clarosowrites

[clarosowrites]

When Zevran and Clara are separated during the events of Awakening, they write each other letters.

Well, Clara tries, at least.

[clarosowrites]

Is it weird to post a fanfiction you're pretty sure you're the only audience for?

no

[clarosowrites]

Damage Control

"I can't let that happen again." Adam met her eyes, the meaning in those words not needing to be spoken aloud.

As the silent moment stretched between them, the clock tower chimed.

"You should get to work, and I've been gone from the others too long." He stands, his hands clasped behind his back.

Pushing past the disappointment welling up in her chest, Catherine packed away the remnants of breakfast. She pushed herself up from the bench and stepped up to him, her hands hidden in her jacket. When she did, she could see the stoic mask piecing itself back together across his features, as he stood as stiff as a statue.

She sighed and told him what her therapist told her so often, what she wished she heard ten years earlier.

"Emotions make us who we are. You shouldn't be afraid of that." She said, holding his gaze.

"Emotion causes vulnerability. They cause more harm than good." He countered, but without any real strength to his voice. Instead it's soft, almost...weak.

"Denial is an emotion too, Adam. So is regret." She smiled, a bit sadly. "No one can avoid emotions, so we might as well enjoy the good ones while we have them."

Adam was silent.

Turning, she made to move toward the police station. Suddenly, a warm hand gripped my wrist, halting my path away.

She took a deep breath before turning back to face the tempting depth of those green eyes.

He remained silent, just looking at her, his gaze indecipherable. She could wait--she wanted to wait for him to speak. She'd wait for years for any scrap of affection and be grateful, she knew she would, she'd done it before.

She closed her eyes. I deserve more than this.

Forcing her spine straight, Catherine opened her eyes and met his gaze.

"Adam, let go of me."

He frowned and dropped his hand, uncertainty written across his face.

"This has to stop." She gestured between them. "The hot and cold, I'm done with it."

"What are you talking about?"

She almost laughed. Of course he'd try to deny it, she wasn't even surprised. It'd certainly make it, and her, easier to ignore.

"I like you, Adam!" She exclaimed. Adam's eyes went wide and he took a half-step back.

"A lot. More than...more than I should, for only knowing you for a couple months." Her cheeks burned as she looked down at her feet. She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat and continued.

"I haven't exactly been subtle...but life's too short not to say it out loud." She shrugged uselessly. "I think we'd be good together."

Adam clenched his jaw and avoided her gaze.

"But you don't. That's fine." She ignored the way her voice cracked over the last word.

"I'm not going to chase after you or force you into something, okay?" Catherine pushed on, needing to make her point before she started crying. "But I can't deal with the mixed signals anymore--the touching, the concern, making me think we're going somewhere, just to turn around and ignore me. It's not healthy. For either of us."

"I can't be concerned about you?" He asked.

Of course that's what he focused on. Anger boiled up at the base of her throat, drowning the sadness for now.

"I didn't say that," she said through gritted teeth, "but you need to start acting like we're coworkers instead."

"If you're implying I've been anything less than professional, I--"

"You're so full of shit, Adam!" She cut him off with a growl. "You are a grown ass man, you know exactly how you've been acting!"

Snapping her jacket shut, she turned away. "Look, I have to go. Keep me in the loop about the kidnapping."

She strode away without looking back. She was tired of this, the denial, the faked ignorance. Even after admitting her feelings and giving him an out, he still refused to be an adult about this. Fine. She wasn't going to talk him through his feelings.

She held her anger firmly in her chest, letting it quicken her pace. She could be sad later, when she didn't have a full shift ahead of her.

[clarosowrites]

Like Real People Do

Zevran and Clara Amell have been dancing around the unnamed tension between them for months now. Finally out from underneath the thumbs of their respective jailers, they appreciate being able to take their time and enjoy the dance.

I’m referencing the Correspondence Interruptus quest in DA:O btw

Zevran lunged forwards, raking his daggers across the hurlock’s side as he ducked under its swing. He felt leather armor and flesh give under his blades like butter. The monster screamed.

