attention back to her bound wrists, and the clink of the cuffs against the bars that told her she would never get them off. They still allowed a bit of slack, however, enough that if she curled her spine and wriggled, she might be able slip them down the backs of her legs and bring them in front of her. It wouldn’t be much, but it would improve her chances until she could snatch a key.

As she worked, the nagging familiarity of her prison resolved itself in a moment part elation and part panic: she was in Castle Cousland, in the kennel run that stretched under the eastern side of the curtain wall between the keep and the Marl-land Tower. Cuno had imprinted on her in the whelping den at the end of the row. They were fools to bring her here. A childhood of running the roofs and hiding from Nan’s temper had given her every secret in the place, from the nooks in the ramparts left over from ages of building to the best handholds to climb the walls and reach them. Even if Windcaller hadn’t made it, a chance for Cailan’s plan still lay with her, and if nothing else, she would finish Howe.

She had almost managed to squeeze her arms past her hips when the bolt on the door snapped back and the latch turned. She threw herself back onto her side just as light spilled across the far wall. Heavy, booted feet made a slow approach, every step jangling with the telltale sound of mail, and she tracked it until it stopped outside her cell, behind her, and every nerve in her body screamed against the need to lie still, limp like a plucked daisy, and wait for a chance.

Leather creaked as the guard squatted down. “My lady!” His voice emerged as a hiss, panicked and urgent. “Lady Rosslyn, wake up – there’s not much time.”

A hand reached through the bars to shake her shoulder, but when she kept still, whoever it was cursed and retreated, and then she heard a rattle of keys, something settled on the floor, and the door groaned inward. She waited. The guard loomed over her, hesitating.

“My lady?”

As soon as his touch landed again she launched upward, throwing herself bodily against him regardless of the sharp jab of pain in her side as unprotected flesh collided with the sharp points on his armour. Before he could do much more than yelp his surprise she twisted, kicked out, braced her back against the wall of her cell so she could jam her boot against his throat.

“Please – my lady –” he gasped, clawing at her foot. “I’m here to help – help you –” His helmet fell back, revealing a round face and a mess of dirty blond hair.

“You’re Master Darion’s boy,” she realised, letting up the pressure in her shock. His name was Gareth. She had gone months thinking everyone in the castle had been killed in the attack, and yet here was a boy who had trained next to her in the lists, followed after her through the summer orchards. Blazing with the orange and white of Amaranthine.

He saw the moment her eyes settled on the Bear on his surcoat, and raised his hands as if to ward her away, but the cage door still stood open, unnoticed, and freedom just a few hundred feet beyond. She feinted towards him, got her feet under her. He flinched. She used the distraction to bolt for the door.

“No!” He tackled her before she made it three steps, bringing her hard to the ground with an impact that jarred all the way to her teeth.

“Traitor!” She spat, and lashed out hard.

A grunt of pain met her ears, but he didn’t let go. “You’ve got’a listen to us - Lowan’s sent for you, there’s not much time –”

“My parents were murdered by Howe and now you’re here in his colours, and I should listen to you?”

“It wasn’t just you! They killed everyone. Me Da, Canavan, Gilmore, all of ‘em what he thought would be loyal to you. Please – just listen –”

With a final heave, she kicked away from him and rose into a crouch, hating the limitation on her arms. “Get me out of these manacles,” she demanded. “If you are loyal.”

The kennelmaster’s son scrubbed a hand down his face, then across the reddened skin at his throat. “I canna. It’s a different key, Lowan’s got the only one. I’m sorry.”

“How are you still alive?”

He held up a hand again, asking patience. “After he killed the officers, the rest of us was given a choice – serve, or have the same thing happen to us. We knew you were out there, that you might need our help, so we let ‘im think he’d won, and waited for you to come back.” When she didn’t reply, he ducked his head and pointed to the lantern he had left just outside the cage. “I brought you water. And there’s some bread and cheese there, an’ all. It’s nowt fancy, but you’ve been out a few hours now. Can I –?”

After a moment of hesitation, she nodded, and he scurried across to pick up a small horn cup and a parcel of food wrapped in a napkin. As much as she disliked being fed like a child, her current state allowed for little choice. Some of the water dribbled down her chin as she gulped it down, more eager than she had realised for the rush of cool liquid, but Gareth held the cup steady against her lips and the spillage was minimal. When there was none left, she wiped her mouth on her shoulder.

“None of us knew what’a do when they said they’d brought you in,” he said as he unfolded the parcel of food. “Reckon you’re lucky Howe’s got a bigger fish fryin’ him right now.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Loghain, my lady.” When she stared at him, his eyes widened. “Din’ you know? He’s here with his entire army waiting out in the orchard by the west gate.”

“We thought he was still on the road,” she muttered. “That means the king is walking into a trap… Tell me, is Queen Anora here?”

He frowned. “Anora? I don’t know about her… but there was someone brought in ‘bout a month back and put in the southwest room on the top floor, guarded day and night. The servers take meals up, but they never see who it is – the guards take the trays and say bugger all that’s not snide comments. My lady, what’s –”

“Gareth!” A voice thundered from outside. “Is that bitch awake or not? What are you doing in there?”

“It’s Commander Lowan!”

“Get rid of the cup,” she hissed. “And the rest of the food.” The bread had been little more than a scrap of crust, the cheese sharp, but her empty stomach was grateful all the same. She watched as Gareth stuffed the evidence out of sight beneath a mouldy pile of straw, their time slipping away with every growing echo of boots along the corridor.

“He’ll think you’re still out of it, so you’d best –”

“Listen to me,” she interrupted. “I wasn’t alone when I was caught. I have over a dozen soldiers who will be coming up the secret passage through the pantry to help. No matter what happens to me, you must make sure the queen makes it safely away and that the king’s army can get in through the gate.”

He shook his head. “My lady, I can’t just –”

“Gareth!”

“Just getting her up – that bloody second-rate apostate kept her too far under!” he shouted as he knelt next to her and hooked his hands under her arms. “I’m so sorry. We’ll get you out, soon as we can.”

The door slammed against the wall. Gareth flinched from the sound, and squeaked an instant later as he was knocked out of the way by a hand clad in a gauntlet made of stiff, scratched leather. Rosslyn let herself sag as that same hand grabbed her shoulder and hauled her off the floor. The rough action tore at her joints, but she refused to stand under her own weight – if he wanted to take her anywhere she would bloody well make him work for it.

“On your feet. Teyrn Howe wants a word.”

She rolled her head back to look at him through heavy eyelids, a man with close-cropped grey hair and deep lines around his eyes, and a jagged, poorly-healed scar down the left side of his face. “I don’t recognise anyone with that title.”

“Too bad for you,” Lowan snapped as he dragged her into the corridor. “If he didn’t want to play with you himself, you would’ve woken up in far less comfort than you did, girlie.”

“This day will end with his head on a spike and yours next to it,” she snarled.

That made him pause. He turned to her with a leer, his grip on her arm bruising as he leaned close enough for her to see the broken capillaries in his cheeks. “I told him he should’ve passed a blade across your throat before you woke, but with that defiance? It’s going to be fun watching him break you.”

Revulsion coiled in her stomach as he reached up to wind a lock of her hair around his fingers. Every inch of him radiated the smug superiority particular to those who think themselves untouchable, and her lip curled. Baudrillard had been the same.

“And maybe after he gets bored, he’ll let the rest of us have the leftovers.”

She lunged forward and headbutted him in the face.

“Fucking bitch!” he yelled, as Gareth came forward to catch her. Blood was already pouring from his nose. “Get her out of here.”

She allowed herself a moment to admire her handiwork before she was pulled away, an ugly smirk still lingering at the corner of her mouth. She might face retaliation for it later, but even a small victory sent a message; she would not be cowed, not inside her own keep.

“Been wanting to do that for months,” Gareth muttered in her ear. He guided her down the corridor to the room that usually stored harnesses for dogs, though now the nooks set into the walls were empty. More men in Amaranthine colours waited for her there, and none offered anything but blank stares as her gaze flicked between them, no sign they could be trusted. Apart from the soldiers, she recognised the scrawny, mousy-haired man standing in the corner as the apostate from the beach. Several days’ patchy growth of beard disguised the weak line of his chin, and his dark robes cut off at his elbows to reveal forearms wrapped in fresh bandages and criss-crossed with lines of pale scarring, some more faded than others. He looked anxious.

She turned her attention away. Voices were growing beyond the door at the far end of the room. One held a gravelled quality, clipped with irritation, while the other was a thin, nasally whine she recognised from years of backhanded disapproval and family dinners. Gareth tightened his grip on her shoulder as her face tightened into s snarl, and she remembered just in time that she was meant to be helpless.

The door opened as she was forced into a chair in the middle of the room, and the conversation cut short. Gareth blocked her view, catching her gaze just once as he linked her manacles to a chain set into the back of the seat, far more loosely than he should have done; her legs were left free. He gave her the barest nod before he scurried away, full of trepidation, a last flash of solidarity before the storm descended upon her.

“Well, well, Bryce Cousland’s little spitfire!” Howe cried. “Finally awake! All grown up and playing the soldier, I see.”

As her mother taught her, she straightened and wiped her face clean of emotion, of the hatred surging like fire in her blood. Her eyes fixed unfocused on the far wall, but she could imagine his smile, spreading like the spill of lamp oil over water. Before he could say anything further, however, Lowan clattered in pinching the bridge of his nose, a torn rag held over the bottom half of his face that did little to stem the mess of blood pouring from his nose. She must have broken it.

“What happened to you?” Howe demanded.

Lowan spared her a glance, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Nothing, Your Lordship.”

“Get out of my sight.”

Lowan’s scowl deepened but he did as he was told, ducking past his master with only a perfunctory murmur of deference to the man standing next to him. It was Loghain, Rosslyn realised. He looked terrible, hardly recognisable as the proud advisor who had stood beside the throne at every Landsmeet she could remember. His once military bearing was sunken, gaunt, his cheeks bloodless as tallow and his unkempt hair worn with grey where it wasn’t thinning completely. Only his eyes retained their vigour, but even then, when he fixed his gaze on her, something in them reminded her of the dead at South Reach.

“An interrogation now is useless,” he said, with only a thin veneer of patience. “There is nothing she could tell us we do not already know.”

“I disagree, sire.” Howe still had his smile. “And I’ll remind you she is my prisoner, to do with as I choose.”

“Your petty vengeances do not come before the task at hand,” Loghain snapped. “Cailan is already here, and only waits for the morning. You have until I have spoken to my daughter to deal with this, and no longer. Anything else will wait until after I have that fool boy in my grasp.”

“Of course, sire.”

The old general turned to go, only pausing in the doorway to spare Rosslyn a glance before whatever he wished to say was swallowed up by his better judgement, and he left without a word. Without him, Howe unfolded himself from his servile crouch, the sycophantic tilt if his head curdled into a sneer, and though she squashed it down, her fists clenched with the awareness of being surrounded by enemies commanded by a man who wished her nothing but ill intention. Only her rage kept her shielded against the chill in her spine, so she stoked it, channelled it, anything to keep the worm in her chest from clawing its way up her throat.

“Are you quite comfortable, my dear?” her enemy asked.

She gave him her most disdainful stare. “You should address me with my proper title, Arl Howe. I am the Teyrna of Highever.”

A muscle ticked in his cheek. “You are nothing, you’re the last of nothing. Your parents died begging, your brother’s body rots where no one will ever find it, and his brat was burned on the scrap heap along with his Antivan whore of a wife. There’s no king coming to save you, no prince charming.” At that, he grinned, and her heart faltered. “The way you threw yourself after him on the beach meant nothing, and in the morning, the last of those who claim loyalty to you will be swept from the face of Thedas once and for all. You’ve lost.”

She struggled to control her breath, and heat pricked at the back of her eyes, but she had learned her lessons well. She kept her voice level as she replied, “And yet you’re still scared of me.”

“What?”

“I count four guards,” she mocked, straightening. “Not including your right-hand, who you no doubt wanted present, and a blood mage. Why else would you need them all around one chained woman if you weren’t afraid?”

The soldiers glanced at each other. Howe saw it. He advanced on her, fury contorting his features, and though she saw the slap coming – braced for it – the strike sent her reeling, ears ringing, blinking away the sting.

“You are entirely at my mercy, you pathetic little whelp, and you will learn it sooner or later,” he spat.

She probed her cheek. Blood welled from a cut, but all of her teeth were still in place.

