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exalted-dawn-drabbles · 4 months ago

Note

Ed!! For DADWC: "aloe being slathered on a sunburn" for Shaesa/Alistair?

Thank youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu for sending this prompt Gin! (For context, one of you lovely people sent me this ask a hot minute ago and I had it marked as one I wanted to do only for me to realize I must have somehow deleted it :((( so im sorry for losing your prompt but thank you for sending it regardless!!!! Hope you enjoy!!!)

for @dadrunkwriting

Rated T: for very very slight innuendos, slice of life, romance, comedy, ~2.2k words (yeah idk how that happened in one night either)

Maybe Days | By Exalted_Dawn

“Uh… so not to ask what we have all been wondering, but may I ask why are you walking like that?” Zevran’s voice cut their travel pace just as efficiently as any one of his daggers. Sharp and pinpointed as always. And a little too mirthful to mean anything good, in Alistair's opinion.

Shaesa turned stiffly to face him, scowling and square as a sign. “Like what?”

“That,” he said, tipping his head to look at her from head to toe. “You have been shuffling for the past half-hour. You look like you are walking with a reasonably-sized stick shoved up your behind,” he said. “Are you in need of a rest? I could massage you, if you like. Your shoulders in particular look rather-” He reached a hand out to rest on Shae’s shoulder, and Alistair nearly tripped in his stumbling flail backwards as Shae jolted and scrambled out from beneath Zevran’s touch.

“What the fuck, Zev?!” she barked, looking almost white as a sheet as she wheeled around to glare at the man. “Don’t startle me like that. I almost pulled a sword on you.”

Zevran and Alistair both stared at her in bewilderment, Zevran in particular. Even Alistair knew that that wasn’t much of an excuse– Zevran had been about as subtle as a drunken druffalo in his approach to that one.

Still though, she insisted on glowering at them with undisguised, near-righteous offense.

Raising a brow, Zevran strode forward again, his hand one again raised to try and touch Shaesa’s arm, but this time she waddled backwards before he even got within a foot of her. Then he tried again, only for her to duck and spin away entirely. It was obvious now, as Alistair watched, that her movements were distinctly stiff and uncomfortable.

He frowned. “Shae?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light. “Not that I don’t think we need it, but surely there are better times to be practicing your dance moves for the Landsmeet? What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing! I’m fine!” she snapped, scurrying away to the left this time. A bemused, but ultimately unmotivated Zevran easily trotted after her.

Alistair wasn’t convinced. “Shae, if you’re injured-”

“I’m not,” she growled, turning her ire onto him. “I’m just a bit-”

Zevran’s hand clamped down again on Shae’s shoulder, and she practically yelped, smacking Zev’s hand away and cowering back like a wounded cat. Suddenly, the assassin’s face blossomed into a wide, bob cat’s grin. “Aha! You did get sunburned during yesterday’s sparring match, didn’t you?!” he exclaimed, finally releasing Shae with a laugh. She glared up at him, and Alistair could see actual tears in her eyes as she tenderly prodded at the spot that had grabbed her with her fingers. Zevran tutted a little, nudging her in her arm with his elbow. “Did not Wynne warn you about the dangers of sparring sleeveless? You didn’t listen to her?”

Shaesa pouted at him weakly. “It was hot out and I was sweating too much. I didn’t want to soak my sleeves through.”

“Nothing but pitiful excuses,” Zevran hummed blithely. Alistair nearly pointed out that Zevran was hardly one to talk, considering how… exposed he regularly insisted on being. But then, he’d never seen the elf with a burn either, so he wasn’t sure if that was an argument that would win once made. Zevran continued. “Regardless, you should see to it that the burn is treated. We will still be on the road for some time, and you wouldn’t want it to get infected further. I have some soothing gel– if you would like, we can find you some privacy and I could-”

“No.”

It was his own voice that barked out louder and more suddenly than even Shaesa’s, who he had practically yelled over in his rush to shoot down Zevran’s suggestion. Suddenly, the area they had been traversing seemed suddenly far too quiet.

Shaesa and Zevran both stared at him in surprise. Maker, even he was thrown off by his own interruption.

Alistair shuffled, his face heating uncomfortably. “W-What I meant to say is that I won’t leave you alone with her. You may have agreed to join our cause, but don’t think I have forgotten the contract that sent you to us. It would be reckless to let Shaesa go off alone into the wilds with someone hired to kill her.”

Especially if she was meant to… expose herself to him. Alistair swallowed, and viciously shoved away the images that thought conjured to mind.

But if Zevran was offended by his excuse made in haste, then he didn’t show it. The Crow smiled wide, raising his hands in mock surrender and taking a very clearly advertised step sideways, away from Shae. “Ah- my apologies. I did not mean to cause any alarm. Your fears are well founded.”

Shaesa made a face. “Zev-”

He held up his hand again, shushing Shae before she could even begin. He continued. “Of course, if you would like to volunteer to help our fantastically fried friend here, I would be more than happy to lend you the salve.” As if to prove a point, he deftly produced a small, metal tin from his hip pouch and waved it between two fingers.

He wasn’t sure which of them looked more horrified– him or Shae.