He danced back from the hurlock’s next swipe, the rusty mace slamming into the ground. He hefted his dagger and threw it. The metal flashed as it spun through the air and lodged in its leg. Were it human, that would be a killing blow. But for a darkspawn? The thing simply growled, picked up its mace, and limped towards him.

The hair on his arms suddenly stood on end. That was the only warning he needed–he threw himself back a split second before a fireball crashed into his enemy. It screamed again, contorting in agony as it burned.

Then the carved end of a staff smashed into its head. The hurlock collapsed. Behind it, Clara Amell snarled and brought her staff down again. Its decaying skull split like a pumpkin, blood splattering across her pale face.

Zevran’s heart skipped a beat.

Keep reading

[clarosowrites]

Mistletoe (Adam x f!Detective)

Adam stood at parade rest against the wall, dispassionately watching the other attendees of the Wayhaven Holliday Party. Most of the town was here, mingling in the festively decorated Mayor's mansion. A jazz band played Christmas music in the next room.

He had thankfully avoided any sparkles in the outfit tonight. His simple red button down and black suit was extravagant enough for him, though Felix disagreed, trying to force him to wear a sequined tie. He easily spotted the youngest member of the team in his glittering silver suit. He was kneeling next to one of Mr. Verde's children, smiling as she showed him her dredile.

With any luck, that would keep him busy the rest of the night.

Mason was...somewhere. Probably skirting the edges of the party, like him, or drinking. And he knew Nate planned to make rounds with Agent McClaran, socializing with the citizens.

Their handler claimed being at the party would help their reputation, which was apparently less than stellar. Adam thought it was pointless. Unit Bravo had been in Wayhaven for over a year, the town's opinion of them was likely set by now. It didn't matter anyway--they didn't need anyone's approval to protect the town.

Suddenly, the sound of a single heartbeat reached his ears.

His shoulders dropped. Even through the music and the noise of the crowd, he'd recognize her.

Adam fought back a smile as warmth flooded his chest. It had only been a week since they saw each other last, but he'd felt the Detective's absence acutely. A week was nothing, a blink of the eye to him usually.  Yet, in the two months he and Catherine had started courting--he refused to call it such an insignificant term like dating--time had stretched in odd ways. A day with her seemed like barely five minutes. Every day apart was spent waiting for the next.

He turned to the entrance. His fingers tapped a nervous staccato against his arm as he scanned the crowd for her.

The mass of people parted and revealed Catherine like clouds parting for the sun.

Red fabric hugged her figure. The dress dipped low in the front, flowed past her hips and flared around her knees. She seemed to glow under the twinkling lights, her already statuesque figure even more noticeable in red. Her hair curled around her face, soft and loose in a way that made his fingers itch to touch--

He cleared his throat as she approached. "Detective."

Her smile was strained as she slipped her hand into his. This close, he realized she wore heels--she stood several inches taller than him and he had to tilt his head back to meet her eyes.

"I'm never letting Tina dress me, ever again." She hissed through clenched teeth. Her lips were painted red to match the dress. "I look like a big red elephant."

"That's absurd." He said and pulled her a step closer.

Catherine ducked her head, turning away from the crowd. She pulled at the dress's neckline. The material was practically molded to her skin, though, and she gave up with a frustrated huff.

"Adam, this dress is way too revealing for a work party!" She gestured up and down her body. "And I shouldn't have to wear heels!"

It was less modest than her usual outfits, true, the Detective preferred turtlenecks and long sleeved shirts most days, but he'd seen several women tonight with more skin on display.

She always looked perfect, even in her messy workout clothes. But he was biased. Besides, he'd asked if she looked appropriate, not his personal feelings on her appearance.

"You look..." He swallowed down the breathtaking and stunning that strained at his throat, "nice. And the height is appealing."

"Really?" She picked again at the dress.

He took her other hand to stop her fussing and smiled. "Are you calling me a liar, Detective?"

"No." Catherine admitted. She pursed her lips. "You're sure I look okay?"

Far better than okay, he thought. "I promise. It's appropriate for the occasion."

"Just what every girl wants to hear." She said sarcastically, the tension easing from her.

"I apologize." He squeezed her hands and smiled up at her. "I'm out of practice in giving compliments."