“The more you fight, the more I’ll enjoy it, but you will submit. And through you, my claim on these lands will go beyond anyone’s doubt.” The manic grin came back. “The regent will approve the match, no doubt.”

For an instant, cold terror held her in its grip, the knowledge that her only help lay beyond guarded walls twenty feet thick, that her crew was scattered, that Alistair was…

But she was the Seawolf’s daughter; she had faced down the dead. Rolling her shoulders, she turned away from Howe and casually spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor.

“Don’t make threats you can’t keep,” she sneered, fixing him in her glare once more. “Everyone at court knows how your poor wife had to find her comfort elsewhere because her husband was impotent. The horsemaster, the cook –” Her lip curled. “And don’t think it went unnoticed how much Thomas looked so much more like the Vigil’s seneschal than he did you. We all knew, everyone knew, and everyone laughed at you for it.”

She saw it, the moment her barb struck its mark, in the wild flicker of his gaze around the room and the lift of a snarl over his teeth, and her battle blood rose in response. He wouldn’t win this battle of wills between them; she wouldn’t let him. And then, she would kill him. But even as she thought it, his shoulders lost their tension, and the scowl smoothed from his face as if she hadn’t scored a point at all.

“There it is, right there,” he murmured. “That damned look in the eye that marked every Cousland success that held me back. Your father would be proud. I, however, intend to wipe that defiance away once and for all.” He smiled, and her fingers itched for a weapon. “Bring in the animal.”

One of the soldiers nodded and hurried out. Rosslyn watched him go warily, aware of Howe’s smug expression and the anxious way the others shifted on their feet. Soon, a burst of shouted curses carried through, almost drowned out by the rattle of chains and the monstrous snarling of some enraged beast. Behind her, Gareth stirred in his place in the corner, as if to intervene, but his courage failed him and he stayed silent.

The wait took longer than it should have, but eventually two burly men in heavily quilted jackets with thick leather shields on their arms squeezed through door, dragging chains behind them. The creature on the other end was Cuno. He thrashed and snapped against the restraints cutting into the thick muscle of his neck, trying at once to twist free and attack the guards holding him captive, to fight, but two others hung on behind him, so that he couldn’t lunge in any direction without being wrestled back by the other three. Foam lathered in his gaping jaws, his breath wheezed from his throat in ever more desperate gasps as he threw himself against his enemies, and as she took in the blood staining his flanks, Rosslyn’s hatred of Howe set into a cold, hard ball in her gut.

“Put him over there,” he pointed, as if directing nothing more dangerous than a new piece of furniture. “And you,” he added, turning to Rosslyn, “will learn. there is nothing you can do but watch.”

“What are you going to do?” Gareth asked. His eyes were wide on the dog he had known since puppyhood, and who had now seen his mistress was in danger and broken into new ferocity as he tried to get at Howe.

“What is always done with uncontrollable beasts,” he replied as the first guard returned with a crossbow and a quiver of bolts. “Unless you want to tell him to be a good boy?” he asked of Rosslyn.

She stared at him. Her own thoughts were drowned out by the drum of her heart, Cuno’s mad barking, the desperation that surely there must be something she could do. He wanted her to beg. The glint in his eye told her it wouldn’t make a difference. Cuno launched himself forward again, jerked back by the end of the chains, his breath harsher than ever, trying to get to her, to help her, and her nails dug so hard into her palms she was sure they would bleed.

“Void take you,” she hissed, and spat in Howe’s face.

He grabbed her jaw. His fingers dug into her skin like claws as he moved within inches of her face, his eyes greedy in anticipation of what was about to happen. “I said, you will watch this. Hold it still.”

“Your Lordship, you can’t –”

“I’ll deal with you later,” he snapped at Gareth. “Take aim.”

For Rosslyn, the world slowed. Every click of the ratchet drawing back the string, the guards straining, the flecks of blood and saliva cast to the floor as the dog tried to reach her. The bolter raised the crossbow. Cuno roared. Her gaze turned to Howe, to his sneer and his eagerness and every line of cruelty held in the slack, sallow mouth.

The rage took her so quickly she didn’t have time to think. Past the first stirring of it, her mind went blank. She felt her body coil, felt the snarl curling at her lips, and before she registered the movement she threw herself at her enemy, blind instinct, raw fire, nothing but a snap of energy bent into pure vengeance. Greasy cartilage caught between her teeth. She twisted, tore her head away and kicked out in a spray of red and a scream. There was a thud of metal hitting flesh, a yelp. The chair back hit her legs as it fell over. It didn’t matter that her hands were still bound. All she could see was Howe, writhing on the floor, clutching the side of his head She was insensible even to the hands that grabbed at her shoulders to keep her from him, to keep her from ripping him apart with her teeth if she had to.

“Get her out of here!” someone shouted. “And get a healer!”

She spat out his ear at his feet. “That was your last mistake. There’s nowhere you can go, nothing you can do that will save you. I’ll kill you.”

The words caught hold of her, worked through her sinews like roots as the guards wrestled her back, out of sight and down into the bowels of the castle. She didn’t know where they came from, but they rang through her head, burned in her throat, reverberated in her bones like the clarion notes of a horn in an empty hall.

“Whatever you do, I won’t yield!” she bellowed as they hauled her away. “Not until your head is mounted on a wall! There is nothing left you can take from me – run to the far corners of Thedas and I’ll find you! Set an army against me and I’ll slaughter them all to get to you! Even if you kill me, I will crawl back through the Fade over broken shards of glass to make sure you suffer. You won’t escape – do you hear me, Howe? You will never be rid of me!”

The screams echoed off the walls of the dungeon, distorted through the thick stone and hollowed until the words were lost beyond the guards’ curses. There was a lot of screaming these days. For those who had months since lost their hope, it made pity a distant thing. The noise disturbed the prisoner’s rest, that was all, and he resented being pulled from the meditative oblivion that these days came to him almost as naturally as his own breath as he waited for death to claim him. He shut his eyes in the near-complete darkness as the woman – more the shame – was dragged past his door, and with nothing else he could do he turned his head away.

Something moved on the other side of his cell. He could still hear screaming, but it was muffled behind doors and walls, and far more immediate was the sense of another body, betrayed perhaps by the rustle of cloth, or a breath, or the clink of a chain as whoever it was shifted into wakefulness, little more than a half-imagined outline in the gloom. A spark of curiosity lit in the prisoner’s mind. It was a novelty in itself, the first emotion to break through his despair in months.

“Who’s there?” A male voice, and then a groan. “Is someone there?”

The prisoner leaned forward, licked cracked lips, and in a voice scratchy with disuse, told the stranger his name.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #dragon age origins #da:o #cousland #alistair x cousland #alistair theirin #alistair and rosslyn #the falcon and the rose

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jawsandbones · 5 years

Text

The Evening Red - Chapter Seven

Rating: E

Summary: The blighted plague at your feet, and ghosts at your bedside. Those things that go bump in the night? They follow behind you. If only you had someone to protect you. A late-Victorian era re-imagining of Dragon Age Origins.

Pairing: Zevran x Female Warden

AO3 Link: Click Here

Chapter Seven: Imminence

“Oh, Duncan,” Wynne says softly, swaying gently in the doorway. She watches as both Noya and Morrigan make their way forward. Morrigan takes interest in the goblet. With her hands on his shoulders, Noya very gently and carefully pushes his body back into the chair. She tips his head back against the crest rail, and sighs as she bends over to look closer. Noya puts one of her hands over his, and clenches his hand into a fist.

“Curious.” Morrigan holds the goblet in her hands, nose curling as she looks at the pool of blood. “This would suggest the presence of those who typically partake in the eating of blood.” Noya’s eyes flick towards Morrigan as she lets go of Duncan’s hand.

“There’s no rigor mortis, and the body is still warm,” she says.

“Interrupted in the middle of the meal, perhaps?”

“It could have been collected for some ritualistic reason as well. Either way, it was likely done after Duncan sent Alistair out. They would have been watching, then, and known that Duncan had no servants, or any other occupants.” Noya points towards the jagged slice across Duncan’s neck. “He fought, that much is clear.”

Morrigan settles the goblet back down onto the table and leans closer. She reaches out, pinches strands of hair between her fingers, and plucks them up from Duncan’s shoulders. “I imagine we’ll find evidence of trauma to his scalp,” she says. She glances towards Duncan’s hands. She picks one up, moves her thumb over knuckle and bone. “There’s nothing underneath his fingernails. Either he didn’t get the chance to, or he simply couldn’t pierce his attackers flesh.”

“I would wager on not getting the chance to. This reeks of surprise.”

“There was no sign of disturbance when we entered the estate, so it’s entirely possible he was killed before he even had a chance to get out of the chair. Still, it will take a full examination to see if there are bruises elsewhere, and the body was staged for us to find –”

“If you don’t mind,” Wynne says from the threshold, “we should leave this for the police.” Both Noya and Morrigan instantly take a step back from the body, the guilt cascading over their faces. They look at each other uncertainly for a moment, before moving towards Wynne. While Morrigan crosses her arms, Noya reaches out, and puts her hand at Wynne’s shoulder.

“Morrigan can go with Leliana and fetch the police. I’ll talk to Alistair,” Noya says, looking towards Morrigan. A nod of agreement from her, and Noya gives Wynne’s shoulder a small squeeze. Even when they leave, she does not. Wynne rubs her hand against her forehead, leans against the doorframe. She crosses her arms, looks at the long and empty table. The fireplace still burns warmly, without cessation. Her shoes tap across the floor, come to rest beside Duncan. She reaches out, closes his clouded eyes.

“What have we found ourselves in now, old friend?” She murmurs softly.

Alistair is crouched at the very bottom of the shelves, Leliana leaning over him with the candle in her hand. She holds it near the dusty bottles and squints as she tries to read. “There are bottles from all over the world here,” she says in a low voice, as if afraid to disturb the silence of the cellar. A spider watches idly from the corner, content in its web. Alistair reaches out, and plucks one of the bottles from its place. He blows at the label, succeeds in sending a cloud of dust upwards. Leliana coughs, waving her free hand in front of her face.

“Most of them are from Orlais,” he says as he holds the bottle up, “this one is from Rivain.”

“How lovely,” she says as she reaches for it. The glass is cold to her touch, the bottle still quite dusty. She holds the candle closer, rubs her thumb over the label. The details of it slowly become legible. “Are there any from the Free Marches? I hear Starkhaven has a delicious flavor.” Alistair looks over his shoulder up at her, and raises an eyebrow.

“Are you sure you’re a sister of the Chantry?”

“It’s not like I’ve taken any vows yet,” she says cheerfully. They both turn when they hear the door open, creaking footsteps on the stairs. Morrigan lights a flame in the palm of her hand, looks around the cellar with disdain.

“This place is filthy,” she says, her lip curled. Noya shakes her head, and takes the candle from Leliana. The wax drips onto the plate, the lone flame desperately reaching for the ceiling. Alistair stands, brushes the dirt from his trousers, and moves to follow Leliana and Morrigan up the stairs. Noya puts her hand on his arm, keeps him here, instead. Their voices slowly fade, footsteps growing further, and she finally turns to look him in the eye. She can only see part of him; the flame struggling in the overpowering darkness. She puts the candle down on one of the shelves, and steps closer to him. Her hand slips from his arm, to his hand.

She reaches upwards, settles her palm against his cheek. His stubble is rough underneath her fingers, her thumb, as she moves a comforting touch across his cheekbones. “Alistair,” she says, “I have something I need to tell you. You must promise me you won’t do anything rash, first.”

“Rash? I think it’s only fair you tell me what it is before I promise anything. Full knowledge for agreement, and all that. Why are you making me promise anyway? Did Zevran do something to you?” His voice turns from playful worry to full-blown concern, his brows furrowing. He steps closer to her, his hands clenched in fists at his side. Noya shakes her head.

“The reason I sent you away from the dining room. We found Duncan, Alistair. He’s dead.” He blinks at her, looks towards the stairs. It’s Noya’s hand around his, at his face, that keeps him from leaving. “Alistair, look at me.” He does. “Do you understand what I told you?” He doesn’t. “Morrigan and Leliana are fetching the police. Wynne is with the body. I don’t think you should stay here tonight,” she says. He looks at her blankly. Her hand slips from his, and she cups his face.

