#dinner is ready archdemon

[amaryllis-sagitta]

Final thoughts on Solas after DATV 100%

So, after beating 100% I think it kinda gets better in the 2nd half of the game, but there's some moments where the Solas Experience feels just a little off... though it might sound nitpicky to those who enjoyed their time.

For the entire Act 1 and half of Act 2 I felt railroaded into hating Solas. Full on. The first 2 memories gave us an idealized picture of the rebel leader who's ready for sacrifices. Then the third memory destroyed that picture by showing how far Solas had gone in his sacrifices. That moment imo felt a little off because when Felassan pleaded to Solas, he looked so... smug. Then, midway through Act 2, it got a little better. After killing the first Archdemon, my Rook "earned Solas's respect" and their conversation felt sincere and much more on an equal footing. Then, the dinner with my Solavellan Inky who swore to save Solas shed some light on his motives. This section felt better because it didn't feel railroaded anymore, but more like a true exchange of perspectives, and there I felt I can change my mind, and even change Inquisitor's mind. That dinner with Inky gave me all I was missing - a chance to confront someone who had good information. Because Varric's advice has been trite and useless, and for a very good reason. So we were going off the opinions of people who only knew Fen'Harel The Warning.

All of this said, I feel like the reveal of Varric's death jumped the guns justt a little bit in bringing out Solas's trickster nature. I would have preferred if my Rook was given a chance to fail in that moment - to have a breakdown after they lose their first/ mandatory companion, for Solas to intervene then and do his thing. Then he could've come in with the same cold assessment that Rook can't make it. It wouldn't have hurt his treacherous characterization imo, because he still hid from us that killing Elgar'nan just like this would also tear down the Veil.

What puts me off just a little bit in that moment was how Solas is completely torn about some regrets and mentions others almost off-handedly, like tricking Rook is hardly a regret for him. I sincerely wanted to tell him to shove it when Rook got the dagger back in Minrathous.

Then, when we have made it after all and escaped the Fade prison with the power of Friendship, he wants to butter us up again and we are suddenly the best person to wield the dagger? I admit, I didn't suspect to see a moment when Solas would be... cowardly in such an unelegant way. But maybe that's how it's supposed to be? Maybe that's how much he feared Elgar'nan at the end of it all?

What follows re: Fen'harel's fight with Lusacan the Archdemon was 11/10. Sexy Dread Wolf form taking blows for us, almost dying several times and needing help? I LOVED the constant death scares in Veilguard's "suicide mission" that kept me on the seat's edge about blorbos!

About Solas/ Mythal... I am still a little mad that an emotionally tethered, terrified victim is forced to face his abuser and be released by her to get his closure, that he needs to be told that HE IS FORGIVEN. BY HIS ABUSER. FOR THE CONSEQUENCES OF ACTIONS CARRIED OUT FOR HER SAKE... But on the other hand, no-one else indeed could have reached him and ridden him of the guilt about Mythal. He was too stubborn to let go by himself. It really, really would have benefitted the narrative in overall if they dared make Mythal the ultimate antagonist whose nature had been obscured through myth and through pulling the wool over many party's eyes.

Many of us wanted a scene of Solas ugly sobbing as he experiences release from at least a part of his burden, and we got it.

So all in all, I feel the experience is a little bumpy in some moments but overally... more or less adequate?

[razrogue]

Because they are on my mind this morning...

I truly believe Briva and Zevran saved each other. Briva had no qualms about dying after rescuing her cousin and neighbors. She was ready to go down fighting right there in the alienage cause fuck shems thinking they can do whatever they want. Duncan saved her then but that feeling of fuck it, it's whatever never went away. After finding out about the ritual's effects and what it meant for her life, her attitude was just whatever, it is what it is. If she was meant to die then she would. It made her dangerous but reckless and Alistair and Sten were the only ones willing to tell her (in their own ways...well Sten was straightforward but still) you need to chill out a little bit. "I'm ready to die" was always in the back of her mind whenever they got into a fight. It was always the last one to her.

And then there was Zevran...

The assassin who failed miserably at his task thanks to the dangerously reckless elf standing over him as he came to, hoping he'd died himself. He pledged himself to her cause despite his own internal death wish. And despite everyone's protests, as Briva stood over him that day, she reached her hand out and said come with me.

Then one night after dinner, sitting near each other by the fire, Zevran asked her if she wanted to have a little fun and Briva said sure. And they continued fighting and continued having fun, until one day Briva decided to ask him sincerely to hang out together. Never mind that they'd seen every inch of each other and did things with each other that some didn't until at least 3 dinners and a drink together. It was the first time that both of them were just honest with each other. And so that night the two of them just talked. They talked honestly and openly and without judgment and they talked so long that the sun began rising and the camp began stirring. That night was the turning point for them. Not all the wonderfully delicious sex they'd had but the night the two of them let their guards down fully and really exposed themselves to each other. It was uncharted territory for both of them but they embraced it and walked on together.

From then on, they watched out for each other a little more. A throwing knife into a dark spawn who was getting a little too close. Sand thrown in the eyes of a bandit swinging in the other's vicinity. It was a bit of a dance for the two of them as they watched over each other while cutting down foes. They'd developed not only a harmony but a friendship then a relationship that was new for them both but a journey they'd decided on together.

And so the night before the archdemon's army reached Denerim, they laid together in silence, wrapped in each other's arms. Neither knowing what to say exactly but wanting to cherish the moment like it was the last. As Zevran slept soundly beside her, Briva thought to herself that she wasn't ready to die anymore. She wanted another day, another night, and to have many more with him at her side, in her bed, and in her heart. And she promised to him as he slept, "I will come back to you." With a renewed purpose, she was determined to not allow this battle to make a liar out of her.

[inquisimer]

HELLOOOOO MER I come a-crawlin and a-beggin for Ariya & Loghain with "We're a strange pair, aren't we?" from the Fall list?

HI RO thank you for this one, I'm holding them gently🥺 they're friends dammit

for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

Ariya’s daggers thrummed as she thrust them deep in the hurlock’s chest, sending wave of the Blighted song up through her arms into her mind. She pulled her blades free in a spurt of black blood and the corpse fell to the ground with a surprisingly mundane thud.

She scanned the field, ready to leap on the next foe, but it was empty save for a lone warrior. Loghain was already wiping his blade with a thoroughly stained cloth, cleaning the acidic darkspawn blood from the silverite edge.

“Took you long enough,” he said.

“Sorry we aren’t all muscle-bound giants with swords,” she muttered, dragging the felled hurlock over to the pile. She pulled her flint and striker from the pouch at her hip and set the sparks to the corpses, quickly stepping back as flame roared, consuming the putrid flesh.

“If you wanted to take the time to learn, there’s a spare blade right here. Even your spindly arms could lift one, in time.”

Ariya scowled, but there was no bite in the gesture. “You’ll be eating those words next time your caught in one of those claw traps.”

A good natured smile curled his lips as he held his hands up in surrender. “Say no more, serah. Shall we make camp?”

The sun had dipped below the horizon as they fought, leaving only dregs of light across the greying skyline. Ariya wrinkled her nose at the decaying bonfire before them.

“Downwind, perhaps?”

Scant weeks had passed since they put the Fifth Blight to bed. Every morning and all day long Ariya caught herself tripping, jerking upright, as though she’d forgotten a treaty, an alliance, some angle that would give them leverage against an irrational, mindless opponent. She dreamed of Blighted dragons, roaring in her face as her companions turned away, and she woke with an aching heart and sweat slicked hair.

But the archdemon was dead. Her companions had left her, but not until the end, and they would come back if she asked, she was sure of it.

Well, most of them.

Loghain had a proper fire stoked and chunks of potato roasting over the coals by the time Ariya had pitched the tents and returned from a quick bath in the nearby river. He took his turn to rinse the residual darkspawn blood from his skin and armor; just because it no longer posed a deathly threat to them didn’t mean it was any more pleasant when it lingered.

Dinner was ready when he returned and they ate in mutually comfortable silence, taking turns scratching Rinn behind his perky ears and slipping him scraps of meat when they thought the other wasn’t looking.

“We’ve largely cleared this region,” Loghain finally said, clearing his throat and staring up at the moon that had long since risen in the sky. “Where will we go next?”

Ariya hummed thoughtfully. The Thaw was well underway and there were few resources to combat it. Despite Alistair’s mitigating influence, the Arls and Banns were loathe to allow any Orlesian force—even one under the Warden banner—to cross their boarders. The last word she’d had was that they were mustering a force from the Free Marches, but communication there was sparse, at best, and they had to travel across the Waking Sea to boot.

So really it was just the Ferelden Wardens against the lingering darkspawn. All two of them.

She sighed and dragged a hand through her damp hair, shaking it out in the heat of the fire. She had a few haphazardly drawn maps, a slapdash list of areas to go, squirreled away to her by Zevran and Leliana in their underhanded ways. It felt as though she’d never have anything more official, despite Weisshaupt’s clear treatment of her as the local Commander.

“Up toward West Hill, I think. Seems to be where they’re fleeing.”

“We can skirt around Highever, then, clear out any stragglers along the border.”

Ariya nodded. “Teryn Cousland has a handle on his lands, but I’m sure he’d appreciate the help.”

“From you, perhaps.” Loghain snorted. “I’m sure he’d rather I not come within ten leagues of his territory.”

“Ah, but it’s good you’re traveling with such a scrawny elf, then, no?” Ariya chucked her empty stake into the flames; they flared, sent a shower of sparks into the inky night. “A scrawny elf who earned the unending devotion of Highever by saving their country and avenging their mutiny.”

“Howe was a fool.”

“He wasn’t the only one,” she remarked, but there was a smile in her quip. They’d hashed and rehashed, screamed and stabbed their mistakes and regrets to death. Perhaps strangers looking in wouldn’t understand, but Ariya took great comfort in a companion who, at the very least, was no worse than she had been at times.

Life went on, as her mother had liked to say. Their hearts beat out a Blighted duty and it was only that which held them to answer.

“I’ll take first watch,” she offered, reaching for her whetstone. “Can’t have the old man drifting off when there’s darkspawn on the fringe.”

His bemused snort tickled her ears and she smiled. It was a Blighted world, but they made it work.

[lindlingandschmetterwurm]

DAO | THE HERO OF RIVER DANE

"What I want? What an odd question. I want to ride back to Denerim, and sit in the War Room and find no empty chairs at the table. I want to lose nothing else. I want a line clearly drawn that I can defend. I want an end to this war. All of this can rightfully be called my fault. Whether or not you can do better, remains to be seen. But if you can make this the end, I will follow you, Warden, I swear it."

[whimsicallywayward15]

Kinktober 2021, Day - 19: Rough.

A/n: Hello y'all filthy bitches! This ones another Lucifer fic because, well, my girlfriend spun a wheel and it landed on Lucifer. Technically, it's the wheel's fault.

Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!

Pairing: Lucifer x MC (Ariadne Kondos)

Rating: Explicit (18+ Audiences)

Content Tags: Desk Sex, Lingerie, Seduction, Vaginal Fingering, Spanking, Teasing, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut

Summary: MC (Ariadne Kondos) helps Lucifer relieve work-related stress.

Prompt: Desk Sex | Collaring | Semi-Public

Word Count: 1,346

Note: Find the prompt list I am following here.

AO3 Link

Lucifer was, quite literally, buried in his work. Had been so for at least a few hours now. In his state of overwork, the demon had even ended up completely skipping dinner. With the festival fast approaching, he needed to quickly go through the applications and finalise the acts that would be the most suitable for the talent show. 

As he went through what must have been the hundredth application, he heard a knock on the door that led inside his office. He bristled, ready to flip off at whichever brother of his it was.

“Come in.” He called out to the person in a rather irritated voice.

“Lucifer~” Came in a very familiar feminine voice, causing him to look up.

And fuck everything if that wasn’t a mistake on the archdemon’s part as he felt his slacks tighten around the area of his crotch at the sight in front of him. There she stood, leaning against the doorframe, clad in a black babydoll lace lingerie and matching black heels. It was as if Aphrodite herself had set foot in his study, as ironic as it sounded with them being in the Devildom and all.

“What are you doing out of bed, darling?” He asked her, his voice smooth and enticing. It was evident to her that the Avatar of Pride was not in the least bit complaining about her presence.

The blonde entered the room, sauntering over in his direction, her hips swaying to an imaginary beat. On her way over, she noticed his state of undress; his coat long gone. tie hanging loosely around his neck with the top few buttons of his shirt undone, and his usual, perfectly coiffed hair in disarray. 

“Why, can’t I even check on you now, Lucifer?~” She asked in a purr as he took her hand in his and pulled her into his lap. But before she landed, his hand smacked her rear with a loud clap, causing her ass cheeks to bounce a bit as she moaned.

“Don’t think I don’t know why you’re here, little mouse. I could smell you when you were still at the entrance.” The raven-haired demon informed her with a smirk as she squirmed in his lap, his hard-on poking her ass. He wasn’t wrong though. While he had been elbows deep in his work, Ariadne had gone and gotten herself all hot and bothered. All thanks to the anime she had been watching while waiting for him to finish.

His fingers played with the hem of the babydoll, teasing her. “I-It’s not like y-you aren’t affected-!” She whimpered out, rolling her hips over his very prominent erection in retaliation and causing his breath to hitch before he caught her hips, his fingers moving inside the flowy fabric to run his cool fingertips against the heated, sensitive skin of her toned stomach.

