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bluerose5 · 2 years ago

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At Your Service

Summary: After the Blight, Darrian stayed behind in Ferelden to serve the throne.

He never would have guessed how close he and Alistair would end up as a result.

Word Count: 6,186

Rating: M

Pairings: Male Tabris/Alistair Theirin, Male Tabris/Zevran Arainai (mentioned, established), Alistair Theirin/Male Tabris/Zevran Arainai

...

As much as Darrian wanted to leave Ferelden behind after the Blight, he couldn't.

His family was there. Too many loose ends were not yet tied up. New titles came with new responsibilities, and the nation was trying to heal from all of the wounds that were inflicted upon it.

The immediate concern was to mend what was broken, to stop the bleeding.

So much of what Darrian had done were mere drops in an even larger body of water. The ripples of his actions were still spreading, the future filled with promises of unforeseen consequences. It was impossible to foretell exactly how his choices would impact both the future of Ferelden and even Thedas, as a whole.

One thing was for certain, though. He couldn't leave, not now.

The only way for Ferelden to move forward was together. That was how they would recover. Darrian managed the impossible and united the lands against the bigger threat, but they needed that unity to do more than linger.

They needed it to persevere.

It was all too easy for a fire to die out when no one was there to stoke the flames.

If Darrian had to be the one to secure a better future for his home, then so be it.

After all, he could hardly trust the task to just anyone.

That was a big reason why he chose Alistair for the throne. While many of the nobility would probably take advantage of the ensuing chaos to sow doubts and reap the benefits, Alistair was a man who genuinely cared. People came first, and politics came after, as it should be.

He was smarter than most people gave him credit for, and Darrian had faith in his ability to run the country, more so than any other of Ferelden's so-called leadership.

Unlike Eamon, Darrian's sole motivator for supporting Alistair's bid for the throne didn't rest entirely on archaic ideals such as bloodlines.

Not to say Darrian’s decision wasn't selfish in its own right, because it was. He had no illusions about that.

Simply put, he could respect Anora's former position as Queen. He could respect the fact that she was the one running things while Cailan reigned, only for him to receive all the praise and glory. He could respect her undying loyalty to both her nation and her father, even as everything was falling apart around her.

Unfortunately for her, she crossed the one line that Darrian could not ignore.

No matter how influential Loghain was, no matter if the crimes were only committed by association, the fact of the matter was that slavery occurred —no, it was allowed by the ruling parties in Ferelden— under her reign.

Not only were the Tevinter slavers allowed to barge in as if they owned the place, as if they owned their people, but it was the elves specifically, Darrian’s family, who paid the ultimate price.

As if to add insult to injury, Denerim certainly made no secret of the purge that was carried out under the arl's command.

In such circumstances, inaction was as damning of a crime as the crime itself.

Rather than act against such atrocities, rather than speak out against the injustices committed, the alienage's suffering went by unopposed until it was convenient for those in power to use the tragedy for their own gain.

Once again, the elven people suffered because those in charge valued their political machinations over actual lives.

Darrian refused to let it continue.

Between the two candidates for the throne, Alistair might not have been the most politically savvy, but he was the better alternative by far. For the elves, for the mages, for the commoners, for the Wardens…

It was a biased opinion, sure, but Darrian's mind was already made up by the time they arrived at the Landsmeet.

With Loghain slain and Anora imprisoned, Alistair was crowned King of Ferelden.

After that, Darrian could hardly abandon him.

It was his fault that Alistair was all but forced into his current predicament, reluctant as he was to accept the throne. The least that Darrian could do was remain at his side and keep him true to himself, instead of leaving him under the guidance of someone like Eamon.

Of course, Darrian’s constant presence ruffled the nobility's feathers at every turn. Some adapted to seeing him at Alistair's side, simply grateful for his role in ending the Blight, but others refused to even entertain the notion. Either they appraised him with open disdain or concealed annoyance.

