Warden - Blog Posts

Leliana found her.

Wake up babe, new Zev art just dropped

Stories of Thedas: Kallian

🌹ao3🌹

9:31 Dragon

Grey clouds reflected perfectly off the surface of Lake Calenhad until Kallian couldn't tell where it stopped and the sky began. It was a gloomy, frosty day, but at least it was calm. A soft breeze would ripple across once in a while, making the sky dance in the waters until it blew past, and all was still again. 

Growing up in the alienage, she had never seen a lake. Though it wasn't her first time noticing one, it was her first time really looking. Redcliffe was a dim noise behind her; the news of Arl Eamon's sudden good health was rapidly spreading, and with it, hope blossomed. 

Kallian let herself sit there for a while. Orzammar was next, a sprawling underground city. There would be no lakes there, no rivers or waterfalls. They wouldn't be leaving until tomorrow, and so, she let herself rest.

"Kall?" A quiet voice called, and she turned to see Alistair stood nearby, uncertainty clear in the set of his brow.

She smiled and gestured for him to sit with her with a nod of her head. 

He did so wordlessly, knees drawn up to lay his arms across, and Kallian moved slightly to lean her head on his shoulder.

"You know, I think I might be the first person in my family to ever see a lake," she mused. "Well, apart from my mam."

"Really?" Alistair asked in surprise, before chuckling.  "I've always felt like I couldn't escape it."

Kallian laughed in return as he kissed her head, resting his own against hers.

"Just… I know there's a lot of crap," she began quietly. "Death, pain, dirt… but I used to tell stories of places like this. My dad painted them, even though he'd never seen them himself… I wish I could show him, y'know?"

"You will," Alistair whispered, resolute. "One day."

Kallian smiled, warmed by his own determination for her family. She laced her fingers with his, pressing close.

They stayed there, silent, basking in each other's presence as they watched the grey clouds slowly turn orange and pink, the setting sun peeking through until it disappeared beyond the lake.

Murderous family man, Mr Tabris

my warden & inquisitor for me 8-9 years ago

I COME BEARING PROMPTS: "are you falling asleep?" for Kallian x Alistair (Allian? Kalistair? I like Kalistair)

thank you effe!! 🥰

some kallistair for my first ever @dadrunkwriting :3 [prompt]

rated g. warden tabris/alistair. 481 words. pre-relationship tension. there's only one bed 👀

Shale kept watch, both on their surroundings and on Zevran. Morrigan had her own little camp not too far away. Bodahn and Sandal slept in their caravan. Sten and Pether shared a tent. Leliana and Wynne shared another.

That left one.

Between Ciarth taking up far too much space than he needed, and Alistair being as big as he was, Kallian felt... squished.

Her mabari had fallen asleep as close as possible, almost cuddling with one leg thrown across her. She didn't mind, it was winter after all. Plus he was cute.

It did, however, ensure that she and Alistair were pressed up against each other, arm to arm.

Despite their flirting – Kallian refused to see it as more than that – tent sharing was always a very clinical, matter-of-fact affair with the two of them in a way it wasn't with anyone else. There were no whispered conversations, no huddling for warmth, and no stifled giggles. Just two quick goodnights and a see you in the morning.

Things felt... different after the Circle Tower.

"Are you asleep?" Alistair whispered, breaking their longstanding tradition.

"Yes," she replied automatically, staring up into nothingness. He huffed a laugh.

"Are you... are you falling asleep?" he tried again.

"'m trying to."

"Sorry. It... it's just been on my mind."

Kallian didn't say anything. She didn't know what to say. She wanted to pretend she had no idea what he was talking about, it was just too... complicated otherwise.

"Don't worry about it," she whispered after a while. "It was the demon, it doesn't... it doesn't mean anything."

"But what if it does?" he answered with no hesitation, like an arrow to her chest.

"What do you mean?" she asked weakly.

"Nothing," Alistair sighed, before doing the unthinkable. He turned around to face her, laying on his side. Slowly, she shifted to do the same, trying not to disturb Ciarth too much.