“Lu-Lucifer…”

He leaned forward, placing his lips by her ear. “You know…? It should be a sin for you to wear black with that porcelain skin of yours~” He purred, licking the shell of her ear before gently nibbling on it, causing goosebumps to decorate the entirety of her lithe figure. “The sight makes me want to tear it all into shreds and cover your flawless skin in hickeys, marking you in every visible place and letting every being know that you, my mouse, belong to me.”

As he continued to speak, his hand dipped down and between her legs, rubbing her outer labia through the fabric of her panties. “So wet and I haven’t even touched you properly.” He growled out when he felt the drenched, sticky cloth mould to her pussy lips. She whimpered once more, bucking her hips into his touch in search of more.

“Please, Lucifer… this is torture…” She whined as he continued his relentless teasing. “Do you not think that you, arriving at the door of my study while dressed in this slinky lingerie of yours, is torture for me?” He asked her before actually shredding the set with his claws as his demon form flickered into existence, leaving her completely naked and vulnerable. Once that was done, he transformed back into his human form.

The demon took her off his lap. “Bend over, little mouse. And stay still.” He commanded. And she obliged with no complaint, her bare chest laying on the surface of the mahogany desk. Her hips were flush against the edge of it while her hands stretched out to grab at the opposite edge to stay unmoving just as he had instructed her to. With his knees, he spread her legs even more as the room’s cool air brushed past her heated nether region. She could feel her legs tremble in her heels and was silently thankful to have the table to ground herself and keep herself upright.

“You look so good, spread across my desk like this~” He purred, bending forward to kiss the curve of her gorgeous neck. His fingers brushed along her dripping slit, causing her to stifle a whine that had formed against the back of her throat. His teasing seemed to last forever and she could just hear the salacious grin that he had on his face as he fingered her oh so gently, leaving her on the edge of wanting more.

When his finger grazed her throbbing clit, Ariadne keened loudly, body trembling with the desire to get fucked right into the desk she was bent over against. “Daddy please… please please please…” She begged, on the verge of losing all coherency.

“Please what?” He asked, unbuttoning his slacks and pushing it down along with his boxers to free his aching shaft.

“P-Please fuck me…” She whimpered out. “With pleasure, he replied before pushing his weeping cock inside her slick pussy. The archdemon groaned at the lack of resistance from the woman’s hole as he bottomed out inside of her. “Look at you, sucking me all the way in without hesitation~”

He gave her only a few seconds to adjust before he took hold of her hips, pulling out until only his tip remained. With a hiss, he roughly slammed his hips against hers, hitting dead onto her sweet spot and making her moan. Her hips banged against the edge of the desk with every one of his rough, powerful thrusts. No doubt, there would be dark bruises there the next day.

With each pass, Lucifer let a little more of himself go, grunting in effort as he relished in the feeling of her hot walls surrounding him. Pleasure mounted between the pair as he fucked into her over and over until all she could do was moan his name, all sense of coherence gone. 

He knew he wouldn’t last long once he entered her and so, he chased his release inside of her. His hand snaked around her abused waist to reach for her swollen bundle of nerves, bringing her to climax in time with his own. With a grateful groan, he released all the pent up tension in him, spilling his hot seed deep inside of the blonde while her walls spasmed around him, milking every inch of him and accepting what he had given her so willingly. “Very good…” He cooed, his eyelids fluttering as he relished in the rush that came after such an explosive climax.

Ariadne whined, her body bruised and beaten, but also feeling absolutely boneless and euphoric. She hadn’t experienced anything like that with any of her partners before and it was all rather mindblowing to say the least.

Lucifer’s cock slipping out of her was what brought right back to reality as his cum dribbled out of her in a steady stream. Once he had carefully tucked himself in, he scooped her into his strong arms. 

“Come now. Let me draw a bath for the both of us and then I’ll join you in bed. I don’t think I can focus on completing any of that paperwork after a session like that.” 

Flustered, she buried her face into his chest, making him chuckle along the way.

DM me or comment if you want to be tagged in future posts!

[baejax-the-great]

5 Favorites

Thank you for the tags @pedlimwen and @noire-pandora!

I’ll tag forward @luzial @midnightprelude @juliafied @swaps55 @asaara-writes

If there are rules to this, I’m ignoring them in favor of posting 5 favorite sections from relatively recently posted writing. If you are thinking, “I haven’t written 5 different works!” 1. Congratulations on your commendable focus to your WIPs, please lend me some of it and 2. I’m pretty sure you can pick 5 sections from the same work.

1. From Serenity (Fenris x Hawke):

“I heard the funniest joke today,” she announced, feet barely over his threshold. “I was in the Lowtown markets, by that stall that sells those Antivan pancakes. As an aside, are the Antivans known for pancakes? It hardly seems like a cultural tradition. Fish stew, those little grape leaf things, olives—those are Antivan. Do you think the owner of that stall never learned to cook anything else back home and just decided to make the most of it when he got here? Ferdo, I think his name is. Have you ever bought one of his pancakes?”

Hawke’s words too quickly became background noise to his work, but when he finally parsed the question, Varric grunted an affirmative. Hot food was hot food, and Varric liked the weird, spicy sauce Ferdo put on it. Maybe she was right, though, and it was only there to mask the incompetence. Fuck if he knew. It never made him sick and it was exactly what it claimed to be. Good enough.

She took a date from his bowl, plucking out the seed before popping it into her mouth. “Maybe I should try one, then,” she mused, “May I have some?”

She didn’t wait for his next grunt, uncorking the bottle that was holding down his earnings reports and pouring herself a glass of wine. Varric flipped through his letters, he was certain he’d just had the one from the beet farm talking about the season’s yields. By the sound of it, Hawke had flopped into the chair across from him.

“So I was by that stall, and Gordon was there, you know, that idiot sailor who got himself punched silly last week when he tried to cheat Bran’s crew with some phony whisky. Still has some teeth left after that, and I guess he’s dead set on losing all of them.”

Varric found the letter and copied the numbers while Hawke told him about Gordon’s myriad problems. As long as Varric wasn’t expected to help her fix any of them, that was all fine. He was full up on friends with poor decision-making skills and poorer coin purses. The last pirate he befriended disappointed him bitterly, and he wasn’t ready to forgive them as a lot. He signed his last document with a flourish and realized Hawke had been silent for at least thirty seconds. He tried to remember what she’d last said to him. “Wait, what? Was any of that a joke?”

2. From The Depth of Fear (Bethany x Alistair):

“Why?” she sneered, stabbing at her dinner, “It’s not your fault Loghain threw the battle at Ostagar and left my home to rot. Or that two Wardens weren’t enough to save the entire South.”

Alistair flinched, though he couldn’t say why. It really hadn’t been their fault, as far as he could see. A bit late on the beacon, sure, but that didn’t matter when the rest of the army had already fled the field. And he had killed Loghain for that, among other things, so justice was served, he supposed. Not that justice brought anyone back who was lost. Somehow, watching her attack her meal with the sort of gusto he’d seen her apply to melting an ogre, he still felt a pang of guilt. “We could have been faster at finding the Archdemon I guess.”

She held a forkful of potatoes aloft while parsing his words, her expression softening into recognition.  “Maker, you’re him? That Alistair. The other Warden. With the Hero.”

Alistair nodded, poking at his beans. “That’s my preferred title, you know. That Alistair, the Other Warden. Snappy. Gets the point across.”

3. From First Contact (Garrus x Shepard):

“Shepard, I’ve always wanted to ask…”

She took a deep breath and smiled. It was only a matter of time. “You can touch it.”

“Oh, uh…”

“My hair, right? Aliens always want to touch human hair.” Tali had asked weeks ago. Liara had asked back on the SR-1. Wrex had simply gone for it one day with a terrified crewmate who asked to be transferred later. But Garrus had shown remarkable self-control that led to Shepard wondering if he had secretly asked Kaidan back in the day. Kaidan’s hair might have been better, honestly. He had more of it than Shepard did. Still, the thought almost stung.  

“Yeah, in C-SEC we actually had to make a public service campaign to stop people from touching humans. The Drell got it in their heads that touching human hair was good luck. We had posters around reminding them it was technically assault.”

Shepard laughed, trying to imagine what that poster must have looked like. Various aliens grabbing at terrified and offended humans, probably. Touching humans: Not even once. “That is what you were going to ask, though, right?”

His mandibles flexed out and back in. “Well… yeah…”

“You can cop a feel, Vakarian.” She raised an eyebrow. “But only if I can touch yours.”

4. All of TEOS, but sure I’ll pick these lines today:

Zevran put a hand on his back.

“What a terrible burden to realize you are attracted to your wife.”

Alistair shot him a dark look. It was a burden. And a mistake. It was all a lot easier when he thought she’d be some scary warmongering shrew.

“You’re allowed to love her, Alistair. There aren’t any rules against it.”

“I wouldn’t even know how,” he muttered, pushing himself away from the window.

5. And I guess this from Red (Fenris x Hawke):

It was easy to convince himself to keep drinking against the red glow of his fingers. He never thought he could feel a deeper loathing for his own skin, a deeper sense of betrayal or fear or disgust. He’d long come to find a gentle neutrality toward the markings. They made him a weapon, but he was master to himself. They’d sent him on a path, and somewhere along the way he had controlled the destination. And it had been good, so good. To once again lose everything—his past and now his future— to pretty marks etched artistically into his flesh… he could almost hear Danarius laughing.

So he turned his gaze to Hawke. An hour ago he had steeled himself to never see her again. If he’d gotten on his horse faster, urged her into a canter, he would have done it. Left her behind and faced his fate. But she—she always saw a path where he didn’t. She offered him a future, and he wanted it so badly.  Lasts be damned, he kissed her. Hard. Red hand on the bottle and white hand in her hair. He should have known that she’d find hope in this, their most hopeless situation yet. She tasted of hope; she exhaled it in every breath. He kissed her like it was the first time and they had all the time in the world to get it right. And then he kissed her again because he could, right now he still could, and right now was everything.

Hawke pulled away first, and he dropped his head against her shoulder.

“Next time we have a problem, we sort it out together,” she said, “I don’t join the Inquisition, and you don’t ride off to die alone when you get a spot of rash.”  

“I promise,” he drawled into her neck.

[saint-jimmys]

Blushing

Day 5 of @14daysdalovers (●´ω｀●)

Word Count: 767

Pairing: M!Cousland x Anora

Summary: Anora prepares for the return of her husband, the Prince-Consort.

Available on AO3!

Anora rarely blushed. Blushing implied that she was easily embarrassed, easily flustered, but that was not at all true.

Still, as with everything, there were exceptions to this. Hadrian Cousland, the Prince-Consort, was one such exception. Anora would have never dreamed that in her union with the Hero of Ferelden she would find an equal in all ways; one who supported her every step of the way and in turn carried his own weight in their ruling of the nation. Hadrian’s passion for his country and countrymen only rivaled her own, and by putting their minds together in the years since the Blight, they had successfully ushered in a golden age for their beloved Ferelden. Trade was on the rise, the royal coffers were replenishing, and harvests were plentiful. Their people were slowly yet surely recovering--a testament not just to the competence of their rulers, but the grit and determination of the Ferelden people.

In essence, Hadrian had become her confidant and most trusted advisor. And only he could truly elicit the rare blush in her.

She would’ve been content, of course, if the benefits to their union had ended at political convenience. Anora had asked for nothing more from him. In this, however, she ended up pleasantly surprised. What began as a union of advantages and shared views for the prosperity of Ferelden blossomed into something more. And that something had her happier than she had felt in ages.

This evening there was to be a gathering celebrating the return of her dear husband from a months long excursion with the Grey Wardens. His position as Warden Commander of Ferelden required his presence just as much as his royal role, after all. She had spent weeks preparing as a result, consulting with many servants and caterers alike so that all would proceed smoothly. She wanted it to be the perfect respite for him after all she had learned. His letters to her had described some true horrors, and others that he had yet to reveal. She would be lying if she claimed she hadn’t grown anxious for his safe return, for his sake, the country’s, and her own rather selfish one. Luckily, he was set to return to her and she wanted to see him before the gathering began, to steal some precious moments with him once he arrived.

Anora waited for him in their bedroom once she heard word of his arrival, sitting on their bed with her hands folded in her lap. It wasn’t long before she heard voices in the hallway, footsteps headed in the direction of the bedroom, and the doors begin to unlock. Hadrian entered the room with a roguish grin on his lips as he saw her.

“Hello, my dearest wife,” he said, closing the door shut behind him. “I looked for you everywhere, but I should’ve known you’d be waiting for me here.”

A small smile of her own graced her lips and she stood from the bed. “I see that you’ve made it back in one piece, my husband.”

“Surprised?” he asked, jokingly, as he slowly began to approach her.

“Not at all. You’ve defeated an Archdemon. I’m afraid there must be very little that can knock you down,” she said, matter-of-factly. 

Hadrian chuckled, crossing the final bits of space between them and bringing her into his arms. He then crushed his lips into hers to kiss her, deeply.

Now this, this was something she had only gotten used to fairly recently. Unlike Anora, her husband was more outgoing when it came to expressing his affections, whereas she was more subtle. And although this was the case for her, she still very much enjoyed the attention he gave her. She practically melted into his embrace. Once they drew away, she was quite noticeably flushed. 