Regardless of what others thought, Darrian wasn't going anywhere. If anything, their ire only proved to him that he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

After he moved into the castle at Alistair's request, one title quickly followed after another, again and again.

At first, he was given his boon in the wake of the archdemon's defeat, declared Chancellor to the throne.

Then, he was granted the authority to act as Warden-Commander of Ferelden.

Bann of Denerim's Alienage came next, which garnered its fair share of opposition, and Royal Arcane Advisor barely had any actual sway, besides seeking and sharing knowledge. Teyrn of Gwaren only came about because Darrian was the one coordinating the efforts to redistribute Loghain's possessions, providing for the refugees who sought food and shelter in the aftermath of the Blight.

Rumor had it that Arl of Amaranthine was next on the list, but Darrian wouldn't entertain such fool notions.

Alistair had given him more than enough.

In the eyes of the public, the king favored his commander greatly, but Darrian couldn't help but feel as if stacking all these titles was an act of retribution. Each one came with over a hundred duties to attend to, and utilizing so much power eventually took its toll.

Darrian saddled Alistair with more burdens than he was prepared to carry. Perhaps it was only fair if the reverse was true as well.

Not that it mattered. Darrian made his bed. Now, he was going to lie in it.

Waking up in the castle might have felt strange at first, but it was slowly growing on him.

Typical morning routines passed by in a daze. Silken robes cascaded down over rough skin, covered in ink and scars.

Instead of fighting with his hair, Darrian simply tossed it into a messy braid and called it a day.

He departed from his room when he was ready, strolling past the servants with warm greetings on the way to the dining hall.

Alistair was already there, awaiting his arrival while Eamon talked his ear off about one trivial matter or another.

The second Darrian entered the room, Alistair perked up. Glazed eyes brightened, and a radiant smile lit up his face like the sun. More than likely, he was simply glad to put an end to his boredom. Listening to the former arl tended to have that effect, so Darrian could hardly blame him, even if he reacted to Darrian’s appearance with the same wide-eyed excitement as Ser Barkolomew did.

Darrian’s heart skipped a beat.

A light, fluttery sensation spread throughout his chest.

In short, Alistair was adorable, and even Darrian was not immune to his charm.

As soon as he neared, Alistair stood in greeting, rushing to pull the chair out to his right.

Darrian ignored Eamon's poorly-hidden grimace in favor of taking the seat.

"Good morning, Darrian," Alistair said, pushing him carefully back in towards the table.

Warmth flooded Darrian’s cheeks as he spared him a smile.

"Good morning, Your Majesty."

"You're late," Eamon noted, then lowered his voice into a grumble. "Again."

"I overslept," Darrian said, and left it at that.

Before Eamon could retort, Alistair cut in.

"Such a grave offense. Surely, keeping me waiting for so long is an act of treason." He released a long, drawn-out sigh, smirking playfully in spite of himself. “I think that I can pardon you, though. This time, at least.”

“What a merciful ruler you are,” Darrian deadpanned.

He could practically hear Eamon fuming inside his mind at their utter lack of formality, a speech already prepared on the tip of his tongue.

“Your Majesty, need I remind you that—”

Without once looking away from Darrian, Alistair interrupted.

“Uncle, can you excuse us for a moment, please? I wish to speak with the Chancellor alone.”

Although phrased as a question, his tone suggested that it was anything but, lined with an authority that Darrian so rarely heard from him. A slight emphasis was placed on Darrian’s title, and it took him a moment to recognize it for what it was.

It was a reminder.

A reminder that, for all of Eamon’s unsolicited advice relating to matters of the throne, Darrian held the position of Alistair’s most trusted advisor. No ifs, ands, or buts about it, apparently.

A shiver threatened to run along his spine, so Darrian quickly straightened up in his seat, his back stiff with tension as he fought back the sensation.

Eamon glanced between the two, his nose in the air.

Eventually, he pushed away from the table with a bow.