“What?!” he quacked, his face now almost the same shade as Shae’s. “No. I-”

“Then you would let our beloved leader suffer for the entire trip back to camp?” Zevran pressed, faking innocence.

Shaesa hissed. ““Zevran.”

“Of course not!” Alistair said at the same time, the both of them sounding several shades of scandalized.

“Then I see no issue here!” Zevran finished happily, tossing the lotion to Alistair. The latter only barely caught it, but by the time it was firmly in grasp, Zevran was already walking away. “I swear, you Fereldans and your modesty,” he tutted, batting his hand at an imaginary annoyance. “Whenever you two are finished, I will be over here by this tree, resting and enjoying the shade while I can.”

As though to prove his point, he collapsed onto a bed of shadowed grass and shut his eyes with a contented sigh, the sound a strikingly effective bookend to the conversation. Shae and Alistair were left speechless.

Left to their own devices, they eyed each other nervously, neither wanting to make the first move. But with Zevran firmly planted in his spot, it was clear there would be no easy way of backing out of this.

Shae shrugged a shoulder, gesturing to a nearby copse of trees, and without much else to do, Alistair nodded and followed after her. The trunks of the trees didn’t provide nearly enough cover for Alistair’s liking, but then, he doubted that even a private, locked room would calm the pounding of his heart. This was ridiculous. Of course, he didn’t want Shaesa to be in pain– they still had almost an hour more of walking until they neared camp– but still, surely there was a better solution than-

Shaesa cleared her throat, her eyes forward as she methodically shrugged out of her coat-sleeves, revealing a thin-strapped, cream chemise underneath. “Sorry about that,” she began, a touch of tired frustration to her voice, even as she flashed him a grin. “Seems being a busy-body is an elven thing everywhere, even in Antiva. I’ll yell at him about it later.” She finished ridding herself of the overgarment, her muscles flexing and rolling as she set the quilted blue jacket aside.

Alistair frowned.

The whole of her back was a blistered, bright red. Skin peeled where her bones jutted and he could see spots where the burns had been rubbed raw. It looked bad. Worse than bad.

Shaesa shifted a bit, flashing him an uneasy look. He had been staring.

Alistair flushed, though for a different reason now, and his attention quickly dropped back to the tin in his hand. “Don’t trouble yourself. I doubt any amount of thrashing will force manners through his head,” Alistair murmured, his throat still a bit tight. The lid of the jar popped open after a moment of fiddling, and almost delicately, Alistair dragged his fingers through the clear, white goo. “You’re sure you’re okay with me doing this?” he asked, trying not to sound unwilling. “I can… try to look away, if you’d prefer?”

She merely laughed a little. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather you not go blindly poking at my very sore back. I don’t mind it, Alistair. I trust you.”

The way those words made his stomach tumble probably should have been more alarming to him, but unable and now a bit unwilling to back away from that edge. Not with Shaesa’s encouragement at least.

Laden with salve, he reached out, and carefully touched his fingers to her skin.

Immediately, Shaesa bit out a sharp hiss and flinched. “Ah fuck, that’s freezing,” she laughed, and immediately dispersing any worries Alistair had of hurting her. He continued, allowing his hand to drag downward, leaving a stripe of ointment that stretched from her nape to the hem of her low-cut top.

Her skin was scalding. Even through the film of salve, he could feel the way it burned at his fingertips as he steadily applied attention to the spots he deemed needed it most. It felt almost fevered, but somehow hotter than even that, and he had to keep himself from wincing when he thought about how much it must have been hurting her for this entire time. If he had known, Alistair never would have let her come out with them to collect water.

“Sweet Andraste, Shae, why didn’t you say anything?” The ointment applied, he began carefully working it into her skin, and tried desperately not to think about how often he had imagined doing something like this. Her beauty marks seemed to jeer at him, coming in and out of view as his palms passed along the planes of her back. Strong and sturdy, but somehow stately. Like the stocky war horses Eamon kept at the stables.

Though, even with his abysmal experience, Alistair knew better than to share that thought aloud. Not unless he wanted a sunburnt fist to the face, at least.

Shaesa shrugged. “Because I’m stubborn and ox-headed?” she suggested.

A grin pulled at his lips. “I was thinking ‘prouder than one of those prissy, Orlesian lap cats.’” An elbow was driven into his stomach, rightfully so. He barked a laugh. “And catty too. Clearly.”

The woman in front of him snorted, but even from where he stood behind her, he could see the way her ears flexed as she smiled. “Careful. I might be sunburned, but it doesn’t mean I won’t still throw you on your ass, Alistair.”

“I would be a fool to forget it,” he agreed, taking no pains to hide the warmth of affection in his voice when he said it.

His hands rounded her shoulders, gliding up the curve of her neck before dropping back down to pass over the length of her arms. And it would be a lie to say that he didn’t revel a bit in the way she shivered as he did it. Maybe…

“Alright,” he said, letting his hands fall back to his sides. “You have been properly attended to, my Lady. At least well enough to withstand Wynne’s lectures once she finds out about this when we return.”