“Hadrian…”

“Maker, how I’ve missed you.”

“As I you.” She held onto his hands. “I hope you enjoy tonight’s dinner. I spent a great deal of time preparing…”

“I know I’ll love it,” he reassured, giving her hands a squeeze. He then gave her a devious look. “But, what I’ll enjoy more is the time we’ll spend together afterwards.”

She shook her head, a smile still tugging at her lips before she gently shoved at him. “Go on and start getting ready. It’ll be starting rather soon.”

Hadrian gave her a small salute. “As you say, my love.”

And as he turned to prepare, Anora simply stood and watched him for a few moments before stepping out of their room to inspect the progress of the gathering’s preparations. 

Oh, how she loved him.

[ramblinganthropologist]

Writober 2020 - 17 (Cold)

Summary: Cahel Mahariel likes the cold... but it finds him frustrated more often that not. 

---

That night, the sky was orange.

Cahel's breath created steam as he trudged through the snow, cloak wrapped tight around him. Down the hill, his clan was sleeping through the winter night. In the morning, they would wake to the layer of white deposited on their aravels and the keeper would melt it away. Until then, the world belonged to him.

At the peak, he had a clear view of the entire area. Off in the distance, a hunter's campfire burned as a point of light in a dark forest. He heard the rustling of bare branches, the whisper of owl's wings as they too set out to hunt. All of it was quieted by the snow falling softly around him, covering the dead grass and muddy ground with pure white.

He loved nights like this. It felt clean.

Cahel sought a stump in order to look up at the sky. The fact he had to brush snow off bothered him little as he sat, curled up in his cloak. Snow began to fall on his shoulders, but he didn't mind. He was content to watch it fall, still as the world around him.

If only down below was like that.

He frowned, drawing his cloak closer. Despite the fact he was almost 18, Marethari still wasn't letting him take the final hunt to earn his vallaslin. Hunters a year younger than him already had the ink settling into their faces, but he had nothing to show for his efforts. It was frustrating, to say the least – he wasn't incompetent. In fact, the head hunter said he was one of the best archers he had seen in quite some time.

So why weren't they letting him go?

“This better not be because of ada...” he sighed, closing his eyes. “No... it's probably not because of him. Marethari promised it wouldn't be.”

But then why? He knew how to hunt, he had taken down game. They could leave him on his own and he was perfectly fine. All of that indicated he was more than ready to prove himself. Besides, it wasn't like a whole year was being held back. All those he had trained with had long since passed on, some even beginning their families. He was left behind, to glance at their footsteps and wonder when it would be his turn.

“I don't get it!”

His voice rang out on the hill, and somewhere a bird startled to life in the bush. Cahel watched it fly, frowning as he felt the cold wind against the tips of his ears. Part of him had hoped coming to watch the snow fall would help settle his nerves, but it only seemed to be making things worse. At the rate he was going, he wouldn't sleep at all.

Tomorrow was going to be rough at that rate... but it wasn't like he was doing anything important anyway.

“Shit... I just want to know why...”

His question was met not with an answer, but the crunching of feet on snow. Someone was coming up the hill at an easy pace, though they slipped once if the muffled cursing was anything to go by. The voice was familiar, and caused him to chuckle as he turned to face them.

“You're loud, lethallin.”

Tamlen had snow on his head and the knees of his leggings were wet from the snow. He ignored his friend's snickering as he came to rest on a nearby stone. When he tilted his head to glance up at the sky, the lines carved into his face seemed to match the dark sky.

Unlike Cahel, he had passed.

The thought made the apprentice hunter frown as he pulled his cloak closer. “Sorry... better here than down in the aravel, I guess.”

“Yeah, you would've been tossed on your ass for sure.” Tamlen chuckled at the thought, but then he frowned. “Usually, you like watching the snow though. What's wrong?”

Cahel sighed as his shoulders fell. “What's always wrong?”

The other elf winced in sympathy as he nodded. “Ah. Your cram-”

That earned him a glare from a rather red-faced elf who would rather not have to think about that. He still had a few weeks before he was suffering. Better to not mention it and bring it early. For all they knew, the gods were listening and ready to spite him.

Tamlen was, as always, good at reading that look. “Ah. Not that.”

“Not that.” Cahel sighed as he brushed some snow from his cloak. “Marethari still won't let me go on my hunt.”

Part of him knew he sounded like a sulking child when he said it like that. After all, he wasn't the first elf to meet 18 without his vallaslin. But he was the first actually competent one in quite some time, at least by his calculations. Other hold-backs often didn't know their ass from an arrow, to say the least. That didn't make him feel any better though... in fact it only made his mood darker.

Tamlen frowned at the info. “You asked her again?”

“Before dinner, yeah.” He shrugged. “She said I wasn't ready and that I needed to wait.”

That made Cahel stand as frustration propelled him to his feet. “How am I NOT ready, though? You've seen me in action, I can do it!”

Part of him wanted to just march down to Marethari's aravel and demand she tell him what the holdup was. He didn't, though. That wouldn't exactly help his case if he was acting like a child about things. Besides, she might blast him out onto the snow, and then where would he be? He liked not being on fire, thank you very much.

It was still tempting though...

“I know you are, it's weird...” Tamlen frowned. “Perhaps she wants you to wait until spring?”

“She said no last spring.” Cahel ticked the rejections off his fingers. “And summer. And fall. I ask her every season and she keeps telling me I'm not ready. You think she would at least tell me how I could become ready, I'm no good to anyone stuck back in camp!”

Well, he was good for watching the small kids and baby halla when he wasn't helping the hunting teacher. When it came down to it, he was becoming quite the errand boy. Cold fear struck his stomach at the thought that Marethari might have been preparing him for that... but then he let it go as soon as it came. After all, if that was true she would've stopped him from hunting. You didn't exactly need an errand boy to pull a bow properly.

But that was the last of his explanations, so there wasn't much else he had in mind.

Tamlen watched his antics and shook his head. “I don't know, then.”

“That's the problem, I don't know.” Cahel plopped back onto his stump, sighing a cloud of steam as his ears drooped. “Creators, I hate this...”

Tamlen left his rock at his words. The elf soon joined him on the stump, close enough to touch. It was at least a little warmer now, though the wind was still chill as it blew across the hill top. Down below, the campfire flickered. Hopefully the hunter had success...

“You'll get it, I know you were.” Briefly, their hands met and squeezed together. It was something new they had started, something unsure in their routine. Cahel's face heated up as he saw Tamlen's gaze on him. The look in his eyes was new too, and something about it excited him in a way nothing else ever had. “I'll be the first one to congratulate you when you do.”

He smiled, briefly. “Thanks, Tam.”

“No problem...” he paused, looking back down the hill. “Now... can we go back to the aravel? It's cold out here, and we're going to catch a cold at this rate.”

Now it was Cahel's laughter that rang out into the darkness as he stood, brushing the snow from his cloak. “Alright, we can go back. Can't have the mighty hunter freezing to a stump.”

Together, hands still laced, they started back down the hill to the waiting aravel. No doubt the next morning was going to be messy and tiresome, but at least he felt a little better. Doubts still ate at his mind, but... he felt like he was going to be able to sleep.

So... bring on the errands come morn, he supposed.

---

Even in Amaranthine, the snow laid thick.

“What the hell are you even doing out here?”

Miris' nose sounded stuffed up as they walked along the top of the fort. It was a dark night, and the snow falling turned the sky above their heads orange. Down below, Vigil's Keep was quiet. In the morning, they'd have to do some shoveling.

That he'd give to someone else. He hated shoveling.

Cahel kept his cloak close as he walked along the stones. “I like being out when the snow's falling. The world looks clean.”

A good cleaning was exactly what it needed after the Blight. They were still finding remnants of the horde in pockets of Ferelden that they had to put down and burn before someone got tainted. The land still bore the scars, especially at Denerim. They would be rebuilding for months, maybe years, before things were back to normal.

Yet... somehow, they had won.

Cahel stopped to stare over the wall. In the distance, he saw Amaranthine and the Waking Sea beyond it. At the distance he was at, it looked like a pane of dark glass reflecting the snowy sky above. Something about it was strangely peaceful, as if the world had gone to bed.

“That still doesn't answer why you're up here. You could see the snow from anywhere in Vigil's Keep.”

Miris and Stumpy were back a ways, surveying the area. Technically, neither should have been on night duty thanks to the warrior's poor eyesight. The problem was that they were stretched a little thin at the moment, so it was all hands on deck.

Cahel shrugged. “Figured I should relieve you. You're night blind.”

“Among other things.” Miris looked relieved, however. He picked up his maul, laying it across his shoulder. “Thanks... I'll cover your morning shift for you. Don't let anything kill us while we sleep, Commander Squirt.”

The rogue rolled his eyes as he settled onto the wall. “Can do, Senior Warden Cyclops.”

There was no barb to their words at this point – they were too close for that now. It happened when  you slayed an Archdemon together and lived to tell the tale. That of course didn't mean they stopped teasing each other – that would be bizarre. But, it was friendly now. Mostly.

Miris and his dog disappeared down the stairs, leaving Cahel to the sky. His breath came out in a fog of steam as he stared out at the ground below. Without the moon, he wasn't sure what time it was. Probably after midnight, but other than that he was lost.

“Well... here I am again, watching the sky.”

Cahel wasn't sure who was talking to – it certainly wasn't his dog. Tamlen was in the capital city, trying to bolster their mabari numbers. He had no other company other than the torch and the snow, and neither of those could respond to his words.

But he said it anyway, as he looked down at the necklace hanging from his neck. He had gotten it half a year prior attempting to save someone who didn't deserve it in the slightest. Not that it mattered- Eamon's days were numbered by a number of assassins – but he had promised Alistair he would try. After that, the man was on his own.

Tamlen, the real Tamlen, had been there, but not there at the same time. After all, Cahel hadn't been able to touch him, or to hold him one last time. His ghost, maybe, had given the necklace to him as they stood in the gauntlet. A lifetime had passed between them in those few moments before he smiled and faded away, never to be seen.

It had been good to see him, especially after...

Cahel still didn't like thinking about that. He tried his best to block it out, but the memories still leaked through in the quiet of the night. Something had needed to replace the Archdemon eating him, he supposed. They were getting less by the day, but sometimes they still got to him. It had gotten to him that night – it was why he was awake.

“I still don't have my vallaslin, you know. Found out why – Marethari wanted to make me a clan guardian.” He laughed at the empty air. “Can you imagine that, me a warrior? The armor weighs more than I do.”

Nobody was there to answer his laughter. There was just the cold air and the soft snow falling all around him. Cahel watched it, sighing as he pulled his cloak closer. Day by day, he was getting over it. Maybe it wouldn't hurt so much in time.

Or maybe it would always hurt a little. Some wounds did.

“I miss you, Tam.”

His ears lowered as he stared across the snowy landscape. “Hope you're alright, wherever you are. It would suck if you were stuck in the Gauntlet.”

If the gods were kind, Tamlen was somewhere warm and safe. That's all he could hope for as he watched the snow fall on Vigil's Keep. If he couldn't be there, may he be somewhere he could no longer be hurt. That all he could ask for, though he doubted they heard his pleas.

“Stay safe, lethallin.”

He sighed once more and allowed himself to fall into the routine of watching from the top of the Keep. Come morning, he was going to have to find someone to shovel it all up, but that was when morning broke. Until then, he was content to watch the snow.

[rxdonmyledger]

Coming home

Summary:  Sometimes you can't help it. Sometimes you want to forget. But sometimes you just need someone who you can call home.

This was not one of my best summaries, I'll admit. But we all love a sassy and cute Alistair.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age or their characters/lore/story.

I hope you enjoy it. I think we all have a thing for this sweet puppy. I tried to keep my female Amell without description except for the hair, so anyone can immerse themselves in the story.  I do not ask anything but if you want to support my writing and my economic situation, I could give you my Ko-fi! Thank you in advance. Anyway, enjoy my stories!

Besides, I’m not as active as I used to be here but if you want to keep reading my stories you can find me in my AO3 account. I am currently working on a Loki x Natasha fanfic if you want to read it!

The sunset turned the sky into a purple mantle that covered Denerim. The voices of the last merchants in the market echoed in the void. It could be possible to hear a fainted reminder of the Elf Alienage.

Another day passed.

He sighed and looked at his cup of wine, twirling it so the liquid caressed the inside. He was wearing simpler clothes than he was used to, the mantle long forgotten in his wooden chest, in the room. It was a weight on his shoulders he did not want to carry. At least not when he had the opportunity to be alone.

Claiming Ferelden’s throne had never been in his mind. In his own opinion, he was the last person capable of giving orders. Or leading. Maker, he didn’t even feel capable to lead the Mabari during his Blight days. And yet, it seems that it had not been his choice. It never was. Neither was his marriage to Anora.

Anora.

He snorted as he thought of his wife, emptying the cup before filling it again. The sweet smell of wine calmed his senses and he leant against the stone banister. One of the rooms near his had the windows open and he could hear the maids talking and chuckling, trying to muffle their sounds. He smiled at it, trying to remember when everything was easier. When he was a child, running down the halls of Redcliffe, or when he was a young man, training to be a templar.