“As you wish.” The words became bitter from the cold with which they were formed. “Your Majesty.” His bow in Darrian’s direction was definitely more mocking than the one prior, the corner of his lips twisting into a slight, downward curl. “Chancellor.”

With that, he departed, and Darrian didn’t so much as breathe until the doors closed loudly behind him.

Air filled his chest once more, and his head spun.

Swallowing thickly past the lump in his throat, Darrian barely had time to even think before a servant walked into the room, sporting a wary air of confidence as they approached.

“Breakfast is served, Your Lordship,” they announced.

A tray was placed in front of Darrian. Steam billowed from the hot meal once it was revealed to him. It consisted of his usual favorites in the castle, more than he had ever dreamed of eating back in the Alienage. A basic porridge, filled with fruit, sat at the center. On one side, there were two hard-boiled eggs, along with a couple of sausage links. On the other, there was a large, buttery croissant that made his mouth water.

For him to drink, a cup of tea had been prepared, giving off an aroma of multiple spices that warmed him to the core.

Once his place was set, he thanked the servant, who grinned widely at him in turn.

“It was no problem at all, Your Lordship.” They backed away, but not before saying, “Feel free to send for me if you need anything.”

Alistair frowned after them, brow furrowed, but Darrian didn’t pay them any mind as they left.

Left alone together, Darrian could feel Alistair’s stare boring into the side of his face.

Unfolding a napkin into his lap, Darrian started to dig in when Alistair finally broke the silence.

“Your grandmother is settling in well,” he stated. He picked at the table with his nails, unable to sit still. “She definitely knows how to make things more homey around here, and the staff absolutely adores her to pieces. They respect her more than anything. Plus, she’s not afraid to come to me with any of their concerns. For which, I am grateful.”

“Good to hear,” Darrian said, once he managed to speak past a bite of food.

Not that he expected any different. Being one of the Alienage’s oldest and most experienced elders, it was hardly Velora Virdan’s first time running a ship, so to speak. If anything, being the castle’s head of staff was a breeze in comparison to the crowded, hectic life of an elder.

Yet another way that Darrian felt indebted to his king.

He knew that there were many people capable of filling the position at the time. The fact that Alistair so openly entrusted such a task to not only an elf, but also to one of the Alienage’s own, meant a lot. It sent a message, clear as day, to those who claimed to be his allies.

Both her and Darrian’s presence set the tone for his reign, and Darrian had a feeling that Alistair was only getting started.

The thought probably shouldn’t excite Darrian as much as it did, but there was no denying its effect.

Clearing his throat, he didn’t even try to remain subtle while changing the subject.

“Should we discuss your agenda for the day?” he asked, one of his many duties to attend to.

Alistair watched him closely. Piece by piece, Darrian slowly but surely polished off the remainder of his meal, savoring the explosion of flavors upon his tongue, both savory and sweet, for as long as he could.

Grumbling, Alistair said, “We should do that, shouldn’t we?”

“It would be the responsible thing to do,” Darrian answered, smiling into his cup as he took a sip.

“Okay. So, say that —hypothetically speaking, of course— I cleared out my schedule for the day without consulting with you first…”

He trailed off with a worried hum.

Oh, how quickly Darrian’s smile fell.

He set his cup aside, providing Alistair with his undivided attention.

Fingers steepled together, they rested against his lips until Darrian could manage to work through his emotions enough to form a proper response.

“I guess that, hypothetically speaking, I would just be confused.” Darrian shifted in place to angle himself more towards Alistair. “Is there something that brought this on?”

“Yes, no, well, maybe?” Scratching at his jaw, Alistair scrambled for the best response. His voice grew quieter with each word. “I might have also cleared your schedule out as well?”

He sounded more questioning than certain. His responding smile was sheepish, and he made sure to avoid Darrian’s eyes.

Good thing Darrian wasn't upset, only curious.

It would be nice to have some time off, but—

"What made you do that?" he asked, the words out before he could stop them.