"You mean a lot to me, Kall," he muttered, impossibly close and a million miles away. It was too dark for her to properly see him, only a hazy outline that sent her heart hammering against her chest.

"Regardless of..." he trailed off. "You're the only other Warden in Ferelden. You're my friend. I don't want things to be weird just because–"

"They're not weird," she lied quickly. "You... you mean a lot to me too, Al."

If it was just earlier during the day. If the moon hadn't been obscured by dark clouds. If their tent had been closer to the campfire.

Kallian might have been able to make sense of the heavy tension that had softly landed over them. She might have been able to make out more than just Alistair's shallow breath, and her quaking fingertips.

"Goodnight," he whispered, his breath ghosting over her lips. Impossibly close. A million miles away.

"Goodnight," she murmured. "See you in the morning."

Some Zevran doodles

Also him and his tall girlfriend

Warden tabris

point of no return

My version of the city elf origin concept art from Dragon Age: Origins featuring @breninarthur's

Kallian Tabris

You can read Kallian fics here!

The background is an Adobe stock image by user paradoxu

The Red Admiral

What if Adaia Tabris was never killed?

Kallian stopped still to stare at him, completely baffled. "What are you doing here?"

"Um. Well… rescuing you," he stammered in return, blushing. "Or more, y'know, just… standing here."

She stared at her betrothed, dumbfounded. Of all the possibilities she'd considered, stressing in that dank, dripping dungeon; Nelaros was never a variable. Her mother; yes, Soris even; yes, the guards killing them all; of course. 

Nelaros? Who wrote to her, timid and polite, to ask her ring size as if inquiring to a nobleman where he hoarded his gold? Who smiled at her warmly when they met in person, earnestly telling her how he would spend his whole life learning how to make her happy?

No, Nelaros had never been a part of it.

Currently replaying Origins! Hachi Tabris I missed you 

my dragon age girlies

YOU CAN NEVER GO BACK

IT'S FRIDAY ASTER!! I come begging for some Kallian Tabris & Daveth pretty please! With the prompt "(Lure) Silent beckoning of the forest" from the Eerie Vague Autumn prompts, please??? (It's always Halloween in my heart, okay LOL)

HAPPY FRIDAY NIRI AND HAPPY MARCH HALLOWEEN!!! 💖

thank you for the prompt! this was my first time writing awakening-era kallian :) not quite sure if i really filled the prompt lmao but i enjoyed it anyway! (apologies in advance.)

rated t. kallian tabris & daveth for @dadrunkwriting. 811 words. creepiness.

*

"Something's wrong," Kallian muttered, holding out her arm to stop her companions.

"It's just the Blackmarsh," Nathaniel replied, his voice low. It was an eerie place, full of fog and cricketing bugs, and they'd each fallen silent without discussion as they crossed into its boundaries.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kallian remarked, impatient as she turned to inspect him. They hadn't quite gotten used to each other yet. When Kallian looked at him, she saw his father who'd sold her people into slavery. When Nathaniel looked at her, he saw his father's murderer, the one who'd disgraced his family name.

"My... family used to tell me stories of this place," he said, stepping forward and waiting for her to carry on. "It's haunted."

"The Veil here is thin," Velanna interrupted, clutching to her staff tightly.

"Great," Kallian grumbled.

"Nothing our fearless leader can't handle," Anders grinned. She forced a smile back, but he reminded her too much of Alistair for it to be genuine. She hadn't seen him for weeks.

"Just be on your guard," she said, drawing her sword and hefting her shield into place.

Within the hour; the marshlands had separated them.

"Shit," Kallian hissed, stumbling past another tree she'd been sure was one of her Wardens. Travelling with them was incredibly different to what she was used to. They were not her friends, and they never would be. She was their Warden-Commander. Their Duncan. She'd brought them into this forsaken place, and it was her responsibility to get them out.

"Anders?" she called, suppressing the shiver that ran through her at the prospect of raising her voice. With any luck, her Wardens would be the only ones who heard her.

"Velanna?" She would have plenty to say when they did reunite, Kallian was sure of that. She reminded her of Morrigan. The thought made her grit her teeth. If her best friend hadn't run off as soon as she could, Velanna's disappointment and scathing remarks might have been a fond reminder.