His mind wandered to his wife again. Anora. How could someone describe Anora? Well, she was ambitious. She was determined and knew how she wanted things to be done. And she knew how to have them done. She was strong and she knew how to rule a country, that was out of question. Actually, she had been doing it for years while she was married to Cailan.

Yet, he didn’t like her. They got on well in the end, after a quite…difficult start in their marriage. The idea of beheading her father was a tricky matter. Yet, in the end he had learnt plenty of qualities from her and Eamon. How to rule, how to be a tactician. He could be well-versed in war and battlefield, but she was an expert politician and she knew how to manipulate those arrogant noble people to act on Ferelden’s benefit. He had to admit that.

She was good.

They were not close friends. But they respected each other and tried to improve their relationship. They would never be lovers, they both knew that. But the alliance had been better than they had expected.

Up to this time, he was still confused with her decision. The night he had come to his chambers and asked him to marry Anora if he wanted to go on with his birthright as Maric’s son and Ferelden’s heir. He had been astonished and he remembered himself standing in the middle of the room, the fire with a glowing orange light that outlined her figure, leaning against the fireplace. Maker, it seemed her ginger hair was on fire too.

“Don’t you…don’t you love me?”

Oh, sweet Andraste. The deeply sad smile she had forced in her beautiful lips. The way her shiny eyes had gone over his own face, as if he were still a child who needed to learn more about the real world. Probably that was the most probable option.

“I’m doing this because I love you, idiot” she replied with a faint voice and a playful tone. “Do you think you’d be allowed to marry someone…well, someone like me?”

Yes, he was an idiot. An idiot in love who thought that would be enough. But sometimes, desire was not enough. And then Morrigan’s thing had come. Maker, he hated when his mind wandered to that night.

What he remembered perfectly was him going back to his own chamber, finding her sitting on the bed, back against the headboard and hugging her knees. Seeing her like that broke his heart. His mind was blank, and he just approached the bed, laying on the soft mattress, too good to be real, after years of sleeping on a bedroll or the ground. She just laid by his side and opened her arms, as she always did, welcoming him. Her whole body surrounded him, and her hands rubbed his hair the way he loved.

They had made love. Slowly. Intimately. He wanted to erase every single rest of Morrigan’s touch. And she was the only one capable of doing that. Nobody knew what would happen. Would they defeat the Archdemon? Would they survive? Or would the world immerse in a future of darkness and despair?

If they had to die, at least they would live first. Together.

At first, he had his doubts about keeping her as his…Maker, he hated that word. Mistress. She did not deserve that. He wanted to be with her, marry her. Yet, she had been terribly pragmatic as always. Even Anora agreed with the deal, claiming Cailan had his own lovers. At least she would like this one.

It was done.

The arranged marriage was made public in the Landsmeet, after she had defeated Anora’s father, punishing him for his crimes. He thought about Loghain sometimes. He had betrayed his king and fellow warriors. He had committed treason. And yet, he had been helpful and valuable to Ferelden for years. Time had passed and he sometimes considered if it was the right thing to do.

He had made a speech and promised to come back to marry Anora after fighting the Blight. Everyone had celebrated the coronation of a Theirin heir. But his mind was not on the speech or the people who listened to him. He was like a tranquil, repeating the words that had been handed to him. His eyes wandered on those surrounding him, looking for his companions.

But they were nowhere in sight. And that broke his heart. Specially when it came to her.

He was alone in this.

Yet, he didn’t blame them. His companions had followed her to the fight. She was the natural leader, a sweet-caring woman with the rage of a dragon that could sew a mouth with her magic, a simple movement of her long fingers. She loved him, and he understood it was not easy to her to watch the man she loved marrying another woman, even if their relationship was going to continue.

He sighed and heard a soft knock on his door, followed by the creaking of the wood. He didn’t turn. It was probably Helena or one of the maids with his dinner.

“Leave it on the table. I’m not that hungry now”

But a king must be strong and healthy. You must eat something.

He could hear Eamon’s and Teagan’s voice in his mind. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts while the sun started to disappear in the horizon. The night was calm and silent. And that was when he noticed.

Too silent.

He had not heard the maid leaving the room and a shiver ran down his spine. His hand left the cup of wine with deliberate movements and went for the dagger in his belt, prepared to defend himself from the threat. Even if he was not a fighter anymore, he was still skilled and prepared. Strong and fast, ready to attack.

Suddenly, a painless aura seemed to envelop his body and he discovered with fear that he couldn’t move a single inch. He tried to resist, to wriggle and escape from that magic prison. Maker’s sake, he hated that. Magic was something that kind of admired but feared, knowing he could be powerless in a battle with a mage.

Then he heard it. A chuckle.

Her chuckle.

“Alistair Theirin. I’m surprised you let me defeat you so easily” Her voice. Soft like silk sheets. Like a Sunday morning with the sun peeking through the curtains. Even in his state, without looking at her, Alistair could notice she was grinning.

“Eyra” The feeling of her magic surrounding him disappeared and he sighed, rubbing his muscles before turning.

There she was. With her light purple tattoos on her face. Her red hair framing her beautiful features and her clothes, typical of a mage. She never felt comfortable with the heavy Grey Wardens clothes. She always said they made her feel slow.

Memories hit him as if someone had punched him in the stomach. The first time he saw her when she was a mere recruit, brought by Duncan from the Circle after doing only the Maker knew what. The way they had survived, how he had hugged her when she appeared from the inside of Flemeth’s house. Camp nights, telling stories and mocking the other.

Their first kiss. Their first…Oh, sweet Maker.

Eyra approached the man with a smile and the air was cut from their lungs. Even if she kept her façade, she was as nervous as he was. It had been too many years. A long time separated from each other.

“I…I…” he stuttered, and she laughed, watching as blush crept from his neck to his cheeks before his lips twitched in that boyish smile she loved. The way she could make him nervous was unbelievable.

“You…you” she teased, crossing her arms over her chest before Alistair ran and picked her up, making her to scream. “Alistair, no!”

They twirled and laughed, not caring about anybody hearing them. They knew. Everybody knew about their king being in love with the Commander of the Grey Wardens and they did not care. Anora and him were good, so what?

“I can’t believe you are here!” he exclaimed, burying his fingers and face on her hair. She still smelled like blueberries. “Unless I fell from the balcony and I hit my head. That could be a possible reason as well”

“It seems you are the same idiot I left here” Eyra replied with a smile, nuzzling her face on his shoulder, resting her body against his. His hands went to her waist and he chuckled, the vibrations rumbling against her chest.

“C’mon. You love it”

“Just because I have no choice with you it doesn’t mean I love you”

“Ahhhhhh, you said it. You said you love me” Alistair started to pinch her and hit her with his index finger, only for her to laugh and try to escape from his strong grip.

“Maker’s breath, you’re the king of Ferelden. Behave!”

“That’s why I can allow myself to misbehave”

“You are unsufferable” She replied, and Alistair stared at her. The last sunrays made her hair shine. It was like a fire, threatening to consume him all. Her sweet smile and her lovely eyes on his own. “How you have you been here?”

“A few hours”

“What? And you didn’t come to see me?”

“I was having tea with Anora”

Alistair’s face was priceless at this information and Eyra chuckled, walking inside the room and taking off his cloak, tossing it on a chair. The man followed her like a puppy, and he moved his hands in an exaggerated manner.

“Are you telling me you went to have tea with my wife before coming to see me?” Eyra bit her lip and nodded, smiling like a child. Alistair huffed and feigned indignation. “My wife and my lover together! I can’t believe! Having tea and pastries without me”

“Don’t forget the cake, dear”

“Of course! You had cake without me! I despise you, Mage” he added with a voice that was intended to sound cruel and mischievous but failed in the attempt.

Both women had forged a bond over the years. Eyra had admitted Anora’s qualities as a queen and Anora was surprised with her work as the Commander of the Grey Wardens and her title as Arlessa of Amaranthine. When some political matters had to be discussed, Eyra usually went to Anora and the queen looked for her advice when necessary. All of this under the astonished gaze of Alistair, who could not believe it.

“Cailan had his affairs, dear” Anora had said one night they were having dinner together. “I don’t mind you having one. Especially if you truly love her. I can’t blame you and this political situation. Besides, she’s an exquisite person. A natural leader and an incredibly talented mage”

Maker, he had not only one but two pragmatical women.

“Did you even bring me a piece, at least?” Eyra pointed at the tray with her head and Alistair grinned like a child. “Andraste’s breath, I love you. Did I say that? Yes? Good”

“You love me because I brought you cake?”

“AND cheese!” Alistair exclaimed, raising his plate before taking a mouthful of food, much to Eyra’s disgust.

“Honestly, my mabari has better manners than you while eating”

“But I smell better”

“Well” Eyra scrunched her nose. “You are levelled with him”

“Hey! Don’t hurt my manly feelings, you woman!” Eyra raised her hands, smiling and took the fork to grab some food.

Time passed and both enjoyed a delightful dinner. It was summer and the balcony’s door was open, allowing the soft night breeze coming into the room. The candles lightened Eyra’s face and made her eyes shine with sparkles. Even her tattoos seemed brighter. Alistair had his chin on his hand, listening to her stories about how she had wandered around the world.

“Honestly, I thought that beast was going to bite me” she finished with a chuckle, shaking her head and taking her cup to drink. Before it took her lips, Eyra smiled sweetly at her lover’s gaze. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just…I missed this. I missed you” Alistair grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles, one by one, making her giggling. His brown eyes looked at her intensely. “Did you…come here to tell something about…?

He didn’t even finish the sentence before she shook her head. Eyra already knew what the question was.  The reason why she had left Amaranthine to go all over Thedas. The reason why Alistair and the mage had been separated for years.

He knew he was pressured to have a child. An heir to the Theirin legacy. A new king or queen of Ferelden. Yet, with the taint, it was difficult. He had tried several times, even if he avoided Anora’s chambers as much as he could. Yet, it was useless. She was not pregnant.

Alistair remember their wedding night. He was nervous, sweaty, and the looks she was giving him didn’t help. He didn’t want to sleep with Anora, he wanted to sleep with Eyra. Still, his wife talked to him, trying to calm him down enough to perform his duty. And he did, with a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

“I’m sorry, my love” Eyra muttered in a mere whisper. Alistair’s eyes softened and he leant to press a kiss to her forehead.

“It’s not your fault. You will do it. If someone can, it’s you. I still remember our days in the party, from one side of Ferelden to the other, fighting darkspawns and monsters and dragon and you were the sweetest girl I’ve ever met” Eyra smiled softly, leaning against his shoulder. She loved the sound of his voice. “And you were always caring for us. Protecting us”

“And trying to stop Morrigan and you from killing each other”

“Oh, and do you remember when I felt jealous of your mabari?”

“What?” Eyra frowned and observed Alistair’s face turning crimson. Her mouth opened and she squealed. “Andraste’s breath! You were jealous of a dog!”

“No, I…did I say that? No, no. Of course not” Alistair coughed and tried to cover his blush with his cup, while Eyra held her head with her hand, grinning at him. “Okay, fine! Maybe I was a bit jealous of your dog. I mean, he could sleep with you!”

Eyra laughed heartily until tears rolled down her cheeks and her stomach hurt. Alistair had his arms crossed over his chest, staring at her with an eyebrow raised.

“I’m sorry. It’s just so funny. It seems they were right”

“What? Who?”

“Leliana, Zevran, Morrigan…” she counted with her fingers and Alistair slapped his face, shaking his head.

“Maker…I’m embarrassing myself”

“Yeah, well. That’s part of your charm, I guess”

“Is that so? Well, then…” Effortlessly, he grabbed Eyra and placed her over his lap, with her legs on the sides. He nuzzled his nose against hers, smiling. “Tell me, what other charms are irresistible to you”

“I didn’t say you were irresistible”

“You don’t have to. I can see it over your beautiful puppy eyes when you look at me”

Eyra sighed when he wriggled his eyebrows, his smile always in his lips. She chuckled and put both arms around his neck, lowering her voice while biting her lip. It had been a long time since they held each other. It was like an echo of another time. Their bodies had memory and remembered every single kiss and touch. And sweet Andraste, how much they had missed it.

Alistair’s hands cupped both of her cheeks and she leant, closing her eyes and enjoying that feeling. He stared at her, mesmerized, trying to memorise every single feature of her for when she left. Unable to hold himself any longer, he leant and pressed his lips against hers, a soft, delicate, and feather-like kiss that made their heads to spin. They felt dizzy as their mouth moved in a non-spoken agreement.

“Eyra…” he muttered when they moved back, breathing each other’s air and staring at their eyes, blown with not-so-subtle lust. The mage kissed the tip of his nose and moved over his jaw, feeling Alistair’s hands gripping his waist. When she reached his earlobe and licked it, he groaned and stood up, forcing her to stand.

His brown eyes looking at her as he walked until her knees hit the massive mattress. Even if time had passed and he was no longer a warrior, Alistair was still strong and could lift her without problem. Eyra bit her lip, just to tease him and his eyes followed the movement, tongue licking his own lips. His breath was ragged, as if he had been fighting darkspawn for hours.

Eyra went to unlace her shirt but his hand, bigger than her own, stopped her.