“Lal,” she says and perhaps it’s the rare use of the nickname which snaps him back to reality. Perhaps it’s just that her earlier words have finally sunk in. Either way, trembling hands wrap around her arms. It’s always been a running joke how much taller he is compared to Noya and Tamlen. How much wider. Yet, here, in her embrace, he seems so small.

---

“Twice, in one week. I don’t like seeing you at all these crime scenes,” Sergeant Kylon says, notepad in one hand and pencil in the other. The four women exchange glances with each other.

“We don’t like being at these crime scenes,” Noya says. Alistair, and a few officers, have gently laid Duncan’s body on the floor, covered him with a sheet. It’s there that he stands and stays, unwilling to leave the body. Kylon grunts amusement, points the end of his pencil towards Alistair.

“Who is he?”

“Sir Duncan’s ward. Having examined the body, we determined that the murder occurred after he sent Alistair away, and before we arrived. That’s a very small timeframe. There’s a possibility Duncan was being watched, and perhaps the murderer may still be watching,” she says.

“Oh so you’re police now?” he says it with skepticism, but he’s writing furiously. He points at a nearby officer, and gives an explicitly clear set of instructions to patrol around the house and apprehend anyone of suspicion. Morrigan is the only one paying attention to Kylon. The other three are watching as Alistair helps lay Duncan’s body onto a stretcher. He’s left behind as they take his body away, and so, he joins the edge of their circle, by Morrigan. He keeps his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched. His eyes are red-rimmed, but dry.

“We’ll have to clean up the place,” Kylon says as an officer carefully steps around them, the goblet of blood in his hands, “and investigate the rest of the area. It’s a fairly large estate so it might take us some time. You shouldn’t be on the property until we finish.”

“There’s an empty room next to mine at the hotel, Alistair. I’ll book it for you,” Wynne says. He agrees without argument and with a simple nod. “Perhaps you should pack some things? If Sergeant Kylon doesn’t mind, that is.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem, but we do need an officer to go with you and watch. I’m sure I don’t need to explain why,” Kylon says. Another nod, Alistair’s jaw locked shut. “We covered all the questions earlier…. And then some, so you’re free to do as you please. Just, don’t leave Denerim any time soon.”

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

While Alistair packs his things, the others wait outside. Noya turns her head away from the estate, towards the distant sun disappearing behind rooftops. Its hand still reaches across the sky, clawing at clouds in an effort to remain. It will lose this fight, but Noya knows what comes after. “I’ll arrange a service at the Chantry,” Leliana says quietly. “I’m sure they’ll need to do an autopsy but… after. Alistair’ll be overwhelmed with the… with whatever he needs to do.”

“I’ll see if I can drop in on the autopsy. I’m too close to Duncan to be a part of it, but I can ensure that everything goes smoothly and that the body is delivered to the Chantry you choose, Leliana,” Wynne says. Morrigan has her arms crossed, one finger tapping at the side of her jaw.

“Am I the only one concerned with who might have killed him?” Noya turns her head back to the group at Morrigan’s angry words.

“No, you’re not. A blighted wouldn’t have the mechanical skill to do this, even if they were controlled. You saw how brutish they were when they attacked us. They don’t have the fine motor skills required for this. I do think it is related to the Blight, and that Loghain might be involved,” Noya says. Wynne narrows her eyes. “I meant to bring it up at dinner. I went to the University yesterday, with Alistair. We both saw and heard Loghain telling Duncan that we’re no longer allowed to work on anything to do with the blight. It’s being completely closed off for royally appointed physicians and researchers.”

“Well that’s ridiculous,” Morrigan says, biting at her thumbnail. Wynne takes a deep breath.

“I agree. With Duncan’s death, I am now the Dean of Medicine. It will need to be finalized and put in place by Irving, but after, I’ll petition King Cailan for permissions,” she says. Morrigan moves to reply, but the front door opens – Alistair, with a bag in hand – and she quietly closes her mouth instead. Wynne smiles at him kindly, puts a hand at his back when he joins them.

“How much do I owe you for the hotel?” He asks.

“Oh my dear, nothing, you me nothing. You’ll be doing me a favor by keeping me company. It’s a nice hotel, but very large and very empty. Now I’ll have someone to share dinner with,” she says. She locks her own grief away, for his sake. Wynne and Leliana flank him as they begin to walk down the street, keeping the conversation light and in an entirely other continent of anything related to Duncan. Alistair listens patiently to all of it, but doesn’t say anything in return. Morrigan and Noya walk behind them, quietly contemplative.

“Miss Mahariel.” She turns her head at the sound of her name, isn’t surprised when she sees Zevran behind her. He holds a plain parasol in his hands, protection from the almost sleeping sun. He smiles pleasantly, in a neat suit. On first appearance, it might appear plain, but through the shafts of light, small patterns appear on his jacket. The vest is more outwardly ornate, the tie made of silk. Golden chains mark the presence of his pocket watch, and although he wears a bowler hat, he cannot hide his hair.

“Zevran,” she says. As she stops, so do the others.

“I was wondering if you might enjoy coming with me on an adventure,” he says.

“An – right now?” Noya looks at the others. “It’s not the best time…”

“You should go,” Alistair says. She looks from one to the other, searches for help from Morrigan or Leliana. “Go.” He says it again, a little more insistently, brushing her away. She moves closer to him, her hands on his chest, and lifts herself up onto her tip toes.

“I’ll bring breakfast with me in the morning,” she tells him as she presses the kiss to his cheek. The conversation continues as they split away, with Leliana dragging even Morrigan into it. They go in the opposite direction, and Zevran smiles as Noya walks beside him. He keeps the parasol between them, turning it in his hands so that it spins.

“So Alistair gets a kiss…” Zevran says, leaning over with a smile.

“Would it shock you to know that we’ve slept together?” Almost instantly, Zevran turns on his heel to look behind him, at Alistair’s retreating back. He walks backwards with confidence, and doesn’t miss a step, even as he tilts his head to fully examine Alistair’s form.

“It doesn’t, actually,” he says as he turns back around. They both share a secretive smile before dissolving with laughter. As they sway, their shoulders bump into each other and their hands intuitively entwine. It’s as though, with his presence, the day is swept away and forgotten.

“Tell me about this adventure we’re about to have,” she says, still smiling.

“I was hoping you would accompany me to a showing of A Mabari of No Importance.”

“Is that Tethras’s newest?”

“Indeed it is.”

“I would be delighted, Mr. Arainai,” she says as she links her arm in his.

---

She wears her best. It’s fine enough, perfectly acceptable. More than acceptable. It’s the same as every other noble, every other Lord and Lady who walks the halls of the Royal Palace. Wynne sits patiently outside of a closed door, a stack of papers in her hands. She watches each servant come and go, following their quick steps and listening to their low whispers. Something is happening. Something which keeps her from the throne room, something which sends others away. She’s the only petitioner. “Her Majesty will see you now,” a servant says, bowing low. “If you’ll follow me.”

The hallways seem never ending. It isn’t as oppressively ornate as the Orlesian palaces – Ferelden is much too proud of their own tradition and heritage – but it is still quite impressive. He brings Wynne to a large door, lined with gold leaf. The bowing never ends, as he does another when he opens the door. “Ms. Aequitar, your majesty.”

“I know your name. My husband visited your University.” Anora doesn’t look up from what she’s writing. The light pours in from the large windows behind her, highlight her frame.

“Yes, your majesty. I was hoping to re-open the issue of our research. In the short time that we’ve studied the blight, we’ve made significant progress, and I believe that –”

“Lord Mac Tir has already settled this matter, hasn’t he? There are many doctors in our halls, these days. All of them think – all of them believe they will find a cure,” she says, the scratching of her pen finally pausing. Anora barely lifts her head to look at Wynne. “And they will. Gooday Ms. Aequitar, I hope your journey home is pleasant.”

“If you would, your Majesty –” Wynne steps forward, beginning to hold out the papers she holds. Anora stops her with a flat raised hand.

“Gooday Ms. Aequitar.”

“Your Majesty.” Wynne gives a low courtesy, turns around. The pace she holds is no longer leisurely. She practically marches through the halls, staring down all those who pass her. From the moment she heard that Loghain was shuttering research, she suspected. Anora’s words firmly press her guess into knowing territory. King Cailan has the blight.

#zevran #warden #zevwarden #dragon age #zevran x warden #zevran x mahariel #zevran x f!warden #zevran x f!mahariel #f!zevwarden #f!warden #f!mahariel #dragon age origins #dao #writing #mine #the evening red

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jewish-gay-elves · 4 years

Text

arguing is the name of the game, but you all lost the point

“and stephan is too jelly bellied to kill Zev like Sten suggests But, Ghrena, Leli, Tamlen and Han'rel get back from Denerim first with Daolin Tabris in tow because Tamlen AND Han'rel were both like, we can’t just do nothing, he'll get taken away for killing the Arl's son! so they "conscript" him and hightail it back to Redcliffe where they find the rest of the crew trying to figure out what to do with Zev. So both crews start arguing about Zev and Daolin.” - my notes on this au

AO3 Link Words: 1676, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 6 of the a tale of too many wardens because i want everyone to be happy and heres how

Fandoms: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: None Characters: Stephan Cousland, Male Cousland (Dragon Age), Alistair (Dragon Age), Sten (Dragon Age), Teagan Guerrin, Han'rel Mahariel, Male Mahariel (Dragon Age), Tamlen (Dragon Age), Leliana (Dragon Age), Ghrena Aeducan, Female Aeducan (Dragon Age), Daolin Tabris, Male Tabris (Dragon Age) Relationships: None Additional Tags: In this au zevran attacks while they're at redcliffe before arl eamon wakes up, then they try to figure out what to do with him without Fergus who is actually in charge here, and since there are so many wardens some of them split up to do different stuff, they are just barely functioning and have approx six braincells among themselves

“We could always kill him,” Sten said frankly, sounding annoyed by the fact that they hadn’t already done that. “He is weakened and unaware, better than what he deserves,”

“No, Sten, for the last time we are not killing him,” Stephan said, keeping his voice stern to hide how uneasy he felt with the whole conversation. The assassin had been after Alistair, so really he supposed Alistair had the final call on whether or not to let him live. However the Prince seemed to be of the same opinion as Stephan, they weren’t going to kill him, but neither of them were quite sure what to do with him beyond tying him up and locking him in a room.

Suddenly Alistair jumped out of his chair from across the room. “They’re back! The group from Denerim is back!” The two humans looked at each other in excitement, perhaps there was finally some news about the state of Ferelden’s politics. Something they both had been kept from in this dire time. They both almost rushed out of the room together before they realized that they weren’t sure if they should leave Sten alone with the would-be assassin still locked in the next room. Stephan unsubtly grabbed the key, as if the lock would actually stop the giant, and the two men headed for the courtyard. Sten just remained in place, staring impassively at the door to the room where they left the would-be assassin.

They caught up to the group in the main hall, already being received by Bann Teagan. The Bann had been extremely grateful to the Wardens for helping to clear Redcliffe of the undead, and currently letting them stay in the castle as they searched for some sort of cure. If they had any leads on something to cure his brother, any leads at all, Bann Teagan would want to hear them. Unfortunately, as Alistair and Stephan arrived, it was to a very disappointed Teagan. Wordlessly, they looked to Tamlen to explain.

“Nothing but dead ends and a lying assistant. We couldn’t outright confront him considering we were trying to stay low and a slight lack of proof. We did find the name of a place Genitivi might have gone to, Haven, but it's all the way in the Frostbacks,” Tamlen said, shrugging. Alistair nodded in understanding, and heard Bann Teagan mention something about seeing to arrangements for dinner that night, and planned to go with him. However, Alistair paused when he saw that the group had grown by one in number. He admitted to himself that there were quite a few wardens in their group now, and that he doesn’t quite know everyone yet, but he certainly doesn’t remember the elf now standing next to Mahariel.

“Who’s he?” Alistair asked, instantly cautious considering not even hours prior he had an assassin at his throat. Tamlen and Han’rel look at each other, confused for a moment and then both made noises of understanding.

“This is Daolin Tabris, our newest conscript!” Han’rel said, walking over to him and throwing an arm around his shoulder. The elf named Daolin clearly isn’t excited by the gesture, barely even welcoming of it, but tolerated it as he bristled under the Prince’s stare. Alistair is sure that Daolin can tell that there are things being unsaid, that his status as a “conscript” is still under review. Especially, Alistair knows, because those who recruited him are barely beyond the newly recruited status themselves.