"Lucky for you, I'm not used to receiving any." She grinned. "I think we'll get along just fine."

A sharp whistle grabbed his attention. He turned to see Tina, grinning next to Felix in a sequined gold dress and pointing above their heads.

...where a tiny spring of mistletoe hung.

Adam's mouth went dry. For everything they had shared, confessions and open souls and lazy afternoons, they had yet to go any farther physically. She would press her lips to his cheek as a goodbye, occasionally, or to his hand as she held it, but they hadn't kissed. Actually kissed.

"Come on, Adam, plant one on her!" Felix called.

He snapped his head around to glare at him, trying to ignore the warmth flooding his cheeks.

Cat sighed. He stiffened as she place a hand on his shoulder and dipped her head to brush her lips across his cheek. The touch burned like it always did, like hot wax pressed onto his skin. His breath caught in his throat.

She walked towards Tina without glancing at him. "Happy?" She asked.

He didn't hear her response as they moved away, focused on his evening out his breathing. He did, however hear Felix's laugh.

"What." He snapped at the younger vampire.

Felix grinned even wider. "You look like you just face down a stake to the ribs instead of kissing the girl you like."

"She is not--"

"What?" He arched an eyebrow. "A girl? Who you like?"

"You make it sound so juvenile." He scoffed.

"It is juvenile if you act like your girlfriend has cooties." He gestured to the Detective's retreating figure. "Do you even want to kiss her?"

"We are taking this slow." He grit out.

"There's slow and there's glacial, Adam."

Nate appeared at Felix's side with a smile. "I think Mason's going to spike the punch. Felix, can you keep an eye on him?"

"Sure, boss man!" He saluted.

Adam sighed as they watched him wander off into the crowd.

"You realize Felix is only going to encourage him."

"Yep. I thought I'd rescue you, actually."

"And not interrogate me about my love life at all, correct?"

"At least you're admitting it exists! Finally!" He laughed. Adam couldn't help but grin.

Over his short relationship with Catherine, Nate had been his sounding board for practically everything. Planning dates, dissecting conversations--anything at all that involved Cat--Adam had applied himself with a military precision and Nate had helped. No matter how ridiculous his request, he'd helped

Nate nudged him with an elbow. "Really, though. You couldn't ask for a better set up than mistletoe on New Year's Eve. Why the hesitation?"

"Besides having a crowd?" He asked. "I need more time to plan it."

"Whenever you get around to it, its not going to be perfect."

"Perfect is what she deserves." Adam said defensively.

He shook his head and laughed. "I think you're just scared."

"Scared."

Creatures more ferocious than Nathaniel Sewell have cowered under the glare that Adam gave him. Nate just smiled.

"Yeah. Chicken?"

"Are you daring me to kiss the Detective?" He asked incredulously.

"It is working?" He grinned and clapped him on the back. "Carpe diem, old friend. No time like the present."

Adam cursed under his breath as his best friend walked away. He was right. He was scared, more scared since he met Catherine than he'd been in the past 900 years. Scared of himself and terrified of the uncertainty that haunted every interaction.

But when did that stop him from doing anything?

"Damn it."

After a military acquisition of a certain decoration and ten minutes of searching, he managed to find the Detective in the kitchen, away from the rest of the party.

"Catherine?"

She looked up at her name and smiled. "Hey Adam."

She perched on the granite counter, swinging her bare feet under her. She fanned herself with an old magazine.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

"Those heels are killing me." She nodded to the black shoes on the floor. "And...there's a lot of booze in there."

"Ah." He frowned. "I cannot assist with that."

She shrugged, pushing her hair back and off her shoulders. "Its okay."

He took a steadying breathe and forced himself across the kitchen. Standing in front of her, he saw the uncertain tilt of her head and the way she unconsciously leaned into him.

"Catherine." He said again.

"Adam." She grinned. "What's going on?"

He cleared his throat, his mind suddenly blank. His fist clenched around the greenery he held.

"What's that?" She brought his hand up and he opened it, revealing the mistletoe.

Confusion flashed across her face. It transformed to delight and amusement as he slowly lifted it above their heads. He took the final step to close the gap between them, her knees pressing into his thighs.

