#and zevran knew his warden would have been a little put out

[thelibrarian1895]

Hawke regarding Rookanis

Hawke: Look, the man just got out of a horrible situation and instead of sleeping with Rook and then breaking their heart and leaving them and then hooking up with one of their mutual friends after making you think that it was maybe sex in general no, then discovering that he's hooking up with someone who was a friend so maybe it was just you-

Fenris: Hawke, I said I was sorry!

Hawke: and you spend three years pining and dealing with the heartbreak and then have an opportunity for a no strings attached rebound with someone outside of your friend group so no one has to have it just in their faces all the time he gets upset and stops it

Fenris: Hawke! Come on!

Hawke: So Lucanis's emotional maturity to realize he needs to sort his stuff out before he gets into anything, very refreshing and he made dessert!

Fenris: What if I got you something from that bakery in hightown?

Hawke: yes please

[transandersrights]

Happy Friday!

How about Adrel x Zevran and the Hammock song title "Then the Quiet Explosion"

(I take prompts! See info here)

Ooh thank you for the beautiful song rec! For @dadrunkwriting, 1k of soft angsty Adrel (Nonbinary Surana)/Zevran. Content warnings for discussion of the (future, not present) Calling

“It might still happen, you know.” It was infinitely easier and harder to say like this, Zevran’s body wrapped around them, Adrel’s body wrapped around him, inseparable. Like nothing could ever tear them apart. Like they clung to each other all the tighter because they knew something could. “If we can’t find a cure…”

“You’re catastrophising again, dear.” Zevran didn’t move to extricate himself or huddle closer. He just held them the same; the same as every night, huddled together in the thick canvas of the tent that formed their only protection against the elements of the Anderfels. “That’s an if. And I’ve never seen you fail anything you put your mind to.”

Adrel nodded against his shoulder, but the words didn’t help nearly as much as Zevran wanted them to. He could say all he liked about their chances, but at the end of the day they were empty promises and nothing more.

One day — maybe sooner rather than later — the clock would tick towards midnight. From the moment that blood touched their lips over a decade ago, Adrel had been living on borrowed time. Dead, yet walking around.

One day, Zevran was going to have to say goodbye to them. The time they’d spent together would become nothing more than a memory, and Zevran…

Adrel knew his denial for what it was. They knew Zevran, despite those early attempts at avoiding being seen. Just as he so desperately tried to live life as a man not clinging to anything, free to slip away the moment doing so became the best course of action, Adrel had done this to him instead.

Now, he clung tightly. They hadn’t been apart for more than a few hours in months, now— and not apart for more than a few days in years. It wasn’t like with Leliana, where her duties called her elsewhere. Zevran was here; watching the Calling catch up on them, slowly but surely. Watching the sand in the hourglass trickle ever outwards.

Could he see the taint’s advance in the same way they felt it? They hadn’t dared ask; if he could, it would make it real rather than just a figment of their imagination.

“You’re not convinced,” Zevran said, because he knew them far too well.

Adrel sighed. Zevran nodded an acknowledgement, his hair tickling their shoulder. “I want you to be okay when I’m gone.”

Zevran, tellingly, didn’t move at all. Didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. He didn’t want to talk about this, but it was eating away at Adrel’s mind more than the sands bit at their face during the day. They had to know. They had to pass on to him whatever they could, any warmth, any help. They couldn’t just let him go any more than he could do the same for them.

“I know it feels far away. It might be! Some Wardens live twenty, thirty years after their recruitment. Wardens survived decades-long Blights, even, but…”

“Then we don’t have to talk about this now.” Zevran sounded a touch desperate. It broke their heart, really, but that was why they had to keep pushing.

“You’ll let me go, won’t you?”

“Adrel…”

“It turns you into a monster, eventually.”

“I don’t care what you look like.”

That was sweet. It hadn’t always been true; but now, Zevran had seen them coated in gore and bleeding out and dehydrated and a hundred different states in between. He’d seen them at their best and their worst and he could know, now, if he could hold them with cracked, blackened skin, and still love them.

“What if I wanted you to?”

“We cannot choose how we feel.” This time, Zevran squeezed them a little tighter.

“I wouldn’t be myself.”

“If you’re you, I don’t care how much you change.” The tiniest lick of frustration rose within them like a flame. He was meant to care. It was the immutable fact of being a Warden; if you had connections, you had to let them go. One day, the Darkspawn would turn you into something unrecognisable, and then you had to go out in a blaze of glory, doing all you could to make sure that the tide could one day be stemmed.

Adrel was trying to change that — they knew that expecting Zevran to obey every other part of what this meant was unreasonable. When they upturned the idea that a Blight had to end with a dead Warden, resisted the concept that they should accept their fate unconditionally… maybe they’d been asking for this.

It just all felt so helpless now. Years, and they’d found nothing at all. All they had to show for their efforts was Zevran, who one day would be left alone, and Adrel couldn’t even help him with that.

“Can you promise me something, then?” This time, Adrel drew back a little. It was too dark to see Zevran’s face clearly, but they could make out just a little; the shape of his face, the faint smudge of features they knew better than their own.

Zevran frowned. “It depends what the favour is,” he said. “But you’ve never lead me wrong before. I’d wager it would be within my power.”

“Be happy.” It took all Adrel’s effort to keep their voice steady, their eyes dry. Maybe one day, when the threat was more immediate, this would be impossible. If so, they at least wanted a moment like this. “If we succeed or fail. If I stay, or go, or change. Just… do what makes you happiest. For me.”

Zevran nodded, not even hesitating. He drew close once more, holding them in his arms. He was gentler this time, like they were frail. There weren’t many people who treated them like anything other than a force of nature, these days. “I can be happy now, within your embrace,” he said. “And the future… the future will be the future. When it comes, I will take each moment for itself and make it a happy one. How does that sound?”

“Better,” Adrel admitted, nestling their head back against his neck. “Thank you. And I’m sorry.”

Zevran squeezed them so tightly they squeaked. “No apologies,” he said. “You take that back, now.”

Adrel let out a breathless laugh. “I’m not sorry, then. Thank you, and I love you.”

“I love you too. My Warden.”

“Your ex-Warden, if we can actually find what we’re looking for in this bloody desert,” Adrel pointed out. “Come on. We’ve put sleep off long enough.”

[anneapocalypse]

Ilana Tabris

Dragon Age OC Masterpost

Tag | Fics

City elf rogue. Pickpocket. Scrappy, will stab.

Will not let anyone forget she is an Elf.

Bangs the assassin sent to kill her (and then catches feelings).

Dodges an arranged marriage and then maneuvers her friend into one.

Kinda selfish tbh.

Soft spot for kids and dogs.

Warden-Commander for life.

More than you ever wanted to know below the cut!

How it started:

Ilana looking unimpressed about the wedding she’s trying to weasel out of.

How it’s going:

Alistair might be big mad that she conscripted Loghain and is marrying him off to his daughter. Oops.

Ilana Facts!

Full name: Ilana Adaia Ineria Cyrion Tabris. They’re all family names.

Titles: Warden-Commander, Arl of Amaranthine, Hero of Ferelden, the Dark Wolf of Denerim

Origin: City Elf

Class: Rogue

Specializations: Assassin, Duelist, Shadow

Faith: Andrastian

Life motto: “Fuck it, right.”

Signature look: Ancient Elven Armor

Dog: Sorin

Romance: Zevran

Best friends: Leliana, Morrigan

MVP Party: Zevran, Sten, Morrigan

Major Decisions

Kills Vaughan. Stabs him real good. Like dogs, Shianni.

Accidentally gets her second favorite cousin thrown in prison with her big mouth and then fucks off to be a Grey Warden and literally forgets about it until she finds him in the Arl’s dungeon months later. Oops.

Spares Avernus. No more torture and blood sacrifices please. Also let her know anything new you find out.

Ends the werewolf curse (though she’s very sympathetic to Zathrian’s story).

Defends Redcliffe Village.

Saves the mages.

Saves Connor and Isolde.

Kills Father Kolgrim, does not defile the Ashes, shares them with the world.

Sides with Caridin, destroys the Anvil of the Void, supports Bhelan for King.

Wins the Landsmeet vote, duels Loghain herself, and conscripts him to the Grey Wardens.

Alistair and Anora marry and rule together.

Loghain performs Morrigan’s ritual; Ilana kills the archdemon and lives.

Saves the City of Amaranthine.

Spares the Architect.

In the Brecilian Ruins

Career Highlights

Ilana spends most of her wedding day refusing to put her fancy clothes on and trying to figure out how to weasel out of it. She’s proud of who she is and where she comes from but this is one tradition she’d like to toss straight into the river.

She truly never intends for Soris to wind up in prison. She knew they’d both been seen in the estate anyway, so she just blurts out “It was me and Soris” without thinking. She figures they’ll turn themselves in to avoid retribution against the whole alienage and they can figure out an escape plan later. She has no idea Duncan is about to recruit her as a Grey Warden and leave Soris behind. She doesn’t understand why Duncan wouldn’t recruit him until she sees Daveth die, and realizes that Duncan didn’t think Soris would survive the Joining.

Despite having little choice in the matter, Ilana embraces her new life as a Warden and takes it seriously. One of the first things she does is retake Soldier's Peak, where she chugs Avernus's blood magic potion after reading his notes for five minutes because fuck it, right.

It's probably fine.

Her skill with daggers comes from her mother; she picks up archery after she becomes a Warden, with some help from Leliana, and it's a skill she's particularly proud of.

All her life, Ilana has been curious about the Dalish elves, though never enough to leave her family and seek them out herself. So when her quest to stop the Blight brings her into contact with a Dalish clan, it's exciting. A part of her even hopes that she might find she belongs among them. She learns quickly that they do not welcome her just because she's an elf, and it's a bit of a rude awakening, though she grudgingly understands.

Her time among them teaches her that she is not Dalish and not meant to be. And that doesn't make her any less an elf. It's just not who she is. She does really enjoy exploring the Brecilian Ruins, doing mysterious ancient rituals, and wearing ancient armor she found in ruins, though!

Yeah, sure, she'll drink from this magic pool of water in an ancient ruin. Fuck it, right?

Had it been anyone else possessed in Redcliffe Castle, Ilana probably would have run them through and not thought twice about it, but she has a soft spot for kids and she’s willing to risk traveling to the Circle if it might save Connor.

I'm glad we decided to take this route. This is really the best option.

Finding the Urn of Sacred Ashes is a really profound experience for her, made especially meaningful by seeing Shartan represented in the Gauntlet. She might even shed a tear, though her friends are sworn to secrecy on that point.

"Tell me, pilgrim, did you fail Shianni?" "Yes, I should not have let her be taken in the first place."

She will always find it hard to describe to anyone who wasn’t there.

The Ilana who returns to Denerim both is and is not the sharp, scrappy girl who left the alienage. She is still herself, and she has not forgotten where she came from, and her experiences have only strengthened her elven pride. She feels the weight of her duty as a Grey Warden, and returns hardened by her trials, yet also in some ways softened by her experiences and by the friendships she's found. But above all else she is determined to succeed in stopping the Blight, and that means getting an ass on the throne and the nobles to play ball. Even as she's doing a crime wave across the city, she's formulating her plans for the Landsmeet, and she means to play to win.

Ilana enters the Landsmeet with Alistair, the heir to the throne; Leliana, a lay sister of the Chantry; and Wynne, a loyal Circle mage. She's very deliberate about the image they present to the Landsmeet. But she also deliberately sets herself apart, wearing the signature elven armor that makes her look just a bit otherworldly, and unsettles humans in a way she likes. She will let no one forget who she is. Even though a lot of people call her "my lady" now, Ilana is still uncomfortable being treated as a noble, especially in contexts where it seems that her elvenness is being overlooked rather than honored. She is an elf, and a Grey Warden, and that's what she wants people to see.

Victory brings her a whole new set of challenges and responsibilities: rebuilding the Wardens, ruling Amaranthine, dealing with noble politics and all the humans who now have to deal with the fact that their elven hero didn't have the grace to lie down and die and instead has power and influence and won't let them forget it. It's a lot, but Ilana remains as stubborn as ever and she's not about to back down now. (She could really use a nap, though. Maybe a vacation.)

In Amaranthine, Ilana is so focused on rebuilding the Wardens that she recruits (or conscripts) everyone she can get. While a few of them prove dedicated in the end, the disappearances of Velanna and Anders (the latter leaving more dead Wardens in his wake) convince her that maybe "take whoever you can get" isn't the best tactic.

While she is aware of the power that comes with the title of Arl, even in the provisional sense by which she holds it, Ilana ultimately prefers being the Warden-Commander, and she chooses to learn from the lesson of Sophia Dryden and continue most of her work out of the public eye—though she certainly doesn't hesitate to exercise her influence over the Crown behind the scenes.

Relationships

Family: Ilana was close to her mother, always took after her, and took well to her secret lessons on fighting. Her father worked long hours in those days and wasn’t home much, but spent as much time with Ilana as he could, and they bonded even more after Adaia’s death. Cyrion tries hard to walk the line between respecting Ilana’s “adventurous” spirit and keeping her safe; he tries hard to find her a match she’ll accept, without much success!

Ilana and Shianni are thick as thieves pretty much from the moment Cyrion brings her home. Soris has also lived with them and grown up with Ilana like a brother, as he was orphaned young, but he often feels like a bit of a third wheel after Shianni arrives and the two girls become joined at the hip. Still, the three of them get in plenty of trouble together. When she has to leave the alienage, Ilana misses Shianni more than anyone.

With Ilana conscripted, Soris is taken and thrown in the Arl’s dungeon, where he remains for months. Even after Ilana eventually rescues him, he never quite forgives her for it.