Han’rel took his arm back and came closer to speak to Alistair and Stephan more directly. “I may not have a full and clear idea of how your cities are run, but they were going to kill him for exacting justice!” he exclaimed, his tattooed face pulled into a large scowl, worrying the two humans greatly.

“What Han’rel means is that the son of the Arl was a despicable piece of shit, who deserved what he got, but the human authorities didn’t seem to see it that way,” Tamlen further explained, causing the two human’s eyes to widen further. Daolin, at this point, had started to pull away from the group unnoticed as Stephan and Alistair’s attention was solely focused on Tamlen now at his words.

“What happened?” Stephan managed to grit out through his clenched jaw. They had sent that group to Denerim based on the fact that they were all sneaky, or knew how to not attract the wrong sort of attention. Clearly, they were going to have to reassess that statement after this.

“Well, Daolin was about to get married, and Tamlen and I, being random bystanders, got invited to the celebration! However, the ceremony got interrupted by the Arl’s son and his friends who were a very nasty sort. They knocked out Daolin and then kidnapped the bride and all the other women with her!” Han’rel began to explain. Alistair could barely keep up with the story and it had just started.

“So you went to the guards and told them what happened and they took care of the Arl’s son?” Stephan asked carefully, praying to Andraste that the two would have done the sensible thing for once.

“No,” Tamlen said, crushing all of Stephan’s hopes, “We waited for Daolin to wake up, and offered to go with him to save the women of course. One of his clan helped us get into the estate where we then found where they had locked up the women,” He continued, oblivious to Stephan and Alistair’s growing distress.

“And then you went to the city guard and told them what happened and what you found and they took care of the Arl’s son?” Stephan asked, his tone growing a bit higher in pitch.

“Of course not, we slaughtered them all and took the women back home to their families! Daolin didn’t end up getting married after all, considering we hadn’t been back for all of an hour before the guard finally showed up asking questions and demanding to arrest someone. So, that was when we conscripted him! After that we really didn’t want to hang around, especially because Genitivi’s assistant was useless, and headed back here.” Han’rel finished, all the while extremely proud of himself. Stephan’s face was at least two shades lighter, and Alistair’s jaw fully dropped. The two stunned humans couldn’t even begin to take apart how many missteps the elves made and they just ended up looking at each other, lost and unsure where to even start.

Leliana and Ghrena walked over from where they had left their horses with the stable boys and were holding back laughter from seeing the men’s faces. The “conscript” had stepped behind the newcomers and was distancing himself from the group. Leliana patted Stephan on the shoulder and tried to comfort him.

“Sadly, Ghrena and I were attending Chantry services on what we thought would be a very quiet day, and weren’t around for this. Considering what they had to work with they did very well. There was no actual proof to tie any of them to the death, just that people knew that the Arl’s son had been by the alienage earlier in the day and that was why the guards assumed it was an elf,” she explained, defending the two Dalish. Alistair shook himself out of his stupor and finally came back to himself.

“The Grey Wardens are enemies of the crown! Declared by Loghain himself, how did you get the guards to just accept that you were conscripting him and let you leave? By all rights they should have tried to slay you where you stood!” Alistair sputtered.

“By all rights?” Han’rel asked, his tone light but the look in his eyes had suddenly darkened.

“No, you’re right, they would have had no right to do that, I’m sorry for saying that Han’rel. I just mean that they should be under orders to not have let you out, and I don’t understand why they did,” Alistair clarified.

“That would probably be because of the bribe the Keeper handed them,” Tamlen explained, Han’rel nodding beside him.

“You bribed a city guard?!” Stephan grit out, almost distraught at the news of the easy corruption in Denerim.

“To be fair, the guards in Orzammar probably would have done the same in this sort of a situation,” Ghrena said, thinking back to how much trouble she would have gotten in if not for Bhelen’s well timed bribes. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the stable boys walking past the group, but didn’t notice Tabris fading in and sneaking away from the Wardens and the two noblemen.

“That doesn’t make it any better! I can’t believe we were going to ask you all about what to do with the Crow,” Alistair said, rubbing his forehead in frustration.

“A crow? How’d it fly in anyway? There are quite a few doors here. Wouldn’t it make sense to just lead it back outside?” Han’rel asked, not understanding.

“No, he means an assassin, specifically one from Antiva, very specialized,” Stephan explained, already used to certain things needing to be explained.

“An assassin! Why didn’t you start with that! That’s way more interesting than what we did in Denerim. I’d assume you’d just do whatever it is you do with dead people up here. I mean, there’s no returning to the Stone on the surface like this,” Ghrena said, feeling slightly jealous that they got to deal with an assassin while they just talked to a slimy assistant.

“He’s not dead, we just knocked him out and tied him up,” Stephan clarified.

“What?!” Ghrena said, sounding somewhat excited by the prospect of being able to fight the assassin herself.

“Wait, where did Daolin go?” Tamlen said, finally speaking after noticing that their group had gotten smaller. They could only look around and at each other in confusion before finally realizing that they had lost track of the new “conscript”.

“What a professional and capable group we are, hmm?” Stephan said, rolling his eyes at the now, once again, chattering group.

#stephan #writing #stephan cousland #dragon age #alistair #dragon age origins #sten #teagan guerrin #han'rel #han'rel mahariel #tamlen #leliana #ghrena #ghrena aeducan #daolin #daolin tabris

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renegade-skywalker · 5 years

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i want to read your da revenge fic plz

The Rains of Highever

Summary: The party happens upon a tavern, keen on having a warm meal and a good night’s to rest before hitting the road again, until the Warden spots a few men she finds uncomfortably familiar in the inn’s tavern.

Morrigan had never been more relieved to come upon a tavern. A tavern, of all places. Bustling with all sorts, likely the unfavorable kind of folk (which was, so it happened, quite literally anyone), she tried to hide how pleased she was with a half-hearted snarl once the dumb Warden suggest they pull off the road for the night and try to secure a few rooms.

Their things had grown damp and cold in the recent rains, so the idea of making camp before nightfall was a dismal one, and with the amount of people on the road Morrigan didn’t quite feel safe using magic out in the open with so many potential witnesses. Not for her own sake, like she could give a damn. She could hold her own and then some. But she was doing it for her, the pretty Warden, the one who saw her as a sister now even if Morrigan didn’t want to admit it. At least, not yet.

Given what they had all been through at Redcliffe, they could all use the rest, Morrigan included. She didn’t want to admit it, but the battle had sapped her of much of her energy. Not just in the fighting, but in the healing afterward, and in maintaining her mask of indifference she kept up despite it all.

They filed into the inn, each one dripping wet and soaked cold to the bone, instantly warmed by the hearth that greeted them upon entering. The inn keeper immediately waved them over, eager for customers with coin to spare. With an easy smile, Arden offered the gold needed for two rooms, a few meals and ale. Morrigan could faintly hear the innkeeper ask if wine was alright with them, and Morrigan tried not to smirk, happy with the change of menu since ale never felt quite her drink. Arden looked over at Morrigan after affirming that it was, as if reading her mind, a slight smile on her girlish face. Morrigan held her gaze but did not smile, still too guarded, though touched that someone would remember her preference.

The inn was bustling otherwise, as Morrigan had feared, but there was a table nestled against the wall that was free for all of them to set their things down while their rooms were prepared, and Morrigan was thankful for the sparest of spaces to call her own for the time being. Taking a spot in the corner, farthest from everyone, she set herself down and wrapped her hands around her mug of wine, thankful the barman had enough sense to warm it first, given the weather.

The others hadn’t started talking yet, still recovering from a long day on the road. Morrigan preferred this, despite the activity that flurried around them. In the silence, Alistair had already begun polishing his bracers, Leliana restringing her bow, and Arden sat silently, sipping her wine, while Sten stood at the far corner of the room with Arden’s mabari Duke at his side, far more comfortable with the warrior beast than with humans, few of which had taken notice of him yet. Morrigan knew it was only a matter of time.

“What are you thinking about?” Arden asked, a sly smile crossing her face as she nudged Morrigan in the arm. It was meant as a friendly gesture, but Morrigan internally flinched at the contact, still so unused to it, and unsure whether she desired this sort of well-meaning intimacy.

“Oh, the usual,” Morrigan sighed, back straight as she scanned the room, lest she appear at ease or give the impression that she was, “People watching, taking note.”

In the few moments since they’d arrived, Morrigan had already spotted a couple in the corner arguing, their conflict clear despite the passive expressions on their faces. Their bodies were rigid, talking in hushed tones without making eye contact, their smiles harsh and unfeeling, meant for the onlookers rather than one another. And in another corner was a thief, making his way round a group of thugs’ unattended pockets as they played a loud game of cards near the hearth. And beside them were refugees, ravenously slurping up whatever slop they served at this place, Morrigan knowing full well they’d all receive a helping in a few moments.

“Oh? Anyone I should know about?” Arden was trying to be coy, cute even, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Morrigan wasn’t keen on Arden getting any more physically friendly than she already was, but part of her wanted to keep talking, realizing she actually liked when the girl sauntered up to her in camp and asked her questions about both everything and nothing.

“I’ve learned everything I need to know from looking, from watching. Go on, try it.”

Morrigan always preferred to watch than to participate, always having felt that participating, that interacting, was playing into some made-up social ideal of human experience that felt somewhat fabricated and false, even if the mere idea of talking to someone was supposed to be the authentic part. She’d had a desire to learn about other people from a young age, and that curiosity persisted, but she had no desire whatsoever to fit herself into their narrow expectations of what a person should or should not be, tacking on useless titles and identifiers that only served to somehow label you as other no matter what you did. For Morrigan, she would always be a witch, an apostate, chasind, wild, and even if she was none of those things she would still be a woman - and somehow even her basest sense of being was a strike against her. So instead of playing the game, she extracted herself from it completely. She played the part of Other and relished in it, wondering all the while what Arden, a girl of noble birth and everything that sort of thing carried, thought about that.

Arden furrowed her brow, but took up Morrigan’s challenge, examining the inn with her chin held between her thumb and forefinger in mock scholarly observation. Morrigan smiled at that, quickly before swallowing her expression - but Arden noticed, glad to have gotten something out of Morrigan at all. But just as quickly as she smiled, she assumed an air of utter seriousness, taking Morrigan’s suggestion to heart.

After a moment, Arden leaned closer, her bronze braid glistening gold in the hearth-light, though careful not to touch Morrigan this time, as if privy to her earlier distaste, and whispered, “The man at the end of the bar is eyeing Sten, for one.”

Arden gestured with her cup towards the door, the man she referenced glancing over his shoulder after every few moments at both Sten and Duke, both hulking figures on guard in the corner by the door. Sten, with his usual stoic facade bereft of emotion, and Duke, all eager smiles and drooling fangs.

“And I fear that man over there is about to sing,” she said, wincing as she pointed to a table closer to the center of the room.

Morrigan’s eyes fell on the figure Arden pointed out, huffing a laugh at the sight.

“I’d hardly call him a man, more like a boy,” Morrigan said, noting his lack of facial hair and abundance of baby fat. “This should certainly be interesting.”

At this Morrigan smirked, intrigued though afraid that they would all be in for an earful just as the boy pulled out a lute and began tuning it, the frills on his sleeves catching on the strings every few moments. Arden chuckled at her side, taking another sip as they waited with baited breath for the minstrel to start singing or something.

“Hey, have either of you seen my-” Alistair butted in, but Morrigan hushed him before he could finish speaking, resulting in the man souring on the other side of the table and asking his question again to Leliana, in a hushed voice this time.

Just as the chantry sister shook her head, the minstrel took up his instrument, Leliana’s startling blue eyes glancing in his direction, rolling them as the realization came upon her as well.

“What, is he competition or something?” Alistair joked, noticing the disaster about to happen as well. “Despite no longer being a bard, I mean.”

“Not exactly, but if he even attempts to play Empress of Fire, which he’s using to tune up, he will have every swordpoint in this inn pointed at his pretty little face.”

Arden turned to look at Leliana at this, and Morrigan as well, the surprise at her words washing over them at the same time. Even Alistair looked at her wide-eyed before coughing purposefully, and adding, “Well, it is Ferelden after all. If there was one way to get Loghain’s attention it would be doing anything remotely Orlesian within our borders.”

“That, or killing the-” Morrigan almost said ‘the king‘ before Arden nudged her over the table, sharply in the ribs, “Ow!”