Shaesa stiffly bent to pick up her jacket and, seeing her struggle to maneuver her arms into the sleeves, Alistair helped her into it. She picked at it irritably, pulling at the spots that stuck to her from the salve. “Thank you,” she said at last. “That admittedly feels much better.”

He grinned. “Just doing my duty to solidify my place as ‘Most Useful Companion’.”

“Well seeing as how you saved my life from Zevran’s dubious intentions and sun poisoning, I would say you’re off to a pretty good start,” she hummed. “A few more months, and maybe you’ll begin to catch up with Fen.”

“Ouch,” he hissed, clutching at his chest in mock-pain. But he could not fight the smile on his face. She began to turn towards the road, and gladly he followed. “I’m losing to the one who licks his own arse in his downtime?”

“Hey– I don’t see you guarding my tent at night.”

“I could,” he offered, too quickly. He only realized what it sounded like after he said it. “...If that was what you wanted.”

But to either his relief or disappointment, she simply snorted. “Now you’re sounding like Zevran.”

“Oh, so we’re using real insults now?” he shot back.

She laughed, shaking her head. It really was such a pretty sound.

“But maybe,” she said, letting her eyes flick up to his playfully. He almost didn’t catch it.

Ahead of them, the brush began to thin, and Alistair could see the road, and the tree beyond where Zevran was undoubtedly still waiting, his arms folded beneath his head where he lay stretched out like an alley cat.

“Maybe…?” he echoed distractedly. His gaze touched hers in confusion.

She grinned brightly, and the smile stretched all the way to the corners of her eyes. And, to Alistair’s utter shock, she actually winked at him.

“Maybe.”

#dadwc #dragon age fanfiction #shaesa tabris #alistair theirin #alistair x tabris #dragon age fanfic #dragon age

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supoctosss · 2 months ago

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It’s been on my mind a lot recently so I wanted to talk about my DAO OC Olive Tabris and Alistair. They have such a complicated relationship, and I’m trying to get it written down right.

When he finds her to apologize Olive breaks down, spilling all the feeling she holds for him, and how they can’t be together because it’s too complicated. Then he kisses her, a sad, knowing kiss. Because as much as Alistair makes himself seem dumb he knows the truth. He knows the hands they were dealt isn’t fair. And right after Radcliffe they head to the temple of sacred ashes, and with all the chaos, and a little bit of both of them avoiding eachother) they never talk about their kiss or her confession. They pick up an assassin elf on the way, and Alistair immediately picks up the look that he has in his eye, the hungry look. But he can’t say anything because they’re nothing to eachother. And Olive tries to push down her feelings for Alistair, and an easy way to do that is to distract herself with the handsome elf, but he’s too confident for her liking so she can’t develop any feelings for him. And Alistair is sitting across the campfire glaring at them and eventually Olive gets tired of it and for the second time they’re arguing, and Alistair is demanding Olive to tell the truth about how she feels bc ‘if you want to be with me than fucking be with me!’ And ‘I love you’ is on the tip of her tongue but she stops herself. Because would it even be the truth? She’s never felt love before, and Alistair doesn’t want her. He wants the idea of her. Olive refuses to be a wife, and she knows that’s what he wants. But she can’t stop herself from kissing him and god does she know it’s wrong, she knows she’s gonna hurt him in the end but just one more kiss won’t hurt. And for a few weeks everything is fine. They don’t tell anyone, and just share knowing glances across the fire. And when they finally get Arl Eamon back to full health Alistair is so happy she almost thinks it might make up for her hurting him. Then he drops the news Alistair has to be King, there’s no other choice. And she watches Alistair’s face drop, and she ignores the sense of sadness hit her because she knew this would happen. She knew they couldn’t be together, but damn her for still having hope. But when Alistair suggests letting Anora rule alone, Olive shuts it down. And once again there’s arguing, and she finally shuts him down completely (‘we can’t be together Alistair! Not now, not ever. Not in this life. Maybe if I was a human we could figure it out. But I’m an Elf, and you’re going to be King. And that’s IF we survive. So we both need to move on!’)

Except he doesn’t, he tries to, tries to stop himself from staring at her when she laughs with Leliana, or reads with Wynne, or ask Sten millions of questions about the Qun. But he can’t stop himself. And the worst part it Zevran is staring too. And he recognizes that look all too well. And Alistair tries not to scream when the two chat quietly with eachother, or when he catches those knowing looks they used to share. And When Alistair spots Zevran lead her to his tent his heart stops. Because despite everything he is so in love with Olive Tabris.

Soon Olive finds herself lost in Zevran, and while there were so many bumps, he got lost in her too. They never call us love, or even a relationship. And Olive loves it, and when he gives her one of his earrings Olive gets giddy. Giddy. As time moves on she finds it easier to ignore Alistair’s stares, and Zevran eventually stopped asking about it. They don’t talk about their future, and perhaps that was a mistake because when Riordan says that the grey wardens that deals the killing blow dies, she had already made her decision. She will sacrifice herself for Alistair, not for the good of ferelden, or even because she still loved Alistair, but because she owed it to him. And when she tells Zev this he cries, he begs her to live, to choose herself. But she doesn’t, and they spend one last incredible night together. And then she slays the Archdemon, and when they soul enters her body she feels peace, because she did something meaningful.