"Nathaniel?" There was still no answer.

The Blackmarsh was suffocating in its darkness. The tall, willowy trees forbade moonlight, and she'd stupidly been relying on the mages for light. It had barely been something she'd needed to think about before, between Morrigan, Wynne, and Shale.

Every twig that snapped underfoot was a painful buzz at the back of her neck. She felt like she was being watched.

She missed Ciarth.

"Kallian?"

She spun around at the sound of her name. There was no one there. Her breath came quick, pluming ahead of her like campfire smoke but not half as comforting.

"Oh, you bastard," she whispered shakily, her wide eyes wildly darting from side-to-side. Demons, spirits, whatever it was... she hated it.

Kallian slowly pivoted back, ready to press on and find her group.

A scream tore through her throat without mercy. She staggered backwards, tripping over a sprawling root and landing in a heap on the wet ground.

As she'd turned, she'd been nose to nose with an impossibility.

"D-Daveth?" she whimpered, gaping in horror.

He stared at her. It wasn't him, it couldn't have been, she knew it. If not for the fact he'd died over a year ago – he wasn't smiling. Daveth was always smiling.

"Kallian," he said, and Maker, did it sound like him. She'd thought that voice was familiar.

He sounded strange, though. There was no laughter in his voice, no hint of a joke ready to go.

Dried blood drenched the lower half of his face, and his nose sat at an odd angle.

She knew it wasn't him. But for the life of her, she couldn't tear her eyes away.

"How did you do it?" he asked, standing stock still. For a moment she thought he was talking about the archdemon, and panic throbbed in her chest once again at the thought of anyone finding out about Morrigan's ritual. Of her part in it.

"Do–"

"Let me die?"

A lump stuck in her throat, and tears quickly flooded to her eyes.

"I–"

"Why didn't you help me?"

"Daveth–"

"And now you've forgotten me."

Her hand flew to her Warden's amulet. She'd scratched his name and Jory's on the back of it almost as soon as she'd gotten it.

"No," she whispered, struggling to her feet despite the sickness in her stomach threatening to spill over. This was the Gauntlet all over again.

When she stood, her sword shaking in her hand, Not-Daveth still stared at the spot she had been. His eyebrows pinched upwards, his head tilted slightly. He looked unbearably sad.

He wasn't real. Not a ghost either. Daveth was gone. She had to say something to vanquish whatever demonic magic was at work.

Kallian drew in a deep breath.

"Fuck off."

A rustle of leaves.

"Commander?"

She turned to see who it was.

When she looked back; Daveth was gone again.

Warden commander Tathas Tabris

Day 2 - Folklore and History

A 100 word drabble for @cityelfweek :3 [divider credit]

A preacher's visit was always frustrating.

"What about us?" one of the kids whined.

"What do you mean?" Kallian whispered.

"What about us!"

"You and me? Girls? Elves?"

She fiercely nodded at the last word and Kallian smiled.

"I'll tell you later."

Afterwards, Kallian, Soris, and Shianni slipped under a boardwalk and waited for their audience.

They grabbed whatever props they could – loose string and pigeon feathers – and spoke of Aderyn, a city elf who weaved and stitched the birds and the sky to remind them that they could do more.

They never needed to know it was made up.

Genres of popular Alienage songs, some specific to Denerim (many of these and especially the last one are courtesy of @bumblewarden ):

We Have To Work Tomorrow, Let's Get Drunk

We Have Finished Working For The Day, Let's Get Drunk

That Bastard Drank Away All The Money, Hope It's Nice To Sleep On The Street You Utter Moron

Love I Am Sorry For Drinking Away All The Money - The Hell You Are! Now Go Away (a soprano-barritone speak and answer duet)

Damn I Hope Work Finishes Soon

I Want To Kill My Boss (with metaphors)

I Want To Kill The Tax Collactor (with metaphors)

I Want To Kill The Local Lord (so many metaphors)

Ailill Got Into A Fight And Escaped The Guard

Ailill Got Into A Fight And Got Hanged For It

Little Lilan Killed A Rat

I Am A Woman And Violence Has Been Done Unto Me

I Am A Woman And Violence Has Been Done Unto Me, So I Am Poisoning Them

My Child Is Leaving For Their Wedding

I Am Leaving For My Wedding And I Can't Wait To Get Out Of Here

I Am Leaving For My Wedding And I Really Really Don't Want To Leave

Aw Fuck I Don't Like My Spouse

Holy Shit I Really Like My Spouse!?