“Can you please stop joking about that?!” Alistair said through gritted teeth now, leaning over the table and nearly topping Morrigan’s cup over. “I know the politics of it all are just some big joke to you but-”

“Hush, I think the poor fool’s about to start,” Leliana interrupted. Everyone grew quiet, as did the rest of the inn, having taken a wary notice of the minstrel and lowering their conversations to a murmur not out of politeness but out of curiosity.

For a moment, Morrigan wondered if this is what it was like to grow up with siblings, having seen enough children chase and quarrel with one another in her travels. She cast her eyes about the inn once more as the quiet conversation settled into a rhythm to see if anyone watched them or sent suspicious glances their way, used to being labeled an outsider on principle but careful to make sure they went unnoticed now that they were tasked with saving the world out from under the King(Lord) Regent’s nose. Was this what it was like having siblings? Arguing with them one minute but growing defensive if anyone else dared the same.

Before she could ponder, the minstrel began playing, and…

“It’s… surprisingly pleasant,” Morrigan found herself saying after a moment, the rest of the table nodding in sober agreement. The minstrel sang no words, instead humming a countermelody along to the tune he began playing (which was probably for the best), careful to leave an upturned hat on his table in case any present felt so inclined to leave a copper or two.

“I don’t think I know this song,” Leliana mused, trying not to appear too engrossed in the performance, though Morrigan could tell just by the look on her face that she was trying to pick out the notes as they wafted over them in the murmuring din while she continued tending to her bow.

“I’d be rather surprised if you knew every song,” Morrigan mused. “Such a thing is impossible.”

Leliana pursed her lips, looking at Morrigan pointedly and looked as if she might roll her eyes in response though she managed to refrain.

“Of course I can’t know every song,” Leliana countered, her voice its usual Orlesian-tinged sing-song, “Yet most original songs tend to sound like something else, no?”

“I think I know what you mean,” Alistair said, looking back at the shine in his bracers still set on the table, angling them just so to see how shoddy his work was in the nearby candlelight, “Like how so many travel songs take after Calenhad’s Call.”

“Exactly,” Leliana answered, “Melodies so often resemble one another out of merely having memorized them. As a bard, it’s hard not to call on what you know even when you are trying to write something new.”

Morrigan scoffed, rolling her eyes where Leliana refused to more than once, and crossed her arms as she turned back to the whole of the tavern hall again, trying to follow Arden’s gaze as she sat quiet, taking the room in.

“So, notice anything new, or-?” Morrigan began, but Arden cut her off before she could finish.

“It’s Amaranthine On High.”

Arden’s voice was cold, her posture suddenly stiff at her side, her gaze unblinking.

“Amaranthine?” Morrigan said, finding herself wary of breaking the sudden tension, “On the Storm Coast?”

But this time Arden did not answer. Leliana and Alistair did not notice, having gone back to their menial tasks while their food was still being prepared, but Morrigan sat wondering, apprehensive, as Arden sat beside her without another word, watching on as the men across the hall continued their gambling, unaware of Arden’s staring. She’d never seen her like this, her eyes fixated, her limbs rigid, but with poise somehow. She was thinking, Morrigan could tell, but for what she was not sure.

Arden had been watching the minstrel, but Morrigan now saw that he was accompanying the men playing cards across the room, likely playing a song in their favor to earn more of their coin. The scene was not unusual for Morrigan, having stepped into a tavern or two in her time, trailing behind caravans that dared near the Wilds when the opportunity arose. But why this interested the Warden and changed her countenance so? She could not guess.

Morrigan sipped her wine quietly, no longer expecting any further response from Arden beside her. The girl continued staring, now with arms crossed, eyes mere slits as she angled herself carefully towards the bar, as if not to arouse too much suspicion. The song changed, and suddenly Arden stood, a smile on her face, her gait easy, almost lazy, lusty if Morrigan were being generous.

Morrigan’s eyes darted across the table to Leliana, who also noted Arden’s sudden change, exchanging glances as they shrugged in shared confusion. It took a moment for Alistair to notice as well, and when he did Leliana hit his arm with a hurried “Hush!” as she turned in her seat to see just what it was that Arden was doing.

Holding her cup in a vice grip, Morrigan drank the last of her wine and found her mouth dry, hungry for more, unexpectedly finding herself… afraid. Arden was always so level-headed, diplomatic, prudish even as she teased Alistair about his sexual experiences or lack thereof when the two of them thought the others weren’t listening in and snickering all the while.

With an unusually lofty air, Arden meandered over to the mens’ table, smiling at them, almost seductively - her eyes heavy-lidded and her lips purposefully plump as she smirked. From across the tavern Morrigan could hear her ask, “Mind if I join?”

The closest of the men balked, blinking up at her at a loss for words. Arden took his silence for compliance and pulled up a chair. The two men closest to her exchanged glances while the others looked on interestedly, sharing a quiet word or two between their cards. None seemed displeased, though a spot confused, though judging by their faces none seemed to mind. Arden waited, smiling at each of them, a sharp look in her eye as she made direct contact with every one. Whatever response she was anticipating, she did not receive it, for Morrigan saw a glimmer of disappointment (or perhaps it was surprise?) flicker across the Warden’s face once she’d looked every man sat around the table before her, none with a word to say for her presence other than a leering grin that she might go to bed with one of them, should they be so lucky.

The rest of the conversation Morrigan could hardly hear, but Leliana was leaning just as closely and just as careful not to appear too obvious while Alistair kept leaning over the table and nearly toppling all their drinks over every few moments to get a better look, clearly uncomfortable with whatever show Arden was putting on and the attention it was getting. But the man stayed put, to Morrigan’s surprise, either too eager to see how this all played out or just as willing to trust Arden with this charade as Morrigan was.

But truth be told, Morrigan had no idea what the girl was getting at, or what sort of game she was playing. They had only known each other for a relatively short amount of time, just outside a month if Morrigan was correct, but this was just… so unlike her, so unusual, that even Morrigan was rendered speechless. It might have been something she would do, just to test men’s mettle, if she’d had the patience, or perhaps if she’d wanted something. But what exactly did Arden want?

Eventually the men dealt Arden into their little card game, the Warden peering over her hand of cards with a devilish look on her face the men easily mistook for friendliness - such as men are. After a while, Arden throws the game and wins not but a penny, but she smiles nonetheless. The inn grows quieter as some of the other patrons move outdoors or to their secured rooms upstairs, and the barkeep’s wife finally comes round with their suppers, but Arden remains playing cards with the men across the room without so much as a backward glance.

“Where did you say she was from again?” Leliana asked after a while, her voice quiet, almost solemn as she sipped from her second cup of wine, just as nervous as Morrigan though Morrigan would never admit it.

“Highever, I think,” she responded, thinking back to Arden’s questions about the Flemeth myth, about her mother, testing the tales she was told as a babe against the story Morrigan told her by their camp’s firelight. “Why?”

Leliana’s face paled.

“You haven’t heard the rumors? I wasn’t sure if they were true, but-” she said, spinning around to see if Alistair had an answer. But the young man only looked back at her, his gaze dark - and that was enough of an answer for Leliana it seemed, though she was in no mood to ask him to elaborate.

“Can I buy you another drink?” said one of the men across the room, his face red as he gazed at Arden, part blushing and part heavy with wine. Arden smiled, wicked, and nodded.

“Maybe we should-?” Alistair started, but Leliana only hushed him again before looking to Arden, eager to see how this all unfolded, Morrigan included, though she did not indicate as much.

“What, exactly, is she doing I wonder?” Morrigan queried into her cup.

“I’m afraid I might already know,” Alistair groaned, head held in his hands. “I’m not sure this is such a-”

“She can handle herself,” Leliana interrupted in an urgent whisper.

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” Alistair said, slumping into the table now, surrendered.

Morrigan wanted to agree with Leliana - let the girl sort out her affairs on her own, whatever her intentions may be - but there was something about her air, Arden’s entire demeanor, that was just so entirely off that it left Morrigan with a horrible unease she could not shake as she watched on with rapt attention, for once sharing in Alistair’s sentiment and detesting every moment of it.

The barkeep replenished their drinks and collected their silver, paying extra mind to the men across the room. Morrigan noted that Arden was careful enough to barter not one, but two drinks on her behalf. The two men that flanked her balked as she downed one cup in a single go and start on the other, never breaking eye contact all the while. Leliana glanced at Morrigan, raising her eyebrows, clearly impressed but unsure nonetheless. Morrigan echoed her gesture, watching as a few more patrons left the inn’s main room, leaving them alone with the men across the room and the minstrel playing for their benefit alone, it seemed. Even two of the men from the card game recused themselves, leaving only three.

A few stragglers remained in the outskirts if the inn’s greatroom, gravitating towards the shadows, minding their business, and only the Wardens’ ragtag group of misfits seemed interested at all in what was unfolding near the room’s hearth, at least everyone but Sten - even Duke was on alert now, his hears low and back, his posture stiff as if ready to pounce, but patient nonetheless.

Quieter now, Morrigan heard more of Arden’s words as she spoke half-way across the room, her eyes still uncharacteristically lidded, her voice almost rasp - a bit like her own, if she thought about it.

“What say you to a game of five finger fillet?” Arden asked once half of her second drink was consumed as the three remaining men only watched, wide-eyed, their expressions stuck somewhere between intimidation and arousal.

No one responded to her query, though there was a round of nervous laughter. Arden did not flinch. With that wicked half-smirk now a permanent fixture of her expression, a sharp glint in her eye, she reached back around for the dagger safely tucked into her belt. With a flip of her wrist, Arden twirled the blade - it’s sharp edge glinting in the firelight - and splayed her other hand on the table, immediately darting the point betwixt her fingers without even looking, her gaze still fixed on the men beside her.

Eyes wide, they watched on, suddenly afraid to speak.

“Seen any good fights lately?” she asked, easing into her smile.

The man beside her said something incoherent about a fight near Denerim, some spat between a noble upstart and the local alienage. The other one laughed weakly. But Arden shook her head.

“Did you happen upon the Highever Tourney this past summer?” she said, her blade moving quicker now, her aim impeccable.

The three men exchanged glances, one excusing himself to speak with the barkeep about drinks while the other two took their time in agreeing to shake their heads with a resounding ‘no’ their expressions unconvincing. Morrigan knew they were lying the moment Arden asked the question, having decided to spin the lie as soon as she spoke, noting: the dark looks, the sudden hunching of the shoulders, as if to shield themselves from something unseen, their shifting gazes before they dared meet Arden’s sharp eyes again. They no longer looked eager for her to continue, whatever it was she was doing, yet the presence of a pretty girl in their midst stayed their hands, working against their judgement, Morrigan could tell - otherwise, why would they stay despite their discomfort? With only two of them present now, she was bound to sleep with one of them, right? Or so Morrigan suspected they believed…

“I hear it was a lad from the Bannorn who won the melee,” one of them said eventually, attempting a smile as he also attempted friendly conversation, giving Arden the benefit of the doubt.

“Oh?” she said, her fingers still unscathed, the blade never stopping. “Did you happen to catch his name?”

“Er, dun’think so,” he answered, slurring as he took another swig of drink instead of elaborating.

“Bannorn, huh?” she confirmed, feigning interest, as if she didn’t know the answer already. “Any word on who bested Ser Barristan in the joust?”

“Aye, none can best that man,” the other perked up, clearly a fan of whoever this was, “That Wiscard from Killarney is an upstart and a cheat, and I’ll be damned if-”

“Is that so?” Arden said, pleased to see the men ease up around her again, the other one joining in now.

“No offense, but Barristan is a bit old now, ain’t he Merrick? He’s about, I dunno, fifty now.”

“Sure, but man’s a legend,” the man called Merrick said, suddenly confident with drink. He inclined his head towards Arden and asked, “May I?”

He extended a hand towards her dagger, patient as he awaited her reply. She raised her brows, surprised, before surrendering the blade hilt first. Without as much as a thanks, the man began trying his hand (pun not intended) at five finger fillet.

“He didn’t notice the hilt,” Leliana muttered, almost imperceptibly, but she wanted Morrigan to hear. She was catching on, and she wanted to see if Morrigan followed as well. Under any other circumstances, Morrigan might have shot the chantry sister a glare, but in this instance… she was right, and Morrigan knew it. When Arden held out her dagger, she held it crest-up, on purpose, hoping one of the men would catch the image of twin laurels engraved in the mother of pearl glinting in the firelight… but neither of them did.

The other man was piss poor at this game, his fingers slow and fumbling, but Arden smirked despite it, glad he was falling into whatever trap she had set and happy to know he was too drunk to use the dagger with any accuracy. Morrigan wanted to laugh, unsurprised by men of this sort and whatever ilk they bore, but kept her mouth shut for she wanted to know what it was the Warden had up her sleeve exactly…

“What about that archer, eh?” the other man joined in after a moment, gathering his courage the more he drank, no longer intimidated by Arden but happy to be in her company. The fool, Morrigan thought.

“Heard it was a woman,” the other one said, “But that’s just rumors.”

“No rumors,” Arden chimed in, “I met her, actually.”

“Oh really?” the man with the dagger said, smiling over the hilt fumbling in his fat fingers, inelegantly stabbing the table every few moments, barely missing the skin of his hands.

“It’s true,” she said, almost growing solemn, “All of it.”

Just at that moment, the minstrel picked up his song again, as if sensing the mood in the room and seeking to lighten it with his lute. Morrigan rolled her eyes and waved at the barkeep for another mug of wine, placing a copper on the table for whatever that would buy her. Glancing at Alistair, Morrigan noticed the man was still hunched over his bracers, as if shining them into a mirror… he knew. He knew whatever it was Arden was doing, whatever her motive, and whatever that was scared him. He’d tried to stop her, but backed down the moment Leliana asked. Morrigan wanted to chalk it up to the man’s cowardice, but judging by the look on his face, she knew it was more than that. It was… earned, somehow, whatever it was that Arden was doing. He understood it, on some level, though he may have feared the outcome. The barkeep came round with Morrigan’s wine, and with a nod she sipped at the rest quickly, faster than she intended, eager to outdrink her dread as the feeling crept over her.

“Aye?” one of them laughed into his ale, the foam spilling over the edge, “How’d you know?”

“Because that girl was me.”

The men paused and Arden only smiled wanly at them. The one with the knife froze, the blade teetering as the edge now pierced the scrubbed wooden table that separated them from Arden. She plucked it from the wood and admired its glittering gleam in the hearth-light.

“It’s interesting that you both know so much for not having been there,” she said, her voice barely audible over the lute, now strumming a sweet melody as if in a reverie, “Ser Wiscard was actually the famous Ser Barristan’s squire once, so I’d say his victory is still Barristan’s. The man’s a good teacher,” she laughed before pausing in thought, her voice hollow, “And it was the captain of the Highever guard that won the melee, one Ser Gilmore, I’ll have you know.”

At this, the man on the left’s face drained of all color, skin as pale as paper as he watched Arden continue without another word.

“I saw you talking to him in the stables the following day, as I recall. Chatting about the mares,” she looked him in the eye now, the blade held firmly in her hands. “Funny, how I saw one of the very same mares tied up outside. I didn’t think so at first, but…”

Arden angled the dagger so the two men could see the sigil etched into its side now.

“I’m surprised, y’know. I really am - that Rendon didn’t make you memorize my face,” she said slowly, grinning eerily now, her eyes alight, “I would have hoped you’d recognize the daughter of Bryce Cousland if you saw her.”

Just as the men’s eyes fell on the blade’s laurel sigil, Arden stabbed the dagger into the man’s still outstretched hand on the table, staking it to the wood in a slow-growing pool of blood.

The minstrel stopped playing, mid-song, the remainder of the tavern’s inhabitants turning to watch. Morrigan stood stock still, her muscles tense as Leliana unconsciously grabbed her arm in a vice grip. Alistair had his bracers affixed to his forearms again beside them, gleaming in the tavern light as he sat with his pack ready to go, already realizing that they were never meant to stay here. His somber, amber eyes met Morrigan’s for a moment, and as if in confirmation, nodded his head with a glance at her stuff, beckoning that she, too, get her things ready before this got ugly. Duke barked from across the hall, nearly bursting out of his leash under Sten’s grip. Morrigan faltered, eyes wide, as she watched between all of them, Leliana at her side, also realizing, now gathering up her bow in case she had need of it.

Morrigan reached for her staff as she turned back to Arden, her face ghostly and garish in the firelight, her eyes wide and pale, her features manic as she looked the man in the eyes while she held his bloody palm to the wood, screwing the blade in deeper as she awaited a response.

The man beside him jumped up, scrambling for a scabbard that was no longer attached to his now-drunk hip, but just as he did, Arden produced another blade from the back of her belt and shot it, the blade catching the flesh of his ear and pinning it to the column of wood behind him.

“Especially if you were supposed to kill her, no?”

Without another word, Arden leaned across the table, never breaking eye contact, and grabbed both their drinks, not blinking once as she drowned them both, an eye on each of them as they scrambled in drunken shock and disbelief.

“Best tell Rendon Howe that Arden Cousland sends her regards,” she sneered once she slammed the last of the mugs back down on the table, foam spattering out of it and onto the men’s faces. “Because he’s next.”

Arden turned her heel and walked back to their table, her expression blank, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She finished her wine and spooned a few mouthfuls of stew between her teeth before slinging her pack back onto her shoulder.

“Are we done here?” she said to the lot of them, as if disinterested. Morrigan and Leliana shot up, as if they were reprimanded soldiers being called to attention. Alistair was already on his feet, looking grim, eager to leave. Duke, beside the bar, struggled against the Qunari’s firm but gentle grip, teeth lashing at open air as he snapped at the men across the room, the minstrel looking on in horror. Before awaiting her party’s response, Arden tossed a coin at him, laughing loudly when the boy caught it with his teeth.

“Good dog,” she said, winking, before patting Duke on the head as Sten surrendered him, his face grim, and leading the mabari out of the tavern and into the night.

No one asked any questions. No one said anything at all. Morrigan had seen her fair share of human spats in her time observing their behavior from afar, but nothing like this. The night air was a sharp slap to the face once they left the warmth of the inn, the rain coming down as more of an annoying mist than a downpour. Morrigan, for once, mourned the loss of a warm bed as Arden meandered over to the stable beside the inn.

“I say it’s about time we had some horses, no?” the Warden said, untying the three Storm Coast Coursers from their posts, rubbing the neck of the mare in the middle’s affectionately. As if she knew her and was making up for not recognizing her earlier.

Leliana took one of the horse’s leads uncertainly, but not unsurely. She would follow Arden into hellfire, Morrigan knew, but she could tell Leliana was hesitant about asking after what exactly had just transpired. Glancing at Morrigan and locking eyes, her piercing blue to Morrigan’s honeyed yellow… Morrigan knew she felt the same.

Arden passed the last horse’s rein to Morrigan, which she took with a wavering hand. She met Arden’s gaze, hard and sharp, like she’d never seen it before - and there, that was when Morrigan saw it - the bit of Flemeth in her, like the tales. The avenging woman, tempered yet unkempt with rage. She’d laughed when Arden had recalled what she knew of the Flemeth myth, of what ghost stories were told at Highever castle and of the woman who once lived there. But if there was ever any truth to those stories, there was truth to them now, and Morrigan witnessed it, alive in Arden’s sea-blue eyes. An avenging angel, righteous with fury.

And keen on saving the world despite it.

#bless you anon #dragon age #dragon age origins #cousland warden #morrigan #fan fiction #my writing #I don't even know how to tag this

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jchb32273 · 5 years

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A little snippet from Kylara’s Origins...

From Chapter 27 in my LongFic. This covers Kylara and Cullen’s first reunion since the attack on Kinloch Hold.

The Whole Story is here

Knight-Commander Greagoir greeted us. “Ah, Wardens. What brings you back over here?”

“A couple of things, ser.” I suddenly saw Cullen enter the main hall. I tried to smile at him, but he quickly looked away, turned, and walked back out of the room. My heart crumbled. Alistair quickly saw and gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. I then faced Greagoir again, who was waiting for me to continue. I cleared my throat. “Sorry, ser. As I was starting to say, we came to speak with the First Enchanter about a few things before heading back out. We’re actually on our way to Denerim.”

“I see.” The Knight-Commander turned around. “Where is everyone?” I heard him mutter. “Carroll? Cullen? Anyone?”

Cullen, who apparently had just been lingering on the other side of the door, reluctantly poked his head back into the main hall. “Yes, ser?”

“Take the two Wardens to the First Enchanter, please.”

Cullen hesitated, then finally said, “But ser, she used to live here. I think she knows the way to Irving’s office.”

“You are questioning my orders?” Greagoir’s eyebrows raised. “The Warden no longer lives here. Protocol dictates that she needs to be escorted. She should also be treated with courtesy as an honored guest.”

Well now, that is a change from how I was greeted when I first came back here!

“Yes, ser,” Cullen mumbled. He slowly walked up to us.

“Ah, Knight-Commander, ser?” Alistair said, suddenly and to my surprise, “I’ll stay here with the rest of our companions. I’ll let Kylara speak to the First Enchanter by herself.”

I realized that he was intending for me to actually try and speak to Cullen alone. I nodded as he gave me a smile.

“Very well. Cullen, escort young Kylara up to Irving’s office. You will then wait there until her business has concluded and then escort her back here. Understand?”

“Yes, ser,” he replied quietly.

“What was that?”

Cullen stood up straighter and spoke a bit louder. “I said, yes, ser.” He turned to me but didn’t look me in the eyes. “Come on, now. Follow me.”

After we left together, Cullen stayed ahead of me. He walked somewhat quickly and even though I could have kept up with him, I pretended to have some difficulty.

“Cullen, please slow down. I can’t walk that fast.”

He said nothing in reply but did slow down slightly.

I tried again. “Cullen, please. Can’t you talk to me? I’m not a stranger, you know.” I sighed. “We were friends.”

Cullen abruptly stopped, almost causing me to run into him. I saw his fists clench. “Friends,” I heard him mutter. “Ha! As if I ever really knew you. Knew any of you… mages.” He spat out the last word as though it was a vile curse.

I winced. Even though the attack on the Tower had happened over three and a half months ago, it was clear that Cullen was still having a hard time dealing with what had happened.

“Cullen,” I whispered. I gently put my hand on his arm to try and comfort him, but he violently shook it off.

“Don’t touch me,” he practically hissed. “You have no idea what I went through! I begged to the Knight-Commander to let me have some time away from here, but he said I needed to stay here. That in time I’d learn to forgive and forget. But I will never forget! Never! Do you understand?!”

“Cullen, no one is asking you to forget. But you do need to… forgive,” I said softly.

He turned and glared at me. “You have a lot of gall to ask that of me. You…” He closed his eyes and took a breath. Then he reopened them and continued. “You, who started the whole nightmare for me! Because you were infatuated with me! You tried to sway me from my vows with your damning kiss! You… opened me to Uldred’s influence!” He backed away from me and stood up against the wall. “The… things he made me see!” He shuddered and took another deep breath. “Why should I forgive any mage… especially you!”

I was hurt, but his response made me angry as well. “Look, I understand you were tortured. I know what happened to your comrades! I was here too! I know what evil Uldred did! I know that some mages can be easily swayed by demons, but I am not one of them! I fought to save every last person here, no matter if they were mage or Templar! I killed the abomination that Uldred had become to free you, and this is the thanks you give me?”

Cullen actually looked a bit ashamed even as there was still anger on his face. He hesitated and then said, “How do you know you’ll never be tempted by a demon?”

“I already have been tempted.” Cullen started to nod, a slight sneer on his face, but I cut him off. “I beat the shit out of her to free not only myself from her foul influence, but from a child she had possessed.”

“Who?” he asked.

“Arl Eamon’s son, Connor.”

“Connor?”

“Yes. He’s a mage. He will be brought to the Tower soon. Probably after we finish dealing with the Blight.” Then I remembered another demon I had recently dealt with. “There was also another one who tried to possess a little girl in Shadmoor. The demon had shape-shifted into a cat and tried to trick the girl into freeing her from an enchanted prison. I put that demon in its place too!” I stared deep into Cullen’s amber eyes. “So don’t even think for one moment that I am the kind of mage who would ever take the ‘easy road’ to get anywhere!”

Cullen simply stared at me now. He blinked a few times, then simply said, “No, I suppose you are not.”

“Cullen, believe me when I say that I understand the trauma you are dealing with. I haven’t exactly had it easy since I’ve become a Grey Warden. I’ve almost died a few times…”

His eyes got big. “What?”

“We were betrayed at Ostagar by Loghain. Alistair and I almost died there. We were saved, thankfully.”

His eyes narrowed now. “How?”

“By a young mage and her mother who lived in the Korcari Wilds.”

“Apostates?!”

I sighed. “Yes, Cullen. Apostates. Mages not under Chantry watch. But I will have you know right here and now, that if it had not been for them, I would no longer be here to help battle the Blight. Not only did the mother rescue Alistair and I from Ostagar, but her daughter helped save me when Jowan tried to kill me.”

“You came across Jowan? Where is he now? We can send some Templars to apprehend him!”

“You needn’t worry about Jowan. He is dead.”

“Oh.” His lips thinned. “But what of the other apostates? This girl and her mother? Do I need to tell Knight-Commander Greagoir?”

“NO! Haven’t you been listening to me? Had it not been for them, I would be dead! Not all apostates are evil! Not all mages are evil! You need to learn this and move on with your life!”

Several doors had opened and I saw mage apprentices poking their heads out at the commotion.

Cullen glared. “Get back to bed! All of you! NOW!”

The mages quickly withdrew and the doors were slammed shut.

“Cullen… Was that really necessary?”

“They need to learn their place!” he growled.

“You are going to make them resent you,” I sighed. “If I held on to every grudge, every bad thing that has happened to me these last few months, do you honestly think I’d be able to do my job as a Grey Warden?”

He exhaled sharply. “You make it sound like it will be easy! Like I could just snap my fingers and that’s it. Erase the days of torture that I endured. Erase the memories of what Uldred did to my comrades, my brothers!”

“I never said it would be easy, Cullen. All I am asking is that you try.”

Cullen subtly shook his head, then turned and began walking towards Irving’s office again without any other words. I sighed again and followed. As we walked, I remember my vision of Cullen from the Temple of the Sacred Ashes. Because of Uldred, my anger towards you and other mages will remain for some time, but you must not let the guilt of it weigh you down… I could only hope the vision would come true in time…

#Cullen Appreciation Week

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haledamage · 5 years

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Pairing: Female Cousland/Nathaniel Howe

Story Summary: Cathain Cousland had been in love with Nathaniel Howe for as long as she can remember. It doesn’t take long after they reunite in Amaranthine to realize she still is.

Chapter Summary: Things didn’t stay okay. They never did.

Things didn’t stay okay. They never did.

Alistair and Loghain’s first meeting went explosively, spectacularly wrong to the point where Cait had to draw blades on both of them to keep them from dueling in the main hall. Only when she made it very clear that she’d send them away, Architect be damned, if they kept fighting did they begrudgingly settle down. They sat on opposite sides of the room, sullen and pouting like children, and didn’t say a word to her or each other.

"Do I need to assign guards to you to keep you from trying to kill my general?" she asked Alistair.

"No," he said petulantly. He sounded like he wanted to say 'yes' just to see what she'd do. "I'll behave."

She turned to Loghain. "Do I need to assign guards to you to keep you from trying to kill your son-in-law?"

"Wouldn't be the first time, would it," Alistair muttered.

"Alistair Theirin!"

"Fine!" He glared at her. She wasn't intimidated by it. She'd faced down scarier things than a surly king. "You're acting like you're my mother."

"Unsurprising, since you're acting like a child." She sighed and crossed her arms. She resisted the desire to start pulling her hair out in frustration. "I don't care right now if you don't like each other. If you can't work together, you can leave. I'm serious. The Architect is smart. If we're divided, it will pick us apart and throw all three of us on its blighted operating table."

Only after they'd left did she allow herself to vent a little, kicking a poor defenseless chair across the floor in frustration.

"You're going to give yourself gray hair if you don't relax," Anders said genially, feet propped up on the map table. "And we'll run out of places to sit."

"I'm already going gray," Cait said dourly. She pulled her hair back from her face so he could see the streaks of silver at her temples. They weren't visible with her short hair loose around her face; she had no idea how long they'd been there, but she was pretty sure she hadn't had them even a month ago. "What do you think? Distinguished?"

"Hmm, very dignified." He stepped into her path to stop her pacing. She hadn't even realized she'd started doing so. "Definitely hereditary and not at all stress induced."

He hugged her and she let him, leaning her head on his shoulder. Ser Pounce leaned out from his resting place in Anders' hood to sniff at her face. "Could go either way, actually. My parents both went gray young."

"Do you think they'll be all right?" Anders asked, looking at the open door and the empty hall beyond it.

Cait sighed and stepped away from him. "They won't have to be. They'll be in separate places when the fighting starts. I just need them to be civil until then. I don't have time to babysit them."

"Have Byron do it." He laughed at the skeptical look she gave him. "Really! Those two strapping examples of Ferelden masculinity wouldn't dare disappoint your mabari."

Cait stopped to think about it a moment. "Ugh. I hate to say it, but you're probably right."

She spoke to them each independently that evening. Alistair was still petulant and Loghain was still grumpy, but they were calmer now that they were separated and at least willing to talk to her.

They both looked properly guilty when she mentioned Anora, united in their love for her if nothing else. Cait made a note to write to the queen and ask how heavily she could leverage her pregnancy to get her husband and father to at least pretend to be polite. Anora was a practical woman; she wouldn't be above using her children as a bargaining chip for a little domestic peace.

She was still agitated that evening. The walls of the keep pressed too close, even opening the windows to let the night in didn't help. She paced her bedroom like a caged tiger.

Nathaniel sat at the desk and watched her go. "Do you want to go for a walk?" he asked gently. "You look like you could use some air."

It was tempting. It was a nice night, the breeze just cool enough to cut through the languid heat. But Cait shook her head. The likelihood of running into another person was too high; she didn't have the capacity for polite conversation right now.

"Do you want to spar?"

"No."

"Do you want to have sex on the map table in the war room?" he asked with a playful grin.

That got her to stop pacing, at least, which was probably the point. She doubted he actually meant it, but she considered it anyway. Eventually, she said, "A little bit. Maybe not right now."

Nate stood up and walked over to her. “Then what's on your mind?”

Cait pressed her face into his shoulder and breathed him in. Things always felt less dire when he held her, like the rest of the world and all the troubles in it fell away as long as they were together. “Do you want to get married?”

He froze, barely even breathing except for a tiny, startled “What?”

“I--” she started, then groaned and backed up enough to see his face. He stared at her like he’d never seen her before. “This isn’t how I meant to ask. I had plans. Dramatic declarations, speeches. Grand gestures. But I guess it’s out there now.”

Cait pulled out the small box she’d gotten from Wade that had been burning a hole in her pocket for days. It contained two matching rings of twined silverite and starmetal, shining bright blue and silver in the lantern light. Long, long before they’d ever been Grey Wardens, Cait had associated her and Nathaniel with blue and grey; in his pale blue eyes and her dark grey ones, in thunderstorms and summer twilight and the places they’d first found each other. “We talked once--recently, I guess, though Maker it feels like years since we left Kal’Hirol--about the future. And there’s no future for me that doesn’t have you in it. If the world opens up and swallows us whole, I want to be by your side while we dig our way out. I love you, Nathaniel. Marry me?”

Nathaniel started laughing. He wasn’t laughing at her, she knew. The look in his eyes was far too affectionate to be anything like a rejection, but Cait couldn’t figure out what she’d said that was so funny. She thought it had been a pretty good speech, all things considered.

Still laughing, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box and presented it to her. It held a thin silverite band with beautiful, dusty blue stones set flush into the metal. It looked delicate, but it would likely hold up to anything she could put it through.

Cait stared at it incredulously. The ring stared back, glinting merrily. “Is this why you wanted to take a walk?” she asked, voice a stunned squeak.

“Yes.” Nate took the ring out of the box and twisted it in his fingers, letting it catch the light. “I was going to propose under your tree. Dramatic declarations, like you said. You have a habit of throwing off even my most thought out plans."

She could only stare in awe as he took her hand and slipped the ring on her finger. "Cathain Cousland, I have loved you my whole life and will do so for as long as I live. Will you marry me?"

Cait couldn’t help but start laughing, too. They collapsed to the floor in a fit of giggles.

“What had you been planning to say before?” Nathaniel asked, leaning against the side of the bed and trying to catch his breath. “You said you hadn’t meant to ask yet.”

“I don’t remember. It doesn’t matter.” She leaned next to him and linked their hands together, holding them up to admire her ring. “There were probably easier ways to cheer me up, you know.”

“I know. I planned to ask regardless.” He kissed her forehead and she tilted her head back so he could kiss her lips as well. “Cheering you up was just a bonus.”

Cait climbed into his lap and leaned over him to kiss him properly, gentle and unhurried. “I bumped into Velanna when I was picking up the rings. She offered to do a Dalish bonding ceremony for us, if you wanted to… skip the formalities.”

“Tempting.” He brushed her hair back from her face. “That isn’t too quick for you? You weren’t even planning to get betrothed yet.”

“I’ve known I wanted to marry you since I was eleven. Long before I knew what all it meant. Before I convinced myself for a while that I wouldn’t be allowed to.” She touched his face, trailing her fingers along his jaw as she decided how honest to be. “I think things have been quiet too long. The Architect is going to make its move soon, I feel it. I was going to wait until after it was over. In case…”

“In case you didn’t survive it,” Nathaniel finished the sentence for her. He grabbed her face in his hands and held her eyes to his, gently demanding. “I meant it when I told you that it was never going to touch you again. I don’t care how smart or strong or old it is, it can’t have you. You are mine.”

“Nate…”

She wasn’t sure what she was going to say, but it didn’t matter. He kissed her firmly, a familiar stubborn set to his jaw. “Can you imagine the looks on everyone’s faces tomorrow morning?” he growled against her lips. “The confusion from the nobles pouring in when you correct them and tell them to call you Arlessa Howe?”

She pushed away from him just a little. “Don’t you dare turn this into a challenge! This is our marriage we’re talking about, you can’t just provoke me into eloping!”

His smile was triumphant. “Maybe. But I did, didn’t I.”

“I’ll go get Velanna.”

-------

The first reports of darkspawn sightings arrived before breakfast the next day.

“It sounds like they were just scouts,” Loghain said as he handed Cait the report. She skimmed it as the others kept talking.

“That is what it looks like to me as well.” Leliana put a couple of smooth wooden coins on the map where the skirmishes happened, north of the Vigil and west of the city. “Small numbers, none of them spoke. They tried to avoid our soldiers as best they could.”

“I assume none were allowed to escape and report back,” Alistair said, reading over Cait’s shoulder. “I’ve been out of the loop a while, but I doubt you’re in the habit of sparing darkspawn.”

“No,” Nathaniel growled. “We aren’t. But it’s unlikely they got them all. Farmers and infantry wouldn’t be able to sense them to pick off shrieks or other spies. Whatever information the Architect is after, we have to assume it got it.”

“Such an optimist,” Alistair said wryly. “I can see why she likes you.”

“How many of ours were injured?” Cait asked, trying to keep them on subject.

“None.” Anders shook his head. “Not even a scratch or even signs of the taint.”

“Then they’re definitely the Architect’s people,” Sigrun said. She was standing on a chair to lean over the map. “Well, people is a strong word. You know what I mean. Darkspawn are swarmers. They ambush, kill or incapacitate the first target they see, then move on to the next.”

“I don’t like this,” Velanna said sourly. “If it wants to attack us, it should just do so and be done with it. I don’t like all this… subterfuge.”

“It’s hoping to catch us with our pants down,” Oghren said.

“No, I don’t think it is,” Cait said, putting the pieces together as she spoke. “If it wanted to do that, it could have done so any time in the last week, while I was still helpless.”

“Cait Cousland, helpless. That’ll be the day.” Anders laughed. “I think you and I have very different definitions of that word.”

“It’s Howe, actually,” Nathaniel said, very quietly. “Cait Howe.”

Cait fought to keep a grin off her face and failed spectacularly. ��My point is, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that scouts are showing up only a day after an entire company of soldiers did.”

“It is testing you. Trying to find how much attention you are paying. Perhaps trying to draw you out,” Leliana said. As she spoke, she raised a delicate eyebrow in a second silent conversation.

Cait put her hands on the table deliberately, in answer to Leliana's silent question. The bard’s eyes dropped to the rings on her left hand. “So do I let it draw me out?”

“I don’t like the idea of you using yourself as bait.” Loghain said gruffly. His sharp eyes darted from Cait to Nathaniel and back. “I suspect you intend to do so anyway.”

“If you have a better suggestion, I am willing to listen.” She waited, but no one said anything. “Then bait it is.”

“If it’s looking for a response, then we should mobilize the army toward Amaranthine,” Nathaniel said. “That should draw it out of hiding, or at least force it to make its next move.”

“The Architect will not be with the main horde,” Zevran pointed out. “It is too smart for that.”

“Yes, but a small group could sneak around behind it,” said Sigrun. “Follow the trail of darkspawn back to their leader. Cut off the snake’s head. Figuratively speaking.”

Oghren chuckled. “Maybe literally, too, if we’re lucky.”

Cait picked up three of the wooden map marker coins, placed one on the keep, one on the city, and one in between. “Three groups, then. Loghain leading the Vigil’s company here. Varel will be with you, too, to help keep civilians in order and out of the way. Alistair will take the King’s Company to Amaranthine to protect the city. And I’ll take the fight to the Architect.”

She looked around the room, counting in her head. “We’ll split the rest of you between the three groups, I guess. Three with me, three to the city, and two more to help defend the keep. That way we’ve got at least a few Wardens in each place.”

“I’m going with you,” Nathaniel said in a voice that left no room for argument.

“So am I,” said Velanna. “I will learn what that thing has done with my sister.”

“I wish to help defend the city,” Justice declared.

Anders stared at the map. “I should stay here. Bring the wounded back to the Vigil and I’ll take care of them.”

“I will stay too,” Leliana said. “One more archer on the walls can make a big difference.”

“I’ll probably get to kill more darkspawn if I go with you, right, Cait?” Sigrun said with a grin. “Then I’ll be where the action is.”

“Then it is back to the city for me,” said Zevran.

“Heh heh, just like old times, eh?” Oghren said, elbowing Zev.

“Then that’s that,” Cait said firmly. “We’ll start at first light, unless something happens before then. Any other business before we break for the day?”

“I have an inquiry,” Anders said with a slow, sly grin.

“Does it have anything at all to do with the Architect?” Anders didn’t answer her and that was answer enough. “Does anyone have any on-topicconcerns?” She was met with a discordant chorus of ‘no, Commander’, so she sighed and added, “Ask your blighted question, Anders.”

“When’s the wedding?”

Cait didn't actually have an answer to that. She assumed they'd have one, even though it wasn't strictly necessary, some public ceremony full of family and friends and fancy clothes. But it hadn't come up during the whirlwind of activity last night.

She opened her mouth to say as much, but Nathaniel spoke first. "Three months from now. During the Harvest Festival."

Her eyes snapped to him in astonishment. It was such an impossibly romantic, perfect idea that she couldn't find the words to say so.

"It's only a formality," Velanna said plainly. “So was the ceremony last night, really. You humans do love your rituals.”

“That is... true, I suppose,” Cait said slowly. She was starting to get uncomfortable with all the eyes on her; this room was much too small for so much scrutiny. “Surprise?”

“It wasn’t intended to be a secret,” Nate said softly.

“It isn’t a secret.” She found his hand under the table and held it tightly. “I'm impulsive, not ashamed."

“No need to be defensive, Caitie,” Anders said, still grinning. “We're happy for you."

“Good,” she snapped. She took a deep breath to calm herself. Why was this more stressful than planning a war? “I know. I guess I'm just practicing for when I have to tell my brother.”

Nathaniel pulled her into a hug and she let him, trying to ignore the way everyone was watching them. “Fergus will be happy for us too. Eventually.”

Cait didn’t share his optimism. Nate and Fergus had been good friends once, but her brother held grudges even worse than she did. She didn’t think he’d ever be okay with her being a Howe.

She pushed gently away from her husband. She couldn’t stand all the scrutiny anymore. “Okay, enough. We've got work to do.”

-------

“If I don’t make it back, I want you to lead the Wardens.”

Loghain looked up from buckling his armor in place to study Cait where she stood by the door. He started to say something, but she spoke over him. “Nathaniel will take care of Amaranthine. He’s the arl now anyway, and it was always supposed to be his, but he hasn’t been a Warden long enough to be the commander.”

“He’s been one longer than you were when you got put in charge,” he said quietly.

“Extenuating circumstances,” she said lightly. No need to rehash exactly what those circumstances were. She stepped father into the room to help him with his armor. Plate armor was complicated enough that it needed a second pair of hands anyway, and it gave her an excuse not to look at him. “There’s still too much I don’t know. About the Architect, about whatever the Mother even is. I think the best I can hope for right now is mutually assured destruction.”

“Well, if you were my daughter--”

“Nope, try again,” Cait interrupted. She secured his breastplate in place and gave it an awkward little pat before finally looking up at him.

Loghain brushed her hair back from her face, a fatherly gesture no matter how much she tried to deny it. “If you were my sister coming to me for advice, my much, much younger sister, I would tell you that worrying about the future won’t change it. You were like this the night before we fought the archdemon, too.”

“I don’t do well when given time to think things over,” she said softly. “I get anxious and then I get sentimental.”

Loghain studied her in silence, keen eyes inscrutable. “You know, there was a time I thought the same thing about us that you do now about the Architect,” he said wryly. “That the only way the Landsmeet would end is with both of us in ashes. Yet here we are.”

“Here we are.” She couldn’t help but smile at that. “I don't expect I'll be standing in the Architect's bedroom a year from now pouring my heart out to it.”

He huffed a laugh. “Stranger things have happened.”

“Name one.”

“I'm going to be a grandfather.” A small, bemused smile crossed his face, making him look years younger. A glimpse at the young man Maric had known.

“Alistair told me.” Cait pressed her forehead to his. “Congratulations, Loghain.”

Loghain’s smile was gone as quick as it had come, twisting into something sour. “He's going to poison that child against me.”

She shook her head. “Anora won't let him. I won't let him.”

“And if he does anyway?”

“Regicide worked out pretty well for you last time.”

Loghain laughed, probably against his better judgement. “Take care of yourself out there, Cait. Don’t let it get in your head and you’ll be fine. We can talk more when you return.”

“Careful, General. That sounded a lot like optimism,” Cait said with a grin. “But I guess stranger things have happened.”

“Name one.”

As if on cue, the door opened and Leliana stepped inside, armored and ready for war. She didn’t look surprised to find Cait there; she simply walked over and put an arm around both her and Loghain and leaned her head against theirs. They stayed that way for a while.

“You still have a little time before you leave,” Leliana said eventually. “You should spend it with your husband.”

“I know. I will. I was just making the rounds first, checking in on everyone.”

“You are doing the goodbye thing, like you did in Redcliffe. You like the drama. It was not necessary then and it is not necessary now,” Leliana’s smile was sweet but her hands were firm as she pushed Cait toward the door. “Go. Kiss your husband and sharpen your sword and kill your darkspawn. When you get back, we will do something fun, just you and me. Something that does not involve battle.”

Cait hoped she was right. She could use a little time away from war and doom for a while. She tried to hold onto the idea instead of letting dread overwhelm it. “I look forward to it.”

-------

She knew she should take Leliana’s advice and just go back to her room, but she made one more stop on the way, at the room that had until recently been Nathaniel’s and currently housed the king of Ferelden.

“Something on your mind?” Alistair asked from the doorway. He looked tired and drawn, even though it wasn’t even sunset yet. Cait wondered what was bothering him; she was curious if he’d actually tell her if she asked.

“I was just checking in. Wanted to make sure you don’t need anything before tomorrow. Making sure things were… okay.” She linked her hands behind her back to stop fretting at her sleeves.

“I’m fine, Cait. Ready to get this over with,” he said coolly, then he flinched. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean I don’t like waiting around.”

“Neither do I,” she said quietly. “I know what you mean.”

“That’s why you’re here, I reckon.”

She nodded slowly. “I just… Be careful tomorrow. Please.”

“Is that an order, Commander?” Alistair said dryly.

“Do I need to make it one?” Cait tilted her head, studying him curiously. “I know you aren't stupid, no matter how much you try to appear so. But these aren't your run of the mill darkspawn. If you treat them like it, you'll be overrun. If you see the Architect, just run. Don't engage it.”

“I guess it'd be too much to ask for you to take your own advice,” he said, but he smiled as he did. “You be careful, too.”

“Is that an order, Your Majesty?”

“Yes. Yes it is.” She thought he was done and was turning to leave when he added, “Thanks for inviting me darkspawn hunting, Caitie. It's been… nice, feeling like a Grey Warden again.”

“You could be one, you know. You always have a place here if you want it.” He wouldn’t take it, she knew. She could feel the canyon between them where their friendship had once been, before she’d destroyed it with four little words: ‘I accept your surrender.’ Cait knew they’d never move past that moment, not really. It was enough to have this, delicate as it was.

The look Alistair wore told her that he was thinking the same thing. He nodded. “I know. That's not my life anymore.” He smiled wryly. “You know, except for the nightmares. And the whole dying young thing. What can you do.”

“What if you could do something?” Cait asked before she could stop herself. The question had been on her mind with increasing frequency lately. “If you could purge the taint and be truly free of the Grey Wardens, would you?”

“Maybe,” he said after a long moment of consideration. “If it were possible. You don't think if it was, someone would have figured it out by now?”

“You’re probably right,” she said. It wasn’t the right time to push the subject; it was enough just to plant the seed, for now. “I’ll let you rest. Good luck tomorrow, Alistair.”

-------

Nathaniel's smile was warm and entirely too knowing when Cait finally returned to their bedroom. "Done avoiding me?"

“I'm not avoiding you, I'm avoiding me.” She sat down on the bed with a huff. “I figure if I walk fast enough and talk loud enough I can outrun my thoughts.”

"Did you?" he asked as he sat down next to her.

"Nope. Funny how they're always waiting whenever I get back.” She flopped back to lay on the bed and pulled him down with her. “I'm sorry we didn't get much of a honeymoon."

“We'll get a chance, once things settle down.”

“I hope so.” She was tired of feeling like this, hopeless and withdrawn. She wasn’t even worried about the coming battle, not really; she and her friends were ready, they were strong and so was their plan. Why couldn’t she shake this pall that had fallen over her? She said again, quietly, “I hope so. I could use a little peace and quiet.”

“We could see the world if you wanted,” Nate said softly. His hands found their way under her shirt. He trailed his fingers along her skin as if she were a map of the world, drifting to new locations as he spoke of them. “The Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux. Serault, the city of glass. Antiva City. I can show you the places I used to frequent up north, in Ostwick and Starkhaven and Kirkwall.” He smiled at her, indulgent and adoring. “Whatever my wife desires.”

Cait curled her fingers into his long, dark hair. "And what if all she desires is you, husband?"

“Then she'll have me. In whatever way she pleases,” he growled. He leaned over her, deliberate and unhurried. “Can I kiss you, wife?”

"Please."

For the rest of the night, Nathaniel made a very compelling argument for keeping her mind in the present. It was hard to feel disheartened or morose with his hands on her skin and the taste of him on her lips and their mingled breathing filling the space between them. For a while, she didn’t have to think at all.

Sometime in the pre-dawn hours of the morning, as Nate slept warm and sated with his face pressed to her throat and his hand low over her belly, Cait’s thoughts finally crystalized. She was afraid. Not of dying like she’d been assuming she was; she’d been staring death in the eye for nearly two years now and, so far, it had always blinked first. She was scared of the half-remembered moments in the Architect’s laboratory, of being helpless and trapped, of the darkspawn winning and choosing that instead of killing her, they would use her.

Once the thought crossed her mind, it solidified into a more familiar, unyielding rage and settled in her chest like an old friend. The trauma and commotion of the last couple of weeks had made her take a little longer to get there, but she had now. The Architect and the Mother and whatever other blighted monsters waited for her didn’t know who they were messing with. She’d show them and leave their corpses on display as a warning for the next ones that tried. She was Warden-Commander Cathain Howe; it was time she started reminding the creatures of the dark about that. Starting with herself.

When she finally relented to sleep, Cait slept deep and dreamless. At dawn, Nate woke her with gentle kisses and loving words. They helped each other into their armor in silence, lingering while they could.

And then, together, they marched to war.

#nathaniel howe #cousland/nathaniel howe #dragon age #dragon age awakening #dragon age fic #cait cousland #cait/nate #rhi writes #something might be found #apparently I'm going to have bad headaches every weekend this summer just to delay me posting a new chapter #as a reward for patience I maaaaay have the first chapter of the other thing I'm writing up tonight or tomorrow #I have a lot of FEELINGS about this chapter #and I'm trying not to babble about them and spoil anything for people #but Cait and Nate are ADORABLE and I love them

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