Then she wakes up. And finds out Alistair did a dark ritual with Morrigan (even though he won’t tell her what, and where’s morrigan gone?) Alistair tries to not look at her with those lovesick eyes, and fails miserably, so instead he kisses her cheek, tells her he’s proud to have known her, and that Zevran is waiting for her. And as he walks away they both think “maybe in another life” and while Olive has a love like no other with Zevran, and eventually they have two babies, twins, Olive could never stop herself from thinking of the what ifs. And while Alistair never finds a new love, he is eventually able to look at his best friends, his first love’s, family and feel a genuine joy for her.

This was so fun to write 🫶

#dragon age #dragon age 4 #dragon age the veilguard #zevran arainai #dragon age origins #dragon age alistair #zevran x tabris #warden tabris #female tabris #tabris oc #alistair x tabris

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alilyhn · 4 months ago

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King's mistress

#dragon age #alistair theirin #dragon age origins #alistair x warden #alistair x tabris #alilyhn art #Im so into mistress route and how angsty it can be for everyone and I feel like im the ONLY one #well u know what Ill just cook for myself

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thcscus · 4 months ago

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(shows up to the party 15 years late with iced coffee) is this anything

#dragon age #da origins #wip #alistair x warden #alistair x tabris #im so miserable guys #why did NO ONE fucking tell me i cant marry the king if im an elf racism be damned

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prophetssong · 2 years ago

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Alistair and the warden are close friends

#dragon age #dragon age origins #alistair theirin #warden tabris #alistair x tabris #mine

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onethousandeyeslooking · 2 months ago

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(In honor of Veilguard coming out in just over a month, I figured I should actually start posting about Dragon Age more. And, of course, that comes with speaking about the tragic heroes who dominate my canon world state. So, might as well start with the first.)

Senrian Tabris. Hero and Warden Commander of Ferelden.

Age (during DA:O): 19 (born 9:11 Dragon)

Origin: City Elf

Class: Warrior (Dual wield)

Romance: Alistair

People are often surprised when they see the Warden-Commander for the first time— the lauded Hero of Ferelden, much to their shock, is a short and slight elven man, his long face often pulled into a measured, polite smile. Upon first impressions, he can often come off as fairly unassuming. The only hint of a life of war is the fire that often stirs behind hazel eyes.

But if you stir his temper, though... then you'll see why the nobles in Denerim still regard him with some caution whenever he visits.

When I think about Senrian as a character, the first word that always comes to mind is "duty". He picks his causes, and he fully devotes himself to them. He's a very "lawful good" character, but in the sense that the laws in question are his own internal moral codes (as opposed to the exterior laws, which he often finds... disappointing, to say the least), he's serious, but in a less stern and more polite way. I find I really enjoy the dichotomy that he creates as a character, someone who (on a logical level), believes that he has to do certain things to keep those he loves safe, someone who's incredibly kind and polite, but underneath that also has this incredibly intense and fiery streak that can (for better or worse) sometimes override his rationality.

Despite his mental binds, Senrian is a character that feels. He feels so deeply and intensely. Oftentimes that comes out as anger. He holds his grudges close to his heart, and sometimes his loyalty to his family (both chosen and blood) can leave bodies in its wake if they're hurt. Before Origins, this was only really seen in his tendency to frequently lose servant jobs for arguing with employers over mistreatment of his co-workers. This reached a boiling point, though, in my interpretation of the city elf origin, wherein he doesn't just kill the arl's son, but also ends up burning down a not-insignificant portion of the estate itself.

He takes well to the Wardens. He enjoys the good purpose it gives him, and fighting the darkspawn becomes an easy outlet for less-desirable violent feelings.

He also takes well to the wardens because he almost always places the feelings and lives of others above his own. A lot of this obligation and duty all stems from when his mother died for him when he was younger (a childish mistake led to his mother getting into a fight with some city guards that resulted in her death). His older sister always somewhat blamed him as well, and ended up running away from home, leaving just him to look after his father. He internalized a lot of this guilt and blame.

This personality leads to him making decisions I don't always agree with as a player, but the repercussions of those actions often (in my own opinion) make for a significantly more interesting story.

(pardon my less than stellar art skill)

(fun fact! I went into Origins almost completely blind, and at the time I didn't know elven facial tattoos were mainly a dalish thing. So now Senrian has a face tattoo that I honestly don't have much of an explanation as to why he has. Eh, sometimes it can be something as simple as personal preference.)

Appearance-wise I don't have nearly as much to say about him. He's pretty short at 5'4" (162 cm), and is a pretty powerful warrior, despite his lighter build. I also designed him before I knew his mother had a canon appearance, so he just takes after his father more than anything else.

In my personal opinion, he's quite pretty, if that counts for anything, haha.

(templates from here. Please note that the relationships represented here are how Senrian feels about the characters in question, not myself. Also, the colors closest to Senrian's icon are first impressions/initial dynamics, while the further out the colors are, the further along in the story the dynamic change is.)