Holy Shit I Really Like My Neighbor's Spouse (with metaphors)

Hey I Saw You Kissing Your Neighbor's Spouse (no metaphors)

Beware The Sea It's Full Of Monsters (in which the monsters are metaphors for slavers)

Garahel Killed The Archdemon

Garahel Killed The Archdemon And Still They Treat Us Like Shit

Hey Loghain We Fought With You Where's Our Reward (with some metaphors)

The Exploits Of The Hero Of Ferelden (with metaphors)

Alidda Killed The Chevaliers (so many metaphors)

The Exploits Of The Dark Wolf (ALL OF THE METAPHORS WHAT ARE YOU A SNITCH!?)

warden & champion sketches/wips that will never be finished

headcanon time - Lennan’s tattoos

(Copy pasted from a discord chat - so some of you have seen it already.)

The ‘crow’s wing’ tattoo is a symbol of the 'night guardian’ or 'watcher’ - a figure from the elven folklore: the keeper of secrets, the hoarder of whispers and the brother to the dead. Basically an amalgamation of the goth duo - Dirthamen and Falon'din. Linked to birds, good and bad luck, night and shadows. Can be both benevolent and capricious. Cruel, even. One eye in the waking world, the other in the Fade. You have to pass through his eyes to cross the Veil after you die. And if he doesn’t like what he sees, his Fade eye glazes over instead of showing you the way and you get trapped in the Fade forever and turn into something ugly and mean. 'May the watcher’s eye go green/dim/murky/piss/shut/stinky/rotten on ya’ is one of the many curses you may hear if you piss off a Denerim elf.  Gang thugs who get night guardian tattoos usually do it  a) to have the watcher’s protection, b) to be cool - because getting that much ink around your eyes is a pretty badass thing to pull off.  But Lenn actually likes the watcher a lot. Some of the best, spookiest alienage stories revolve around him.

Welcome to dadwc!! I’d love to see “The thrill of knowing how alone we are, unknown we are” from the Hozier prompts for Kallian/Alistair 🥰

Thank you, Ro 🥰💖

I took extreme liberties with this prompt I think lmao

rated g. kallian tabris/alistair theirin for @dadrunkwriting. 245 words.

* * *

Ostagar was different without all the noise. The wind howled through the once-more abandoned ruins, and Kallian's blood sang with the presence of darkspawn. She met Alistair's shining eyes – a barely there blue glow ringing the deep brown. Ciarth whined next to her, nudging her leg. They felt it too, then.

"It is strange to be back," Wynne murmured. Kallian hummed in response, still stuck taking in the place. Crude and filthy darkspawn barriers and pyres dotted the place, marring the once pale white walls with dripping black and red. Ostagar was hardly full of good memories for her, but it still made her sick to see it like that.

Alistair was uncharacteristically quiet beside her. She subtly scratched behind Ciarth's ears to grab his attention, nodding ahead when he looked at her. Without a word needed, he trotted off, pushing a grumbling Wynne in front of him.

"Hey," she said quietly, slipping her amoured hand in Alistair's. It was never enough like that, but it was better than nothing.

"Hey," he replied, squeezing her hand in return.

"You okay?"

"No," he sighed, smiling all the same. "But I'm glad we're here."

"Yeah," she muttered, a small smile toying with her lips too as she ignored the three words that suddenly blared in the forefront of her mind.

They stood alone for a little while longer, holding hands, sharing a kiss; the last two Grey Wardens Ostagar had seen in a long time.

Welcome to dadwc!! How about "have you ever lost someone?" for your Tabris & Zevran?!

Thank you so much! 🥰

rated g/t. kallian tabris & zevran arainai for @dadrunkwriting! 365 words. talks of death and mentions of the city elf origin.