She smiled, and god, he could loose himself in that smile, adoring and open and everything he doesn't deserve. And then she slid one hand up his chest, the other curling around the back of his neck, his skin burning underneath her touch, even through his clothes. His eyes fell shut--blocking out everything else but the feel of her hands.

At the first brush of her lips on his, Adam shuddered. At the second, he leaned into her, the mistletoe falling from his hand so he could cup her jaw. Fuck--if he thought her touch before was burning, then this was a brand. Her kiss seared into his lips and he wanted it to, for her to leave her mark on his skin that matched the one on the inside of his chest and--

She pulled away. He moaned at her absence, some small, broken thing that he couldn't bring himself to care about.

He chased her mouth, only halted by the hand pushing on his shoulder, a silent stop.

"We..." She said unsteadily, and he opened his eyes just to see her wet her lips and swallow. "We should..."

He nodded. "Get back to the party." It would be less than impressive if someone found the Detective in a compromising position, as much as he wanted to create one.

He dared to press for one more kiss, firm and swift, before lifting her from the counter. As he set her on her bare feet, she looked dazed.

"Right." Cat straightened her dress and slipped into her shoes. "Do I look okay?"

"You're beautiful." He said. "I should have said that earlier. Stunning."

"You big flirt." She accused, smiling broadly.

Her fingers curled around his collar. "I only have to stay for another hour or so. Maybe we could...go back to my apartment and hang out."

"I would like that." He murmured, leaning his forehead against hers.

"Okay." She stepped back. "Stay out of trouble until then."

"I will." He promised, dropping her hand reluctantly.

"Bye."

With a final wave, she slipped out of the kitchen and out of his sight. He leaned against the counter and sighed happily. He could rejoin the party in a few moments--for now, Adam closed his eyes and let himself follow her heartbeat.

[clarosowrites]

salut les copains ! 🌻

it’s give away time because what are these hands for if not for drawing, uh ??? 🤲

There will be two winners, 1st prize is a full illustration and 2nd prize is an half-body illustration ! Up to two characters max, they also both come with a detailed background.

The giveaway will end the 2nd November 2020. Of course, the winners will get chosen randomly

how to participate : follow me and reblog this post, that’s all ! Multiple reblogs are allowed. If you follow me under a different username, put it in the tags so I make no mistake when drawing the names. 

Thanks you for your support and good luck ! ❤️✨

[clarosowrites]

Be prepared to get comments like "Your hair is so pretty. You wrote her hair so pretty. Why is she so pretty?" And "Your writing is so good. I can really tell what he's saying and oh he smells so nice. That's a cool looking bag. Your beta has awesome shoes I bet. What's her name?"

Let the endless compliment cycle begin.

[clarosowrites]

Selfish (Zevran x F!Warden)

Another installment in the Warden Clara Amell series (AO3).

Zevran laid awake, something nameless buzzing underneath his skin. Vigil's Keep was quiet and still around him and a fire flickered in the hearth. And, though his weariness pulled on him, he could not settle, instead keeping an unnecessary vigil, eyes fixed on the figures in bed next to him.

His Warden was fast asleep under the covers, shielded against the cold Fereldan night. Clara's blonde hair tumbled across her pillow, only a shade darker than that of the small boy she held, curled safely against her chest. His open mouth formed a perfect circle as he breathed a steady rhythm into the night.

They were both dead to the world, lost to the Fade. Having good dreams, he hoped, about sweet pies and bright sunshine and each other.

He should leave. He should take his few possessions, climb out the window, and steal a horse. He could in Antiva in three weeks if he hurried. It would be better. For everyone.

Maybe he'd die fighting at the hands of assassins. No less than he deserved, really.

He should be gone, and they'd both be better off. He knew they would. His love had killed an Archdemon, she was strong and far smarter than him; she would thrive. And the boy would grow to be much like her.

He was strong, courageous. He asked incessant questions about anything and everything, always fascinated by the world around him. And he was loved. He wouldn't be anything like Zevran. The child wasn't his, but he doubted he could create anything so precious anyway.

They would be happy without him. Free from any threat of the Crows or the many enemies he's made in his short life. Absent of his nightmares, his paranoid mind seeing dangers around every street corner, from the dark tendrils in his own mind that threatened to reach out and sink into his waking world.  