Now, getting this out of the way— why did I mod the game for a bi Alistair, instead of just romancing Zevran? (As that would've been the only canon option for him— Senrian is a gay man.) Well, funny story, I originally went into Senrian's run thinking it was just going to be a little side project to romance Zevran while my main save at the time (a different warden) would be my canon run. But I latched onto Senrian very fast, and knew I wanted to romance Alistair as soon as I spoke to the guy for the first time.

It turns out that I actually really ended up enjoying the dynamic the two wardens ended up having with eachother— and their story ended up being very sweet and very tragic. Senrian was the one who encouraged Alistair to take the crown, trusting him more as a possible ruler of his country than the daughter of a man who had just tried to sell his entire family into slavery. It ties back into his views on duty, and doing things you don't want to do for the sake of the greater good. Of course, this ended up biting him in the ass when Alistair being crowned as king ended up leading to their relationship ending. Senrian was mad, but he couldn't bring himself to be mad at anyone but himself. He'd kind of always been expecting something like this to happen anyways, at the back of his mind, ever since the possibility that he'd become king was on the horizon. Doesn't mean it didn't hurt, though.

They both still love eachother. I haven't actually decided if they eventually get back together or not, but I know the king has his regrets. There's a portrait of the Hero of Ferelden somewhere in the castle with a wedding ring that Senrian never had. There's also a rose garden he tends to himself.

(once again, this portrait was commissioned from kittyoperas here on tumblr.)

So, after getting broken up with, he still ended up doing the ritual with Morrigan because he felt that he couldn't just leave Ferelden with one warden standing after the blight, who already had enough to do as king (let alone knowing Alistair well enough to know what his death might do to the man). It was kind of a last bitter twist of the knife, as well, as Senrian had always wanted children. He loved the idea of being a father.

So! In light of Veilguard coming out soon, you might be wondering what he's doing nowadays. Me too! All I know is that he's in the deep roads, trying to fix another thing he thinks is his job to fix (for some reason. He really needs to give himself a break.) Oh! Also might be lightly possessed! But that's a story for another time.

But... yes. That's Senrian Tabris. If you're interested, here is his spotify playlist, and here is his pinterest board.

Oh, and because I didn't have anywhere else to put it, the only image I actually have of him and Alistair together (not counting in-game screenshots, which are travesties because I absolutely cannot get Senrian to look how he's supposed to in-game) is this really stupid modern au meme redraw. Have fun with that.

#ah shit i forgot i said id post about them #well here is senrian #i need to actually finish the first chapter of his longfic so i can start posting it #dragon age #dragon age origins #warden tabris #alistair x tabris #Senrian Tabris

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bluerose5 · 2 years ago

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Revelation

Word Count: 3,448

Summary: Alistair finds out the truth about his parentage.