* * *

It had been an exhausting day. Kallian sat slumped against a tree stump near the campfire, twisting the gold ring around her finger and frowning.

"What is troubling you, Warden?" Zevran asked with a smile, settling himself next to her.

"Have you ever lost someone?" she blurted out, blushing a little at her suddenness. "Sorry, that was rude."

"You Fereldans," he chuckled, rolling his eyes. "Of course I have. Have you?"

"Yeah..." she muttered in reply, chewing on her bottom lip.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," she lied. "Do you?"

"No," he said truthfully, before sighing. "I grew up in a whorehouse, never knew my father. My mother died giving birth to me."

"...Oh shit," Kallian replied, finally tearing her eyes away properly from the fire to look at him. "That's awful."

"It is what it is," he said dismissively. "What about you? Who is it that plays on your mind?"

"My mam died too," she said, a funny feeling in her stomach she couldn't explain away. "I was sixteen. A bunch of humans killed her because she stuck up for me."

"Such is the life of those like you and I," he said softly, his eyes full of genuine understanding. She'd missed that look.

"Yeah..." Kallian muttered, back to twisting her wedding ring. "I was supposed to get married."

"Truly?"

"Yeah," she chuckled. "I... was kidnapped on my wedding day. He came to rescue me. They killed him."

"Manina," he whispered, uncomfortably sympathetic.

"No it's fine, like I literally met him that day," Kallian started quickly. "It's still... weird, though."

She startled as she felt his hand gently hold hers, stilling her fingers that still fiddled with the ring.

"I had never thought of marriage before, but..." he trailed off, clearing his throat. "Someone I loved was killed. By another I loved."

Kallian searched his face for a moment, until he met her eyes. She turned her hand around in his to hold it properly, squeezing softly.

Zevran smiled at her; small and sad, before he shifted closer. He leaned his head on hers, and they both stared into the fire, letting its warmth burn away the weight in their chests.

Warden-Commander Bair Tabris | Powerhouse, Paramour, Avid Player of 4D Political Chess

A few days ago, @dreadfutures surprised me with a warm-up sketch of my boy and, well, here we are. Bair, in all of his bann-bothering, show-armoured glory!

writing prompt: A plaque denoting the Hero of Ferelden’s birthplace

Happy Friday! for @dadrunkwriting

Anora wouldn’t shut up.  Wouldn't stop blathering on about Alistair this, Alistair that, like she hadn't been ready to throw him to the wolves just weeks ago.

Tabris sat straight-backed in her chair, dry-eyed and stone-faced.  These shem wouldn't see her cry.

When she finally wound down, the grand cleric nodded at two servants.  Elves, Ris noted bitterly.

"We send you to the Maker's side."  At her words, the pyre was lit.  They had to treat bodies with something to make them so . . .combustible.  Alistair's body caught instantly, and the smoke stung her eyes.

The rest of the mourners started filing out of the courtyard, but she stayed put, hoping the attendants would leave too, just so she could have a moment alone with him once more.

"Warden Tabris."  The queen was approaching.

She didn't move to stand.  Didn’t even flick an ear.  

Anora smiled thinly.  "I know you and my husband's brother were . . .close."

Fuck you.  Ris just nodded.  She might have power now, but it wouldn't last, even if she had put this bitch on the throne.  "And?"

"Is there anything he'd want?"

To be alive.  She shook her head.  "Nothing you can give."  It wasn't a politically savvy answer and she didn't care.

Anora sniffed delicately.  "I know what it's like to -"

"Go away, your majesty."  She pointedly turned back to the pyre.  Alistair was already ash and she'd never been able to say goodbye.

She didn't go away, but she did finally stop talking.  Ris ignored her as she watched the ash blow away.  Her eyes burned with tears, but she wouldn't cry.  Not in front of her of all people.

Only when the fire died down and the last few attendants started to sweep up what was left of him did she stand, still not acknowledging Anora.  The bitch followed her as she walked out.  "Warden, would you walk with me?"

She bit back the Do I have a choice? and just nodded again.