“No, I want to do it”

She smiled and nodded, letting her arms hang by her sides, observing his movements. They were deliberated, slow, enjoying every inch of skin displayed to him. His calloused hands caressed it before replacing them with his soft lips, peppering kisses over her jaw and neck, nipping and biting. Eyra’s breath hitched and soon her upper part was bare except for her breast band. Alistair frowned and stared at the cloth.

“I still hate that”

The woman chuckled and shook her head, feeling his hands caressing her hips, circling the skin with his thumbs. Soon they moved upwards, where her breasts were craving for his attention. Alistair bit the tender skin between the neck and the shoulder, and she gasped, noticing his smile against her skin. Her hands buried in that hair she loved and pressed his body against hers.

Soon the knot that held the band together and tossed it on the floor, staring at her body with admiration. To Alistair, not even Andraste could compare to his lover. She smiled shyly, as she did the first time they slept together inside her tent.

He felt a twitch in his heart, the memory of his camp nights still fresh in his mind. Sometimes he wondered what would have happened if he had left with the Grey Wardens, being her second-on-charge.

“Are you going to stay there all night, or will you do something?” she teased, biting her lip and wiggling her hips so the rest of her clothes fell, leaving her bare in front of him. Alistair felt his throat dry and swallowed hard. “Yet, I think it’s not fair that you are still dressed”

“No? Well, I’m the king here, and I think I might deserve having a little bit of advantage” he winked, and she punched him in the shoulder playfully before she started to undress him.

His broad chest was still tanned and strong. He had some scars here and there, the results of his time as a Grey Warden with Duncan and the travelling he had done with Eyra and the rest of the companions. He had some chest hair down his navel, where his breeches started. Alistair picked her up and placed her on the mattress, straddling her hips. He peppered his neck with kisses while his hands went to her breasts, touching and caressing them. Eyra gasped when his thumbs circled her nipples and arched her back.

“So sensitive. As always.” he grinned against her skin and lowered his head, capturing her nipple with his mouth, making her moan. “I miss those sounds. The softness of your skin…” Eyra pulled at his hair, placing her legs around his waist. His clothed length rubbed against her thigh and she felt her mind going blank. “I wonder…If I can make you come as I used to…”

Alistair’s wicked smile remained in his features as he went down her body, pressing kisses on her skin. Eyra knew where this was going, so her head hit the pillows, biting her lower lip. His hands caressed her thighs almost tenderly, peppering kisses all over the skin until his breath fanned against her folds.

“Oh, sweet Maker…I missed this”

Before Eyra had a chance to reply, he pressed his tongue against her clit, circling slowly, teasingly. His calloused fingers caressed her wet folds while his free arm forced her waist to the mattress. The mage huffed and writhed, letting small whimpers escape her throat.

“Alistair…” she muttered, grabbing and pulling his hair with both hands.

“I love when you say my name, my dear”

She moaned and tried to get free from his grip, only to be stronger. Alistair moved his head both sides, tapping and licking. Eyra screamed his name when she felt two fingers inside her, looking for that spot that made her mind go blank. In a few minutes, that man had the Commander of the Grey Wardens begging for release, which he gladly complied. The knot in her stomach tightened and her legs shook around Alistair’s head. His brown eyes observed her, not wanting to miss a single thing.

And oh, how he loved watching her come like that, eyes shut and hands gripping the sheets as if her life depended on it. Her chest moved as she tried to catch her breath and he rode her orgasm until she couldn’t take it any longer. When Alistair moved away, his chin was covered with her fluids and Eyra felt her whole body burning in shame.

“Oh, Maker. Are you blushing? The great Hero of Ferelden?”

“Stop mocking me” she replied with her muffled voice, as she had covered her face. He laughed and kissed her body, cupping her face.

“It was beautiful. You are beautiful”

Eyra Amell felt the sting of tears on her eyes and closed them when their lips touched. Her hands caressed his back, feeling his taut muscles. Soon they moved down the spine, raising goosebumps under the touch until they reached his ass, grabbing it.

“Hey!” Alistair shrieked with a smirk, making her laugh.

“Stop complaining, you love it” she replied, pecking at his nose before helping him remove his breeches. He stood there, kneeling by her side and Eyra couldn’t stop herself.

She pushed him until he fell on the mattress, his gaze following every single movement. She smirked and straddled him, rubbing her core against his length. Alistair gasped and grabbed her hips. Eyra placed her hands on his broad chest and, without taking his eyes off him, sank herself to the hilt. Slowly, intimately. The only sounds in the room where their breaths, rhythmic and ragged. Alistair groaned when he filled her completely.

“Maker…” he muttered, feeling his head dizzy at the feeling of her warm inside around him. “It’s been a long time…”

“Too long” said Eyra with a croaked voice, rocking her hips.

It took her a while to get used to it, but soon they moved at unison. Their bodies were like a puzzle that fit perfectly. The moans, the sweat, rolling down their bodies. The movements were deliberated, slow. They had all night to feel each other, taste each other. There was no need to rush.

His feet were on the mattress and his hips moved to meet her movements. They became faster, harder. Skin slapping skin, the sound echoing in the room. Moans, whimpers and soft words of love. Everything they wanted to say and couldn’t over the years. In that moment, they were no longer king and commander. They were just to lovers, as they were in their tents.

Eyra’s nails dragged lines over his shoulder and Alistair sat down, circling her body with his arms. His forehead against hers. One of his hands went to his small bundle of nerves and her body tensed. He knew she was close. She could feel it.

“C’mon, my love…oh, sweet Andraste…”

He pumped his hips faster and her body shivered while pleasure ran over her veins. She closed her eyes and Alistair kissed her, swallowing her moans. Her hands pulled his hair and he felt himself coming inside her, shuddering.

“Alistair…” she muttered with half-lidded eyes, peppering kisses over his face.

Without saying a word, they laid down and covered themselves with the mattress, caressing each other and making the other laugh. The following day they would have to remain serious and professional. And soon, she would leave again.

For now, that was not important. They had each other in their arms.

[theassassinlover]

Reunion

More Zev and Venna. Enjoy.

***

Venna stared out the window of her quarters in the keep sighing quietly to herself. It was done. The Mother was defeated, the Architect dealt with. All things considered, she should be happy now that she could finally relax, hopefully for good this time. Instead, she was restless. 

She reread the letter in her hands for what must have been the hundredth time. Her eyes scanned the words she now nearly knew by heart, the page lit only by the candle beside her.

Dearest Venna,

I know it has been long since I last wrote you. I apologize for that. It seems you have had quite the adventure in my absence, you must tell me all about it when I return. Speaking of returning, I have nearly finished my job here with the Crows. Soon we should have nothing to worry about, and I will be with you once again. In two months I shall return to your side, amor. I miss you dearly. Well, you and your talented hands. Alas, I must wait until I return for those, no? Until then you remain in my dreams as always, especially the naughty ones. I will see you soon.

~Z

“Oh Zev,” Venna whispered into the dark, silent tears running slowly down her face. “Where are you?” Zevran still hadn’t returned, and she had stopped receiving letters weeks ago. Worry ate at her gut and she couldn’t help but fear the worst. Zevran was strong. She knew that better than almost anyone, but against a force like the Crows…

She shook her head free of the offending thoughts. No, she had to believe in him. He promised her he would return and Zevran is nothing if not a man of his word. Turning from her window she moved to her desk, folding the letter and placing it in a drawer.

Being the warden commander had its downsides. The ungodly amount of paperwork was one of them. She decided the best thing she could do was try and take her mind off of things for a while, even if her choice in distraction was incredibly boring.

Hours later she groaned as she lifted her head from the desk realizing that, not for the first time, she had fallen asleep there. Venna rose, stretching her limbs that were sore from the unorthodox sleeping place, and made her way over to the bed. Exhausted as she was it took barely any time at all for her to fall back asleep.

The sun had barely risen over the horizon when she awoke again, this time to a knocking at her door. “Heh, uh, sorry to bother you warden, but we’re recivin’ more complaints about stragglin’ darkspawn.” Oghren’s familiar voice said through the door.  Venna groaned out a response before forcing herself to move. 

She rose, got dressed in her armor for what she knew would be a day trip to fight the last of the stragglers, and pulled her hair into its signature ponytail. She then headed down to the main hall to meet with her companions for a quick meal.

“Please tell me it’s just one group of stragglers.” She muttered taking her place beside Anders and across from Oghren.

“That’s all we know of.” Anders told her and Venna let out a noticeable sigh of relief. Anders furrowed his brow. “Is something troubling you commander?”

Venna shook her head. “Nothing you need concern yourself with. I’ve just got a personal matter on my mind.”

“Haven’t heard from lover boy lately have ya?” Oghren asked suddenly, earning a look from Venna. “What? I traveled with you for almost a year and there ain’t much that gets you outta focus warden.”

“It’s nothing to concern yourself with Oghren.” Venna said even as her voice cracked slightly.

“Hey now, the elf don’t die that easily. What’s it been? Two weeks since ya heard word?” He guessed and Venna’s eyes shot to his.

“Try four months.” She hissed out before standing, her voice cracking on the last word. “He said he would be home in two." Her expression faltered and she turned away from them. "I’m not hungry. Nathaniel, Oghren, and Velanna meet me in the courtyard when you’re ready. The rest of you standby in case we need help.”

“I didn’t know the commander was even in a relationship.” Nathaniel said once Venna had left the room. “Not that it’s my business, but now that I think of it that would explain why she seemed so…closed off.”

“Heh, you should have been with us durin’ the blight. It was impossible not to know. Those two don’t know how to keep it down.” Was the response Oghren gave. “I wouldn’t worry too much though. Like I said, the elf doesn’t die that easy. He has to have some reason for not writin’ her. He'll be home in her bed in no time, heh-heh.” After that, the rest of the meal passed by with some idle chat, but they tried to keep off the subject of their troubled commander.

When they hit the field Venna was venting all of her internal frustration into her enemy, which in theory isn’t a bad thing. However, when she started to overkill her targets Nathaniel couldn’t help but point it out. “Commander, not that I’m trying to tell you how to do your job, but I think it’s dead.” He told her as she continued to thrust her daggers into a Hurlock’s corpse.

She stopped and looked at her party, embarrassed. “Right, sorry.” She muttered. “I think that was the last of them. We can head back to the keep.”

Upon their return, Venna approached the courier hoping for news. Her companions watched her walk away with her ears drooped in sorrow. They didn’t see her again until dinner where she was unusually quiet and hardly ate at all.

Venna waited anxiously over the next two weeks for any sign Zevran’s return. 

What if something happened? What if the Crows found him? I never should have let him go alone.

These thoughts haunted her as she once again sat at the dinner table, this time nursing a tankard of ale, lightweight be damned. She never was sure why the Warden metabolism hadn't seemed to affect her, but she found herself grateful for it as of late. She was most of the way through her cup and about to reach for the bottle when she was interrupted by a member of the guard.

“I'm sorry to disturb you, commander, but there is a blond elf outside who claims to know you.”

Venna was out of her seat and heading for the door almost before the guard was finished speaking, running from the hall like the Archdemon himself had risen from the dead. Her companions all looked at each other puzzled and couldn’t help but follow. 

Venna ran through the halls, dodging soldiers, and out the keep doors. Once outside the keep, just as she had suspected, Venna immediately caught sight of Zevran dressed in what could only be fancy Antivan garb. “Zev!” She cried out in relief and excitement. 

He turned to look at her just as she shot down the stairs two at a time, jumping into his arms and nearly knocking them both to the ground. Zevran laughed, spinning her around before putting her down and kissing her. Venna held him close, returning the kiss with more passion and never wanting to let him go again. “I missed you, amor.” Zev told her once they broke apart.

“Where were you? You are three months late and when I didn’t hear from you I feared…” Her voice trailed off before it broke but Zevran understood.

“Apologies, amor.” He whispered holding her closer. “I had an unexpected run-in with some of the Crows. They needed to think me dead, and so I faked my death. That, unfortunately, meant that I was unable to send you word. I needed to lay low for a time.” He stroked her hair. “I am sorry I worried you, though the Crows will likely leave us be for now. At least until they realize I still breathe.”

Venna shook her head. “I'm just glad you are safe.” She muttered into his chest, arms tightening around him.

The two finally pulled back from one another, Zevran only then noticing the group of her companions staring from the top of the stairs. 

He laughed softly. “It would seem we have an audience.” He told her and she turned around to face her followers.

“Elf!” A voice suddenly came forward and Oghren pushed his way through the crowd. “You had us worried there for a while.”

“Ah, Oghren my friend. How I missed your drunken ramblings.” Zevran said in a way that was just, well, Zevran. Venna found it odd how something so simple could make her chest tighten.

“Come on, let’s find a place without so many prying eyes.” Venna said taking his hand and leading him up into the keep. She gave her companions a look that said “do not disturb unless the keep is being attacked by four high dragons and an archdemon” and led him up to her room.

They didn’t miss Oghren’s shout of “Keep it down!” though making both of them laugh. 

As Zevran pressed Venna against her closed chamber door, his lips finding hers again, she remembered what it truly felt like to feel at home. Her home was in the arms of her lover, and she had no intention of leaving them again.