He takes it about as well as one would expect.

~~~

"I had a feeling that I would find you here."

Dazed as he was, the abrupt intrusion of another’s voice startled Darrian back into a state of awareness. His finger struck a sour chord upon his lute, an old gift given to him by Leliana after the Fifth Blight.

He glanced up and caught sight of Alistair, leaning against the entrance to his study.

A flickering fire crackled close by. Its orange glow danced against the backdrop of darkness. Shadows whispered playfully to each other with glee as golden light caressed the lines of Alistair's face, bringing out the warmer tones of light brown skin.

Darrian stared at him. His body grew warm, but not only because of the heat that emanated from the flames.

Memories from the last time they were alone together teased at his mind, and his heart raced.

After a moment, deft fingers continued to pluck at the strings to form a song. This time, slower, more alluring.

"Well, you found me," Darrian agreed. Bright yellow eyes pierced through the night, reflecting the light when hit at just the right angle. "Question is, what are you going to do with me, now that you've found me?"

Alistair cleared his throat, then stepped forward into the room.

"I'm still trying to figure that one out," he said, sheepish as he approached. "So many options…"

When he trailed off, Darrian laughed under his breath.

"I might have an idea in mind."

"Just the one?" Alistair whispered, tender yet reverent.

Each word held the weight of a prayer.

Darrian’s heart sang in delight.

"Maybe more than one," Darrian allowed. Then, he shrugged. "How the rest of the night goes will determine if you find out what they are."

"I'll keep that in mind," Alistair said, taking a seat at his side.

"You'll get your fancy clothes dirty," Darrian warned.

"Ha! As if Mistress Virdan would ever allow even a single speck of dirt on the floors in her household!"

"Point taken," Darrian chuckled.

They settled in at each other's side, snuggled up to one another by the fire.

Darrian continued to play his lute while Alistair stared down at him, as if he had hung the moons and the stars in the sky himself. Elvish lyrics flowed free from his lips, lamenting all that was lost to the past while preserving hope for a better future.

Alistair combed his fingers through brown hair, pressing a kiss to Darrian’s temple.

His lips lingered, but he waited for Darrian's song to trail off before speaking. Tender words caressed warm skin.

"You're so beautiful," he breathed.

Darrian glanced over to meet honey brown eyes.

"So are you."

When Alistair responded by clearing his throat, Darrian asked about it.

“Something wrong?”

“I, uh—” Alistair stammered, then chuckled nervously. He glanced elsewhere, anywhere, unable to maintain eye contact. “It’s just that not many people call me that, you know. Strong or handsome, maybe, but I don’t hear ‘beautiful’ too often.”

Darrian tsked. “What a shame.”

He set his lute aside to angle himself more towards Alistair, right before he tossed a leg over his lap to straddle him. Wrapping his arms around his neck, he pressed his forehead against his, each word whispered into the space between them.

“I mean, you are those things,” Darrian praised. “Strong and handsome.” He toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. “But you’re also beautiful, smart, compassionate…”

Alistair shivered in delight, coaxing a smirk from Darrian.

“You don’t say.”

“On the contrary, I do say so,” Darrian teased, rewarding him with a sweet, albeit brief, peck. “And I’m always right.”

“Always, my love,” Alistair readily agreed, clever man that he was.

This time, they both closed the distance, sealing their lips into a kiss.

Darrian didn’t even so much as look up. With a casual wave of his hand, a blast of force magic slammed against the doors, effectively closing them to give the couple some much-needed privacy.

Alistair hummed as they broke the kiss. “Show-off.”

“As if you’re not impressed,” Darrian responded.

After a moment, Alistair conceded.

“Okay, yeah, that was pretty impressive.”

“Uh-huh.” And because he couldn’t resist, Darrian gave him one last peck before he got to his feet. “Stay here.”

“Must I?” Alistair widened his eyes, bottom lip poked out into an exaggerated pout.

When he grabbed Darrian’s hand, Darrian raised an eyebrow at him, amused.

“Yes, you must,” he answered. He slipped free from Alistair’s hold with ease, approaching the large, ornate desk. “I have something for you.”

“A gift?” Alistair questioned, incredulous. “Darrian, you didn’t have to.”

“But I did,” he stated, leaving no room for argument. “Besides, I didn’t spend a single copper on it.” He wrenched open one of the drawers, then dug around inside. “It’s a family heirloom.”

Carefully, he lifted out an expensive, silk cloth, which he brought over for Alistair to see. Kneeling at his side, he unfolded the edges to reveal a necklace that matched the one currently around Darrian’s neck.

Tiny links of silverite were infused with threads of bright light that bore the markings of the Beyond. Touched by the Fade, the necklace's very essence pulsed with power and magic alike. A large, uncut gem formed the piece's pendant. And within that gem, there laid a rune that glowed like fire.

Multiple shades of purple, pink, blue, and orange swirled together in a chaotic inferno.

Darrian offered it out to Alistair, lips parted around a shaky breath.

"In some cultures, they call this the Dragon's Eye, a special form of sending crystal. It has been passed down throughout my family for generations, ever since the fall of the Dales and possibly since Arlathan itself, or so they say," Darrian explained. "During the time of the Dales, my ancestors used it to communicate over long distances. They would use it to speak to each other, yes, but it also exchanged so much more than that. Experiences, emotions, thoughts, and memories."

Darrian swallowed thickly.

"You know, in my mother's family, relationships of three were always viewed as typical, expected. The mind, the body, and the soul. There is an imbalance without one or the other. I have one necklace." He reached up to cradle his own gem, then released it. "Zevran has the other, and now I want you to have the last."

Alistair gaped at him.

"Darrian, I—" Not even taking into account the cultural significance amongst elves, Alistair knew well enough that Darrian viewed the value of jewelry through the eyes of his Rivaini heritage. Each piece was meaningful, symbolic of one's status and connections. "I don't know what to say."

"That's easy," Darrian laughed, although with a slight tremor to his voice. "Say that you'll accept."

Alistair felt his heart hammering away in his chest, but his encouragement was all that he needed to nod in agreement.