Zevran slowly reached out, running a finger over his smooth cheek, through his tight golden curls. Why didn't he leave? How many nights did he lay awake, convincing himself into running off?

He looked up, surprised to see his lover's eyes open and gazing at him so softly. She smiled, just barely, and his heart swelled. When he smiled in return, she closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.

As he laid his head down, he felt a small hand close over his finger.

Ah, well. He supposed he'd always been a selfish bastard.

[clarosowrites]

Reunited

After years of fighting the Crows and missing his Warden, Zevran returns to Vigil's Keep. The reunion he looked forward to, however, doesn't go exactly as he planned.

The next installment in my Clara Amell series, set sometime in Awakening.

Zevran slunk along the wall, his footsteps quietly pressing into the fresh snow. His slender ears pricked up at the sound of metal clinking against metal and he pressed himself into the long shadows. A solitary guard walked past him, spear resting idly on his shoulder.

He briefly considered knocking the man out--it would certainly make his job easier--but decided against it. His Warden took the safety of her men seriously and harming a guard, even an inattentive one, would upset her. Though he would still have a talk with her about their training.

He peered up at the stone walls of Vigil's Keep. Icicles hung off the parapets and windows, reflecting the pale moonlight. The old fort looked exactly the same--solid and ugly and thoroughly Fereldan.

He grinned. Against all reason, he'd missed this damn miserable country. Or at least the company he had left behind.

Taking the grappling hook and line from his belt, he widened his stance. It had been quite some time since he'd had to infiltrate a keep the old-fashioned way, but the motions came back to him quickly. He swung the hook once, twice, then sent it sailing up. It latched onto the edge of the roof and he quickly hauled himself up to the windowsill.

He could just see the bed inside. That bundle underneath the covers must be Clara. Slipping a dagger under the latch, he slid the window open, already imagining the welcome his Warden would give him. She would be surprised, of course, but happy to see him. She'd light up with that smile she saved just for him and-

Zevran froze, half in and half out the window, as a sudden clatter drew his attention. Next to the bed, a boy stood, mouth agape. A cup lay at his feet, water spreading quickly on the wood floor.

He screamed.

With a flash of pale skin, Clara shot up from the bed. Fire rushed towards him. Scorching heat enveloped him and his vision went black.

The next thing he knew, he was flat on his back and looking up at a very familiar, red-bearded face. He squinted as his vision blurred.

"Oghren?"

"Elf." The dwarf grinned, showing his cracked and blackened teeth.

Something was soaking into his clothes. Maker, he hoped it was snow.

"What happened?" He asked, his voice strained. He tried to life his head and groaned as pain echoed through his back.

A blonde human appeared behind Oghren. A mage, by the look of his robes. "You know him?" He exclaimed.

"You got caught, elf."  He laughed. "Thought we trained you outta that!"

"Well," Zevran grinned, pushing himself up to his elbows. "You can take the assassin out of the Crows, but you can't take the Crow out of..." He coughed, spitting blood into the snow. He sighed. "...you get the picture."

Oghren elbowed the mage. "Anders, heal 'em."

"He tried to kill the Commander!" He shouted.

"Just do it, sparklefingers." He grunted, glaring.

Zevran chuckled. Ah, the dwarf had been his usual charming self, then.

He closed his eyes as a healing spell washed over him, like a warm ocean wave. He sighed. That was something he missed--he had no mage friends in Antiva and had to be content with his own sloppy stitches for too long.

"Thank you." He said to the nervous-looking mage.

"C'mon." Oghren said, pulling him to his feet. "She'll want to see you."

Zevran stumbled into him, his legs weak, and leaned against his friend.

He looked up to his most recent perch, two stories up. The window was blown outwards, the surrounding wall blackened and scorched. Bits of glass and wood littered the ground between him and the wall, a good twenty meters away.

Braska, his perfect plan all gone to shit. What had happened? Who was that child?

"The hell where you thinking, anyway?" Oghren asked. "Commander don't like surprises."

"Maker forgive me for trying to be romantic." Zevran sighed dramatically.