Alistair chewed on his bottom lip.

"I, uh, wanted to spend time with you," he explained, stuttering. "Not as King and Chancellor, but as us again. As friends. Darrian and Alistair, that's it. I don't know, maybe I'm being foolish, but it feels like we haven't really been able to take time to do that much since the Blight ended."

When Alistair paused to catch his breath, Darrian reached out without thinking, mostly to calm Alistair's nerves before he cycled into an endless bout of rambling.

He set his hand upon Alistair's and squeezed.

Such a small gesture stopped Alistair in his tracks. He stared down at their hands, warmth spreading where their skin touched.

"It's not foolish to want that," Darrian whispered. "Although, I must admit, I didn't expect that sentiment from you."

Alistair blinked owlishly at that.

"May I ask, why not?"

Darrian shrugged.

"I simply thought you found my presence here to be tolerable at best, you know, but useful enough to keep me around." Honesty was key, Darrian reminded himself. "I thought that part of you still despised me for all that I did." He took a deep, shaky breath, ensuring that his words were low enough to be heard by their ears and their ears alone. "There was Morrigan's ritual, and then there was the fact that I tore you away from the Grey Wardens. That I pushed you into being King when you clearly didn't want—"

He choked on the words. A familiar sting of unshed tears burned at his eyes.

He tried to pull away, but Alistair quickly turned his hand over, tangling their fingers together in a silent plea for him to stay.

The first tear fell down his cheek, a brand of shame that was impossible to hide.

"For all of my talk about supporting free will and deciding one's destiny, I didn't do right by you when it mattered. I failed to take your feelings into account, all because of my own selfish desires for vengeance and change. To do that to someone I care so deeply abou—"

A hand came down over his mouth, silencing him, only long enough for Alistair to get a word in.

He searched Darrian’s golden eyes for answers.

Whatever he found, he used it as a source of encouragement to speak his mind.

"Listen to me, and listen to me carefully, Darrian Tabris." Resolute as he was in his conviction, each word was still somehow laced with the utmost affection, a tenderness unlike any other that Darrian had experienced before. "I am a man of sound body and mind, who is more than capable of saying yes or no when I have to. You did not force me onto the throne, and I certainly hold no grudge against you for me being here."

Each word felt like a weight had been lifted off of Darrian’s shoulders, but Alistair was only getting started.

Sliding his hand away from his mouth, he cupped Darrian’s cheek. Rough, calloused fingers wiped away his tears.

"Was I upset about leaving the Wardens at first? Yes. Was I upset that we had to dance along to Morrigan's tune in order to survive? Yes. Do I despise you for any of that, though?" He scoffed at the very idea, shaking his head in disbelief. "No, of course not, because —in spite of what you might think of me— I believe that we could make this work. Together.

"We can change things for the better. We can make Ferelden an example to all others, if we set our mind to it, and I swear to you now that I will never take advantage of all that you do for me and our kingdom." There was a heat underlying his words, a passion that left no room for argument. "You are special to me, and I will not let you become to me what Anora was to Cailan. You are always free to speak your mind within these halls, to claim responsibility for your achievements. That, I promise, and anyone who says otherwise will have to answer to me directly."

At first, Darrian was speechless.

He stared at Alistair in awe. His heart both raced and stopped, all at once.

He didn't even realize he was holding his breath until he inhaled, and a wave of dizziness washed over him.

Both of them had been leaning in, the distance closing between them.

As soon as Darrian noticed Alistair glance down at his lips, he sprang to his feet, sending his chair crashing to the floor behind him.

With a wince, he rushed to pick it up.

"I—I'm sorry!" he apologized, part of him bracing to be struck, but Alistair was right there with him in an instant.

"Are you okay?" he asked instead, his hand gentle on Darrian’s arm.

Even through the fabric of his robes, Darrian could feel sparks light up along his skin.

It was too much. All of it was too much.