"Of course I will. Here." He turned so that his back was to him. "Mind putting it on for me?"

"I'd be happy to."

Reaching around him, Darrian fixed the necklace's position, then clasped it into place around his neck. Once he released it, the pendant fell down against Alistair's chest. He grabbed the stone and appraised its weight within the palm of his hand.

Darrian embraced Alistair from behind, his chest to Alistair's back, as they both stared down at the gem together.

"How does it work?" Alistair wondered.

"It's activated by a special phrase," Darrian said.

Brushing his lips along the shell of Alistair’s ear, he whispered it to him, but he tried to warn Alistair before he got his hopes up.

"Just don't be surprised if nothing happens." Not that his words stopped Alistair from immediately repeating it. "It's only supposed to work for…"

Darrian trailed off in shock, blinking owlishly at the now-glowing stone.

Maybe—Maybe it was a delay. From when Darrian said the phrase, but it never did that before. Never, not once. The response was always instant.

Alistair, oblivious to his sudden distress, beamed over his shoulder at Darrian, only to freeze when he caught sight of his expression.

Darrian looked as if he was going to be ill.

Turning towards him, Alistair took him by the shoulders.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, the necklace forgotten as he took Darrian’s face between his hands. "What happened?"

"Say the phrase again," Darrian instructed, not once looking away from that glowing light.

"Wh–What?" Alistair stuttered, caught off guard by the strange request. "What does the necklace have to do with—"

"Just do it," Darrian pleaded. "Please. Trust me, okay?"

Taking a second to consider, Alistair lifted the Dragon's Eye up into his hand again.

This time, when he recited the phrase, the light was snuffed out like a flame.

Okay, so that disproved his theory about the delay.

Darrian struggled to come to terms with that.

"Will you tell me what's going on now?" Alistair asked. "Don't keep me in the dark here. What? Is it the necklace? Do you want it back? Are you having second thoughts? Because you know that I would never pressure you into parting with something so speci—"

When he started to take it off, Darrian reached out and placed his hand over his, stopping him in his tracks.

"Alistair, that's not—" Shaking his head, Darrian choked on the words, at a loss for what to say. "Alistair, the necklace only responds to those of elven blood. Its magic was specifically attuned to elves."

A beat of silence followed before he could finally respond, Alistair's expression one of disbelief.

"What?" he scoffed, eyes narrowed in response. "You're joking with me, right?"

Darrian tried not to get offended by that, realizing what a shock this was to them both.

Realizing how his words might have come across, Alistair quickly backtracked, "Sorry. Not that there's anything wrong with being elven, but you're being serious right now, aren't you?"

"Why would I even joke about that with you?" Darrian retorted. "I was just about to tell you not to expect the phrase to work, specifically because I thought you were a full-blooded human."

Alistair winced.

Clenching his jaw, he got to his feet and stormed off into the hallway. The door to the study crashed against the wall, Darrian hot on his heels.

"Where are you going?" Darrian demanded, refusing to leave his side. "Ali!"

"I need to know for sure," he grunted. "I trust you, I do, but I—" He pinched at the bridge of his nose with a frustrated growl, his gait quick yet determined. "I need to be certain."

He took a sharp turn into the kitchens, where several servants still lingered, enjoying their fill of food and liquor.

As soon as Alistair burst into the room, their conversations came to an abrupt halt. They jumped down from their perches upon the counters, wide-eyed with fear and shock.

"Your Majesty," a young, human man greeted with a bow. "What, uh— How can we be of service this fine evening?"

"I don't care about you enjoying your free time in here," Alistair assured them. He all but snatched the necklace off in his hurry to unclasp it. "All I ask is a favor. Here."

He grabbed the man by the hand and pressed the stone into his palm.

The others —with an older, elven woman amongst them— glanced nervously at Darrian.

"Alistair," Darrian chided. "You're scaring them."

"Just give me a second, please," he begged them, now frantic. Once again, he returned his attention to the man. "Repeat after me."

Confused by this unusual turn of events, the servant did as his King commanded.

When Alistair spoke the phrase aloud, both his and Darrian’s necklaces emanated an undeniable glow. However, when the man repeated his words, they didn't react in the slightest.

Grumbling to himself, Alistair snatched up the gemstone then approached the elven woman, who tensed once he drew nearer.

Alistair took a deep breath, his voice soft and gentle.

"Please, if you don't mind," he said, "take this necklace and say the exact same words that your companion here just did."

Searching Alistair's gaze for any signs of deception, the elven woman eventually took pity on him and grabbed the chain from his hand. Slowly, deliberately, she enunciated each word to perfection.

Both necklaces didn't hesitate to respond, each light dying out quickly.

No one, except for Darrian and Alistair, seemed to realize the significance of what had happened.

Trapped in a daze, Alistair mindlessly thanked them, stumbling his way out of the kitchens.

Darrian smiled sheepishly at those gathered.

"As you were," he told them.

He retrieved the necklace from the servant and chased after Alistair, but the latter had only barely regained his senses by the time Darrian caught up to him.

Matching his stride, Darrian followed his lead.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

For the longest time, even Alistair didn't know.

Then, out of nowhere, he stopped in the middle of a corridor.

His expression darkened. Rage simmered within his eyes.

He turned on his heel without warning, storming off in the library's direction.

"Alistair…" Darrian trailed off, cautious about his next move. "Talk to me."

"We'll talk soon," he promised. "Right now, I need to pay someone a visit."

As soon as he entered the library, understanding dawned on Darrian.

Eamon glanced up from the book he was reading, curious about all the commotion.

Darrian closed the doors behind them before the yelling could start.

"Were you ever going to tell me the truth?!" Alistair snapped, to which Eamon raised a brow in question.

Slowly, he closed his book and set it aside.

"The truth about what, exactly?" Eamon asked, eyeing Darrian with disdain.

"Oh, don't play dumb." Alistair sneered. "I doubt it was from the Theirin line. No, no, no. They're too prideful to let something like that slip, which leaves my mother."