[trvelyans-archive]

aaaaaaaand on my fic-posting roll for the night, here’s my part of an art trade for the lovely and darling @free-the-mages who has been FAR too kind considering it’s taken me almost a month and a half to write this for her, but kaitlyn! i hope you like it nevertheless. you’re the absolute best and i hope i did alistair and lark good for you <3

---

“Ah. I see, now – our trick to wiping out all the darkspawn is baiting the archdemon to attack us in the middle of nowhere! Very tempting. Though, I might add, not a very good idea when you really think about it.”

Lark looks over her shoulder. Alistair is leaning against a tree, a curious and almost concerned expression on his face, clothed in nothing more than a cotton tunic and linen pants. His sleepwear. She doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there. The bowl of soup he’s holding must be growing cold.

He holds it almost like an offering, and she forces herself not to take it.

Then, she holds herself back from telling him to fuck off, since that would do no good for either of them, and looks away from him instead. “Thanks,” she grumbles, “but that’s not what I’m doing.”

“What are you doing, then?”

There’s an awkward pause before she gives a heavy sigh. “Just thinking,” she answers, thumbing the peeling label of her bottle. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Oh, I wasn’t,” Alistair tells her, finally giving in and trudging through the mud in the clearing towards her. “You can take care of yourself, even against a horde of Darkspawn. I know that for a fact. I was just going to tell you it looks like it’s going to storm tonight, so you might want to… Not sit there.”

She looks down at the boulder she’s sitting on. Her legs dangle over the edge and skim the surface of the river beneath, and she blinks at him. “Why not?”

“Just… doesn’t seem like a very good idea.” But he doesn’t make any move to turn back to camp. After a moment of hesitation, in fact, he motions for her to move over and make room for him.

She tucks her feet under her bum and follows his wordless instructions, crossing an arm over her chest and clutching her bottle close to her chest with the other.

Lark isn’t particularly drunk, but she’s not particularly sober, either. She knows because she feels his knee bump up against hers and it’s like an electric shock. She’s not annoyed like she might’ve been if it had happened earlier; she doesn’t ask him to move or get off the boulder entirely. Instead she grits her teeth and tells herself to calm down. It’s just a knee, for Andraste’s sake.

But that’s not the point.

Their relationship has been rocky since Lothering, and yet she likes him anyway. Despite their bickering, despite their differences, she likes him. And she hates it. She doesn’t want to like him! He’s taller than she is, he’s a human, and…

And he’s funny. He makes her laugh even though his jokes are stupid. And, even though they aren’t on the best of terms, he came to see her anyway, even though he had to walk through ankle-deep mud just to join her on her stinking rock.

Maker. If Shianni could see Lark now, she’d be the laughingstock of the family.

“So.” Alistair’s looking at her. “What’re you thinking so hard about?”

She’s glad she’s not more drunk or else she’d probably tell him. “Nothing,” she says quickly. “Just… the… Blight. And stuff.”

“Oh.” He sounds disappointed. “Well, I’m not surprised. It’s… a lot to think about.”

“Yeah, it is.”

They fall silent. An awkward amount of time passes, and it’s not until the third poke that she realizes that he’s trying to get her attention again.

“Are you… sure there’s nothing else?” he asks. “Just because… Well, normally you’d be telling me to leave you alone, or you’d be making fun of my hair – though I did work especially hard on it this morning so, in any case, thank you for not doing that – but you’re not doing either of those things, really. You’re just… sitting there.”

She nods. “Yeah, I am,” she replies. 

His nose scrunches up in annoyance.

“Are you drunk?”

“No, I’m not!”

“Really?” He plucks the bottle of wine out of her hand and holds it away from her, pretending to examine it with great interest. “You know, Oghren drinks this stuff. Are you sure you can handle it? You’re a lot smaller than he is.”

“Alistair –“

“So… I really don’t think you should be –“

“Alistair, give it back.”

He squints at her for a few moments, deciding what to do next, and then he thrusts the bowl of soup into her arms and offers her a smile. “Drink this, instead,” he tells her. “Or eat it, I suppose. Whatever.”

He’s worried about her. Or something. She doesn’t know why. He’s never given her this much attention before. She grits her teeth and takes the metal spoon begrudgingly in between her thumb and her forefinger, stirring slowly, agonizingly slowly, just to appease him. Alistair is still watching her.

What does he want?

In the distance, thunder rumbles. It sounds like a warning. She swallows a spoonful of soup – it’s lukewarm and lumpy - and forces herself not to spit it out.

“What do you want?” she asks after the wipes her mouth clean on the back of her hand and puts her spoon in the bowl again. “You can’t just be worried about me.”

Alistair’s eyebrows gather together. “That’s not – Y-yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.”  

At that, he looks almost angry. “You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t be worried about,” he tells her, “and I’m worried about –“

“The Blight.” She jumps down from the rock and walks over to where he leaned the bottle up against the boulder, picking it up and tossing it between her hands. “That’s what this is about, right? You think I’m slacking off?”

Alistair stammers for a moment before shaking his head. “I wouldn’t say it like that…”

“This hasn’t been a very good experience for me either, you know!” She takes a drink, beginning to pace back and forth dangerously close to the bank of the river. “I mean… I didn’t want to get married, but then the elf who was going to be my husband got murdered by some fucking shems, and then I wind up in Ostagar, where the Grey Wardens are all wiped out, and Duncan dies, and I’m sacked with taking care of you –“

She catches herself before she continues, but Alistair’s already rolling his eyes. “Oh, well, I’m sorry it’s been so hard on you. Would things be easier if I started feeding you your dinner and washing your clothes for you? Maybe I can carry you around the country on my back, too?”

“That’s not what I meant!” Her bottle is empty, but she drinks – or pretend to drinks from it – anyway. “What I meant is that it’d be nice if you didn’t question everything I do! It’s hard to be in charge, Alistair! Do you wanna do it, instead?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead he rises, arms falling from where they were crossed over his chest to swing by his sides, gaze averted elsewhere.

“That’s what I thought,” Lark murmured. “Now, you can take your soup and your… well-wishing, or curiosity, or whatever you want to call it and go back to camp, okay?”

It almost works. He almost leaves.

But, before he takes that first step, he doesn’t.

Alistair is too kind. It’s the kind of kindness that feels like a punch in the gut. He’d never leave if he knew she was hurting. He’d never leave if he thought she was drunk. (She isn’t. Tipsy, maybe, but not drunk.)

Or, maybe... he’d just never leave at all.

“I’m not doing that,” he says evenly. “I’m going to stay here, a-and make sure you’re alright, and there’s you can do to stop me. Except… well, a few things, I suppose. I guess if you wanted to twist my arm -”

“Go back to camp,” Lark insists. “Alistair, go.”

She puts a hand on his chest and tries to push him away from her. He just places both of his hands over top of hers, staring at her in defiance.

A groan of protest rises in her throat. “Alistair…”

“You may want me to go, but I’m not going to,” he tells her. “I’m going to stay here until you come back with me.”

“Why?”

“Because!” It comes out as more of a bark than he intended, and he immediately shrinks away. “Because, I…” He blinks rapidly, stammering as he searches for the right words, holding tightly onto her hand. “Because…” And then, after a long stretch of silence, he gives a sigh of defeat, dropping his arms to his sides. “Because… look, Lark, you’re the only person I have left, alright? And I don’t want to… I can’t lose you. I can’t do this without you, okay?”

He’s breathing heavily. He’s on the verge of panting. She is, too, and she hasn’t spoken for a few long, awkward seconds.

“What does that mean?” she asks breathlessly.

And, to her horror, he laughs. He doesn’t yell at her or scold her or stalk away. He just laughs, and stammers, and then gives a lackluster shrug. “I don’t know, if I’m being completely honest,” he says. “It’s just that… sometimes you get on my nerves, and sometimes I can’t be around you… but sometimes you’re the only person.”

She stares at him, her face blank.

“And…” He reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. “I like you.”

“You what?”

Her tone sounds more disgusted than she meant for it to and she hurries to continue before he even has time to react. “I mean… I just… you hate me, Alistair.”

He balks at her. “Do you honestly believe that?”

“Well…”

She never wanted him to hate her, but she thought he did, and she thought that was what she had wanted this entire time because it made her feelings for him easier to deal with and easier to ignore since she thought nothing would come of them. But now… he likes her. Just like that.

And she likes that, too.

“I’ve never hated you, Lark,” Alistair almost reassures her, reaching out to grab her shoulder before stopping himself and giving her a quizzical look that makes her heart leap into her throat. “Do you… erm… do you hate me?”

The fact that he readies himself for her to say ‘no’ makes her sad. And angry at herself for making him feel that way.

But she doesn’t answer right away, anyway, because she should just say ‘yes’. It’d hurt him, but it’d make things easier for both of them in the long run – he must know that as well as she does. If he didn’t, he’d have confessed his feelings for her sooner. After all, things between them would never be easy – they’d bicker as much as they do now and then they’d have to crawl back to each other at the end of the day to apologize instead of getting a good night’s sleep, which they need when they’re trying to save Ferelden from the archdemon. And yet…

“No,” she says, her voice crackling. “No, I don’t hate you, Alistair. I like you, too.”

“Really?” he squeaks before clearing his throat and crossing his arms over his chest protectively. “I mean… really? It’s not just the a-alcohol talking or something?”

Lark gives him a shake of her head. “No,” she says. “It’s not.”

“Oh. Okay, then.”

And that’s all he says.

The clearing falls into an awkward silence. Lark shifts back and forth on her feet, waiting for one of them – even herself, if that’s what it comes to – to make a move.

And Alistair does. Kind of. And then he stops.

“You’re sure you’re not –“

“Alistair!”

“Ijustwanttomakesure!” he exclaims. “I’m not going to kiss you while you’re drunk, Lark! What kind of man do you take me for?”

The corners of her mouth quirk upwards into a smirk. “You were gonna kiss me?” she asks.

His cheeks turn red instantly. “I… Yes, I was, but if you don’t want to, then that’s –“

She kisses him before he can finish.

He doesn’t react, at first. She opens her eyes just to see what he’s doing and his look like they’re pointing in two different directions in shock. And then, finally, he seems to relax – his eyes flutter shut and his arms snake around her waist, his grip on her strong and unwavering, unflinching, and she smiles against his mouth, pushing him backwards until he’s sitting on the edge of the rock.

She’s just climbed into his lap when Alistair pulls away, blushing furiously.

“That was, um… really nice,” he says, pulling a hand away to rub the back of his neck. “But we probably shouldn’t –“

She cuts him off again, delighting in the way he kisses her back without question. It takes knocking the bowl of now-cold soup over and sending it spilling down the side of the rock for either of them to consider stopping their romantic engagement.

Alistair’s lying flat on his back with his legs dangling over the edge of the boulder, and when he tries to sit up, Lark just holds him down with a playful smirk.

“We should get back to camp,” he whispers, looking up at her with rounded eyes.

“We should,” she agrees, then adds, “doesn’t mean we have to, though.”

And then he rolls his eyes, moving his hands from around her waist to her wrists, trying to wriggle free of her hold on him as she tilts her face upwards to nip at his earlobe. “You must be even drunker than I thought,” he comments as her hand comes up to flatten against the other side of his face. “You know, you could do with a little bit of self control, or I’m going to start thinking that you don’t have any standards.”

But he’s smiling, and he’s gorgeous, and Lark can’t find it in herself to wring out what little self-control she has.

“Lark, I’m serious,” he says with a laugh. “We should… get back to…”

She’s relentless in her attack of the sensitive skin beneath his jaw, and relentless also in the way she grinds herself against him in minute little strokes. He sighs, gliding a hand up her arm to cup the back of her neck. “You’re… very good at that,” he murmurs.

“At what?” she asks, feigning stupidity as she draws away and smiling as he sucks in a sharp breath at the loss of contact.

“At… at…”

“At using my mouth?”

Something dark glimmers in his eye before he clears his throat and glances away, cheeks burning.

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” she tells him, cocking her eyebrows playfully. “Do you want me to walk you through it?”

She’s biting her lip so hard she think she might make herself bleed and then feels the blood drain from her face when he shakes himself to attention and meets her eyes. “No, no,” he says matter-of-factly, making her heart sink deep into her stomach. “I’ve liked this, Lark, I have – I’m not going to lie and say that I didn’t. but… I want this to be special. Don’t you? Not on some… rock in the middle of the woods.”

It’s a fair point, but her first instinct is to disagree before she shakes the thought from her head. “You’re right, I guess,” she says eventually, untangling herself from on top of him and climbing down from the rock, kicking a smaller one nestled against it and sending it skittering through the grass until it lands in the stream with a startling plunk. “And I guess we should return to camp, too.”

“Ah, yes.” Alistair hops down from the rock after her, wiping his forehead with the back of his wrist. “Wouldn’t want Wynne to worry about us or anything, or suspect what nefarious things we were getting up to.”

“Nefarious. Is that what you’d call kissing?” Lark brushes past him to grab her bowl and frowns as she feels the gritty liquid smear over her thumb, not even thinking about it as she licks it off and meets his eyes. “I wonder what you’d call sex.”

Alistair isn’t drinking anything, and he still chokes, coughing and coughing until he’s even redder in the face than he was before. “Can we not talk about that, please?” he asks then at her alarmed glance, eyes trained on the ground and hands shoved deep in his pockets. “It’s… I’m a very weak man, Lark, and I don’t want to do something I’ll regret.”

Lark stops in her tracks, then, thinking.