Yet it wasn't enough, all the same.

"I'm fine," he said, holding his head in hand. "I think that I just… need some air."

"Okay," Alistair replied, his face lined with concern. "In that case, perhaps you will do me the honor of joining me in the castle gardens?"

A beat passed between them; but as their days together wore on, Darrian always found it increasingly difficult to say no to him.

"Of course."

Beaming at him in response, Alistair offered out his arm, the remnants of Darrian’s breakfast long-forgotten.

“Shall we?” he asked.

Darrian eased up to his side and clung to his arm.

“Lead the way.”

They walked at a slow, leisurely pace, Alistair undeterred by the looks they received from staff and nobility alike. If anything, he held his head higher with pride, sneaking an occasional peek in Darrian’s direction.

The latter stared up at him, deep in thought.

One step out the doors, and the pressure in his chest lightened.

Out in the gardens, sunlight rained down on them from above, its rays warm and inviting like a lover’s caress. Fragrant flowers filled the air with soft scents, blanketing them from all sides.

The trickle of the nearby fountain harmonized seamlessly with the buzzing of insects. Birds chirped their delight as they flew overhead. Their wings flapped in a flashy display.

Every now and then, Alistair would reach out and pluck a bloom that caught his eye.

By the time they arrived at their destination, he had gathered a small yet impressive bouquet.

Alistair led Darrian deep into the private area, sequestered away in a corner of the castle grounds where few seldom visited.

An ornate, stone bench awaited them, covered in a layer of fallen leaves and fragile petals.

Before they took a seat, Alistair rushed ahead to dust off the bench.

He waved Darrian forward, refusing to sit until he did so first.

They settled in side-by-side.

Alistair placed his bundle of flowers upon his lap. One by one, he fiddled with them.

"Feeling better?" he wondered.

"Much," Darrian said, doing his best to ignore how close they were, lest he send his heart into a frenzy again.

Breathing in the fresh air at least helped clear his head a little bit.

Alistair's fingers, clumsy as they initially appeared, somehow managed to braid the flowers' delicate stems together while they talked.

"Good," he said, "because I would hate for you to miss this trip to Rivain."

Darrian’s head snapped in his direction, his mouth agape.

"Rivain?" he asked, bewildered. "You are going to Rivain?"

"We are going," he corrected, then amended his statement, "if you agree, of course. Officially, I am visiting in my capacity as a foreign dignitary. I'll be meeting with the seers in charge of the Rivaini Circle." He leaned in to whisper conspiratorially into Darrian’s ear, the pointed tip twitching ever so slightly. "But I am hoping to enjoy the sights while I'm there as well."

"You don't say," Darrian breathed.

"I would be lying if I said that I wasn't hoping to spend some time alone with a certain someone."

"I wonder who that could be."

"I'll give you one guess."

Laughing, Darrian ducked his head, stray strands of hair falling into his face.

A blush spread across his cheeks.

"Alistair Theirin," Darrian teased, "are you trying to impress me?"

"Actually, I'm trying to do right by those in my kingdom who have been forgotten for far too long." He shrugged. "If doing that happens to impress you, too, then I'd say that's an added bonus."

Darrian smiled.

"I'd be happy to join you," he told him, "but I guess that I'm still trying to figure out why you're doing all of this." He gestured vaguely. "Giving me the titles, moving my grandmother here, taking me to my mother's homeland. You have to admit, it's a lot, and people are starting to talk."

"Then let them," Alistair stated. "Perhaps I should care more about appearances, but I don't. You taught me that most people are ultimately out for themselves, that I should prioritize my own needs more and not let others walk all over me as much. Well, this is me doing exactly that. They wanted me to be king, so this is what they get, take it or leave it. I won't sacrifice my relationships and who I am to make them feel better."

He shifted closer to Darrian until their knees and shoulders bumped. Darrian nudged him back.