"What about her?" Eamon got to his feet but ultimately kept his distance. "Alistair, you already know the truth. You're not making any sense."

Now, that tore through the remnants of Alistair's patience.

Everything was happening too fast. Usually, Darrian was the one in charge, but the whole world had been turned upside-down. Nothing made sense. Everything was out of control.

Usually, it was Alistair who had to hold Darrian back from acting on violent impulses, not the other way around.

Alistair took a threatening step forward, but Darrian acted on instinct, fast enough to insert himself between him and Eamon.

He placed his hands on Alistair's chest, which got him to stop at least, but he didn't once look away from Eamon.

"Really, Uncle?" Alistair let out a bitter laugh. "So, what? The fact that I'm—" He paused as he processed the truth. Unshed tears glistened in his eyes. "That I'm elf-blooded conveniently never came up before?"

Eamon pursed his lips, then glared at Darrian.

"You," he spat. "You're the one behind this, filling his head with this–this nonsense!"

Alistair interrupted before Darrian could muster up a reply.

"Don't. Don't you dare blame this whole mess on him!" Alistair tried to lunge forward, and it was a pure miracle that Darrian managed to keep them apart. He dug his feet into the floor, sweat beading at his hairline. "All these years have been nothing but lies. Is my mother even dead?"

Eamon's silence was answer enough.

Instead of confirming or denying, however, he tried to shift the attention —and the blame— elsewhere.

"It was your mother's decision," he eventually said, "to keep the truth from you. She did not want your elven heritage to… hinder you."

"That shouldn't have been up to her. I deserved the truth!"

"Maric’s wishes were always to respect her choice on that matter. I was one of the select few who had access to that knowledge. I promised to keep it to myself, and I would not go back on my word."

"Of course not," Alistair said. "Not when it could prove to be an inconvenience to you and your ambitions. Because, let's be honest, your loyalty has always been about preserving Ferelden's archaic traditions and your precious fucking bloodlines. If I had not been a Theirin, would any of you have even spared me a second thought?"

When he didn't immediately answer outright, Alistair grunted.

"Thought not."

Darrian swallowed past the lump in his throat.

He wasn't one to run away from confrontation, but his head was spinning like mad.

They needed to get away, take a second to catch their breath.

"Alistair, come on," he whispered. "Let's just go."

Something he said, perhaps the sheer informality with which he addressed their king, got under Eamon's skin.

Finally, he snapped.

He rushed forward and grabbed ahold of Darrian’s wrist, yanking him towards him.

"This is all your fault!"

He raised his hand to strike a blow, but it never came.

In the blink of an eye, Alistair had shoved him back against the bookshelves, his forearm pinned against his throat.

His expression was absolutely murderous, seething with a rage that threatened to boil over at the drop of a hat.

He leaned in and whispered, his voice quiet yet dangerous.

"Get out of my castle, or else."

Eamon sputtered, but the fool was determined to have his say.

"That elf of yours is poisoning your mind against what is right." He wheezed out past the growing pressure upon his throat. "And you're letting him."

"That's no longer your concern." After great effort, Alistair released him, jerking his chin in the direction of the door. "Get out of my sight."

"Nephew," Eamon protested. "I—"

"Leave," Alistair snarled. "Now!"

Apparently, even Eamon knew when not to press his luck.

He scampered out of the room, his hand at his throat.

Bruises were already blossoming in their wake.

Darrian used his magic to shut the door behind him.

Left alone together, Alistair backed himself up against a wall and slowly sank to the floor.

He buried his head into his hands.

When Darrian approached him, Alistair rubbed his hands down his face with an exhausted groan.

He glanced up at Darrian in concern.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Darrian knelt at his side.

"Pretty sure that I should be asking you that."

"Right," Alistair said, "but seriously, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Good." He blew out a shaky breath. "That's good, at least."

Rather than fill the silence with empty talk, Darrian offered him his presence instead. He snuggled up to his side, clinging to him as if his very life depended on it, his head upon Alistair's shoulder.

He waited for Alistair to speak, patiently awaiting the moment when he was ready.

After several minutes, he whispered, "I know that it shouldn't change much of anything. I'm still me, after all, but still…"

"It changes everything," Darrian finished for him.

Alistair simply nodded in agreement.

"Yeah." He turned to Darrian. "Surely, you have an opinion about all of this."

"I do."

"And?"

"And what?"

"What do you think?"

Darrian shrugged.

"You're the first person of elven blood to rule in Thedas throughout recent history. Of course I have opinions, but I cannot—" He corrected himself. "I will not allow my emotions to cloud my judgment about this. No matter how you feel about the role now, I had a hand in you becoming king. Back then, I put my own desire for vengeance ahead of what you wanted at the time."

They locked eyes, all of the air in the room leaving in one fell swoop.

"I won't let that happen again," Darrian said. "You have options. You could keep the truth hidden. You could go public with it. I could fix up a sort of phylactery to find your mother. It doesn't matter. Whatever you want, I will support you fully."

Alistair considered that.

Soon enough, he turned his back to him.

"May I have my necklace back, my love?"

Darrian’s heart skipped a beat.

He made quick work of fastening it into place again. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his throat.

As they settled down, side-by-side yet again, Alistair held his head high with pride.

"You're right, you know. I have options laid out in front of me now." Reaching out between them, he placed his hand on top of Darrian’s. He gave it a firm squeeze. "But I won't hide who I truly am."

Darrian turned his hand over, and they laced their fingers together.

"If anyone wants to take everything that we've built away from me, away from us, all because I'm of elven blood…"

Alistair lowered his voice in warning.

"Then I'd like to see them try."

#dragon age #dragon age origins #darrian tabris #alistair theirin #male warden #king alistair #hardened alistair #aliwarden #alistair x tabris #bluerose writes

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