Regret is a strong word. She has never felt like she’s regretted very many things. She believes in herself – she’s always had to – and she believes in what she believes. She’s never really had room for regret.

But she might regret this.

Alistair is funny, and gentle, and he has a heart of gold that could fetch a ridiculous amount of sovereigns in an Orlesian market. Sometimes he snorts when he laughs, and one time he even snorted whilst in the middle of choking down some of Wynne’s stew – it was really funny, actually, the thought bringing a smile to Lark’s lips. He brings a smile to her lips. He has for a while now.

And he can’t.

She’s not like him. She’s loud and drinks too much and has too many throwing knives. She curses Andraste under her breath and acts out against the Chantry in ways that border on heresy. And she really, really, really likes him.

And… she can’t. She’ll ruin him. She’s already ruined so many things.

He decided to start off towards the camp in the time that she was thinking, and when he stops and turns around to beckon her closer, his expression hardens into a frown.

“What is it?”

She looks at him and shakes her head, forcing a smile. “Nothing, nothing,” she chirps. “Let’s just get back to camp.”

The urge to hold his hand is probably stronger than the Archdemon is, and she resists it anyway.

That’s good, at least, she tries to convince herself.

---

Their camp is steeped in a haze of mist and gentle rain the next morning, and Lark frowns when she awakes, trying her best to ignore the stray hairs sticking straight up from her scalp. Alistair’s face breaks out into a grin as he sees her, walking quickly towards her, holding a bowl of soup – probably filled with leftovers from the night before and somehow even colder than it was then – in his hands.

“Good morning,” he says in a low, throaty voice, handing the bowl towards her and grinning wider as she takes it. “How did you sleep? Was there a certain Grey Warden in your dreams?”

She looks at him blankly. “I didn’t sleep well,” she comments. “And my head hurts.”

“Oh.” Alistair’s eyebrows gather together. “Well, I mean, you did drink a whole bottle of some Dragon-Heart-Burn-Break-Your-Face thing last night that I think is probably worthy of making Oghren feel ill. Did you… Do you feel sick?”

She swallows the lump growing in her throat. “I don’t even remember that much of last night, honestly,” she says even though it breaks her heart and makes her face burn to see his own fall. “And, anyway,” she continues, holding the bowl back out to him so far that she’s practically pushed it up against his chest, keeping a very obvious distance between them, “we should get a move on and make some headway before, well, this gets worse.”

She knows the sound she makes as she walks away is twigs being crunched beneath her boot, but she feels like, for just one second, that it might be the sound of Alistair’s heart breaking.

[snailcomicz]

Hurt/Comfort M-Anxiety Attack O- "I'm not leaving you like this" for DA:O >:3

Thank you for sending this in babe, I had so much fun!!!

H/C prompt source

The deeproads absolutely suck.

Tiffany Cousland directed the others to make camp, being very specific about the placement of where they wound up. Seeing the Archdemon, in the flesh and screaming in their faces, had thrown everyone in the party. Regrouping and getting sleep was the logical way to approach settling their fears. They moved back, a good distance away from the bridge, tracing their steps until they relocated the ruins where Ruck’s presence would likely keep away spiders and non-tainted enemies. Tainted enemies they had to prepare for anyways.

She delegated tent building to Oghren, building a fire to Alistair, and making dinner to Wynne. They had to keep one person on guard duty at all times, thanks to the monstrous shrieks constant attempts at ambushing them.

It had been a good twenty minutes before someone dared approach her, and she had desperately needed the reprieve. Couslands take care of those they serve, both physically and emotionally, but Tiffany wasn’t ready to project noble confidence or tender compassion right then. Honestly she still wasn’t ready, but upon hearing the approaching footsteps she shoved her personal feelings into their spot and placed a wan smile on her face.

“Yes? Need something?”

“Hey you.” Alistair nudged her shoulder as he sat down beside her, facing away from camp rather than with his back to the wall, as she was. He crossed his legs and propped his chin on his hand, staring out into the blackness instead of into her eyes. He must have been shaken by the encounter as much as if not more than the others, given their now nightly warden nightmares told them, screamed into their very bones the terror the Archdemon would sow- “Are you doing alright?”

Tiffany blinked. That should have been her question.

“Not that, uh-” he continued as he scratched the back of his head. “I’m pretty sure nobody would exactly be ‘alright’ given what just happened, even Duncan-”

His immediate deflation screamed that the mention of his old mentor was a mistake, but at least she could save him from this. “Well, they weren’t Couslands. Couslands don’t always win the immediate fight, but they do always recoup and take care of their own.”

He met her eyes, and flashed a relieved smile when he realized she had mentioned her family for his benefit. “Yeah, and they’re fierce and bold and never talk about their own problems. You didn’t answer my question.”

“Mhm?” She looked back out into the darkness, trusting he knew her well enough to know she actually wasn’t avoiding his gaze. She technically was still on guard duty, keeping her eyes off of the surrounding area was making her uncomfortable, and direct eye contact had always come harder to her then most.

“Are you alright?”

“Are any of us, at the moment?” She glanced back towards the other cavern behind their camp, before mentally smacking herself for letting something so discouraging pass through her filter. She needed to be there for everyone, hold it together in front of them, not let her mental posture slacken the moment someone asked if she was alright. She swallowed her screaming fears down and reassured him, “I am sorry, yes of course I am alright. I may not, however, be the most fun to be around at the moment. You should help Wynne with dinner, she might need-”

“I’m not leaving you like this.” She blinked and stared hard at him, trying to discern what he meant, what part of her wasn’t put together well enough to convince him, so she could put it back into place and wave him off and break on her own, because oh maker was she going to break but not when someone needed her whole and noble and distant and- “Oh Tiff, come here.”

It was the nickname that caught her off guard, leaving her emotions already off kilter when he brought her into the sudden hug, and his arms felt solid and real in a way she only just realized her body didn’t, and her breath was hitching and catching in a way she didn’t have control over, and she didn’t have control over any of this.

“I can’t-” control this, can’t fix it, can’t stop this from happening, can’t save everyone, can’t save Lothering, can’t save the grey wardens, can’t save her family, can’t, can’t, cant-

Alistair was saying something, she gasped in a breath and tried to silence her breathing because she had to let him know she was listening, nobody listened to him, she had to-

He was talking about the cave. Not things to watch for in the cave, just describing it. “-It was ugly when we first came in, but the reddish brown isn’t so bad when you get used to it. Uh, you know, you picked a good spot to hang out here, might have to follow your lead when my guard duty comes up, you can probably see everything from your angle. Check in on camp while-”

She tried to ask what he was doing, what he was talking about, but her wheezing frantic breaths reduced the question to gibberish.

“It’s alright.” His hand came up across her back to hold her tighter, but somehow without restricting her breathing. “It sure as hell doesn’t feel alright Tiff, but I’ve got you. You don’t have to be lookout right now. You’re going to be alright. I can hold this.”

No one should have to hold the weight she bore. It was the whole reason she tried to bear it, so no one could be crushed under its weight. And yet finally, for the first time in months after taking up her new mantle as leader and uniting force of the Cousland lineage, of the last two grey wardens, of the Ferelden that fought against Tern Logain’s command, she tucked her head into someone’s neck and sobbed.

[mahalzevran]

Nandito Lang Ako

for @januanders

Summary: The growing friendship between Anders and Surana

Words: 1.9k

Tags: friendship, surana & anders

Rating: General Audiences

A/N: Nandito lang ako - I’m always just here

AO3 link

Rhian’s stomach growled. She was used to going to sleep hungry, especially when Master Cousland had been in a particularly bad mood that day. In fact, she’d gone to sleep even hungrier than this before. But at least she had her mom or dad to comfort her those times. Now she was all alone in a cold cell.

“Surana, right?” Rhian looked up to see who had said that. It was a boy in the cell next to hers. He looked a few years older than her. “I heard one of the guards call you that. I’m Anders.”

“Hi,” she replied. Just then her stomach growled again.

“Hungry? Here, one sec.” Anders started fumbling with his robes. A few seconds later he pulled out a roll of bread and held it out to Rhian through the bars separating them. She looked at it hesitantly. “Take it. You need it more than I do.”

“Thank you,” Rhian said, reaching over and grabbing the roll. The roll was cold and a little hard, but she wasn’t really in the position to be picky. She broke off a piece and started eating.

“They really shouldn’t send kids down here overnight without dinner as a punishment. Well, they shouldn’t have that as a punishment for anyone in general, but especially not for kids like you.”

“I’m not a kid. I’m 7,” Rhian replied with her mouth full.

Anders smiled at her. “So,” he said as she finished up the roll, “what are you here for?”

“I didn’t mean to! It was an accident! They all had these mean faces and were yelling at me!” Rhian could feel tears forming in her eyes.

“Hey,” Anders said in a soothing voice, trying to calm her down. He wished the bars weren’t there, so he could comfort her properly. He hated seeing kids cry. “I know you didn’t. I’m not mad. I was just wondering.”

Rhian wiped her eyes using her sleeve. “I missed going outside. I just wanted to look out the window but it was really high so I climbed up the bookcase. Then one of the Templars got mad and started yelling at me and I got scared. Then more and more came. I closed my eyes and wished they would all go away. When I opened them, they were all frozen.”

“Nice!” Anders said holding his hand up. The gesture made Rhian giggle. She went over and gave him a high five. Suddenly, she felt slightly better. It was like being near Anders made you feel safer. As if he had some kind of healing aura around him.

“Hey,” Anders said, “next time you get in trouble, you can tell them I did it. I’m older, I can take whatever punishment they give me.” Rhian smiled at him and nodded.

They spent the rest of the night huddled together, the cell bars being the only thing separating them.

—

“It’s not fair!” Anders was on the verge of tears.

Rhian didn’t know what to do. It was usually Anders who did the comforting. She patted him gently on the back.

“I’m going to miss him too,” Rhian said trying to be consoling.

“You don’t understand, Surana,” Anders said, his voice shaking. “It’s because of me. Of us. They noticed us getting close and they didn’t like it. Karl told me that they had a spot lined up for him. To help teach the younger apprentices. Why would they just suddenly transfer him?”

Rhian stayed quiet. Anders was right. It wasn’t fair. But when was the Circle ever fair?

—

Rhian’s heart dropped. That was the last set of cells and there was still no sign of him. She had kept an eye out while they were fighting the abominations and checked again once everything had calmed down. She hadn’t seen him with the other survivors when they first arrived. The dungeons were her last hope.

“Are you sure you didn’t see him?” Rhian asked Wynne.

“Yes. If he was hiding somewhere else, then he would’ve either ended up with the others or we would’ve come across him already. If he was down here, then he would be here. There’s only one way to leave and the abominations couldn’t have made their way down here.”

“So you mean..?”

“It’s the only answer, dear.”

“No! Maybe we missed him? We should check again. He’s probably hiding somewhere and we didn’t see.”

Rhian started to walk towards the exit when she felt a hand stop her. Zevran’s. “Rhi...I’m sorry.”

She could feel her heart pounding in her ears. Karl was gone and Jowan was stuck in the Redcliffe dungeons. Eadric was safe at least. But the thought of Anders possibly being...she couldn’t handle that. He was the first person to actually show her some kindness in the Circle. He helped make everything more bearable. The air suddenly felt thick. Rhian could feel tears welling up in her eyes. Zevran pulled her into his arms. She hoped tears didn’t stain leather.

—

Mhairi kicked the door open, revealing a tall lanky man shooting fire at a darkspawn. A few bodies were scattered on the floor, Templars from the look of their armor. Once he realized that there were people behind him, he turned around.

“Uh...I didn’t do it.”

Rhian’s heart leaped. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Before she knew it, she was bounding towards him. As she pulled him into a big hug, she was surrounded by a familiar comforting feeling.

“Hey, I can recognize this elf girl anywhere. Surana!” Anders returned her hug. Suddenly, he frowned. “Are you crying?”

“I thought you were dead.”

“No? I’d think I’d remember being dead.”

“But the Circle? How did you survive?”

“You mean the thing with Uldred? Great story actually-”

“Sorry to interrupt this reunion,” Alistair said, “but there’s darkspawn that needs killing.”

Rhian gave Anders one last squeeze before getting ready to move on to the next room. She couldn’t wait to catch up. She had so much to tell him.

—

A feeling of...anguish? Where was it coming from? Rhian closed her eyes and tried to focus on it. Anders. Something was wrong.

“Zev.”

Zevran yelped at Rhian’s sudden appearance, almost dropping what was in his hand. “Please do not do that. I am not used to your being a spirit yet.” Rhian apologized. Zevran took a moment to collect himself. “What is it?”

“It’s Anders. Something’s not right.”

“How do you know?”

“I can...feel it? In the Fade. I have to go to him. Will you be alright here with Alistair?” Zevran nodded and Rhian hugged him goodbye.

She didn’t know how long she’d been wandering around. It had been over a year since she defeated the Archdemon and somehow survived, but she still wasn’t used to the way time passed in the Fade. Or how to navigate it. All she had to go on was wherever the sense of anguish was coming from. Suddenly she found the source. She didn’t know how, just that her gut was telling her it was here. She crossed over the veil and the first thing that hit her was a horrible smell. She looked around and realized she was in a sewer. Then she saw a room not too far away. It looked like a clinic of some sort. As she walked in, she noticed a familiar blonde head.

“Anders?”