"I told you before," he whispered, "I believe in what we're trying to do here. You taught me that everyone has a role to fill if they are simply given the opportunity to prove themselves, and I want to make Ferelden a place where anyone —elf, dwarf, commoner, noble— can go and find their purpose."

"How idealistic of you," Darrian commented.

"I learned from the best."

Darrian struggled to counter that, so Alistair took advantage of his silence to present him with his latest creation. The flowers from before were successfully woven together to form a circle, a little loose and lopsided, but they ultimately served their purpose well enough.

"Here," Alistair said. He took his time to brush Darrian’s hair back behind his ear, encouraged to linger when he felt Darrian lean into his touch. "A crown fit for a king."

Darrian snorted, but accepted the gift nevertheless.

"Heh, right." After Alistair placed the flowers atop his head, Darrian adjusted them to a more comfortable position, the crown a tad too big as it tended to lean to one side more so than the other. "And when was the last time you saw an elven king?"

"Easy. I'm looking at one right now."

"Uh-huh…" Better not let Eamon hear him say that, but Darrian let him have his fun for now.

They eventually settled into a comfortable silence, only the sounds of the fountain there to accompany them from afar.

Darrian plucked some flowers of his own off a nearby bush. Alistair remained at his mercy, allowing him to place a few into his hair, already longer and fuller than it was during the Blight.

The first words came unbidden, broken Elvish pouring free from Darrian’s lips to form a tender song.

Alistair watched him closely, his weight leaned back onto his hands, and melted underneath his touch.

"I love listening to you speak Elvish."

Darrian’s fingers faltered in his hair before continuing.

"Maybe, one day, I can teach you what I know," he offered.

"Maybe so." Alistair chuckled. "Although, just so you know, I make a lousy student."

"Do you now?" Once Alistair's hair was to his liking, Darrian separated several sections from the others to form a small braid off to the side. "I'll just have to whip you into shape then."

"Promises, promises," Alistair said. "But I haven't heard many elves speak the language before, not outside of the Dalish, that is."

"Would you believe me if I said that I am, in fact, Dalish?" Darrian asked, fixated on the task at hand. "Not so much in practice, but through blood, similar to Zevran. Two of my three grandparents on my mother's side reside in their Rivaini settlement, one of whom can directly trace his ancestry back to the fall of the Dales."

Alistair furrowed his brow.

"You never mentioned that before."

"I never had reason to." His expression fell. "I was born and raised in the city, and reality didn't exactly meet my expectations when I finally did meet a clan."

"The one in the Brecilian Forest," Alistair stated.

"Yeah…" Darrian pursed his lips. "Our blood, our struggles. None of that mattered. They treated me like a child. They considered me no different than a 'shem.'" He spat the word out with a shake of his head. "As much as I love my people and our culture, I tend to feel like an outsider amongst them more often than not."

"Feeling like you don't have a place where you belong? Yeah, I get that." With the braid finished, Alistair reached up and took Darrian’s hand in his. This time, Darrian took the initiative and laced their fingers together. "Darrian."

"Yes?"

"May I ask a personal question?"

"You may. Whether I answer or not will depend on the question," he decided.

Alistair hesitated, then sighed.

"The others— Leliana, Morrigan, Zevran."

Huh, Darrian certainly didn't expect to hear those names.

"What about them?"

"Listen, let's be honest here, they were definitely interested."

Ah, Darrian had a feeling he knew where this was going, but he needed to hear Alistair say it himself.

"Interested?"

"In you."

Well, if they were being honest…

"They were." All to different degrees. But they did each approach him in some capacity during their stay at camp.

"Did—" Alistair swallowed down his doubts and held himself tall, taking a deep breath. "Did anything ever come of that?"

"I think we both know the answer to that," he said, not that they ever hid their relationship.

After a moment, it clicked.

"Right," Alistair mumbled. "You and Zevran." He barked out a bitter laugh, dragging his free hand down his face. "I don't know why I'm even surprised. You two were pretty hard to ignore most nights. Not that it is any business of mine, feel free to tell me to stay out of it, but is it—is it serious?"