Using his short friend as a rather smelly crutch, he limped toward the keep, leaving a sputtering human in their wake.

Oghren pounded on the doors to the main hall. "Open up!"

The doors swung inward. A dozen people were scattered throughout, some in sleep clothes, some in full armor, and a few in odd mixtures of both. All of them held weapons.

To his surprise, he recognized a man in the crowd--the blood mage from Redcliffe. This night was just getting stranger and stranger.

And then he saw her. His lover stood on a dais, a few steps above him, in front of a carved wooden throne. Her short blonde hair was tousled madly and she wore her golden dragon scale mail over a robe and trousers, the clothing sticking awkwardly from beneath her armor. Her silverite sword shimmered with electricity, held loosely at her side.

And behind her, the same child hid. Small hands grasped at her pant leg as he peaked out at him.

Zevran looked back up at her, his brow knitting. It couldn't be him, could it?

He saw the moment that she recognized him. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. But instead of smiling and running toward him and any of the number of things he'd dreamed of in their months apart, her expression hardened.

"Everybody out!" Clara call out sternly.

A dark haired man stepped forward. "Commander, you can't be serious, he--"

"That wasn't a suggestion, Howe." She snarled, sheathing her sword. "You're all dismissed!"

Zevran found himself frozen as the other Wardens filed out of the room, shooting curious glances at him. As he watched, Clara knelt down to speak to the boy, smoothing a hand over his blonde curls. He nodded and ran over to the blood mage, who swung him up on his hip as he left.

"Don't let her kill ya." Oghren said gruffly as he left. "Nobody else 'round here is any fun."

Then, he was finally alone with his Warden. His lover, his love, that he hadn't seen for over a year, and now she was looking at him with such empty eyes.

"Well, this isn't exactly the welcome I hoped for." He said, aiming for levity and falling short. "I imagined candlelight, some chocolates, and... rather less clothing."

Her expression didn't change. "You should've sent a letter ahead."

"I could say much the same of you, my Warden. I was beginning to think you had forgotten me." He said coldly. He hadn't had a response from her in months. At first, he excused it--she was busy, running the Wardens and fighting darkspawn--but now he knew it was something else.

"No. I didn't... I didn't know what to say." Clara said shortly. She took a deep breath, her eyes fixed on the floor. "My son. His name is Lolan. He lives here now and I know this...that you never agreed to this. I understand if you leave."

"Leave?" His heart dropped. "Am I to be turned away so callously, then?"

"I don't want you to go, Zev." She looked up and he was startled to see tears in her eyes. He crossed the room to her, his hands coming up to cradle her elbows, wanting to embrace her but not willing to force it. "But a child--that was never part of our arrangement."

"Arrangement?" He asked.

"You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do." He said softly. "But to spend so many months away from you, dreaming of you, and to hear you speak of it so callously..."

"I don't know what else to call it." She sighed. "I'm sorry."

Zevran could feel her trembling in his arms. "You look almost afraid of me, mi amora."

"Oh, Zev." She pushed her forehead against his, closing her eyes. She reached up to him and carded her fingers through his hair. "I'm not, I promise. I'm just terrified of what you might say."

"I can say it in a funny voice if you like." He murmured. "I do a wonderful Neverran accent."

She laughed.

"Ah, there she is." He said, brushing a tear off her cheek. "You worry too much, Clara. Haven't I stuck around this long? Tell me what's frightened you and we can work from there."

"I don't know how this will change things. Being a mother." She whispered. "I want both of you in my life, but you might not want him around."

He sighed, not knowing how to respond. He'd never taken care of a child--and he thanked the Maker for that, knowing how the Crows treated their new recruits. Maybe he wouldn't like this one. Maybe Lolan wouldn't like him. Maybe Clara had outgrown him while they were apart. She was a mother now, as well as Warden-Commander, she surely had better prospects than him.

But as she melted into his arms, he felt his worries fading.

"Are you happy?" Zevran asked.

She nodded, her eyes shining. "I love him so much."

"Good. I won't ask you to give that up." He said. His Warden had spent so much of her life alone and he would never dream of taking any happiness away from her. "Do you really want me to be around him?"