Cousin, you're amazing. Which I shouldn't say to your face, because it'll go to your head. But it's true.

Dog: Ilana names her mabari Sorin, after her cousin Soris. For some reason Soris is not amused by this.

Alistair: Ilana gets along with Alistair pretty well from the start; she thinks he’s funny, though her sense of humor tends to be a little too cutting for him. They bond as Grey Wardens and over the losses they’ve experienced, and become friends.

She also notices pretty quickly that Alistair is very sentimental about the Grey Wardens. He seems convinced that Duncan saved him out of the goodness of his heart, which just doesn’t line up with her own experience. She likes Duncan, but he said himself that conscription was not charity, when he refused to recruit Soris, leaving him to his fate. After Ostagar, Alistair seems more preoccupied with whether things will ever feel the same again than with the importance of rebuilding the order. Over time, this becomes a wedge between them. Things come to a head when Ilana convinces Alistair to marry Anora… then duels Loghain herself and conscripts him to the Grey Wardens, denying Alistair his vengeance and to his mind, justice. They have a knock-down drag-out fight about it back at Eamon’s estate and scare the servants away from the whole wing.

Loghain surviving the final battle doesn’t do much to repair their falling-out, and Alistair remains angry at Ilana for many years, though as King and Warden-Commander they have to behave civilly in public. Maybe they’ll get over it in a couple decades.

"At least the Hero of Ferelden is still here, and alive. That's something, right?" "Don't sound so disappointed.

Morrigan: Ilana takes an immediate liking to her, their senses of humor play well together, and while they disagree on some things and Morrigan finds Ilana a bit sentimental, over time they become close friends. Ilana convinces Loghain to perform the ritual with her, and will always be grateful to her friend for saving her life–and Alistair’s, though she never tells him about the ritual. When they meet up again, Ilana tries to persuade Morrigan she doesn’t have to go it alone. Morrigan still leaves, but one day perhaps they’ll meet again.

And… thank you. For helping me. No one has ever… thank you.

Leliana: Ilana is a little put off by her at first but it doesn’t take long for them to bond, once Leliana explains more about her vision and her beliefs; Ilana is intrigue by her unorthodox view of the Maker. She loves Leliana’s stories, and having a friend with whom she can indulge in some good old petty gossip. They kill Marjolaine and Ilana encourages Leliana to embrace her bard side. They remain in regular contact after the Blight.

Sten: He’s baffled by Ilana at first, of course, but over time they develop a deep respect for one another. When he tells he cannot go home, Ilana understands that in concept if not the details, and readily tells him he can stay with them, which cements their friendship. Ilana doesn’t hear from him after he goes back north, but she will always think of him as a friend. She hopes, as he does, that they never meet on the battlefield.

That one of the bas… a foreigner… would become known as kadan to me? Unthinkable. Yet here it is.

Oghren: He’s a great drinking buddy. Oghren is a friend Ilana can turn to when she doesn’t feel like talking about feelings. After her fight with Alistair, they sit and pass a jug of Oghren’s Special Brew back and forth and don’t talk about it.

Bottoms up.

She's genuinely really happy to see him again at Vigil's keep, and the feeling is mutual.

Wynne: Wynne likes to play the wise mentor to Ilana and Ilana likes to roll her eyes and play the rebellious teenager, but it’s an affectionate relationship.

Shale: They like to talk about girlish things, like crushing their enemies into a paste.

Loghain: Ilana spoke to him briefly at Ostagar and he addressed her with surprising respect when he didn't have to. It stays in the back of her mind, but is mostly overshadowed by the whole "trying to kill all the Wardens" thing. Ilana doesn't care a fig for a dead king, but she cares about stopping the Blight and Loghain is an obstacle that needs to be dealt with. It isn't until she discovers what's happening in the alienage that it gets personal. She duels him before the Landsmeet herself--while wearing her signature elven armor--in part to show him and everyone else present what the people he sold out are capable of.

She wouldn't shed any tears for him, but Ilana has worked hard to maneuver all her pieces into place for this moment--the alliance with Anora, winning the nobles' favor, Anora's marriage to Alistair so the nobs can have their precious Theirin bloodline and a competent ruler. She's politically-minded, deeply pragmatic, and most of all, stubborn to a fault. Loghain is of more use to her alive than dead. And a part of her wants the satisfaction of making him face the Blight he's been downplaying. When Riordan suggests conscription, he seems like he has good reasoning. Ilana has never seen conscription as an act of mercy; it seems like a fair sentence. He could very well die in the battle anyway, and when Riordan explains how they must kill the archdemon, it seems certain he will.

But then Morrigan makes her offer. And Ilana's well aware that you can't predict the tides of battle. It could very well end up being her, forced to take that final blow herself, and she really would rather not die. And despite their falling-out, it's not as though she wants Alistair to die either. The choice seems obvious. She convinces Loghain to undertake the ritual, and thanks Morrigan for her help.

I should never underestimate your capacity to do the unexpected, but this seems a stretch even for you.

And that's how Loghain ends up a Grey Warden and survives the final battle.

Ilana loses a friend for it, but she refuses to back down. She gains another Grey Warden, and the gratitude of Ferelden's queen besides. The gratitude of Ferelden's queen earns her a boon, and Shianni becomes the new Bann of the Denerim Alienage.

Ilana doesn't exactly forgive Loghain for his crimes against her people, but at the same time she can't help seeing a bit of herself in him, the stone-cold ruthlessness to get the job done at any cost. They develop a working respect for one another, and she doesn't regret her decision.

I see you are back among the Grey Wardens. Leadership looks good on you, I think.

Morrigan's ritual saves Loghain's life, and after serving the Wardens faithfully for a decade, one day he will save another.

Romance

The flirting starts like, minutes after the ambush. Ilana’s friends cannot believe they are witnessing this.

It takes stupidly little time for Ilana and Zevran to jump in bed with each other and if either of them were actually trying to kill the other at that point they would be dead. Ilana and Zevran just can’t help hitting it off instantly: they’re both city elves, both rogues, both here through circumstances beyond their control. They spend the first night in camp and many more talking and laughing and flirting around the campfire and trading stories.

I fancy many things. I fancy things that are beautiful and things that are strong. I fancy things that are dangerous and exciting. Would you be offended if I said I fancied you?

It goes from talking around the campfire to casual fuckbuddies in about the time it takes for them to travel around Lake Calenhad from Redcliffe Village to the Circle docks. They’re also very much the obnoxious couple who grossly underestimate how loud they’re being in their tent and annoy the crap out of everyone else in camp with their carrying-on.

O-ho! Why, aren't you the saucy little minx, then? I've been used, and I wasn't even aware of it. A masterpiece!

Again? What must the others think?

Well! That was bracing! There's nothing like a good racking, is there?

Despite how close they've grown in their travels, it’s not until they’re in Denerim for the Landsmeet that both of them really admit to themselves that they’ve caught feelings. Zevran gives Ilana his earring while they’re in the Arl of Denerim’s basement, covered in blood. It’s the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to her.

Back at Eamon’s estate, Zev’s the first to admit his feelings, but Ilana readily fesses up that she feels the same. They make no promises or demands on each other; knowing they feel the same is enough.

After the Blight, they remain in an open relationship, never marrying considering each other life companions. After saying her final goodbyes to Morrigan, Ilana meets Zevran in Antiva City where they have a happy reunion, start some wild rumors, and then spend some time traveling together, including a visit to Weisshaupt, before returning to Ferelden.

Naturally. You caught me and now you're stuck with me, I'm afraid. Sad, I know, but we'll manage somehow.

While Ilana maintains command of the Ferelden Wardens, Zevran with the help of the Drydens heads up a side order called the Friends of the Grey, based at Soldier’s Peak. The Friends of the Grey do not take the Joining (as Ilana is more reserved with recruitment now, and doesn’t wantto waste lives in peacetime), instead maintaining a standing force and supporting the Wardens’ efforts in other ways.

No matter where their travels take them, they always find their way back to each other.

[goatanarchy]

Frog in the corner.

A tiny drabble about my warden being drunk. Notes: pure fluff, Warden/Duncan, Warden is he/they!, AU where Duncan doesn't die and is a companion because I want to, English is not my first language and there is no one checking my grammar. :')

He was a little surprised to find Sarikh curled into a ball, behind the bed in one of their rooms and not dancing in the tavern downstairs. He was usually so lively and perhaps a little reckless with what drinks people would offer him. And now the warden was nothing more but a tiny frog sadly facing the wall in front of him.

Duncan sat on bed with a sigh:

“Had too much to drink?” “Ugh… no. Maybe?” - Sarikh whimpered. - “I think… I shouldn’t have lifted Tiger when Alistair said I couldn’t. Back hurts.” 

“You tried to lift the mabari?” - Duncan asked, failing to hide the utter bewilderment in his voice. The tiniest “Mhhmmm…” came out from Sarikh. It was mean to laugh… so Duncan didn’t. Not outloud. 

Out of all the things that could have left a lasting impact on their health in this blight, not counting the blood of the darkspawn, it had to be a drunken bet with Alistair. He almost envied Sarikh. It was very endearing of them and Duncan felt his face get warm. 

“Should I get your staff?”

Sarikh shook his head. Perhaps, casting spells drunk was not the best idea.

“A poultice then?”

Sarikh leaned their cheek to rest on the wall for a moment, their face then wrinkled in discomfort.

“I’d rather leave those for a battle.”

“I will bring Wynne then.”

 Sarikh glared at Duncan with a weak and frankly pathetic protest:

“N-no! She is probably already asleep!-” “...and….I don’t want you to feel even more embarrassed for me.” - he added after a while. Duncan cleared his throat. That was not the reason. Alas he was not going to ask how Sarikh even knew what Duncan was feeling. Just one of the many bizarre traits he had come to notice in them. Mages, well… they were always a bit weird, right?  He will keep thinking that.

“Let me help you onto the bed at least. Or do you like being a little frog in the corner?” - Duncan teased, his voice was soft. There goes another internal battle of staying professional that he lost to himself.

“I do like being a frog!” - Sarikh beamed, immediately following it up with a pained moan.

“But on the bed is better, please.”

Duncan stood and carefully turned Sarikh to face him, letting their arms embrace him around the neck. He felt their sides softly, to not disturb any more muscle, and swiftly and gently put Sarikh on the bed. A whiff of their red hair tickled his nose for a moment, he smelled cornflowers -.... Duncan blushed, now was not the time to think about that.

Sarikh let his arms linger on Duncan, looking him straight into the eyes. With what Duncan thought or maybe imagined was adoration. Their hands were pleasantly cold - perhaps the only cold he liked. Duncan didn’t want to move away, even though he probably should have.

“Thank you.”

“It is nothing.”

It would be best if he left right now. He made sure that Sarikh didn’t get into any trouble in the tavern, well, almost, so he can go.

The mage traced his hands onto Duncan’s cheeks and smiled. They could probably feel how hot his face is right now.

“Stay here for a while?” - they asked, in a way that Duncan knew  Sarikh had learned from Zevran’s theatrics. Duncan lay near and Sarikh hugged a pillow and turned to face him, the happiest smile on their face.

“Sorry for keeping you here.” - their eyes were gleaming with warmth.

“It is hard to say “no” to you, do you know that?” - Duncan admitted rubbing his own cheek, trying to get rid of the fact that he liked their touch. What is it about them that made it so hard to leave, he didn't know. So he let himself stay, a tiny indulgence of pleasant company. 

“I’ve been told!” - Sarikh laughed and hid his face in the pillow as another wave of pain came over him. “Ughh. I’m never drinking with Alistair again…” “Next time drink with Alistair and Morrigan.” “Ahah, only if I want us all to get kicked out!”

Duncan reached to stroke Sarikh’s shoulder, almost embracing him again. Sarikh softened under it. “Sorry, I can’t give any more comfort here…”

“It is enough. I love it when you hold me.”  - Duncan heard from behind the pillow and honestly, maybe he also needed one to hide his face. 

[ramblinganthropologist]

Writober 2023 6 and 7- Drip and Gold

Summary: Miris Tabris has a new tentmate: the guy who tried to kill them. Apparently, he's good with his hands. Fuck, it's going to be a long Blight...

---

Why was it that the dark skies that had followed the group all day decided to open up just as they were setting up for camp for the night?

Miris glared from his spot at the tent entrance as he glanced outside. He had lucked out and gotten out of watch, which if that had happened before would have been awesome. However, as he watched water drip from the hood of Alistair’s cloak in front of the magically sustained fire Wynne had conjured to keep the Wardens and company from freezing, he just had one thought in mind.

“Are you going to stay there all night, Warden?”

Fuck.

Miris felt a vein pulse by his temple as he pulled the tent flap close and settled back on his side of the tent. Thanks to their newest member, he was no longer alone. Thanks to who it was… he had switched sides.

No way he was letting an Antivan-fucking-Crow stay on his blind side. No fucking way, he’d let the Maker fuck him up the ass first.

Zevran seemed remarkably cheerful about the dismal weather as he worked on counting and tidying his supplies. Rogues, Miris had learned, usually had more than just a main weapon to fight with. They had knives and other nasty little tools, and the Crow had a variety of poisons he was checking on.

Where the fuck did he put them all?

“Did something catch your interest, Tabris? You’re looking quite intently at me.”

Miris felt his face heat as he snapped back to reality and reached to clean his mace. It would give him something to do with his hands, and he wouldn’t have to look at Zevran anymore. Talk about killing two birds with one stone.

“Just wondering how you’re allowed to keep all those poisons on you. For all we know you could poison our food.”

Zevran chuckled – it was a very Antivan sound so he hated it. “The boy Warden is no longer my target, Tabris. I have no need to poison him. More importantly, I believe even if I tried he or Cherche would discover it. They are remarkably perceptive, the Dalish are very thorough in their training.”

Yeah… that wasn’t exactly making him trust him anymore.

“You’re lucky the squirt is an idiot, or you’d be dead.”

Much to his surprise, Zevran nodded. “Yes, I find I’m quite surprised he allowed me to live. He is quite an understanding boy. It makes me worry he won’t live to see his 16th birthday.”

As far as he knew, the squirt was already 18… but that just meant Loghain’s information wasn’t as good as he thought it was.

At any rate, Miris tried to ignore the other elf in the tent as he worked on cleaning the blood and other viscera from his maul. It wasn’t as if it would hurt the metal, but when it came down to it, it smelled bad. His nose was far more sensitive thanks to his failing vision, and he didn’t exactly want it close to his head.

So, there he was… cleaning his maul in a tent with an Antivan Crow. His life had fucking gotten weird since he had left the alienage.

“I get the sense you don’t enjoy my company, Warden.”

Zevran’s voice broke the silence as he scraped shit from the grooves of his mace. Miris picked up his head, allowing his one – relatively – good eye focus on the Crow. He had packed his poisons away to wherever he hid them and has his attention focused squarely on him.

Was it hot in there? It felt hot…

“You can’t blame me, you tried to kill us.”

The Crow chuckled. “Indeed, I did. And if I remember right, I failed badly and your group tied me like a cow to be slaughtered. I’m amazed I still don’t have marks on my wrists from the attempt. Was that your work?”

Miris shook his head as he laid his maul aside – it was as clean as he was going to get it for the moment. “No, that was Cherche. She’s the best at knots.”

“I can only imagine why.” Zevran’s eyebrow cocked almost playfully. “But, good to know. And again, you have nothing to fear from me, Warden. We are on the same side now.”

Yeah, until someone else hired him…

Miris snorted as he cracked his neck – working on his maul had stiffened it. Honestly, all of him was pretty stiff. “Sure, whatever you say, Arainai. I’m still not letting you out of my sights.”

Damn, he was stiff though. Who knew that carrying around a massive maul and wearing heavy armor would wear so much on his tired body? He needed to stretch better after he murdered darkspawn, or he was going to be in trouble.

“Is everything alright, Tabris? That crack sounded concerning.”

The question drew him back to his tentmate. Zevran was looking at him again, but there was nothing untoward about it. Rather, he looked concerned. It was a new look, one he hadn’t seen before.

It… kind of made him feel bad.

In response, Miris rubbed his neck. “Just stiff from the road. I’m not the best at stretching.”

“That’s going to get you killed, Tabris.” Zevran shook his head. “But I can do something about that if you trust me not to knife you in the back.”

Well… he didn’t… not yet… but if it helped the knot in his back…

“Alright, I’ll bite. What are you planning?”

Zevran gave him one of those smiles he always gave when Miris wasn’t sure if he meant or not, and he patted his bedroll. “Simple. Take off your shirt and lay down. I can work the kinks out of your back for you if you wish.”

…

Ok, now the knife in the back thing made sense. Fuck him for not seeing that one coming.

Miris’ first reaction was to sidle away and tell him to fuck off. After all, he wasn’t exactly the touchy-feely type. More importantly, Zevran had tried to fucking kill them. This was the chance he needed to finish the job and take out one of Ferelden’s only Wardens. Hell, he could make it look like an accident…

…

But his back really hurt… and even he could see why that was a bad idea.

“Don’t try anything stupid, I can still strangle you if it comes down to it.” With a quick pull, he removed his shirt and laid down on the Antivan’s bedroll. It smelled of him – slightly spicy and paired with the familiar scent of leather that followed Zevran around wherever he went. Before he had hated it… but he could suppose it was alright. He wouldn’t want to smell like it, but then again he wasn’t Antivan.

As far as he had been told, all Fereldens smelled like wet dogs. Given it was raining… well, he was no doubt smelling like a very wet dog.

“Oh, I have no doubt about that. You have very strong muscles.” Zevran’s voice was soft as his hands made their way to Miris’ back. “Maker, how stiff you are. It’s like your back is made of solid rock. When was the last time you worked this out?”

He couldn’t answer at first – it fucking hurt. He grit his teeth against the pain and shut his good eye tightly to try and ride it out. Unlike some people, he wasn’t a fan of pain and tried to avoid it as much as possible. Hell, he was half certain the Crow was trying to kill him it hurt so much. But he didn’t feel blood… so he had to hold back on that.

“It’s – oww – been a while.” He hadn’t meant to complain audibly, but it made its way through his clenched teeth. “Maker’s balls, the fuck are you doing back there?”

Zevran’s answer came with more pressing on his sore back. “Trying to work out this knot. I doubt even the sharpest sword could cut it. How you managed to swing that maul of yours without doubling over is beyond me.”

Battle adrenaline rush?

Miris would’ve said that much, but a popping sound and a release of the pain drove all thought from his mind. He winced, but then calmed as Zevran continued to rub. It was starting to hurt less now that the smaller knots were worked out.

Surprisingly, the man had a light touch. His hands were callused from training with both sword and bow, but in a weird way that was comforting. That close, he could smell the other elf as he worked – spicy and foreign, but somehow appealing.

…

Wait, no. It wasn’t appealing. The guy had tried to kill him. There was nothing appealing about that.

“You have impressive back muscles, Tabris. I believe this is the first time I have examined them up close.” Zevran’s voice was soft as he worked. “I assume you trained hard to obtain such a physique?”

Miris responded with a rueful chuckle as he felt his body relax. “Nah. I’m just a street fighter who was dumb enough to pick a heavy weapon. Didn’t have much sense for the sword and board, you know? I can only do one thing at a time, the shit Alistair pulls off is bullshit.”

How he managed to do both sword and shield was beyond him. Maybe when one was properly trained, they learned how to do it? Who knows… he was alienage born and trained. He came from the school of whatever the fuck worked.

No wonder everyone kept saying his technique was insane.

“I will admit, sword and shield is vexing to me as well.”

That made Miris snort. “But you’re a duel wield.”

“There is a difference between two offensive weapons and having one to block and one to fight.” Zevran chuckled softly while he worked on the big knot, the one that had been bothering him since they had started this dumb journey. “I admit I would not know what to do with the shield either. Alistair is just as vexing to me.”

Well, at least he wasn’t the only one to think the warrior was weird. Maybe Zevran wasn’t so bad after all.

At any rate, they grew quiet as Zevran worked out the kinks in his back and Miris listened to the rain falling outside their tent. For the first time in ages, he felt at peace. Rain had always been soothing to him, especially when it wasn’t dripping on his head.

He would have to thank the squirt later for helping set the tent up… little asshole knew how to camp.

“This is going to hurt, I’m nearly finished.” Zevran’s warning drew him out of his head as he braced himself. “Ready, and-“

Pain coursed through Miris’ back as the knot finally gave up the ghost. He would’ve reared up, but with the Antivan close by he would’ve knocked him across the tent. Instead, he bit his lip and rode the sensation.

Soon, it died down.

“Fuck, I think that’s the worst it’s ever been.” Miris blinked as he realized Zevran was still rubbing. “What, I’ve got more spots to fix?”

The Crow chuckled behind him. “Oh, no, just admiring your back muscles is all…”

There was that tone, the one that made his stomach uncomfortable. Miris felt his face heat up even worse as Zevran’s hands ghosted up and down his shoulders and back. He felt very seen in the moment… and it was embarrassing to say the least.

He needed to get those thoughts out of his head, quick. He had to keep an eye on the guy.

Zevran massaged his back a few more minutes before patting his shoulder as a sign he could get up. Free of the man’s warm hands, he managed to sit up and rub his neck. His back felt miles better – it was like he was a teenager again.

Downside… he was way too close.

“Feeling better, Warden?” Zevran’s eyes were on him again. They were a nice shade of brown, with flecks of gold that made them almost sparkle when they hit the light. “You were probably one of the toughest cases I’ve ever dealt with.”

It took Miris a few moments to remember how to work his tongue – he was too busy staring at the elf. Unlike him, Zevran was built like a rogue – all lean muscle meant to pull off acrobatics. His warm brown skin stood out as the complete opposite to his own sunburnt flesh. The two of them couldn’t have been more different…

Which is why his stomach was rolling so much.

“Uh, yeah, thanks.” His heart was beginning to pound so loud he worried the Crow might hear it. “Guess I’ll be able to move without looking like Shale.”

That made Zevran laugh – and his stomach squirmed worse. “That is an upside, yes.”

He smiled in that awful way. “If you ever need my services, let me know. I have no problems seeing you in my bedroll.”

Miris was amazed his face didn’t catch fire it was so hot. “Yeah… I can do that.”

He turned quickly, returning to his maul as if it would protect him. Zevran went to check his own weapons, leaving him to the beating of his traitorous heart and the glow from his cheeks. All of this seemed like a cruel joke from the Maker honestly.

The last thing he needed was any sort of attraction to the elf, or his gold-flecked eyes, or his skillful hands, or-

Fuck.

Miris had to resist the urge to groan as he tried to focus on his maul. No doubt this was going to bother him for ages until he worked it out of his system. It always did – his stupid crushes on attractive men never ended well.

Why was the damn Crow so attractive? He had tried to fucking kill them…

In the end, as he sat there in the tent listening to his heart and the rain, he decided his brain was a moron and was going to get them killed one day. That was all he could say as he settled in to finish on his tools.

Better to focus on things instead of… Zevran. Zevran and his hands…

Fuck. This on was going to be the death of him, he knew it. Could he get over his attraction, was that too much to ask?

It was going to be a long Blight… fuck.

[trans-ruffboi]

Zevwarden week Day 1: Culture

Yes I know I'm late and this is loose, but as my other two prompt fills pulled in Fights, Promises, Death, and AU all in two, I'll put this here

Zevran/Male Surana

660 words

What's This?

"Why- why do you have that?"

He had been putting away his tools, intending to bed his Warden with marginally fewer knives and flasks attached to them. Though not all gone, certainly, for what is the fun in that?

But Surana had asked, his voice a little peaked, and he looked over. The mage was still, though his hands where they grasped at the bedroll he sat on were tense, as if to avoid trembling. His Warden was a fair hand, though no expert such as he, at concealing his emotions, ordinarily. But less so, when he was afraid. Early into their relations he had discovered he did not enjoy the man being frightened of him, despite its particularity.

And Surana was indeed frightened, his eyes glancing to one of the poisons in Zevran's hand. Ah.

"The magebane, Warden? It is useful, for disrupting all of the many demons and such that we encounter, is it not? As well as for the reversal of certain other effects. But if you would like-"

"But we- I mean, we have Alistair, you know, for the magic, and I can reverse most poisons, I just don't see why-" he cut himself off, as he had Zevran, and the presence of the poison must have truly upset the man, if he were suggesting Alistair's templar abilities. While the two handsome Wardens were on better terms than he had heard the lovely Leliana describe before, it was clear that his Warden was still uneasy, whenever the reluctant recruit used what was taught to him.

Zevran started again evenly and light, as his training would suggest, to calm his target. "If you would like, Warden; if this poison gives you cause to feel, uncomfortable," he does not say afraid; he knows that it would not be welcome here, "then I will be rid of it."

It would be of little consequence. He did not use magebane often, and he found he wanted to be rid of this posture his Warden was giving more than he cared for fighting at the absolute utmost of efficiency.

Which was a somewhat startling thought. His attachment to the man had grown perhaps more consequential, than he had anticipated.

"I… Please." The tension was slowly releasing from the Warden.

"It will be done." He placed the vials on the ground and leaned into the other man, interweaving their fingers the way he knew he liked. "Now, my dear Warden, shall we commence with the promised activity?" He thought, perhaps, returning to the earlier intention might soothe the mage, and he was somewhat correct as the man smiled at him, laughing lightly in a manner he knew was somewhat forced.

"Of course, we wouldn't want to break a promise, now would we?" He hesitated then, despite his words. "But, could you get rid of it now, though? I just, don't want to see it." His thighs had tensed around Zevran, and the tent seemed very small then, for all that they were two elven men of slight frame.

But he withdrew and went back to his pouches, crawling out of the tent to pour the two small vials into the grass, just far enough that the sharp liquorice scent would be covered by that of the fire.

While doing so he caught the eye of Alistair on watch a few paces away, who could have hardly seemed more like he had been listening in if he had tried.

When he returned he saw the last lingering bits of tension fall away, at the sight of the now empty vials. "Thank you, Zevran."

He would have commented that it hardly needed thanking, fulfilling a request from his intrepid leader, but he was pulled in for Surana to kiss him, smiling and sweet and always a bit sharp, his Warden. His dear Warden.

He shook away these terribly affectionate thoughts by leaning his handsome laughing Warden back, and proceeding to ravish him as promised.

[inquisimer]

happy friday!! how does 'Reading a book together' sound for Mahariel and anyone of your choice?

happy happy friday, anything mahariel always sounds perfect because i love her<3

this has been marinating in my head for a bit and i finally found some motivation to actually type it out this week so have a lil bit of fluff

for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

“Did you know, rumor holds that when the last Ferelden king dies, the Dragon’s Peak will erupt in ash and fire?”

Alistair scowled. “Yes. Do you have to read that wretched thing when I’m around?”

“When else am I supposed to read it?” Sari gave him an impish grin over the faded maroon tome. “You’re always around.”

“Maybe we should split up,” he grumbled.

The Compleat Geneaology of the Kyngs of Ferelden was imprinted on the cover in peeling gold paint, and on the spine in smaller filigree of the same shade. Bodahn had practically fallen over when she offered to take it off his hands—“not sure why we kept lugging that brick around to be honest”—though not quite excited enough to offer her more than the usual discount. He was a businessman after all.

“Ostensibly, that means Cailan couldn’t have been the last Ferelden king. Seeing how the only impending world disaster is the Blight.”

“Or maybe it’s a ridiculous rumor, started by the royal advisors, in a propaganda-fueled scheme designed to cement their hold on the throne.”

“The best rumors have a kernel of truth to them.”

Alistair glared at the book with such force that Sari was surprised it didn’t burst into flame. She pulled it back slightly toward her chest, just to be sure it was out of his arm’s reach. She wouldn’t put it past him to ‘accidentally’ knock it into their little fire.

Sari knew that her experiences weren’t universal, but Alistair’s apparent indifference to his lineage irked her. For her part, she’d pestered Ashalle and the Keeper, Ilen and hahren Paivel for hours, begging for even a scrap of her personal history. When her old guardian finally relented, not even a day before they found the eluvian, Sari had taken the story into her heart and looped the necklace around her wrist, where it still firmly clung.

“Aren’t you the least bit curious where you come from?”

“I know where I come from,” he insisted. “Eamon gave me my childhood. Duncan gave me the only part of adulthood worth remembering. The Theirins have given me nothing.”

Sari hummed. She was pushing his buttons, she knew, but they hadn’t really gotten into it much last time around, because he’d put off telling her about his lineage as long as possible.

“Don’t the shems say, ‘blood is thicker than water’?” she asked. To her surprise, Alistair actually smiled at that.

“The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb,” he corrected with a snort. “They used to say that to templar recruits who were homesick. I always thought it was fitting for the Wardens, all things considered.”

“No kidding.”

“Regardless,” he said, giving her a sardonic look down his nose, “I’ve never been a Theirin. Their history holds as much interest for me as Morrigan’s sweaty boots.”

Sari shrugged with calculated nonchalance. “Whatever you say. I’d have thought you’d be more concerned about what the book implies about Theirins in general, that less discerning readers might extrapolate to you.”

“What, flowing locks and charismatic leadership?” Alistair scoffed. “There’s nothing in that book anyone would be foolish enough to think applies to me.”

“Oh?” A wicked grin snuck across Sari’s face, which she quickly hid by raising the tome. Years of deceptive antics with Tamlen went into her ability to keep her voice level now. “So you don’t have a birthmark shaped like Lake Calenhad on your—”

His blush rose high in his cheeks faster than the sparks off the fire, and just as red too. Sari didn’t bother hiding her laughter—neither did Leliana or Zevran, who’d been at least pretending they weren’t eavesdropping from where they were keeping watch.

“It does not say that!” Alistair scrambled around the fire, but Sari deftly rolled beyond his reach and danced backward to keep the tome that way as well.

The tome didn’t have a single sentence about birthmarks, of course. It was a dry, dull ode to the monarchy written by an author who was at least a little bit in love with Brandel the Defeated, judging by the apologist rhetoric. But Sari had seen the birthmark for herself—on Alistair, at least. It wasn’t actually a family trait as far as she was aware.

But Alistair didn’t know that for sure and it was going to stay that way, as long as she could keep the tome out of his hands.

She led him on a merry chase around the campsite, weaving between the tents and storage crates and various patches their companions had claimed. Her nimbleness and dexterity gave her the early advantage, but his legs were far longer and he was rapidly gaining on her. In a last, desperate bid, she shoved the tome down her shirt and hugged it tight to keep it from slipping out as Alistair tackled her to the ground behind Bodahn’s wagon.

A fresh blush quickly chased away his look of triumph when he realized where his prize lay. It wasn’t as though the tome was well concealed—it was almost wider than Sari herself—but the thin layer of her tunic was more than his Chantry-ingrained sensibilities could overcome. It probably didn’t help that they were both knocked prone and panting from their little jaunt. Sari could practically see his thought process: from the initial desire to the obvious implication to the Andrastian inhibition. He huffed out a breath and sat back on his haunches, throwing his hands up in defeat.

“Fine, keep the bloody book! Let all of Thedas know I have a geographically specific birthmark where the sun don’t shine!”

“Is than an offer of demonstration?” called Zevran.

Alistair made a crass gesture—definitely offending those Chantry sensibilities—in the elf’s direction.

“You know, this book ends with Maric.” Sari had propped herself against one of Bodahn’s wagon wheels and was flipping through the tome once more, toward the back this time. “The author bound a bunch of blank pages after that.”

“He was a little over-optimistic about the Theirin line,” muttered Alistair. Sari looked up at him through her lashes, gauging his mood.

“We could fill it in, after we follow up on Elric’s lead about Ostagar,” she said cautiously. As she expected, Alistair stiffened. He still wasn’t processing his grief properly. She bit back a sigh.

“If you want.” She shrugged, then grinned deviously. “I’ll also gladly include an affidavit that bastards don’t get the birthmark, so you’ll be excluded from the legend.”

“That would just feed the garbage and you know it,” he grumbled. But his eyes and voice were soft when he finally looked over at her.

“I would like that. For Cailan,” he clarified. He cleared his throat and looked away again—the blush was back full force. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she said lightly. She stood and allowed herself to casually brush her knuckles across the back of his hand, then went to relieve Leliana from her watch.   

[contreparry]

🧁Underlying sexual tension at the tea party?

I started playing around with this and it became another modern!Thedas AU with Zevran and Warden Surana, I’m so sorry. But here it is for @dadrunkwriting

Bran didn’t know what he was thinking.

No, that was a lie. He was feeling light and fluttery and happy with the world when he accepted Leliana’s invitation to an afternoon tea party. Just a small thing a dear friend of mine wanted to host while she’s visiting, Leliana assured him when he picked up his coffee order last week. She’s Antivan, I promise there will be plenty of food. Even sweets. Bran happily accepted the invasion: an afternoon with a friend, her friend, and some strangers with guaranteed desserts he didn’t have to buy sounded perfectly acceptable. He could drop in, spend an hour or two in Leliana’s company, and when he was tired he’d make his excuses and go home. A perfect plan, save for one flaw he couldn’t have possibly anticipated.

“… my dear Warden, do you have a sweet tooth?” the man across the table from him purred, and Bran debated the pros and cons of leaping over the tea table to strangle a fellow guest. Bran would be happy, but Leliana’s friend (a lovely woman named Josephine) would certainly be upset, and Bran didn’t want to get on Leliana’s bad side. No, Bran decided, he should ignore his table partner. The man had the strangest tendency to pop up whenever he was around (bookstore, coffee shop, bars, the library-), and he kept on staring at him with those warm brown eyes and mysterious half smile and sultry… everything!

He wanted something from him. Bran might be terrible with people, but he knew enough to realize that this man wanted something. He just didn’t know what yet. He nibbled at a cardamom tea biscuit and glared at his new companion.

“I must apologize. I intended to speak with you much earlier than this, but I’m afraid circumstances have kept us apart,” the man said, his voice low, brushing over him like a cat luxuriously twisting around his ankles. “We have such terrible luck.”

“That’s a diplomatic way to put it,” Bran replied, because he knew what circumstances the man was speaking of: the combined forces of Morrigan, Leliana, and Alistair, who forged an unlikely alliance to keep a ‘clearly dangerous individual’ away from him. Not that they clarified how they all believed the man was dangerous. They just said he was bad news and would “eat Bran alive,” as if he were incapable of holding his own! Bran would be angry if it weren’t so ridiculous, but he was also a little touched that he had found a group of people who would want to protect him. No one really bothered when he was growing up, and if anyone did it hardly mattered. He was shuffled around Ferelden so much that he didn’t keep in contact with most people. He didn’t have friends, not before Amaranthine. He certainly didn’t have handsome men who sought him out at tea parties and plied him with sweets.

Bran sized his tea party companion up over his cup: they were of a similar height, and while Bran was wiry compared to the man in front of him (all lean, powerful muscle under the elegant black pants and button-up), he could probably take him in a fight. He’d been fighting people twice his size all his life, and everyone underestimated a Mage’s capacity to throw a punch.

The man laughed, light and bright like champagne bubbles bursting on the tongue. “My, such a sour expression! Dear Warden, your face will stick that way if you aren’t careful.”

Bran had champagne once, a singular sip with his mentor when his graduate application to Amaranthine was accepted. He hated it. He wished he could say he hated this man as well: hated that fake, light laugh, hated that perfectly insincere smile, hated the elegant clothing and how it draped over the man like it was made for him like a second skin, hated that everything about him seemed so carefully crafted as if to draw attention away from who he was. And that was the heart of the problem, wasn’t it? It was the witty but insincere, forgettable conversation, the elegant clothing that was classy enough for a magazine but staid enough to not draw attention, the smile that never quite reached the eyes, the laugh that was so clearly forced once Bran knew what to listen for- this man was hiding, not just something but everything, and Bran couldn’t stand it. Him.

“You never pick up books at the library. Or the shop,” Bran said. “If you’re pretending to be a bibliophile you should put a little more effort into it.”

Silence fell between them at their little tea table. Josephine and Leliana were deep in conversation on the balcony, the other tea party guests were enjoying themselves at their own little corners, lost in their conversations and tea things, but Bran was stuck here in silence with an unsettlingly beautiful man who had a knack for appearing whenever Bran least expected him. They sat in silence, until-

He laughed. It was not that champagne bubbly laughter from before, but a choking gasp of a laugh, as if Bran cracked something within the man and the laughter was escaping from within his chest like air from an oxygen tank. His perfect blond hair escaped from its contained style and fell into his red face, his brown eyes were watery with tears, he was hunched over himself as if in pain, and yet-

And yet there was something Bran couldn’t help but want to see again in that moment of helpless, hysterical laughter. His companion was beautiful when he laughed (a real laugh, the one with the wheezing and the tears and the clutching of the stomach), and Bran… Bran didn’t make people laugh. Not like that. He was the serious one, the studious one, the one who was too blunt and critical and (quite frankly) mean. The only people who ever laughed at what he said was Morrigan (a kindred spirit who understood what it meant to have to hone a tongue as sharp as a knife) and Alistair (who was entirely too generous with his kind heart). But this man- Bran wanted to draw more laughter out of him. Wanted to pull away the artifice and draw out the sincerity, wanted to strip off the perfection and see him as he was-

“Oh, you are truly a delight,” the man declared, wiping a tear from his eye with the back of his hand. “Please do continue to offer your critiques, your honesty is quite refreshing, my…” he paused, as if searching for a nickname to call him.

“Bran Surana. And I do have a sweet tooth,” Bran replied.

“Zevran Arainai. If I give you my slice of the tea cake will you proceed to rip apart my outfit? If I add another slice will you tear it off my person?”

“… that would require the entire cake,” and extra, Bran added, but the man- Zevran- only smiled and slid his slice of chocolate cake in front of Bran, raspberry jam glistening temptingly in the light. Zevran’s smile was playful, sharp, waiting like a predator watching its prey, like they were participants in a match that no one else knew they were playing. Bran drove his fork into part of the cake and offered the first bite to his new… Zevran. His new Zevran, because he didn’t offer bites of cake to strangers and his friends would guard their desserts from him no matter how much he threatened or pleaded. But Zevran was no longer a stranger, and he wasn’t a friend- he was simply Zevran, an oddity that Bran hadn’t quite figured out yet.

Bran liked puzzles, though, so that was fine.

“Your shoes cost more than my monthly stipend,” Bran remarked. “You’re terrible at blending in.”

“How interesting,” Zevran murmured. “It seems you’re the only one who has ever taken notice.” He leaned over the table, took a bite of the cake Bran offered, and retreated, his expression smug. A trace of frosting lingered on his lower lip before the tip of his pink tongue darted out to lick it. He did that on purpose, Bran realized as his heart raced. He was- was this flirting? It had to be! Delight and confusion danced inside of him as he jabbed his fork back into the cake and took a bite for himself. Rich chocolate complimented the sharp, tangy raspberry, and Bran shut his eyes to savor the flavors. Leliana was right: Josephine had provided excellent food.

Bran, his eyes still shut, obviously didn’t notice how Zevran’s eyes widened. He didn’t see the faint color that surfaced on his cheeks. He definitely didn’t hear the slightest, softest sigh that escaped Zevran’s lips. Bran was too busy enjoying his hard-won prize, an extra slice of chocolate cake in exchange of his sharpest critiques. But someone (two someone’s) noticed with varying degrees of interest and alarm.

“Josie, dear, who is that man sitting with my friend?” Leliana asked as she peered past the other party guests. She had a faint inkling that she knew exactly what, if not who, the man was. He’d been sniffing around Bran for weeks now. One meeting was happenstance, but two? Leliana didn’t believe in coincidences. All she needed was confirmation, and Josie, sweet and smart Josie, turned her head. Her dangling green and gold earrings glinted in the light.

“Oh, Zevran? Don’t worry, he’s mostly harmless,” Josephine assured her. “Works in corporate… data analysis.”

Leliana’s gaze narrowed. “Data analysis. Really, Josie,” she muttered. “I recognize a Crow when I see one.”

“He’s off the clock right now,” Josie whispered back. “But look! I’ve never seen him so flustered!”

Leliana had to concede that Josephine might have a point. The Crow- Zevran- was blushing as bright red as a traffic light while Bran, oblivious, dug into his dessert. So much for a corporate… data analyst. The poor man looked like he might expire on the spot as he watched Bran indulge his sweet tooth.

“I see,” Leliana murmured as the scene played out before her. “I… see.”

[yukichouji]

OK, so, @heniareth​ asked to hear more about my first Warden for DAO and it took me a bit to put all this together, but here we are :) Thank you so much for asking and giving me a chance to ramble about him :D The post is long, hence the cut and please be warned about the thorough lack of structure and order haha I am bad at ordering my thoughts properly. I hope it is still alright to read :)

I have exactly two screenshots of my warden Theron Mahariel and those are it (apparently my obsession with taking a f*ck ton of screen shots of like everything only truly developed with DAI) xD Second one is in the temple of sacred ashes and it was taken in an attempt to make a bad joke about how the battle was so grisly that everyone got blood splatter under their armor ha

Anyway xD Theron is Dalish and he spent his entire life safely with his clan until his best friend Tamlen and he stumbled across some ancient elven ruins in the forest and made a discovery followed by tragedy. Duncan was able to save Theron’s life, but not Tamlen and by the time they returned to the ruins to search for him, Tamlen’s body had disappeared. Not only that, the sickness that had befallen Theron was one that had only been delayed with Duncan’s help and had but one cure, the Joining. And so, to survive, Theron was forced to leave his clan, the only life he’d ever known, his home, his family, to follow Duncan to Ostagar where he would become a Gray Warden.

He’d been a hunter for his clan for a while before all that happened and therefor knew his way around a bow quite well, though he’d never fought anything more frightening than a bear in the wilds. His clan has tried its best to stay away from Shemlens and avoid confrontation, so Duncan was one of the first humans Theron had ever really gotten to talk to. He was suspicious at first, but his keeper trusted Duncan and seemed to hold the Gray Wardens in high regard, so he decided to heed her judgment. Leaving his clan behind, unsure if he would ever see them again since they’d already decided to move North as soon as possible in order to keep safe, was one of the hardest things he’d had to do up until that point in his life.

He was raised by Ashalle, an old friend of his father’s. Both of his parents died around the time of his birth, so he never got to meet either of them and he was never really told about the circumstances of their death. All he knew was that his father had been the former keeper of his clan and his mother a hunter form a different clan. His father had fallen in love with his mother and they’d had to meet in secret because the elders did not approve of their bond. It wasn’t until the day he was to leave his clan for good that Ashalle finally told him the truth about what happened.  Apparently, when his mother was pregnant with him, during one of those secret meetings of theirs, their parents were attacked by a group of humans and city elves. During the resulting fight his father was killed and his mother gravely wounded. She stayed alive just long enough to give birth to him, then passed away. Quite the story to stomach, especially when he was about to put his life into the hands of a human, stepping out into a world that had been nothing but hostile towards his people for as long has their memory lasts. A world he knew very little about, other than the stories the elders told of the dangers and cruelties lurking everywhere within. And through all of that, his failure to protect Tamlen weighed heavily on him, a burden he’d carry with him wherever he set foot.

He was mid twenties, when all of this happened and at that point, the elders and Ashalle had been urging him to find an elven lass to bond with and start his own family for a while. And he’d been doing his best to dodge them for just about as long. He’d never met a woman he’d been interested in and perhaps, if he was to be very honest with himself, his feelings towards Tamlen might have run a little deeper than he’d have liked to admit to anyone, let alone himself. The Dalish don’t frown upon same sex relationships per se, but since the elves are such a diminished race it is regarded as extremely important that anyone who can start a family and produce children to keep their blood alive do so as a duty to their people. Anyone who refuses to or, gods forbid, settles with a partner of a different race is all but branded a traitor to their kind and shunned by their clan, sent into exile to fend for themselves. So in a way, by leaving when he did, he dodged a bullet or a very tough decision he was eventually going to have to make for himself that had been headed his way for a while now. Though one wonders if the fate he found can be considered any better.

He loved his clan and the life he led with them dearly. To him, there was nothing better than that simple life of wandering from place to place and the inherent freedom of it, the deep green of the forests around them, the moonlight glint of the hallas’ coats, the aravels’ colorful sails, the stories of his ancestors told around campfires as the young and old listen with equal wonder, the thrill of the hunt as thin soles tread soundlessly over soft, moss-covered forest floors, Andruil’s invisible hand guiding him onward, and the rush of satisfaction at having been successful. At having been able to provide for his clan, keeping them fed and healthy and safe from danger of any kind. That was where he felt most at home. It was not an easily life, but one worth living.

He can’t read. Never learned, because it never seemed important. All of the lore about his people is kept as oral history not written down.

He really wanted to be able to take Zevran to meet his clan, once all of the horrors of the Blight were over. He knew they wouldn’t be able to stay if they wanted to be together, but he at least wanted to visit and show Zevran how he grew up and who the people were that meant so much to him. Finding a place among the rebuilding Wardens after that didn’t seem like such a bad thing, then. Sadly, none of that ever came to pass. He died defeating the Archdemon and ending the Blight. And instead of receiving a burial the way his people would have intended, in the green forest he’d loved so much with a seed planted over him, a tree growing to mark his grave for his people, his body now lies in a cold stone crypt together with his Warden brothers and sisters, who share the honor of having given their lives to end a Blight.

[scribbledquillz]

So there was just a post about how people could come to your inbox to ask random questuons about your fics and I just wanted to give it a go... How is Revka doing? And Zevran? What are you most excited about regarding their first meeting (aka the failed assassination)?

Bless you, my dear, for being interested and enabling me to ramble even more about my two favorite idiots. <3

I think it's safe to say that both Revka and Zevran are having A Time right now in their perspective POVs at the current moment.

Revka had known - at least to some extent - that her recruitment into the Wardens would come with her shouldering much more than she already had in her time living in the Alienage and raising Ceral. What little she knew of the Wardens prior to her recruitment was still enough to make her certain that she would be tasked with doing some... less than desirable things. Fighting and killing darkspawn was to be expected. Fighting and killing to protect herself or others was to be expected, if not completely accepted in her mind yet. But the run in with the villagers and her being forced to kill people who - while bigoted fools - in her mind should not have been made her enemy has rattled her quite thoroughly.

She's had her fair share of scraps and fights. It was all but a necessity in the Alienage given how desperation can push a person to do regrettable things. There had been at least a handful of times she'd had to defend herself from cut purses and thieves, once where a group of them had even broken into their home after their parents' deaths when they thought it had been left abandoned. She knows how to hurt someone and has done it countless times without remorse. But until Lothering that had been where it ended. With a broken nose or bruised ribs and egos. Going through for the first time in killing someone - a living someone, not a husk of a body turned into a monster - rattled her deeper than anything she's encountered.

And worst of it all, aside from the grief and the shock at having gone through with it, is the fact that she knows she should have known better. She's angry at herself for clinging to that last shred of naivety, and feels like if she'd not been foolish she could have been better prepared to handle the necessity of it when the time came.

But instead now she's not only let herself fall apart in the least opportune time, but been caught in the act by Alistair. She doesn't DO weakness in front of others, particularly those she knows depend on her, whether that be Ceral or now her fellow Warden. It's why she's so quick to snap herself back together in chapter 2 - because letting herself look like she doesn't have everything under control and in hand feels so much WORSE for her, even compared to processing the fact that she's responsible for a civilian's death.

As for Zevran - he's settled himself into a quiet, comfortable numbness. His decision is made, he knows what the likely outcome of his plan will be and awaits it eagerly. He's content enough to while away what little time he has left in Lucea's company (she's pretty enough, and quite willing - almost gratingly so) but finds no real joy in it. Sleep, when it comes, isn't restful, food and drink are unsatisfying. Truth be told the only time he feels any real spark of enjoyment or anticipation is when the next step in his plan comes to pass, or he sees some faint possibility at hurrying the process such as when Karrok makes his threats.

If he were in a better way, part of him might feel some small tinge of guilt at drawing the Black Maw mercenaries and Lucea into his suicide mission. But he made certain only to recruit those who were well aware of the risk that comes in attacking Wardens, and let them choose for themselves if the (very slim) chance of the price on their heads was worth the risk. They are their own people, after all, and not beholden to see this contract through as he is. Truth be told the only reason he made an attempt to recruit them at all is for the sake of appearances. If he had attempted the job alone, word of his foolishness would have inevitably gotten to the Masters and he would have been granted an entirely different and far less merciful end than what he believes waits at the hands of the Wardens.

He's tired. He's still grieving Rinna deeply, and the thought of continuing to live while she doesn't with the burden of his guilt is too much to consider - at least in his mind now. The only thing he wants now is a swift, clean death, all other consequences of it be damned.

And I am just, so looking forward to when both of these two meet with their state of minds where they are. There's going to come a point where Revka has Zevran beaten. He's in the dirt with his weapons lost, she's kneeling over him and he knows that this is it - she has the perfect opportunity, there's nothing keeping her from finishing him off and ending his misery... But it doesn't come. He's going to see her hesitate. He's going to know while looking up at her even as she presses her blade to his throat that she won't go through with it.

Because Revka - even fully aware this man came with the intent to kill her - can't do it. The second he's disarmed and it's clear she holds his life in her hands, her head jumps immediately back to Lothering. Back to what it felt like to slide her dagger into the farmer's ribs. And she can't go through with that again so soon. Not when she's still reeling from the first. She'll knock him out instead. Use the excuse of wanting information out of him. But she knows, and Zevran certainly knows that that isn't what stilled her hand.

That moment of him recognizing her inability to go through with killing him is going to open up some delicious character exploration between them. Particularly when Zevran is going to see that hesitation (even when it leads to his survival and eventual gratitude for it) as a weakness, and a contradictory one at that. How is it possible that this woman - this immovable, brutal and frankly vicious woman - struggles with something even the freshest Crow apprentice can see through without a second thought? It's going to pique his curiosity, at least a little. Enough to make him want to find the answer. Not to mention Revka's concerns over if allowing him to live and travel with them (even with precautions) is the right thing or as good as putting the knife in her own back, and her struggling with whether or not to answer his questions over her mercy truthfully or not. Especially when - unlike Alistair and the others - Zevran is unwilling to accept her lie about him being more useful alive than dead as the final word on the matter.

[ash-soka]

Warden OC as a Companion: Wyn

 A note on his name before anything else: I only played DAO for the first time ever this year and I went in completely blind. I tried to come up with a name I thought would fit in with the setting and I did my job a little bit too well. by the time I met Wynne in game I was too invested in my warden to change his name. so I guess all circle mages are called Wyn now-

picrews: one / two

Tagged by @stylographic-blue-rhapsody, (thank you!!) prompts made by @boom-crunch3r (here)

Warden’s Name: Wyn Surana

Race / Class / Specialization: Elf, Mage, Arcane Warrior

Pronouns: he/him

Introduction: Wyn developed magic at the age of three and was taken to be raised at the Circle of Magi. He doesn’t remember his birth family, and while he forged some strong bonds with other mages, and excelled at his studies, he resented being watched so closely, and having his upbringing restricted to the tower walls. With each year, his distrust for the Circle grew. Shortly after his harrowing, Wyn assisted a blood mage, and was caught. In the confusion of their capture, he escaped, and is now wanted by the templars. He is sarcastic, hot tempered, and loyal.

A Circle Mage Warden will have been a part of this scheme with Wyn, Lily, and Jowan, but either wasn’t quick enough to escape, or sold out the others. This unlocks specific dialogue options.

Recruitment: Found while doing the Nature of the Beast quest, in the Lower Ruins of the Brecilian Ruins, imprisoned in the library room. Wyn’s recruitment scene can change depending on several factors.

If the Warden is not a Circle mage, and Wynne is not in the party when Wyn is found, he will initially lie, and claim to be a mage sent by the Circle to find a cure for lycanthropy, only revealing the truth either at +26 (Warm) approval, or right before the Broken Circle quest (if selected for it).

However, if the Warden is a Circle mage, and didn’t sell out Jowan, Wyn will immediately express joy and relief to see them free and unharmed. He will sincerely apologise for leaving them behind in the chaos. At this point, the warden can ask what he’s doing here, and they’ll get the true answer. Which is, that he decided to seek refuge with the Dalish. In trying to find a way to help them, was confronted by werewolves, who he persuaded to take him as a prisoner over killing him, by promising to put his magical knowledge to use researching a cure. He has learned the arcane warrior specialisation and can teach others.

If the Warden is a Circle mage, and sold out Jowan, Wyn will greet them with anger and hostility. The Warden will have to use persuasion if they want to recruit him. He will not initially reveal how he ended up here, in this case.

If the Warden is not a Circle mage, and Wynne is in the party when Wyn is found, she will warn them that this man is wanted by the Circle for assisting a blood mage. Wyn will then explain his side of the story, and how he ended up here.

The warden may choose to leave him there, release him, ask him to join the party, or attack. If he is released and does not join the party, Wyn can be seen in the Dalish camp. If the player chooses to attack, when Wyn drops below half health, he will use magic to create a distraction and flee. He will not be encountered again.

Where can they be found in camp?: Standing between Alistair and Zevran, bothering one or both of them.

Companion Quest: The first time the Warden speaks to him at camp once he has surpassed +76 approval (friendly) a conversation will trigger about how he always wondered about the family he was taken from, those he was loved by but never knew. Wyn will ask the Warden to help him track down his birth family. Travel to the Circle Tower and speak to First Enchanter Irving about the Circle’s mage records. To complete this quest speak to Wyn and tell him of your findings (+20 approval).

Can your warden be hardened?: No

Gain approval by: Selecting pro-mage and pro-elf actions and dialogue options, flirting with him, choosing to help those in need, choosing witty responses, standing up to assholes in power

Gain disapproval by: Showing a lack of understanding for why Wyn helped Jowan at the circle, making anti-blood magic comments, expressing approval for the templars, coercing kisses out of the women they help (only applicable to male wardens), showing cruelty towards innocents, hardening Alistair or Leliana; making any bigoted comments, or killing Zev.

What gifts would your Warden appreciate?: Blue Satin Shoes, Golden Demon Pendant, Remarkable Sapphire, Discovering Dragon's Blood: Potions, Tinctures, and Spicy Sauces, Gemmed Bracelet, Gold Earrings

“You have exquisite taste, thank you.”

Feast Day gift? (Gain +50 Approval): Goldwork Cloak.

“This is the most beautiful possession I’ve ever had... thank you, you know me well.”

Feast Day prank? (Gain -50 Disapproval): Book titled “Templars: Heroes Maintaining Order”

[Flatly] “For ranged target practice, I assume?”

Can your Warden be romanced?: Yes.

Would they be interested in sex?: Yes, and he’s open to it as soon as he’s entered a relationship with the Warden.

Is there a gift your warden will give to their partner?: Yes, when the Warden reaches +100 (love), Wyn will present them with a moon shaped gold pendant that is enchanted to give +3 to constitution.

How do they react if another companion is being romanced?: Wyn finding out will always lead to an argument. Most dialogue options will lead him to angrily end the relationship (-50 disapproval).

With high persuasion, it is possible to convince him this was a misunderstanding of some sort, and the Warden did not intend to hurt anyone’s feelings, leading Wyn to end the relationship with only a -10 disapproval hit.

However, if the other person being romanced is Zevran or Alistair, it is possible to have a conversation about polyamory, which can lead to Wyn staying in a relationship with the Warden. He will still be angry about how this was handled and lose -10 disapproval. This conversation will now lead to at least two others on the subject that the Warden will have to successfully navigate to make this situation work. But if they are sincere about it, it is possible to enter a polyamorous relationship this way.

What companions do they…

Like the most?: Dog, Zevran, Alistair, Wynne.

Flirt with?: Zevran. If the Warden enters a relationship with Alistair, Morrigan, or Leliana, Wyn will enter a romance with Zev. There is also the possibility of the Warden ending up in a  polyamorous relationship with the two of them. Wyn also flirts with Alistair but it usually goes over his head, sweet himbo.

Just get along?: Leliana, Morrigan.

Start a rivalry with?: Wynne!

“The lesser mage must change their name to Lose!”

She shakes her head at him.

Does Shale have a name for them?: I haven’t played that DLC yet so I don’t know much about Shale :0

What’s your warden’s opinion on handling the Blight?: Recruit as many allies as possible, use persuasion and sometimes intimidation wherever applicable to avoid bloodshed, there’s always time for a detour to help people out or pick up loot (it’s not like anyone pays them), and no mercy for those against mages or elves- even at the cost of political or financial advantage.

What allies does your warden wish to seek aid from? (Would they rather preserve the mages in the tower to gain their assistance? Would they rather assist Harrowmont to get the support of the Dwarves? Etc.): Dalish elves, mages, and he supported Bhelen in Orzammar.

Is there anything that would make your warden turn on the party?: Yes, Wyn is very opinionated and holds firm to his beliefs. He... is clearly more suited to being the leader than a companion but, here we are. He would turn on the party and either attack or simply leave if the Warden:

Doesn’t spare both elves and werewolves (makes a move to attack, but can be persuaded to flee)

Kills Connor (attacks)

Sides with the Templars (attacks)

Let’s Vaughan free (leaves)

Let’s Caladrius live (attacks)

Gets Alistair executed (attacks)

What do they do following the Blight (if they had an Epilogue Card what would it say)?:

(Standard)

Wyn disappeared for a time (replace “for a time” with “after the funeral,” if the Warden died). Rumours circulated based on stories of sightings. Some said he had become an assassin (”followed the one he loved to become an assassin” if romancing Zevran), or been killed by a rival mage, others thought he may be researching a cure for the taint, while some insisted he was simply taking a well deserved vacation. Wherever he went, it was short lived. He would reappear in Ferelden after only a few months, to come to the aid of a friend in need.

(Romanced)

Wyn proved to be a fiercely loyal companion to the one he loved. The two were rarely seen apart. Without the threat of the archdemon looming over them, he found it easy to envision a future. And, on the six month anniversary of the battle, he proposed.

❗Special Events!❗️

Mage Tower: What vision is created to trick your warden while in the fade?

In a cosy room, Wyn, Zevran, Alistair, Morrigan, Leliana, Wynne, and his dog, Petal, gather around a home cooked meal. Their faces are painted warm colours by the fireplace, laughter and barking fill the air. Wyn and Alistair aren’t in their warden uniforms, they never undertook the joining aren’t slowly dying. There’s no darkspawn, no blight, just a true moment of rest and safety. Once the Warden arrives in the dream, Wyn will call it “perfect”.

Haven: What does The Guardian say about your warden before beginning the trial?

“You clearly have no regard for the trouble your arrogance gets you into, but are you so careless with the lives of your friends? Could you live with yourself if your hubris was their downfall?”

What is their reaction to finding the Urn of Sacred Ashes?

He was honestly surprised it was real, he had a lot of doubt, especially after encountering the townspeople of Haven.

Denerim: Does your warden have any parting words before the final battle with the Darkspawn?

(Standard)

“Just like we practiced, I suppose? I’ll annihilate them in a storm of fire and lightning, and you can pick off the ones I miss. I won’t let us fail.”

(Romanced)

“I never thought being hunted by templars would lead me to the love of my life, but I wouldn’t change it for anything. There’s no one I’d rather have by my side. Together, we’ll make short work of even the archdemon.”

If they can be spoken to after the battle during the celebration do they mention what they’re going to do next?

(Standard)

“So, you’re the Hero of Ferelden now? Impressive, but of course, you only could have succeeded with the help of the Best Mage of Our Time.” [laughs] “As much of an adventure as that was, from the Circle, to saving the world, I haven’t had a moment to myself... ever. So I’ll be setting out after the celebrations. But don’t worry, if you’re in need of the most powerful magic user you’ve ever known, or if you miss me, I’m only a letter away. Of course, you’re welcome to come...”

(Romanced)

“The Hero of Ferelden, madly in love with the Best Mage of Our Time, what a powerful pair we make.” [laughs] “I am in awe of you and all you’ve accomplished, I can’t wait to see what’s yet to come. I’ll be by your side wherever you should end up, but for now, take a moment to soak in the celebrations. You’ve worked tirelessly, my darling. You deserve a moment to rest, and enjoy yourself, we all do.”

Awakening: Does your warden return to help at Vigil’s Keep? Or does a letter arrive to the Keep to just check in?

Wyn would be a companion in Awakening, but it would become apparent through his dialogue that he’s shown up as a favour to his friend (the Warden, Alistair, or both, depending on who survived Origins). The only exception is if Wyn was romanced by the Warden, and they lived and decided to stay in Ferelden, Wyn would have stayed with them then then naturally appeared as a companion again in Awakening.

[naiatabris]

ZevWarden Week Day 2's theme is "Gifts." We all know the Warden is an expert gift-giver (an idea I'm playing with here)--so what happens when it's Zev's turn? This is set in the modern AU of my "Charity Case" fic, shortly after the events of the story.

______________

“Hey, are you doing anything Friday after work?”

Zevran glanced over from the pan of eggs he was frying. Naia was making coffee at his side, carefully pushing the top of the press into the vessel to sweep the grounds to the bottom. Naia herself was not picky about her coffee, since she took it with a great deal of sugar and milk; she’d learned this more elaborate method for him, a fact he still did not quite know how to process.

“No firm plans, no. Do you have suggestions?” He winked at her. “Are they naughty ones?”

She laughed as she began to pour the coffee into mugs. “Not exactly. It’s my birthday. I always invite some people for dinner at that diner near the DFRC to celebrate. It’s very casual, but I’d love for you to come.”

“Then I will be there.” He slid the eggs from the pan with practiced ease before pulling out his phone to mark the appointment in his calendar.

*********

Later that day, as Zevran was headed out of Cousland Enterprises to find lunch, a familiar voice interrupted his train of thought. “Hi, Zev!”

Zevran turned to see Beth Cousland walking through the CE door, a bright smile on her face. “Beth! A pleasant surprise. Lunch with a family member?”

She nodded. “I haven’t seen Fergus in ages, and I need ideas for Oren’s birthday. Hey, speaking of birthdays, what are you getting Naia for Friday?”

The question caught Zevran utterly off-guard. He immediately felt foolish. Presents. Of course. As customary in Ferelden as they are in Antiva.

“I … am still struggling with an idea,” he said, not quite lying. “And you?”

“Same here.” Beth’s face lit up. “Here, I’ve got a few minutes before Fergus and I are supposed to leave. Let’s call the expert.”

Barely a minute later, Beth had Alistair Griffin on speakerphone.

“Oooooh. I should have warned you.” Zevran heard Alistair take a deep breath. “Here’s the thing about Naia. She is absurdly, impossibly good at gift-giving. Those action figures on my bookshelf? They were my favorites when I was a kid. I lost them in a move after college but Naia somehow found me new ones. Another year, she sewed me my own Denerim Crashers jersey--that’s the old minor league baseball team that I used to follow before they moved to Highever. She put my name on it and everything.”

Zevran felt a nervous sensation beginning to spread through his stomach.

“So what are you getting her?” Beth asked, a little worried wrinkle between her brows.

“Soccer ball autographed by her favorite Denerim Lightning players,” Alistair said promptly. “Took me a while to find one with the goalie’s signature on it, but I finally had a good idea and I wasn’t going to screw it up.” He cleared his throat. “It was also more than I probably should have spent. Want to split the cost and put your name on the card?”

“Deal,” Beth said immediately. “Any other ideas Zev could use?”

“Unfortunately I spent months coming up with just that one idea,” Alistair said dryly. “Sorry, Zevran. But I wouldn’t worry about it. Gifts are her thing, I think she kind of likes that she’s so much better at it than we are. And most people at the party don’t bring a present. You’ve only been dating a month. She probably doesn’t expect you to get her anything.”

Zevran frowned. “I appreciate the insight,” he told Alistair sincerely. “But I would not wish to arrive empty-handed. I will think of something.”

After exchanging goodbyes with her boyfriend, Beth hung up the phone and gave Zevran a reassuring smile. “I’m sure he’s right, you know. Whatever you get her, she’ll appreciate the thought.”

Zevran was sure Beth had the right of it. But the knowledge that Naia valued gifts, that she spent so much time and effort on presents for those she cared about, felt like a challenge he wanted to meet. ‘Appreciate the thought’ would not do.

He wanted to find something she would love.

*********

Over the next few days, Zevran began jotting down a list of things he knew Naia liked, trying to come up with a potential gift. He listened to her remarks, paid attention to what she watched on TV, looked at her wall of family photos depicting graduations and cookouts and summer days swimming at a beach on the Amaranthine Ocean.

Coming up with a present was more difficult than he’d anticipated. Since Alistair had already secured the soccer ball, anything related to Naia’s favorite sport or team was out. She’d just bought new running shoes a few weeks ago. He considered something more intimate, but between them they had an impressive collection of toys, and lingerie felt like a gift for him as much as for her.

Perhaps a physical present was the wrong direction. He thought back to the birthdays he’d planned for Taliesin and Rinna. During their first year as Crows he’d taken Taliesin club-hopping, laying out his credit card for some absurdly expensive table service before the two of them headed back to Taliesin’s apartment with an enthusiastic third party. For the last birthday he’d celebrated with Rinna, he’d booked a table at the city’s most exclusive restaurant, followed by a night in a penthouse hotel suite with a spectacular view.

Neither of those ideas were right for Naia, though. He’d learned that she was instinctively frugal, that the prospect of a twenty-dollar cocktail made her wrinkle her forehead and order soda instead. A high-end Denerim restaurant or hotel with mostly shemlen patrons would feel like an ordeal rather than a celebration.

He wanted something special yet comfortable, nice enough to be a treat and yet not so expensive it made her uneasy. A difficult balance to strike, especially since he was still getting to know his new city.

But finally, on Thursday morning, it came to him.

*********

Naia had somewhat undersold her birthday celebration. When Zevran arrived at the diner, it was filled with balloons and packed with her friends--old high school and college classmates, teachers from Vanedrin High, and other rec center employees. He was trying to figure out how to insert himself into this clearly tight-knit and friendly group--but before he could puzzle over it too much, Naia seized him by the sleeve and began to introduce him around.

More than once, Zevran touched the pocket of his jacket to make sure the envelope he’d brought was tucked safely inside.

Alistair began handing her presents as the diner’s wait staff brought out buckets of fries and pitchers of beer. She squealed in glee over the soccer ball, turning it around and around until she’d examined every signature; a new backpack, a gift card to a movie theater, and a Denerim Lightning ball cap were all greeted with hugs and enthusiastic thanks.

And finally, as the wrapping paper was cleared away and the guests resumed their party, Zevran slid an envelope in front of Naia. “Happy birthday.”

“Zev! I should have told you, presents are always optional. But thank you.” She grinned at him and opened it.

Her eyebrows rose as she pulled out the photograph inside. “It’s--a little house? Next to the ocean.” Then her eyes widened in recognition. “Zev. This isn’t …?”

He nodded. “The beach where your family used to go in the summer. Places near the water do book up early, but I was fortunate--there was a cancellation next month. It is just a weekend, but …”

Naia leaned over and kissed him, cutting off his almost-apology. When she pulled back, her eyes were sparkling. “I can’t believe this! It’s amazing! My parents had to cut back on the trips when we started saving for college …” she trailed off wistfully, then looked down at the picture and beamed. “I don’t think I’ve been to the beach in years. I can’t wait.”

“I fear there is a small addendum,” he admitted. “I had to call your parents to learn more about your favorite spots. We will be attending the Tabris family cookout next weekend. Adaia and Cyrion were quite clear that ‘no’ is not an option.”

Naia leaned her head back and groaned. “Oh, Maker. I’m sorry in advance, Zev.”

Oddly enough, Zevran was not. He had never met the parents of anyone he slept with, and he could not deny that the idea was strange. But there had been something very pleasant about hearing the elder Tabrises insist on meeting Naia’s boyfriend.

