#but what about wardens who were tainted and on the verge of death when they completed the joining?

[shadowglens]

lilah growing her hair as a form of healing, as proof that her body is capable of growth and life after so much death. lilah gaining weight slowly, in bits and pieces, over the years as a symbol of her life becoming stable and safe. lilah's skin becoming more suntanned, less death-pale, as a sign that she has fought back against the cursed blood in her veins. for a few years at least, lilah looking healthy and content and happy.

[thessalian]

Language (Fic)

((I’ve never had a Mahariel who survived to see Vigil’s Keep - Mahariel takes the Ultimate Sacrifice, always. But after a particular point in Awakening, I needed to write one fic in which she had. It’s been hiding in a subfolder, and I dig through subfolders when I can’t sleep, so here it is.))

Lyna Mahariel found him sitting at the top of one of the battlements of Vigil's Keep, looking out over the courtyard, quiet even for him. She sat beside him, not too close and not saying anything at first, and watched him brood out of the corner of her eye. After a long moment, when it became clear that he wasn't going to say a word, she told him, "I'm sorry about Adria."

Nathaniel Howe turned his head to glare at the elf sitting a few feet away from him, but she did not meet the glare, content to look over the courtyard. He took it for casual contempt - this was the woman who slew his father and turned his family name to mud, after all, and was an elf besides; she had no cause to love him, nor he her - and sneered where he thought she couldn't see. "Why? Just another faceless tainted ghoul; meat for the Wardens, I expect." He turned his gaze back onto the people far below. "You probably enjoyed it. Dalish have that reputation, when it comes to humans."

She refused to give him the satisfaction of showing how that comment hurt. Instead, she said, "I take no pleasure in killing. Not the way you mean. Particularly not barely-armed souls who aren't themselves. But ... I was glad to do it. For her sake. And for yours."

"Yes, of course," growled Nathaniel. "You slew my old nursemaid for my sake. What would I do without you, Commander?"

"Would you rather she had been forced to live with that agony?" She spoke the question quietly, but there was a depth of feeling in her words that ran at odds to the volume - rage; not at him, but at the taint itself. Regret. Sorrow. "It burns. You know it burns. You took the Joining. You know better than most."

Nathaniel turned his head and looked at her again. "Better than most, yes." After a pause for thought, he added, "But not as well as some?"

"I've seen ghouls before," she told him. "I have seen one retaining enough control - barely - to beg for release. Because death was better than the alternative. Because he couldn't live with the pain ... or with the Calling." She shook her head. "It's hard, when it's someone you know - someone you care for. I know. But when it happens, whether they can say so or not ... it's a mercy. I promise you that. On the honour of my clan."

Watching his Dalish Commander, Nathaniel got the impression that, as adept as she was at self-control, she was on the verge of tears. He debated with himself for a long moment, and then curiosity got the better of him. "Who was it you lost?"

For a time, it seemed as though the Commander would not answer him. Finally, she said, "My best friend." Then she turned her eyes his way, watching him again out of the corner of her eye. Reading the question in that sidelong look, she continued a little further. "We were both tainted. Duncan found me, said that the Joining was my cure. Which it is, in a sense. But we couldn't find my ... friend. He ... survived longer than most. Found me ... much later. So I could put an end to his pain."

That was enough for Nathaniel, and he told her this by turning his face back to the courtyard, colouring in the picture her words had painted. Watching her sidelong from the corner of his eye as she had watched him, he could read the finer details: the frustration at the fruitless search for her friend or at least a body; the constant guilt until he presented himself to her, tainted and struggling and half-mad with pain and whispers... Always ... loved you... He closed his eyes and focused on Wade and Herren bickering in the courtyard, feeling as if he had invaded her privacy somehow.

They sat silently for some time before Nathaniel trusted himself to speak again. "I ... think I require a word that goes somewhat deeper than 'apology'. Have the Dalish such a word? Sometimes the human languages are lacking."

The Commander shrugged. "There is one. Abelas. It can be used as an apology but it goes deeper. It speaks of sorrow, and regret."