"What? I'm not asking you to be his father, Zev."

"I know, I know." He shrugged. "But I hardly think I'm a good influence on anyone, much less a child."

"Let me worry about that." Clara pulled him in and kissed him quickly. "So you're staying?"

"At this point, mi amora, you couldn't chase me away." He smiled. "Why don't you introduce us?"

She took his hand, lighting up with that smile that she saved just for him, and led him away. And Zevran followed her, like he always did.

[clarosowrites]

A Tough Lesson to Learn

Just a straight up retelling of the "Alistair's Family" quest. This was a really good writing exercise and it gave me an excuse to practice prose and dialogue. Yay!

Clara followed Alistair through the winding, dusty streets of Denerim. They had left the comfort of Arl Eamon's estate behind, braving the narrow alleys tucked behind the gilded front of the Market district.

The buildings stood precariously tall, as if though a gentle breeze might tip one over. Despite the grime covering the walls, they were a sight better than those in the alienage. They were all standing, for one, and some apartments had been proudly whitewashed. And people were busy. They hurried to places unknown, their minds occupied with their own errands and to-do lists. The smell of stew billowed out from one doorway in a cloud of steam. Clothes hung high above their heads, casting odd shadows across their faces as they walked. Somewhere, an unseen voice tried to carry a tavern song.

A small girl gaped at Clara as they passed. She was suddenly glad they left the rest of their party behind. If she was getting odd looks, she could only imagine that the neighborhood would outright riot if Zevran or Sten or, Maker forbid, Shale had tagged along.

Although, she may only be an unusual sight because of her armor. Wade's gold dragonscale was obnoxiously expensive and looked like it, despite the long cloak she'd tossed on. She'd briefly considered going without but, as always, erred on the side of caution.

She tucked the thick material around herself, trying to be discreet. Not for her own sake, but for Alistair's.

He'd already worked himself into a loud ramble, saying anything and everything that crossed his mind. She was well used to her friend's nervous habits and had tuned him out a while ago. Considering the situation, it was understandable.

They stopped in front of a building indistinguishable from the rest. Checking the address against the one Eamon had given them, she nodded.

"It's one floor up." She said to her fellow Grey Warden.

Alistair smiled weakly, suddenly speechless.  

"Are you sure..." She started and then frowned. Maker, this was awkward. "Wouldn't you rather meet her by yourself?"

He blushed, scratching the back of his neck. "No, I'd like you to come." He said. "If you don't mind."

"Right." Clara absolutely did mind. She thought this was a terrible idea and did not want to be involved. But she knew how much it meant to Alistair, so here she was.

"Will she even know who I am? Does she even know I exist? My sister. That sounds very strange...'sister.' " He giggled nervously. " 'Siiiister.' "

"You're stalling, Ali."

"Maybe we should go." He squared his shoulders and turned toward the stairs. "Let's go. Lets just...go."

She sighed, following him up to the next floor. The door was open and they hesitantly pushed through it.

"Er, hello?" He called out.

A woman bustled into the room. Her blonde hair fell messily around her face and a cigarette was tucked behind her ear.  

"Eh? You have linens to wash?" She asked gruffly. Her voice grated and scratched like an old millstone. "I charge three bits on the bundle, you won't find better. And don't trust what that Natalia woman tells you either, she's foreign and she'll rob you blind."

"I'm...not here to have any wash done." Alistair said slowly. His eyebrows pinched together, voice high in his uncertainty. "My name's Alistair. I'm...well, this may sound sort of strange, but are you Goldanna? If so, Ii suppose I'm you're brother."

"My what? I am Goldanna, yes..." She squinted at them, the deep lines in her brow making her seem far older than Clara guessed she was. "How do you know my name? What kind of tomfoolery are you folk up to?"

"He's telling the truth." Clara said. "Listen to him."

"Look, our mother..." He cleared his throat and spoke stronger. "She worked as a servant in Redcliffe Castle a long time ago, before she died. Do you know about that? She--"

"You!" Goldanna exclaimed viciously. "I knew it! They told me the babe was dead along with mother, but I knew they was lying!"

"They told you I was dead?" He asked, frowning. "Who? Who told you that?"