"Alistair—"

"Maker, I'm so stupid!"

"No, you're not," Darrian insisted.

"I shouldn't have—"

As soon as he tried to pull his hand free, Darrian gave it a lone, desperate squeeze before letting go. Alistair stormed to his feet, pacing back and forth between freshly-trimmed hedges.

"I let myself believe that we could be together."

The confession hit Darrian like a punch to the gut.

Instinctively, he stepped into Alistair's path to stop him.

He blurted out, "I have feelings for both of you."

Alistair blinked owlishly at him, his expression cycling through one emotion after another.

"So, what?" he asked, eventually settling on pain and frustration. "You really think that you can have it both ways?"

"And why not?" Darrian countered, calm in his approach. "If you're not okay with that, then fine. We'll leave it at that, but don't act as if I'm committing some grave sin by suggesting it."

Alistair clenched his jaw, but Darrian wasn't going to back down as if he was somehow in the wrong.

"Is it so bad that I want all of us to come out of this happy?" After all, Darrian didn't even think that Alistair wanted anything to do with him after the Blight, let alone that he could possibly be entertaining the idea of a relationship. "Is it so bad that I care for you both?"

Silence answered him and lingered, but Alistair didn't so much as budge, remaining with him for the time being.

Darrian cautiously stepped forward.

When Alistair refused to move, he reached out and took his cheeks in hand.

"I want to be honest with you," Darrian said, "because I genuinely care for you and —call me crazy, if you must— I have a feeling that you care for me, too."

Alistair met his eyes, his entire demeanor gentling.

"I understand if you would rather not be in that type of relationship," Darrian continued. "If you do want to consider it, if you want to think it over, then that's fine, too. I'd be willing to wait, but you should know that my feelings for both you and Zevran are real. And nothing that he does will ever affect how I feel about you personally."

Thinking that over for a minute, Alistair eventually managed to respond.

"I should have honestly expected this," he admitted. "You experience life so… intensely. You let yourself act on your emotions without restraint, good or bad." Alistair placed his hands over his, resting his forehead against Darrian’s. "It's one of the things that I've always admired about you."

"Really?"

"Mm-hmm…" Alistair nodded. "With the Blight and everything else going on, I was just so afraid to act on how I felt. I didn't want to make things awkward between us when we were expected to save the world together. Maker's breath, I don't know. There was always some excuse I told myself, some reason on why I should wait, and now you’re telling me that I’m not too late? That there’s a chance?”

“There is.”

“I can be a jealous man,” Alistair said, filled with sorrow, as if that would somehow be the dealbreaker for him. “I can’t promise to change that.”

“I’m not asking you to change,” Darrian replied. “I’m asking that, if you feel that way, then we acknowledge it, and we work through it.”

“That simple, huh?”

“That simple.”

Alistair considered that. “And Zevran? Have you talked this over with him?”

In spite of himself, Darrian snickered.

“What?” Alistair asked, unable to keep his own smile at bay.

“Nothing. It’s just that, you do realize that Zevran was the one that brought this up to me during the Blight, right? He said that he wouldn’t hold me back from pursuing you as well, if that’s what I truly wanted. He only wanted to make sure that it was okay with you.” Darrian didn’t think. He dragged Alistair closer, his face buried into the crook of his neck, cheeks burning in embarrassment. “I insisted that you weren’t interested in me like that, so he dropped it. Well, until the coronation, that is.”

“The coronation?” Alistair parroted. “What did he say then?”

“Basically, the same thing. That, if anything happened while he was in Antiva, he was okay with me exploring our relationship further, but he expected to hear about it when he returned.”

“Every juicy detail, I’d imagine,” Alistair deadpanned.

“Would he be Zevran otherwise?” Darrian joked, pulling far enough away to press their foreheads together once again.