He raised his hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. “A cookout is an acceptable price for the chance to see you in a bikini,” he murmured, too low for the rest of the party to hear.

“This place looks pretty private, Zev,” Naia murmured back. “If we’re lucky, we can skip the bathing suits.”

[tabriscadash]

I was asked this on my old blog right as I set about transitioning to this one, so...

The first character I ever fell in love with: for DA:O, dare I say Daveth? What can I say -- I irrationally got incredibly attached to him. otherwise, DEFINITELY Morrigan, and I have crystal clear memories of my first run through Lothering and looking at Morrigan like 😍 the whole time. For DA:2/E, Carver -- unless you count Anders & Justice since I knew of them from Awakening beforehand, in which case probably Justice. For DA:I, it’s a toss-up between Vivienne or Cole -- I technically liked Cole first but SPECIFICALLY in the supporting material (Asunder), and didn’t vibe with him anywhere near as much in the game, AND I got him as a companion after I got Vivienne, so probably Vivienne.

A character that I used to love/like, but now do not: for DA:O, I guess Oghren? I never loved him, but I liked the idea of him because I really liked the dwarves/Orzammar side of DA’s worldbuilding -- but he’s such an unlikeable character that I just.. don’t vibe with him at all. I debate recruiting him every single time now, and I don’t think I ever do his personal quest (in the base game OR Awakening). for DA:2/E, I don’t really have anyone that fits -- but I REALLY wanted to like Merrill and Aveline more than I did, and especially in Aveline’s case, I can’t stand her and genuinely think she’s the unintended, secret Big Bad of the whole game. for DA:I, probably Cole, bc I was really into the idea of a little walking-corpse serial killer animated by a spirit as per the book, but that’s not really the vibe in DA:I, and combined with the somewhat patronising/ableist language and how significantly he is infantilised (including by the fandom) I just got put off him. I do still like him, but not as much.

A ship that I used to love/like, but now do not: for DA:O, I don’t really have one? I guess see my DA:I answer, lol... for DA:2/E, has to be Anders - I don’t think he’s OOC in 2, but I think his writing does so little with him and he feels v. reductive. Where his relationship could be SO interesting and angsty, it instead is written in a really dull and/or cringey way. It would have been nice to see Anders more like the Anders of Awakening near the beginning of the game (rather than random, infrequent and questionably rare snippets), and then see the progression of his relationship with Justice as the game went on -- I want more interesting abominations, PLEASE. for DA:I, listen I cannot express to you HOW EXCITED I was for my planned Lavellan to romance Sera… also I used to be way more tolerant of Cullen x Amell/Surana ships because, like, hey dark ships are fun, right? But since Cullen’s ~wholesome whitewash~ in DA:I, and his fandom clamouring to absolve him of any wrongdoing ever.. it’s boring to me.

My ultimate favourite character™: for DA:O, probably Sten? or Morrigan. They’re both fantastic, and also are significant comfort chars for me. for DA:2/3, honestly, probably my own Hawke -- I feel so hugely proud of her, and can’t imagine I’d enjoy the game anywhere near as much had I not played it as my Hawke. If not her, maybe Sebastian or Carver? for DA:I, I really love Vivienne, as well as Blackwall, and Solas is a great character even if I probably would not say I liked him.

Prettiest character: for DA:O, we all know it’s Zevran. for DA:2/E, I think Aveline -- although her aggressively bland colour-scheme lets her down in a major way (although I respect her dedication to all orange all day every day). There’s just something about her arms -- very Abby from TLOU:2. for DA:I, maybe Josephine? Ser Barris is very pretty, too...

My most hated character: for DA:O, I really didn’t like Alistair, Wynne and Oghren, and of my companions - Oghren is probably my least favourite. He’s vulgar and also profoundly uninteresting. for DA:2/E, it has to be Aveline. There’s just something about ineptitude and a complete, wilful refusal to take accountability for your actions that I can’t stand. It would be okay if it was an intentional character flaw, but the game/narrative treats her like she’s lawful good and it really annoys me. for DA:I, maybe Iron Bull? He was a huge disappointment for me. I also really dislike Sera, Cassandra, and Varric. I’m so sick of Varric - I never want to see him again.

My OTP: for DA:O, I really loved Zevran’s romance -- but I am also very amused by the fact that Leliana got to ‘love’ status with Kallian accidentally, AND I got the ‘love’ glitch for Justice (👀) and Velanna. I do sometimes wonder about an AU where Kallian is forced to make a politically expedient marriage with Nathaniel Howe for diplomatic reasons in order to consolidate her position as Arlessa, and it being an entirely platonic arrangement (it’s not like anyone expects an heir from an infertile Grey Warden) -- and maybe Zev and Nate kiss sometimes, who knows? I also LOVE my Darkspawn Chronicles AU where Kallian and Nelaros are a happy, married couple each hiding their skills with weapons from each other like dumb, cute sweethearts. They shelter Zevran when he fails to kill Alistair and a poly couple evolves. for DA:2/E, I love the IDEA of a Seb romance that isn’t so strictly conditional around the structures that abused him -- he should be allowed to love, chastely or otherwise, but free from the Chantry OR his position as prince/heir. I’d LOVE to actually have a romance with him where you can actually challenge the abuse he’s experienced. for DA:I, Malika doesn’t have a canon romance (although I think when I replay, I’m going to romance Josephine!) but I think Blackwall has an amazing romance. Solas’ is also iconic, it must be said. 

My NOTP: for DA:O, I really dislike Alistair in a shipping capacity; he’s immature and says a lot of misogynistic shit and I don’t think he’s the worst for it, but I don’t really vibe with shipping him, having played the game as a female city elf. for DA:2/E, I wouldn’t say I have one, particularly? although I really dislike Aveline’s relationship with her husband simply because it seems incredibly inappropriate, given that they work together and she has power over him -- and because I dislike her, generally, I don’t feel inclined to do something nice for her. for DA:I, I suppose Sera/Lavellan -- although I’m not AGAINST it, it just really isn’t for me, having attempted it. I also don’t really vibe with Dorian x Iron Bull. Something abt the way the game handled BDSM and their relationship banter specifically I don’t really like.

Favourite episode quest: for DA:O, probs Orzammar/the Deep Roads. I really love the dwarven lore! and, of course, Fort Drakon is really funny, even though it’s not canon in my game iirc. for DA:2/E, maybe the murder mystery with the serial killer, where ultimately Leandra dies? I also really enjoyed all the companion quests. for DA:I, The Descent (just, all of it, lmao) and everything to do with the Avvar. Crestwood also BANGED.

Saddest death: for DA:O, it’s frankly a fucking INJUSTICE that Shianni gets murdered if you make her Bann of the Alienage -- the idea of that happening whilst Kallian is in Amaranthine and unable to protect her :( genuinely very upsetting. I go back and forth on who is made Bann, tbf, so idk how canonical it is: I think maybe Cyrion would get it, but I’m also endeared to Soris holding the position, with Shianni as Hahren. for DA:2/E, Bethany. I wish both twins had had the chance to reach Kirkwall :(. Let Leandra die instead. for DA:I, maybe not the saddest death, but the most memorable for me was that one sleeping dragon in the Hissing Wastes.. leave her alone. Stay out of a womans’ business.

Favourite season game: DA:O!

Least favourite season game: DA:I.

Character that everyone else in the fandom loves, but I hate: for DA:O, Alistair. I cannot deal with his complacency and hypocrisy. for DA:2, I really disliked Merrill but I honestly cannot remember why. DEFINITELY Varric -- I hated how the game forces you to be his best friend, and if you’re low approval, you have to endure these pointless pissy little comments with this little anti-dwarf centrist pissant. After the expedition, I literally have no reason to put up with him, and I NEVER take him out. I hate that he plays the same role in DA:I, too. for DA:I, the Iron Bull was hugely disappointing, and I also really don’t vibe with Cassandra. She just seems very wishy-washy and complacent and hypocritical, and many of her comments about other cultures seem snide for literally no reason other than bigotry. 

My ‘you’re a piece of trash, but you’re still a fave’ fave: for DA:O, lbr probably Sten. Mans is gonna launch a HORRIFYING invasion in the next game iirc and frankly, I’m ok with it. Just wanna see that big bastard again ❤🥵. for DA:2/E, I LOVE Gamlen, ok? for DA:I, I am not sure if I have one.

My ‘beautiful cinnamon roll who deserves better than this’ fave: for DA:O, if any of you so much as LOOK at Velanna wrong, it’s hands. That includes Bioware. I also feel incredibly protective of and sad for Morrigan. for DA:2/E, probably Sebastian -- I feel so sad for him, and so frustrated by the limitations with the game. for DA:I, I’m honestly not sure.. maybe Josephine? I don’t really feel this way about Sera, but I do think she deserves better from the game and its writing, and also from fandom: there are valid criticisms of her, but the hate she gets is not proportional to any valid issues with her -- and gee, I wonder why that is.

My ‘this ship is wrong, nasty, and makes me want to cleanse my soul, but i still love it’ ship: for DA:O, I did use to find Cullen x Surana/Amell intriguing as a dark ship -- I actually hc that Neria Surana is actually Nelaros’ sister, and have dabbled with it as a dark ship. I also am interested in Loghain/Alistair - which each pretends the other is someone else. Alistair is wooby, hate ships are, in general, fun -- so long as we acknowledge that they are, indeed, unhealthy ships. for DA:2/E, I kind of feel like Sebastian romances are, invariably, kind of dark... and, similarly, Anders romances -- especially with certain red Hawkes, The way it ends is, invariably, bordering on fucked up. ALSO Hawkecest is weird and wonderful: GET WITH IT. 

My ‘they’re kind of cute, and I lowkey ship them, but I’m not too invested’ ship: for DA:O, I joked about Velanna x Leliana once and I’ve not been able to stop thinking about it ever since… Velanna x Sigrun is also something that can be so personal. Ariane x Finn is adorable and are paid DUST by Bioware AND fandom. I actually am really into Anora x Nathaniel & NO I will NOT explain myself; it’s a crackship but it’s MY crackship. for DA:2/E, Isabela x Fenris is super cute, but I don’t pay enough attention to them to really have super committed thoughts & feelings on them. for DA:I, Blackwall x Josephine is cute as a background ship; I also think Maryden x Cole is sweet.

[captainlilyuniverseworld]

Wintersend

Just a little short and sweet holiday Zevristair one shot to celebrate the holidays ♥

Enjoy!

Wintersend

Zevran sighed as he perused the wares on the merchant's table. Wintersend was getting closer and he still had no idea what to get Alistair. While on the other hand, Alistair had surprised him with a set of new daggers.

Real nice quality too, but Alistair had been very tight lipped on where they’d come from. Zevran picked up one of the small figurines and put it back down. He knew for a fact that Alistair already had one exactly like it.

He kept them on a bookshelf in his bedroom. Alistair was a little embarrassed but Zevran thought it was an endearing quality, especially as the last time Zevran had been in his room he’d seen what looked like a little elf figurine that looked eerily similar to himself next to one that looked similar to Alistair.

He had to hand it to some of those Orlesian crafters.

They really knew their stuff.

He moved on, prepared to just head back to the inn. Alistair would probably be wondering where he was soon.

Zevran started to walk towards the direction of the Inn they were staying in and paused when he saw a small box off to the side. He made his way towards it and paused when the box moved a few paces on it’s own.

“...Merde…this better not bite me in the ass…” he approached the box more carefully.

There were a few holes poked into the top of the box to presumably let whatever was inside breathe. And he could hear soft whimpering the closer he got. Zevran took out one of his smaller daggers and carefully cut open the top of the box and sat back on his heels as a mabari puppy's head popped up.

“Well hello there,” Zevran said. “What’s a thing like you doing in a box like this hmm?”

He tucked the dagger away and lifted the puppy out of the box, and grimaced as it proceeded to lick his face.

“Well, if you were in a box, I assume you have no owner,” Zevran stood up with the dog in his arms. “But, I think I know someone who might like you.”

He got another lick to his face.

“But first you need a bath,” Zevran added.

He picked up a few things while still in the market square, then made his way back to the Inn. He slipped into the bathing room and was pleased it was empty. The woman who ran the inn wasn’t exactly Zevran’s biggest fan.

Zevran filled one of the smaller basins with water and grabbed one of the new soaps he’d bought and gave the pup a bath. He had to stop her from eating the soap a few times, and nearly got one of his own fingers bitten off in the process.

“Feisty little thing aren’t you?” He chuckled as he dried her off and as a final touch, tied a gold ribbon to the collar he’d picked up for her. Nothing overly fancy, and they’d still need to find someone who could engrave a name for her once Alistair came up with one.

“There, all clean and you even smell better,” he picked her up and got another lick to the face.

He made sure no one was coming before he slipped out of the bathing room and went upstairs. The door of their room was open a bit and he could hear Alistair moving around inside. Zevran knelt down in front of the door and set the pup down in the doorway and nudged her.

“Go on,” he whispered. “Attack.”

He gave her another gentle nudge before she seemed to get at what he was trying to do and she pushed the door open running over to Alistair. The warden jumped startled when she ran into his legs and he looked down at her.

“Maker’s arse, where did you come from?” He reached down to pick her up.

He laughed as he licked his face.

“Already starting the initial assault huh?” He sat on the edge of the bed and she gave a small bark.

“No name huh,” Alistair looked at the blank tag on her collar.

“I thought perhaps you might like the honor,” Zevran said as he walked into the room.

“Where did you find her?” Alistair asked.

“In the market,” Zevran answered. “I was trying to find you a gift for this year's holiday and then there she was…What are you going to name her?”

“What about…” Alistair thought for a moment as he looked down at the pup in his arms. “Sunder. Strong name for a strong girl.”

The pup barked and leaned up to lick Alistair’s face again. He smiled and scratched her under the chin gently.

“I think she likes it,” Zevran smiled.

“Thank you Zev,” Alistair smiled at him. “She is…one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten.”

“One?” Zevran raised an eyebrow.

“The other is getting to share the holiday with you of course,” Alistair grinned and Zevran blushed a little.

The pup, now named Sunder, not wanting to be left out, wormed her way between them and nudged Zevran’s hand until he pet her. Alistair leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“Merry Wintersend Zev.”

“Merry Wintersend Alistair.”

[lesetoilesfous]

The smell of freshly baked bread + Zevran/Anders (I've never considered that ship before! I'm curious)

I’m so glad you requested this, thank you! I think they’re fun. I love to imagine both polyamorous scenarios with the Warden, and dirty weekends at The Pearl for thiese two...This one is pre-relationship, but I hope you like it!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting​

Pairing: ZevrAnders

Characters: Zevran, Anders

Tags: pre-relationship, allusion to past torture, allusion to past starvation, casual polyamory

Rating: Mature

There are very few things better than the smell of freshly baked bread. One of them is Talen: the specific blend of leather and wood polish he uses to work his bow, a smell that Zevran cannot taste without a bone deep sense of safety, even in the most outlandish of environs. Another is Antivan leather, the rich, stinking, choking scent of tanning, smoky and so heavy in the air that it feels like you can touch it. But freshly baked bread: to a man who had more than once flirted with starving to death, was a very special kind of paradise. 

So Zevran follows his nose, out of the main hall of the Vigil and down towards the kitchens and the scent of baking wheat, feeling his mouth water even after all these years, even now, when he always knew where his next meal would come from, and how to get it if he didn’t. Zevran walks past the soldiers of the Vigil in a daze: the only person who’d likely catch his attention at this point is Mahariel, and he’s working on training the recruits. 

(Recruit, singular, the Howe boy who Talen claims Zevran does not have the patience to deal with, yet. Zevran’s answer, that the boy would learn, had not been accepted by his all-too-patient lover. Yet despite his best efforts, Zevran could not resent him for it. After all, it was Mahariel’s generosity of spirit that had seen him not only survive a contract on a Grey Warden but find his freedom, and there were very few Crows who could say the same.) 

The soldiers and walls of the Vigil blur into a river of greys and browns as Zevran follows his nose to the kitchen, ears ringing when he’s close enough with the familiar percussive cacophony of rattling pans, slamming doors and sizzling roots. A pair of young mabari are crouched by the door to the kitchens, whining, and a skinny ginger tabby is perched on the wall above them, watching them warily. Zevran’s mouth lifts in a small smile as he regards them, before setting his hand on the iron handle to the door and pressing on the latch.

At the exact same moment, another hand touches his. 

Zevran reacts on instinct, pressing a dagger to what he had assumed was the height of an elvhen stomach and instead pushes into the too-thin meat of a skinny thigh. At the same time, the (very tall) figure beside him yelps, stumbling backwards - which in turn startles the mabari and the cat. The mabari start barking, great whooping yelps, and the cat disappears in a flash of red fur. Zevran glares at the human beside him as if that will save face for the utterly stupid lack of judgement that had let - what, a mage? Sneak up on him. Ice runs cold into Zevran’s stomach as he considers how firmly deceased he would have been if this man were anyone else, and the taste of freshly baked bread dissipates in his mouth.

The mage, for his part, with long blonde hair tied back from his face and a rickety wooden excuse for a staff, holds up two long crooked hands in an open gesture of surrender. “Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean, I didn’t see you -”

Attempting to collect himself, Zevran sheaths his knife. This man is no threat to him, judging by the way his long, skinny limbs are shaking. He forces an exhale, pushes a non-existent strand of hair out of his face, and tries to ignore the cold sweat on his back, painting on a smile. “No, it is I who should apologise. You... gave me a fright.”

The mage nods, and swallows, glancing between Zevran and the door to the kitchen. “The feeling’s mutual.” Slowly, he stands and brushes down his - skin tight suede - robes, before holding out a hand. “I’m Anders, by the way.”

Zevran takes his hand, and is surprised by how firm Anders’ grip is when he shakes. “Zevran. You are one of the recruits?”

Anders’ thin lips pull up at one corner, as if at some private joke. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Something like that.” At Zevran’s questioning gaze, he clarifies. “I’m an apostate. And given a choice between a quick death and a slow one, I chose getting eaten by Darkspawn.” Anders’ lips twist, and his fingers flex as he lowers his hand.

Zevran very deliberately does not think about Talen, and what will happen when his Calling comes for him. The mage, Anders, puts his hand on the door handle, then seems to catch himself. “Oh, but I’m not dangerous. Like, I’m not a blood mage. I just.” He shrugs, an awkward movement of his too-thin, broad shoulders. “Don’t like being cooped up.” He offers Zevran another humourless smile. Then he opens the door with a faint click.

There’s a broad, fat woman inside the kitchens, and when she sees them she beams at Anders, her cheeks red with the heat that wafts out of the room in waves of sweet-smelling steam. “Anders! I should have known it was you causing such a commotion.”

Anders’ sharp shoulders drop as he makes eye contact with the woman, and he steps away from Zevran quickly, crossing the space to drop a kiss onto her cheek. “Sarah. Sorry about that, I, um -”

He glances back at Zevran, and she follows his gaze. Zevran gives them both a wave, and then a flourishing bow, because it amuses him. “Zevran Arainai, Antivan Crow.” He grins when both of them startle, “I am not here in a professional capacity.”

The mage, Anders, has moved to stand between Sarah and Zevran - which Zevran thinks is either brave or stupid, considering how awkwardly he holds himself, and how easy it would be to unbalance him. He frowns down at Zevran, “So why are you here?”

Zevran performs a gusty sigh, imitating an actress who’d once made him laugh in a Rivaini streetshow. “Perhaps you will know me better as the Warden’s paramour.”

Anders’ frown transmutes from suspicion into confusion. “Which warden?”

Zevran laughs, then, honestly, and catches the moment that Anders’ mouth quirks upward in a shadow of a smile when he does. “Aha, I had become so accustomed to there being just two in our travels during the Blight that I have neglected to remember his recent efforts. No, I mean the Warden. Talen Mahariel.”

Anders’ eyebrows hit his hairline at the same moment Sarah dips a hurried curtsy of stained brown skirts. “Oh my word, the commander’s paramour in my kitchen! Oh, everything is such a mess.”

Sarah immediately begins to busy herself with clearing surfaces, apparently at random. Anders looks caught between soothing her and keeping his eye on Zevran, so Zevran spares him the decision, stepping quickly forward and easily around the mage to catch her hands. They’re warm and soft in his, and Sarah stops immediately, eyes widening as she flushes. She, at least, is a more ordinary size, and only slightly taller than Zevran.

“Please, do not stand on ceremony for my sake. I admit I was only drawn here by the scent of fresh bread.” Sarah’s eyes, if possible, widen further, an effect exaggerated by the flour sticking to her cheeks. But then her expression softens, and she gently pulls her hands back.

“Well then! You should have said. Here, sit down. You too, Anders.” Sarah’s tone takes on a distinctly matronly quality when she speaks to the mage, though she can’t have had more than a decade and a half on him in age. Zevran supposes he’s known younger mothers.

Both of them sit at a rough wooden table on simple stools. Over their heads, sunlight spills like honey across the deep stone windowsill. Anders offers Zevran a tight smile, whilst Sarah ducks and opens a heavy iron door in the oven built into the wall. The smell of fresh bread intensifies, savoury sweet and warm on Zevran’s tongue. Sarah hums to herself tunelessly as she fishes out two iron plates from a cupboard, and slices the bread with a soft crunch.

She presents the plates and a clay dish of butter, as well as a tiny clay pot of rock salt, and puts her hands on her hips. Zevran stares at the steam rising in curls from the fresh bread and resists the urge to lick his lips. Sarah bumps Anders’ shoulder with her hips, and moves a hand to muss his hair. “You should have seen this one when he got here. Skinny as an alley cat and led by his nose just as easily.” Anders flushes, and opens his mouth to respond, but Sarah just claps his shoulder hard enough to make him buckle forward. “Go on you two, enjoy yourselves. I’ve got dinner to prepare for a small army.”

Then she turns and moves back to the kitchen, humming as she goes. Zevran pauses before touching his bread, glancing at Anders. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for, but the mage hunches his shoulders defensively, crooked hand frozen with his bread halfway to his mouth. This close Zevran can see that his fingers are littered with scars, and several of the knuckles are out of alignment. He is familiar with the treatment that elicits such effects, but he had not expected to see its marks on a mage. Perhaps Talen was right, and he based too much of what he knew of magic on cheap romances. Zevran had always assumed a mage would stop anyone before they could do such a thing.

“Withholding meals is Templar 101,” Anders mutters, glaring at Zevran defensively, “At least here I don’t get in trouble.”

Several things fall into place. Zevran picks up his bread: the crust is gold and thick, and warm to the touch. He butters it with a generous pat before sprinkling a little salt over the top. Anders watches him with poorly concealed curiosity. Zevran pretends not to notice. “Disciplinary starvation is not uncommon among the Crows.” Zevran offers Anders his first honest smile, and tries not to feel as if he exposing a vulnerable organ. “It seems we have this in common.”

Anders stares at him for a long moment, then, before eventually ducking his head and offering Zevran a hesitant smile in return. Satisfied, Zevran bites into his bread, and lets out a moan that he knows is pornographic. Sarah giggles, and Anders flushes pink across his cheeks, down his long neck and across what areas of his chest are exposed by those truly inviting robes.

Zevran hides his grin in his next bite. Well, Talen had a pet project with the Howe boy. Perhaps some amusement could come of knowing the mage better. It would, at the very least, be a pleasant enough way to pass the time.

[dragonagecompanions]

Could you do both Inquisition and Origins companions reaction to the Warden being the one who got the Anchor and being the one who becomes Inquisitor?

INQUISITION:

Cassandra: This is not how she expected things to go, but…well, at least they got one of the leaders on their list one way or another? 

Varric: Damn, he knew he should have written up the story of the Blight and the ragtag bunch of loners who saved Fereldone from the oddest Blight to ever strike Thedas. Because this would be a perfect sequel, and he hasn’t even started.

Solas: This is…unexpected. He wasn’t planning on any of this, and particularly not a being with so much political power being so close to his power center. Things may need to change.

Blackwall: This is not what he wanted when the Inquisition rolled into his tiny training camp. Fereldone’s Warden-Commander is standing in front of him, and it is time to go.

Vivienne: This is perfect. Having Ferelden’s hero and champion as part of her circle might not do much for Madame de Fer, but their presence may well draw off that Apostate wench cosying up to Celene, and get the world back to normal.

Dorian: Being able to talk intimately with a Gray Warden is a huge opportunity, and if there is one goal Dorian has it is that after everything goes down Felix Alexius goes back to Tevinter the first Warden magister and with at least some chance to live longer. 

The Iron Bull: The warden saw and killed an arch dragon. Everything else aside, the Ben-Hassrath wants to hear all about it. And getting some reports on just what the hell the wardens are doing wouldn’t upset Par Vollen either.

Sera: This is the biggest little person Sera has ever met, and while Warden Commanders have a lot of problems she can trust this person to do what’s right.

Cole: “You’re very bright, and very loud, but you want to help. I can too!”

Leliana: They may have just lost Justinia, just lost the greatest leaders on both sides of the chantry’s conflict and the world may be teetering on the brink of both conquest and civil war, but their Warden is here and things are going to eventually be okay.

ORIGINS:

Alistair (King): Is anyone surprised? Because at the end of the day finding out that the Warden Commander has gone out and put themselves in charge of another complete mess isn’t a real surprise to Alistair. The minute he hears it though Ferelden’s official stance on the Inquisition drastically changes and they start off collaboratively.

Warden: Well, it’s time to start riding for Haven. His commander needs him. He is not  going to let some monster man swoop down and start problems with the wardens without Alistair Therein there.

 Swooping is bad.

Zevran: Well, surely now it cannot be said that their warden will sit and let the world have momentous changes without supervision. When the word comes into Antiva that the Conclave has failed and the Warden has somehow been named the Herald of Andraste, Zevran finishes up current to do list and boards a ship for Val Royeaux. His warden needs their ever watchful assistance, and he does not ever disappoint.

Morrigan: Well this is not wholly unexpected. There had been rumors creeping through out even Orlais that the blossoming plans amidst the Divine and her Hands was to reform the Inquisition and strike a blow for balance and great many other noble ideals. They might never come to fruition after the loss of Justinia and her guiding influence, but with the Warden at the helm this little Inquisition has the potential to become much larger.

And a tidy tool in the belt of Orlais’ newest Arcane Advisor. After a brief discussion with Celene Morrigan is on the road, bound for Haven and the ever evolving power center that is her former companion.

Oghren: Ancestor’s tits, they just can’t stay out of trouble, can they? Once Oghren might have jumped at the chance to join them, but now his life has taken a different course. Still he raises a glass to them from afar, drumming up what support he can and keeping the peace in his own part of the world.

Sten: He’d heard little of the Warden after he returned to Seheron. He had professed their actions and honor, but he did not expect to see them again, least of all after his promotion to Arishok. But one such as the Warden will never be far from the greatest moments in time, and it is no different here. The urge to go to them is strong for a moment, and yet as a leader himself that is no longer an option. But there are others he can send, who will be able to lend them support where he cannot.

And if he spends a long time looking over the information on the Hissran they want to send, and knows well that the Warden will see the same flaws he does and turn them to strengths….He can trust him friend to welcome The Iron Bull with or without the Qun.

Dog:

Mod Fereldone