"Ah." More silence followed, and then he spoke the word, all careful pronunciation and emotional investment. "Abelas, Commander."

She looked at him again, only barely tilting her head to get a good look, and then she said, "Abelas ... Lethallin."

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow at her. His knowledge of the Elven language stopped short at the surface meaning of 'Shemlen', and he could not translate the term used to address a familiar face - a friend. But since the tone suggested less insult than a species of respect, he held his tongue, and explanations went by the wayside as he and the Commander of the Grey Wardens watched over Vigil's Keep.

[braincoins]

I know it’s not Wednesday, but have some more of my Dragon Age: Schism WIP anyway! 

It’s not quite NSFW but it might be best to read when parents/bosses/small children aren’t around anyway. Just in case. There’s the... pretense of NSFW-ness going on, let’s say.

Featuring a headcanon I have about the darkspawn taint and the Wardens’ abilities relating to it. 

Edit: literally - I wrote the next scene (not here, in my Word document (Yes I’m Old Shut Up)), and then went back and started editing the crap out of THIS scene, so... if anything, it’s even LONGER. But hopefully better.

           She tensed up as they headed to bed. Alistair felt her squeeze his hand twice, quickly. He mentally reached out as they walked towards their bedroom. There. It was faint, but it was unmistakable.

            Grey Wardens could feel the darkspawn because of the taint in both of them. The darkspawn could feel the Grey Wardens in the same manner. But this also meant that a Grey Warden, if they really focused on it, could feel other Grey Wardens, too.

            It was hard, though he’d actually had the easiest time of learning it, compared to the others. It was just a redirecting of one’s mental focus, so it reminded him a bit of the meditation he’d done in templar training. The mages had picked it up pretty easily, too. He still wasn’t sure if Oghren could manage it. Easy to learn or not, it wasn’t something he was used to doing, and even then, his brain wanted to just filter out this information as unnecessary. Grey Wardens didn’t really feel like darkspawn, since there was so much more in that Joining chalice than just blood. It was the taint but… different, just a little. Weaker, certainly, but also altered. He could almost taste the lyrium, too, even though he’d never had a sip of it during his time in the Chantry. It was all mixed in together, ‘herbs and spices’ as Anders was fond of saying. But the core of it was still the taint. He could still pick that out, if he concentrated.

            Once he began to focus, the first to register was Kivral, of course, walking right next to him, hand-in-hand as if nothing were wrong. Sekh still came up, despite his having been “cured” of the taint; it… lingered in the mabari, as if the wardog’s blood somehow carried the scars of it. Alistair could even feel the taint in his own blood, a little, like a distant echo.

            But there was another source of the darkspawn taint nearby, barely detectable, like a scent wafting to you from almost too far.

            He double-squeezed Kiv’s hand.

            They’d worked out a lot of non-verbal communication in their time during the Blight. It came in handy sometimes, especially when dealing with people who were less likely to think kindly of the two of them thanks to Loghain’s lies. He’d wondered if they’d ever have need of it again. It appeared they would.

            Her other hand lazily brushed along Sekh’s fur, petting him as if he were a family lap dog. He’s definitely got to know we’re being followed. He assumed she was calming the mabari, keeping him acting him normal.

            It had to be a rogue; Alistair heard no other footsteps. It was unlikely Nathaniel would be following them like this. Maaaybe Sigrun; sometimes she got in on the pranks. There was no way to tell. The darkspawn taint didn’t differentiate between people; it wasn’t as if Kivral felt different to Nate, for example. Grey Wardens felt different than darkspawn, but the taint itself was always the same: as if death had a… almost a scent, or a taste, but in your mind, and it was rotten, toxic, like poisoned meat left out to rot. And even after all this time, even now, so long after his Joining, something in him instinctively recoiled from it. It was brief, but it was almost that sense of instant fear that defined what the taint felt like. Almost.

            She leaned up to whisper in his ear, “Pretend I said something naughty,” and then giggled as she returned to walking normally.

            He snorted. “Minx,” he charged. “Can’t even wait until we’re in our bedchamber?”

            “It’s so far!” she protested with a pout.