"Them's at the castle!" She threw up her hands angrily. "I told them the babe was the king's, and they said he was dead. Gave me a coin to shut my mouth and sent me on my way! I knew it!"

"I'm sorry, I...didn't know that. The babe didn't die. I'm him." Alistair said, scratching the back of his neck. "I'm...your brother."

"For all the good it does me!" She jabbed a finger into his chest. "You killed Mother, you did, and I've had to scrape by all this time? That coin didn't last long, and when I went back they ran me off!"

"That's hardly Alistair's fault, is it?" Clara demanded, stepping up and glaring down at the other woman.

"And who in the Maker's name are you?" She said with a sneer. "Some tart, following after his riches, I expect?"

Heat flooded Clara's cheeks. She grasped the sword at her waist without thinking.

"Hey!" Alistair cut in before she could speak. "Don't speak to her that way! She's my friend, and a Grey Warden! Just like me!"

"Oh, I see. A prince and a Grey Warden, too." She said, her voice dropping in fake reverence. "Well, who am I to think poorly of someone so high and mighty compared to me?"

Goldanna shoved him away with one thin hand. "I don't know you, boy. Your royal father forced himself on my mother and took her away from me, and what do I got to show for it? Nothing. They tricked me good! I should have told everyone! I've got five mouths to feed, and unless you can help with that, I got less than no use for you."

With one final glare, she walked to the other side of the room and picked up a basket overflowing with clothes.

"I..." Alistair trailed off in the face of such obvious dismissal. "I'm sorry, I...I don't know what to say."

"Looks like all she wants if your money." Clara said, putting a hand on his arm. He turned to her, eyes wide, and her heart clenched in sympathy and fury.

"Yes, it really seems that way, doesn't it? I wasn't expecting my sister to be so..." His expression hardened. "I'm starting to wonder why I came."

"I don't know why you came either, or what you expected to find!" She screeched at them harshly. "But it isn't here! Now get out of my house, the both of you!"

"Let's leave." Clara murmured. "Now."

With a final look at his half-sister, he turned for the door. "I agree. Let's get out of here."

She followed him out onto the street, fuming quietly. How could she? She wasn't exactly expecting the wonderful woman from Alistair's trip to the Fade, but she was terrible! To throw their mother's death back in Alistair's face! That bitch!

"Well." Alistair said. "That was... not what I expected. To put it lightly."

She looked over at him. Brows furrowed, his eyes seemed very far away. Stepping closer, she carefully took his hand, tangling their fingers together.

"This is the family I've been wondering about all my life?" He laughed flatly. "That shrew is my sister? I can't believe it. I... I guess I was expecting her to accept me without question. Isn't that family is supposed to do? I... I feel like a complete idiot."

"Everyone is just out for themselves, Ali." She said softly. "I'm sorry."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. I should have learned that by now." He smiled tightly and squeezed her hand. "Let's just go, I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Clara nodded. They walked back to the estate in silence and somehow, the city seemed less colorful than before.

[clarosowrites]

Zevran comes home after a long year in Antiva, only to find an unexpected guest in his Warden’s rooms. 

[clarosowrites]

Fae can dish the pranks out, but is she able to take it? 

(Fae and Vaike get into a prank war)

[clarosowrites]

Arranged marriage is used throughout Thedas as a way to secure alliances and improve social status. For the Commander of the Inquisitor and the Witch of Alyons, it is necessary formality. Love, however, blooms in the most unexpected places.

[clarosowrites]

Updates!

I’m sorry I haven’t been able to post any fanfic recently, grad school has been kinda crazy recently. 

Also, I’m planning on participating in NaNoWriMo this year so I probably won’t be writing any fanfic at all in November. But! If you’re doing NaNoWriMo, please hit me up! I need some buddies to write with!

[clarosowrites]

Ta-da! I’m slowly getting everything uploaded to my new Ao3 account (very very slowly, grad school is hard guys). But here it is so far!

[clarosowrites]

Ta-da! I’m slowly getting everything uploaded to my new Ao3 account (very very slowly, grad school is hard guys). But here it is so far!

[clarosowrites]

me: “I love being a writer.”

me, whenever I write: