#bask in the Dalish-ness! BASK DAMMIT

[braincoins]

WIP Wednesday

There’s a NSFW WIP Wednesday up on Ye Olde Blog o’ Smut, but to go back to Dragon Age: Schism and my warden for a moment, we have this totally SFW WIP :D Oh, sure, there’s a Not-So-Subtle Implication at the end there, but that’s the end of scene; we won’t be... following along, as it were. And the rest of this is totally A-OK!

Cut for the sake of your dash. You’re welcome.

           The party was in full swing, elves and humans and the few dwarves chatting and laughing, some of them even dancing as people brought out instruments and began to play. And Kivral just sat draped on her chair, back to one armrest and legs kicked over the other, and watched it happen around her.

           She couldn’t pin down how she was feeling. Her emotions were like startled birds just taking wing, and even though most of them were joyful ones, she was still a-flutter.

           Happiness to see her old clan again.

           Relief that there was nothing wrong.

           An aravel of her own, to pass down to Warden-Commanders in the future.

           The acknowledgement of that, of the Grey Wardens as her clan now.

           The sudden realization that they could and perhaps should be traveling Ferelden. Darkspawn were unlikely to come to them, after all. At least, not anymore.

           The weight of the upcoming Arlathven, for that matter. She’d told Keeper Marethari that she and Velanna would be delighted to attend as representatives of the Wardens, to take the opportunity to thank the other clans for the fighters they’d sent to defeat the Blight, and to remember those who had fallen in that service.

           But she’d never been someone at an Arlathven before. The last time, she’d barely been a whelp of a girl, still learning the ways of bow, arrow, and forest. She chuckled to herself at the memory of how sick she’d made herself on honey-cakes.

           “Enjoying yourself, I see?” Alistair draped an arm over the back of her chair and looked out at the party.

           “I am,” she agreed.

           “Would it be pressing it to ask for a dance?”

           “Pressing it? Why would it be?”

           He cleared his throat. “Well, I noticed you didn’t really… um…”

           Ah, yes, one of those less-joyful emotions fluttering within her: the fact of who and what Alistair was to her, which she had continued to hide. It was cruel to him, but she wasn’t sure standing up and announcing it now would be much better.

           Instead, she kicked her legs up and off as she got to her feet. “Come with me, ma vhenan,” she said, feeling the impulse seize her.

           He followed her, of course: out of the room, down the stairs, away and away until the noise and the song dimmed. She went straight to where the halla were penned. “I want to introduce you.”

           He barked a laugh. “If the halla like me, does that mean your old clan will, too?”

           “It bodes better for it,” she agreed, “but I want them to get used to you. To humans in general, but especially to you.”

           She introduced him to Falon, told Alistair all about the halla (well, as much as Maren had relayed to her), and taught him how to make proper introductions. “They’re so much more than mere horses,” she reminded him. “You have to treat him like a… well, like a halla-shaped person.”

           It was odd for her human lover, she could tell, but for all he protested that he “wasn’t a dog person,” she’d seen how good he was with Sekh. Some of that could be put down to the mabari’s intelligence, but halla were fairly smart as well. So she wasn’t surprised at all that a halla so friendly as to be named ‘Friend’ would get on well with Alistair. They didn’t do much more than say hello to Enasal, but it was enough for now.

           “Joy in triumph over loss, hm?” he asked as she headed for the aravel.

           She nodded. “Appropriate.”

           “I agree. Uh, where are we…?” He broke off the question when its answer became apparent: she hopped in and pulled the leather doorflap back for him. He laughed. “You’re really happy about this aravel, aren’t you?”

           “YES! It’s… I don’t even know what to compare it to for you. Maybe like getting an arling, or at least a bannorn.”

           He whistled in surprise as he stepped in. “That would be something.”

           “But without the politics,” she added on. “There is a responsibility to an aravel,” as she lit a couple of lanterns, “but it isn’t about leadership.”

           “But the leaders have them.”

           “So do some others.” She moved to seat the wooden planks into place on this side of the door, the better to keep someone from coming in after them. “They take ages to make, you see. And that’s the responsibility.” She looked around at the gleam of candlelight on polished wood. “To take care of it, to pass it down to the future.” She sat on a padded bench and began work on unbuckling her boots.

           “An aravel is a gift from the clan, and they usually stay within the clan, while we’re at it. This one was made specially for me, for the Wardens, and made in a special way that is both stronger and lighter than normal aravels. It took them the better part of two years to make this, and they just… they just gave it away. There are probably clan members who are envious that I have such a privilege as this.”

           He sat next to her. “But no one will try to take it from you, right?”

           “No one. It is the wish of the elders of the clan that I have it, and that alone is… it overwhelms me, Alistair. Just that thought alone, let alone that they went through with this and gave it to me, knowing and intending that it stay with the Wardens… This is unprecedented.”

           “So is defeating a Blight so quickly. What are you doing?” he asked at long last.

           Freed of her boots, she rose, turned to him, and looped her arms behind his neck as she straddled his lap. She saw a brief flare of color in his cheeks in the dim light, but his hands went to her waist instinctively.

           “We have an aravel, ma vhenan. I was hoping we could make use of it.” She knew her grin would help make her intention clear.

           “Now?” he asked in surprise.

           “Right now,” she purred, leaning in to kiss him.

           And if he had any further protests, it was hard to tell because he was sliding his arms around her more fully, drawing her in tight against his broad chest.

           In the distance, the rest of the keep continued to celebrate.