“Fair point.”

“Seriously though, if you need time to think this over some more, then say the word.”

“And if I don’t need any more time?” Alistair asked. “If I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to be yours? How much I want to kiss you right here, in this moment? Would I be overstepping my position as your king?”

Darrian wrapped his arms around his neck, glancing pointedly at his lips.

“Would I be overstepping my position as your commander if I said that I want that, too?”

“If you were, then frankly, I don’t care.”

“Then, kiss me.”

The words were barely out when strong hands tugged Darrian forward, muscled arms wrapped firmly around his waist.

Neither one could say for certain who leaned in first, not that it mattered.

Their lips crashed together, clumsy, frantic.

For a brief instant, their teeth bumped, but they were quick to correct themselves.

Alistair eagerly threw himself into the kiss, but Darrian was more than happy to indulge him. Their eyes slid closed. Their breathing grew heavy. Every time the kiss was close to ending, one of them would chase after the other’s lips for more. Even the slightest distance between them felt painful, both of them unable to stand the very thought of separating.

Sweet nothings were whispered between them. Breathless gasps and needy moans slipped free.

A curious swipe of Alistair’s tongue coaxed Darrian into parting his lips.

At first, Alistair was a bit too excited when he deepened the kiss, but Darrian could understand his need for more.

With great effort, Darrian broke the kiss.

“Like this,” he instructed, only to pick up where they left off.

Alistair shivered when Darrian tangled his fingers into his hair, tugging at the roots at the nape of his neck.

Slowly, gently, he explored Alistair’s mouth with his tongue, pressing himself flush against him.

Alistair whimpered against his lips, mimicking his actions in a way that made Darrian’s toes curl.

Despite his earlier words, someone was a quick learner.

They savored the taste of each other for as long as they could, finally breaking away for air.

And even then, they exchanged chaste pecks in between each breath.

“That was—”

“Perfect,” Alistair purred with a dreamy expression.

“Uh-huh,” Darrian agreed with a playful giggle.

“You’re so beautiful,” he praised, dropping a kiss upon his cheek, then his jaw. Darrian clung to him when he felt his whisper brush along his throat. “You take my breath away.”

“Heh, one little kiss, and you’re already insatiable.”

“I’ve been waiting to do that for a long time, Commander.”

“Down, boy,” Darrian said, amused.

Alistair nipped playfully at the curve of his neck.

“Whatever you want, my love.”

Darrian didn’t get a chance to question him on that before Alistair dropped to his knees before him, brown eyes hooded with desire.

Shock shot through him with a vengeance.

“Alistair,” Darrian hissed, albeit with more surprise than anger in his tone. “What if someone hears?”

While the area was meant to be private, there was still a chance that the groundskeeper or another servant could pass by at any moment.

Darrian tried his best to listen out, but he was distracted by the fingers brushing his robes aside.

“You’ll just have to be quiet then.” Of course, it didn’t take long for uncertainty to set in, Alistair quickly backtracking. “I mean, if you don’t want to…”

He trailed off, but Darrian reassured him.

“Seriously? You’re really asking me if— Of course, I want you to.”

“Then, relax.” Alistair stroked his hands along his hips and thighs. “Let me take care of you.” He shifted closer, hooked his fingers into the waistband of Darrian’s pants. “Teach me what you like.”

“Thought you were a lousy student.”

“For you, I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Darrian sank his teeth into his bottom lip, Alistair kissing a trail down his stomach.

He slowly started to ease the fabric down over his hips.

“Maybe,” Alistair suggested, “during our trip to Rivain, we could make a stop in Antiva as well.” With a smirk, he tried —and completely failed— to copy Zevran’s accent. “It would be a grand adventure, yes?”

Darrian laughed, but truth be told?

On that, they could agree.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #alistair theirin #darrian tabris #aliwarden #with a side of zevwarden #click the title for ao3 link #bluerose writes #anora mac tir critical

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