Ris followed her through the winding corridors of the palace.  Anora collected a few more guards as they continued out the front gates.  They headed toward the alienage.  Years of practice kept her face neutral, but nothing about this felt right.  What is she playing at?

The vhenadahl looked the same: sickly, but trying.  Just like the alienage itself.  Shianni was talking with Alarith nearby, and headed toward her as they approached.

"Your majesty," she said, nodding respectfully, before falling in next to Ris.  "I told them not to," she muttered, so softly only an elf could hear it.

Before Ris could ask what Shianni meant, Anora clapped her hands.  There was a sudden cacophony of trumpets, and only Shianni's hand on her elbow stopped Ris from drawing her blades and falling into a defensive crouch.

"We've gathered here to honor one of our own: an elf from Denerim, who saved us all!  The greatest elf since Garahel"  Anora'a voice was resplendent and insincere.  A politician's voice.  "She saved us from certain doom, stopped the Blight in barely a year!  How should we thank her?"

Leave me alone, Ris wanted to scream.  Wanted to, but didn't.  Not when confronted by all that fucking hope on the faces of the gathered onlookers.  This was what heroes did, she supposed.  Fought and died by inches, giving others a chance to keep going.  She didn't even recoil when Anora grabbed her hand and hoisted it to the sky.  "Behold, our Hero of Fereldan!"

The crowd cheered.

She held her tongue and smiled.  Anora nodded at her, like she could see through it, like she knew Ris was fantasizing about cutting her throat.  "We'll build you a statue later, but this is all we can do for the moment."  She let go of Ris' hand and pointed at the vhenadahl.

Ris followed her gesture with her eyes, despair turning into horror.

It was a gold plaque.  Nailed to the tree.

Birthplace of Kallian Tabris, Hero of Ferelden, 9:10.

They'd poisoned the only thing that mattered in the alienage to honor her.  Her gaze swung to Shianni, begging her mutely to tell her this wasn’t happening.  Her cousin only shrugged, then low under her breath, mumbled, "Fucking shem."

Fucking shem indeed.  To the void with appearances.  Ris fled.

How about “Hey! I may be a dumbass but I’m your dumbass!” for Alistair/Shaesa?

omg omg omg I was so happy when I got this prompt and I knew IMMEDIATELY what I wanted to do. So this is a lil scene after Alistair finds out that Shaesa had been previously engaged, and he gets a bit insecure about it cause Shaesa was his first love and finding out she had someone before him that she felt THAT SERIOUSLY about (jokes on him, it was arranged, but he didn't know that lol) sorta freaked him out. He started distancing himself from Shae but she noticed and called him out on it and so this is what happens after that :3 hope you enjoy! for @dadrunkwriting Rated G: Fluffy goodness, ~800 words

Try Again | By Exalted_Dawn

Shaesa stifled a snort into her palm, her smile curling against sword-formed calluses in a cheeky sort of way. Even so, the feeble attempt did little to hide the blossoming up-turn to her lips, or the way her eyes crinkled with joy, so the elf didn’t bother to pretend that she didn’t find this whole situation funny. “Maker, you’re such an idiot,” she chuckled, the words almost breathy as she spoke them, clouding on the brisk morning wind.

From the corner of her eye, she watched as Alistair’s face turned an even deeper shade of red (something she hadnt previously thought possible), scrunching in an adorably flustered scowl. “What? And you’ve never made a wrong assumption, hm?” he muttered, scrubbing at the back of his head. “It’s not as if you particularly liked to talk about it in the beginning, and when your father brought it up, I thought-”

Shaesa broke off with a laugh, curling in on herself. She rocked back against the Vhenadahl, using its sturdy trunk to balance against as she finally and truly succumbed to her amusement. She shook her head briskly, wiping a stray tear from her eye as she did. “What? That I’d lost the love of my life? That I’d never want to be engaged again?” She peaked up at the man standing beside her, all wrapped up in scarves and a thick-knit traveling cloak from head to toe. He really was too cute for his own good. It was hardly fair. She sighed deeply, sucking down a centering breath in an attempt to reign in at least some of her laughter, and reached over to grab his hand in hers. “Alistair. Just because I was once, doesn’t mean that I’m still spoken for. Sorta hard to be betrothed to a ghost… y’know?” 

He stared idly at their interlocked hands, fingers woven together tight, and Shaesa watched as something in him settled. His gaze grew distant, more contemplative and sullen. His head dipped in a tentative nod. So he wasn’t entirely convinced, then. 

Huffing, she turned and yanked him to face her, picking up his other hand so she held both aloft between them. She squeezed roughly, her conviction demanding. “Marry me.”

Alistair blinked. “I’m sorry- what?”

“Marry me, you dumbass,” she repeated, stern. 

“Uh-”

Shaesa frowned up at him expectantly, glaring down his baffled confusion. 

“Wait, are you serious?” Alistair asked.

“Of course I am.”

“What do you mean ‘of course you are’????” he quacked, balking. “You just ask like that? Out of the blue? With absolutely no warning or preparation?” 

Shaesa’s frown deepened a fraction. “Well I wouldn’t exactly say it was without planning, or entirely out of the blue. We were talking about it, and it’s been on my mind for some time now. I thought, if you really cared about me being engaged, then-”

Alistairs lips closed over hers, pressing and insistent. Warm, against the Denerim chill. Shaesa signed into the kiss, leaning up into him as he stooped to cup her face, drawing her closer. His thumbs brushed across her freckled cheeks in tender refrain, teasing a flush to them to match his own. 

They parted slowly, breath catching in the air between them. Shaesa could not help the silly, lopsided grin on her lips. “So I take it that’s a ‘yes’, then?”

“Absolutely not,” Alistair puffed indignantly, thunking his forehead against her own. “You don’t even have a ring- let alone flowers or proper mood lighting. I’m not some cheap date, you know. If you were going to propose, I would have liked to see some actual effort.”

“But if I did have all that stuff…?” She tried not to sound too hopeful, in case he was simply deflecting through humor. But her worries were swept away as Alistair grinned something goofy and pecked her nose with another kiss. 

“I suppooooose you’ll just have to ask me again and find out, won’t you?” He grabbed her hand again and tugged her along, back towards the direction of Shaesa’s family home. His ears were pink to their very tip, but his grip was firm and sure.

The nerves in her softened, as did her smile. She squeezed his hand back, stumbling to catch up with him. “You really are a dumbass,” she murmured, love swelling in her chest. How could he have doubted her for a second? As if she ever stood a chance against him.

“Yeah, well,” he started, not even bothering to look back at her. “I’m your dumbass now, so I guess you’re stuck with me. Afraid it's a bit too late for regrets.”

Regrets?

Never.

Never.

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tag, @daggerbean! c:

I haven't had much time to write this week (given the circumstances), but luckily I have a handy pile of WIPs in various states of completion. This one covers the wedding scene at the beginning of Origins, the return to the alienage, and the Landsmeet, but it's a bit patchwork at the moment. This scene is set just after finding Shianni later in the game.

Sorry if I tagged you on the other blog already this week haha, my brain is goop. Tagging (no pressure): @demandthedoodles @dungeons-and-dragon-age @greypetrel @ndostairlyrium @vakarians-babe @star--nymph @zenstrike

CW: Panic attack, indirect references to the events of the Tabris origin

“The things that happened after your wedding,” Shianni said, her voice tight, “it was horrible.” Already, being back in the alienage was doing something to her. Wen was not the same girl who’d walked away from here. She could not duck her head and hope for the best as she had for the last ten years. She…also could not hate these people as she had when she’d left. Plenty of them were awful—had been awful to her family for as long as she could remember—but she could see the pained exhaustion in their faces now, too. They were all trapped here together and none of them could do a blighted thing about it. The closest they’d ever come to feeling powerful was kicking at her family when they could.  Arianwen didn’t want them all to die.  But this was—oh, this hurt her. Shianni’s eyes flicked to the left a second before Zevran spoke.  “A wedding?” he sounded like his old, amused self—which, she supposed, meant that he was very hurt. Curse it all. Curse this place and everything that'd happened here. “So there is a secretive side to you after all.”

Little insects crawled around inside of Arianwen’s skin. They carried with them the stench of the alcohol on Vaughan’s breath, the sharp scent of the hair oil Wen had been wearing that day, the heaviness of the dress on her body, the ringing in her ears when she’d woken in the arl of Denerim’s residence. Secretive—yes, she’d been carrying many tiny secrets inside of her. She’d thought she’d gotten rid of them, pawned and forgotten like the golden ring in Ostagar.  Zevran was waiting; she did not want him to wait. Wen looked over her shoulder at him and forced herself to meet his eyes.  “I was…betrothed,” she said, and his face didn’t change one whit. She’d have to explain herself later, when she wasn’t…when they weren’t… “It didn’t end well.” Shianni looked at her, but Wen couldn’t read her expression. It was too loud in her ears to make anything out, though she’d once known her cousin’s face better than her own. Everything around her seemed blurred, somehow, oil paint smeared by a careless finger. Zevran and his bright eyes and his kidskin voice were her present; this place, crooked and dark and foul-smelling, was her past. She didn’t like them meeting. If she’d been thinking, she would have left him at home and dragged Leliana and her pity along instead.  “No?” Zevran’s brows were arched, his mouth crooked with something that might be described as a smile. She wished she didn’t know him so well; she wished she couldn’t see the wound underneath the golden veneer.  Wen wanted to crawl out of her own body. No—she wanted Morrigan’s trick of shedding her own skin and taking another instead. She’d be a cat up the vhenadahl by now if she could, or a mouse lost to the roots.  “You left him at the altar, didn’t you?” Yes.  Yes, she had, in a way. She hadn’t been there for that, though. She’d been neither here nor there, really. She looked at Zevran, her lips parting and pursing again, and his smile faded to a sliver. Beside her, carefully, Shianni’s hand crept into hers. They’d stood like this a hundred times: in the market, when the other people would jostle them as they carried their purchases home; down the street to the gates when Shianni would leave for work; beside the pyre when Mother had been burned. Wen squeezed and Shianni squeezed back, her hands rough and cold but nonetheless comforting in their familiarity.  Tabris couldn’t read Zevran’s face, either. He wasn’t smiling. His eyes looked—she didn’t know. Would it be horrible if she was sick right now?  Yes. She should say something instead. Wen worked her jaw loose from its rictus and spoke.   “He died,” she said. 

for dadwc prompts, how about eireann and "A freshly painted vhenadahl" from the dragon age artefacts prompt list?

artefacts of Thedas prompts | @dadrunkwriting

Shadows and Tall Trees

“Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas in incarnadine, making the green one red.” – William Shakespeare, Macbeth

The vhenadahl casts its dappled light over all the memories Eireann has of the alienage. Even as a child, she received no answer for why it was there, why they painted it every spring, or even what it was meant to do. “It means ‘Tree of the People,’” was the most her father could tell her, as he handed her a brush and a little pot of scarlet paint. More of it ended up on her hands than on the tree, but still, he told her she’d done a good job.

Odhrán Surana is dead now. He died in his daughter’s arms, and she cannot ask him anything else.

Eireann stands beside the vhenadahl, in the gloom of approaching twilight. The smell of new paint cuts sharp through the miasma of destruction and poverty, through the fourteen years since she had helped to paint the tree. She is alone, but for that memory. She doesn’t know how to be anything else. She can’t hold her mother, can’t reach out for comfort, can’t cradle the child resting in her womb, because when she looks at her hands now, all she sees is her father’s blood draining through her fingers.

She places a hand on the bark. It’s still tacky. When she peels her hand away, her palm is patched with paint. So she touches it again, and again, and again, until the tree is scattered with the voids of her handprints, and the vhenadahl’s patterns are ruined, and her palms are streaked red, white and pink. Anything to hide the stains of that memory.

They find her at nightfall, slumped at the foot of the vhenadahl, covered in the evidence of her outburst. Nobody blames her. The tree can be repainted, but her father cannot be returned.

Zev and a warden surana

thinkin bout her today 🥺

Crack open his brain and you'll find he's playing a one-man chess game to get through portrait sitting (he's winning btw) 😌😌😌