            “Well then.” He bent and picked her up. He didn’t throw her over his shoulder this time but carried her in his arms.

            She looped her arms around his neck and gazed adoringly at him. He knew her well enough that he didn’t doubt she was keeping the hallway behind him in her peripheral vision this way.

            “Now you don’t have to walk it,” he said gallantly.

            When they reached their room, he opened the door and she ordered, “Sekh, stay out here.” The mabari dutifully circled a little and then laid down. He just happened to be facing out into the hallway. Good dog.

            Alistair kicked the door shut behind them, then set her back down on her feet. “Keep up the charade,” she whispered at him, before darting towards one of the tapestries, the one that depicted the Battle of Ayesleigh. She shoved it aside and started pushing on stones.

            He went to sit on the bed and watched her. “I have to get my boots off before my pants!” he cried, just a little louder than normal so it’d carry through the door. While he was at it, he did start to get his boots off. Might as well. He saw her shoulders shake with laughter and couldn’t help grinning.

            Finally, there was a slight scraping sound as one of the stones gave way beneath her hand. She stepped away from the tapestry and said, in a more petulant tone than he’d ever thought to hear from her, “I had such a long, hard day, ma vhenan… I need you. Hurry up!” Then she moved silently over to the door, listening, feeling.

            He stretched his own senses, but then gave up. The sense of another Warden was too faint, too strange perhaps, for him to make out through a heavy wooden door and stone walls. He picked his boots up, brought them to a section of floor with no rug and dramatically let them drop. “Okay, now that I don’t have boots on…”

            The tapestry billowed slightly, as if a breeze were blowing. Kivral darted, quiet as a mouse, towards it, and raised a finger to her lips as a servant woman came into the room. “I need a favor, uh… I’m sorry I don’t know your name.”

            She seemed surprised the arlessa would want to know it, but at least she did speak quietly. “Frieda, m’lady.”

            “Frieda,” she said. She glanced at the door quickly, then back to the servant. “Find out where Wardens Nathaniel and Sigrun are. If they’re not outside in the hallway, send one of them here to clear our ‘visitor’ out.”

            She nodded. “Yes, m’lady,” she whispered, and darted back into the hallway.

            “And now,” Kiv said, as the wall began to close behind Frieda, “back to our little play…” She was smirking ear to ear.

            He had to clap a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. When he thought he had control of himself, he asked, “And just what have you got in mind now, minx?” It wasn’t loud enough to be heard outside the room though.

            That didn’t seem to matter to her. “OH, MY LOVE!” she declared, more than loud enough. She practically threw herself against the door; as light as she was – especially compared to the door – it barely moved at all. “I MUST HAVE YOU NOW!”

            He had to swallow down a snort of mirth. She was hamming it up, and he decided to take her cue and run with it. “Right here?” he asked as he approached the door. “Right NOW?! But what about the BED?!”

            “Do I have to issue a command?!” she asked as if his lips were water and she was dying of thirst. In the middle of a pub. On Amateur Playwrights’ Night.

            “What do you need, O Love of My Life?” he inquired plaintively. “You have but to ask, and it shall be Yours!”

            She responded with a stream of Dalish that sounded like someone in desperate need of… physical loving. He didn’t know much of her native language, but he knew enough to give a rough translation of what she’d actually said as, “Damn filthy voyeurs!”

            He slammed his hands against the door, either side of her body; that made the door shake appropriately. “Whatever my commander, my love, my one and only-est desires,” he said, almost to the wood instead of to her.

            She was shaking with laughter again, and the look she was giving him truly was desperate, in that she seemed to be on the verge of guffawing loudly and giving everything away.

            So he kissed her, deeply, to keep the both of them quiet, because the ridiculous play-acting was going to have them both dissolving into loud peals of hilarity if they kept it up. He slid his hands down her sides, then picked her up, pressing her back against the firm oak behind her.

            She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and her arms loosely around his neck. Her moan was a bit louder than it might have otherwise been but was just the same as if they weren’t making believe for the sake of some sneak.

            He moved to her neck, kissing her throat before sucking hard, and she gasped, “MA VHENAN!” loudly. As far as his body was concerned, nothing about this was pretend, and he was on the verge of not really caring if someone heard them or not.

            But then, from the hallway, came a snort of laughter and then Sigrun’s voice in a knowing sing-song: “Oooooh, someone’s being naughty!”

            Alistair looked up and towards the hallway as if he could see through the door. There was a heavy slapping sound – she must have given the rogue a hearty dwarven smack on the back.

            “Commander catches you listening in on her and Alistair, you won’t make it to the Deep Roads, get what I’m sayin’? ‘Course, can’t blame you!” She laughed loudly. “We’ve all tried to listen in a time or two! Well, Oghren maybe more than most, but… Come on, buddy! I think if we head down to the kitchens, we can snitch some rolls leftover from dinner!”

            He looked to Kiv, who listened a moment and then nodded. He backed away from the door a bit then set her back on her feet. Not long after, the wall behind the tapestry opened back up. “M’lady?”

            “You can come in, Frieda,” Kiv said, heading over there.

            “They were both in their rooms. Miz Sigrun said…”

            “Yeah, we heard her. Thank you, Frieda. I’ll make sure Garevel gives you a little extra something in your next pay.”

            The servant woman blushed. She was the early end of middle-aged, Alistair guessed. Either that, or she’d had a damn hard life. “Thank you, m’lady, but… if I can speak honestly?”

            “Always.”

            “None of us much like these other Wardens. You and our good Ferelden Wardens here, you all treat us good, almost like you’ve known us years, even. Thems treat us like we’re not even servants, like we’re slaves. Couple of ‘em tried to have their way with some of the scullery maids downstairs.”

            Uh oh. Anyone could see her brows draw in and down, her mouth frown, her nose wrinkle in distaste, but Alistair could also see her hands curl into white-knuckled fists and her spine stiffen in outrage. He could almost feel the anger coming from her, like the heat from a fireplace.

            Frieda rushed to reassure her. “Garevel showed up in time, sent the girls on their way back to work and made sure to tell them afterwards to always work in pairs, to send someone after him if something like that happened again. He looks out for us. But… well, how much longer…?”

            The anger collapsed out of her. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’m sorry. The absolute earliest they’d leave would be overmorrow. I’ll do everything I can to make that happen.”

            “Thank you, m’lady. ‘m sorry to have troubled you with it.”

            “No, no,” she reassured the woman. “It’s no trouble. In fact, please do keep me informed. You work here, but you aren’t slaves or whores. No one is allowed to just do as they wish with any of you.”

            “Thank you, m’lady,” Frieda said again. She nodded at him, and then ducked back behind the tapestry.

            He waited until the servants’ door had closed up again before he sighed and looked to the bedroom door. “What do you think they expected to overhear from us?”

            “Likely hoping we’d be talking about tomorrow, about what we were going to say.” She sat on a stool near the tub and started unlacing her boots. “Ademar doesn’t have the first clue how we both survived, and it has to be driving him mad. Going into that little chat with some inkling would probably make him feel better.”

            “If nothing else, perhaps catch us in a lie,” he agreed, starting to unbuckle his armor. “Overhear us talking about what to say instead of the truth and then, when you say it tomorrow, he’ll know it’s made-up.”

            “We don’t know how much longer Sigrun can keep them away from the room. Or if they won’t send someone else, once they discover their first spy was found out.” She pulled her feet out of her now unlaced boots

            He nodded. “What do you suggest?”

            She rose from the stool and came over to help him with his armor, smirking up at him as she came in close. “Picking up where we left off?” she asked slyly as she began working buckles open.

            He arched an eyebrow. “I think I can do that.” He could feel a grin of his starting to slide across his lips.

            “And don’t worry about trying to be quiet.”

            That stopped the grin in its tracks. He could feel the heat coming into his face. “That… might be a bit…”

            “Oh, fine,” she huffed as if put upon. “I’ll be the loud one then.”

            That didn’t help his blushing, but he just bent to kiss her instead. Quickly, this time. After all, there was an awful lot of armor to be rid of first.