“Rhian? How are you here?” He had been crying.

“I sensed you. In the Fade.” Rhian walked over to where he was sitting and put an arm around him. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Karl. He’s dead.”

Rhian’s jaw dropped. “What? How?”

“They made him tranquil. Having Justice with me must’ve reconnected him to the Fade somehow. But it was only temporary. He asked me to...I didn’t have a choice…”

Rhian pulled him into a hug. “It’s okay.”

“No, no it’s not. It’s my fault. I should’ve gotten there sooner.”

“You couldn’t have known. The Circle’s the one to blame. You of all people should know that.”

Anders hugged Rhian tighter and let out a sob. She could feel tears forming in her eyes. She wasn’t as close to Karl as she was with Anders during her time in the Circle, but he was nice to her and helped her out when he could. And she knew how much he meant to Anders.

“I’m here for you. I’ll stay here tonight if you want.”

“I’d like that.”

—

Rhian was in position, one hand hovering over the hilt of her spellweaver should she need to whip it out. Zevran had heard a noise while they were eating and it was starting to come closer. Suddenly, four figures emerged. Alistair moved to strike them with his sword.

“Wait!” Rhian cried right before Alistair landed a hit. “Anders?”

“Surprise?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Escaping from Kirkwall,” said an elf. He was taller than average and had glowing tattoos. Rhian didn’t know what to make of him.

“That’s Fenris. And this is Alden and Kaia Hawke,” said Anders. “And these are the guys I was telling you about. My friends from my warden days.”

Rhian recognized their names from when Zevran had told her about how the Champion of Kirkwall and her friends helped him get rid of Nuncio. She also recalled two new warden recruits from a few years ago having the name Hawke. Bethany and...Copper? Possibly related. There seemed to be a family resemblance. She shook their hands, and when she got to Alden, he made sure to let her know that he was Fenris’ boyfriend.

“Now that we’re all introduced, do you have anything to eat?” said Kaia. “I’m starving.”

Alistair went to check and fortunately, they had just enough leftovers. As everyone sat down to eat, Anders told Rhian what happened. He talked about the rising tension in Kirkwall between the Templars and the mages, especially after the viscount died. How the Knight-Commander started descending into madness from exposure to red lyrium. How she had started tightening her grip on the mages and that the grand cleric did nothing to keep the peace. And when Anders found out that she had called for the Right of Annulment, he decided that enough was enough and blew up the Chantry to send a message. This led to a final showdown where he and his friends helped the mages fight against the Kirkwall Templars. After it was over, the four of them decided to flee from Kirkwall in case the Divine sent forces after them.

As Anders finished talking, Rhian could feel her anger building up. She slammed her bowl down on her lap. “No. I’m tired of this. You’re always on the run, Anders. No more. You’re back in.”

Anders gave her a questioning look.

“I’m reinstating you into the Grey Wardens. Effective immediately.”

“You mean-?”

“Yes. I’m invoking the Right of Conscription. You’re not an apostate or a fugitive anymore.”

“Can you do that? Reinstate me?”

“Why not? I’m still the Fereldan Warden-Commander last I checked. And I don’t think they’re really in a position to deny me. I’m the Hero of Ferelden, Ender of the Fifth Blight.”

Anders’ eyes started to tear up. He pulled Rhian into a big hug, thanking her repeatedly. She leaned into his hug. Anders meant a lot to her and she was going to do everything in her power to keep him safe. It was her way of repaying Anders for being there for her all those years in the Circle. No harm would ever come to him ever again.

[ma-sulevin]

Day 1 of @alistairappreciationweek is all about Alistair as a Warden. Here’s just a drabble about him just hanging out in camp, making dinner for everyone with the help of my Amell’s mabari Aoife.

Alistair lifts the large spoon from the pot of stew and takes a cautious sip. It’s hot enough to make him wince, but the taste isn’t that bad. He puts the spoon back in and stirs so it won’t burn on the bottom and smiles when he hears Leliana and Sophie burst into laughter across the camp.

He looks over to where they’re grouped together with Zevran--the elf has a smug smile on his face, and when he sees Alistair looking at them, he winks.

Alistair blushes hotly and looks back at the stew, ignoring the fresh wave of laughter that follows. He’s used to this teasing by now, though it’s still hard to convince his face not to turn red. Six months ago when Zevran joined their little party he would have had to excuse himself. Now, though…

He smiles. He stirs the stew. Aoife, Sophie’s mabari, leaves her napping spot near Sten to nuzzle against Alistair’s side, gazing up at him with wide eyes.

“Hungry?” he asks, and Aoife gives an affirmative borf back at him. “It’s almost ready.”

Aoife sits down and puts her paw on his knee, waiting. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and kisses the top of her head between her hears, earning himself a lick across the face with her broad tongue.

He pulls back with a laugh and wipes at his face with his sleeve, clearing the drool dropping off the end of his nose. He looks at Aoife with raised eyebrows and she just looks back at him, smugness oozing from face as she lets her tongue loll from her mouth.

“Thanks for that,” he says, and she blinks at him. Smug little bastard.

He goes back to stirring and lets his gaze wander over the rest of the camp. It’s a quiet night here, halfway along the trail from Redcliffe to Denerim. The Landsmeet is in a week, the darkspawn haven’t attacked them in a few days, and things feel… peaceful.

Quiet.

Like everything will be okay.

Like they’ll be able to make it to the Landsmeet, remove Loghain from power, and slay the archdemon.

He pulls the pot away from the fire and his eyes find Sophie, still sitting next to Leliana, their arms wrapped around each other against the evening chill. She must feel his gaze on her, or maybe she can hear him thinking -- is that even something mages can do? Probably not... -- and she smiles at him. He blushes but smiles back.

Everything’s going to be okay.

[remade-at-vantemei]

ok but imagine botany major taehyung studying late at night for his test the next day when the power goes out due to the thunderstorm outside so he furiously searches through all the drawers in his apartment until he finds an old musty box of weird red and black candles farther back under his bathroom sink than he’s ever looked before and there’s like twenty of them.

 anyway he lights them all and puts them around him in a sort of circle so he can keep studying. at some point he falls asleep through and he only wakes up when someone’s shaking him which is weird because he doesn’t remember having a roomate?

he opens his eyes and is met with a guy - a really hot guy - crouching next to where he’s hunched over the small textbook covered table and the hot guy looks really annoyed. also he has horns. long black horns that curve over the crown of his skull and clearly sprout from his skull, starting somewhere beneath the messy black hair that hangs into his cat-like pitch black eyes. 

taehyung screams like a twelve year old girl at a red velvet concert and bangs his knee on the desk and the demon looks absolutely unimpressed. it’s only after taehyung is able to soothe himself to a false sense of calm that he asks what the demon is doing in his apartment. 

“you summoned me you idiot.” says the dark haired man as he paces inside the small two meter diameter of the circle of candles. 

taehyung splutters. “s-summoned you? what are you talking about?! i don’t know how to summon a demon! i can’t even summon fried chicken and i’ve definitely tried much harder at that.”

the demon scoffs and shakes his head like he’s dealing with an ignorant child (he is). “the candles you brat, these are summoning candles. specifically my summoning candles. how did you even get them?” the demon is definitely annoyed and he glares at the candles as he carefully toes the perimeter of the circle before jolting his foot back as if he’d been shocked. 

taehyung literally wants to cry as he stands and looks at the candles, backing out of the circle. “summoning candles?! i just found these under my sink! i need to study for my exam tomorrow!”

“come on kid, there’s no way you summoned me by accident. do you have any idea who i am? just cough up the reason you summoned me and break the damn circle so i can leave. what do you want? money? sex?”

the demon looks beyond annoyed and taehyung feels tears welling in his eyes as he runs his hands through his hair. “i’m telling you! i didn’t summon you! at least not on purpose. i just wanted to study for my test! i don’t want money or s-sex, i just want to pass my entomology class!”

the demon watches the pretty boy with soft brown hair and golden skin run his hands through his hair again as his eyes shine wetly in the dim candle light and he almost feels bad for being so rude to him. he really does seem like he has no idea what’s going on. 

“let’s say you did summon me by accident,” taehyung stops his panicked pacing and looks at the demon, shivering slightly as his eyes pass over the horns again. “what am i supposed to do now? i can’t go back until i fulfill the desire of the one who summoned me.” 

at this taehyung gulps and seems to think hard for a moment before shyly looking at the demon who’s glare is slightly less intense than it was a few minutes ago. 

“you could live with me?” 

the demon was not ready for that response and deadpans. “excuse me?” 

“sorry!” taehyung waves his hands. the last thing he wants to do is anger the demon he accidentally summoned. “i just- i don’t even know how i summoned you and-and i dont know how to send you back because i don’t really have a desire for anything except maybe passing my test but i have to do that on my own! so since i we don’t know how to send you back yet you can stay here if you’d like. i mean i summoned you so i should take responsibility right? oh! i should probably feed you to oh my gosh it’s so late, have you had dinner yet? i have some left over kimchi jiggae, or i have ramyeon too...”

the demon looks at the boy in front of him, early twenties at the oldest wearing an oversized blue sweatshirt and bright red shorts that don’t even go to his knees and fuzzy yellow socks as he counts off on his fingers what food he can remember is in his fridge. 

“...you’re offering me dinner...” 

taehyung looks up at that and smiles innocently. “of course! grandma always says you need to take care of your guests and you look pretty skinny so i should offer you food!” 

“...you accidentally summoned a demon, from hell, and your first instinct is to offer me dinner...”

“actually my first instinct was to scream, which i did, and now my second is to feed you! i doubt they have kimchi jiggae as good as seokjin hyung’s in hell anyway.”

the demon looks at taehyung and takes the time to take him in again, eyebrows furrowed at what appears to be the most innocent and polite human he’s ever met. the big doe eyes that look at him with nothing but welcome and kindness. the soft gold skin that glows in the candlelight. the gentle, sleepy smile that is nothing but trusting. 

“...alright.” 

taehyung’s smile brightens and he turns to go to the kitchen before the demon clears his throat and he turns back. 

“you have to break the circle or i can’t get out.”

“the circ-oh!” taehyung quickly grabs the two nearest candles and moves them to the counter a couple meters away from the circle and the demon hesitates for barely a second before stepping out of the circle and taking a quick glance around. 

“my name’s taehyung by the way! kim taehyung, 22 year old botany major at seoul university.”

“yoongi. just yoongi. archdemon from hell. i’m 2,784 years old.”

“oh! you’re my hyung then! nice to meet you yoongi-hyung!”

yoongi just nods and watches as taehyung’s smile grows wider before he turns and makes his way into the kitchen, exclaiming in joy when the the lights flicker back on. yoongi shakes his head but can’t fight the small grin on his face as he steps into the kitchen. if nothing else this would be interesting. 

[not-a-space-alien]

Aziraphale’s Legion, Part 10: Feast

Art by @petimetrek (link for bigger version cause tumblr compresses it)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

Series masterpost 

On AO3

Crowley excused himself from the clean-up job halfway through and did not return.  Aziraphale thought he had probably found some excuse to get distracted and stay inside the shop, since he had been complaining that Aziraphale wouldn’t let him use miracles to get most of it done.

When the job was finally finished, everyone joined him to go back inside, dirty and sweaty.  As soon as he opened the door, a delicious scent wafting through the air hit his nose.

Aziraphale went upstairs and popped his head into the kitchen in the adjacent flat to see Oryss at the hob stirring an enormous pot.  Crowley was there too, tossing a salad, as well as an angel who was balancing two trays of dinner rolls on his arms and seemed to be listening to some directions Oryss was giving him.

“What’s this?” said Aziraphale.

“Angel!” said Crowley. “Oryss wanted to cook dinner for everyone tonight.  Thought it would be nice to celebrate and all that.  Wouldn’t do to leave her in the kitchen all by herself with all these mouths to feed.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. “That’s wonderful.”

“My lord,” said Oryss shyly, and with her gesture Aziraphale realized he was in the way.  He stepped to the side, and Adramelech came into the kitchen past him carrying an enormous bag of potatoes, which he set about washing off.

“Ah, anything I can do to help, then?” he said.

“You could take a bath,” said Crowley, gesturing with the salad fork.  “You’re filthier than those potatoes.”

Aziraphale did as he was told, drawing a nice hot bath and finding it so relaxing that he accidentally fell asleep in the tub.  He was only woken by Botis’s concerned queries as to his wellbeing.

It was starting to get late by the time he came out, and they were still working in the kitchen. There was only one oven, and he suspected they must be cheating judging by the amount of food coming out.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?” he asked Crowley, who was rolling croissants on a tray.

“Aziraphale,” he said in a low hiss.  “You shouldn’t help cook.  You’re the lord; it wouldn’t be proper.”

“Oh,” said a disappointed Aziraphale, who had been picturing a small accident in which Crowley smudged something sweet on his face and Aziraphale was responsible for cleaning it off, perhaps with his tongue.

He shuffled out of the kitchen, not feeling much like a lord of anything.  He eventually lost himself in a book in his study, although he found it especially difficult to concentrate when they started dragging furniture around.

When it began to grow dark, Botis appeared in the doorway, still fully dressed in his armor.  He saluted.  “Lord, I was sent to inform you dinner is ready.”

“Thank you, Botis,” said Aziraphale, sliding his chair back, quite hungry by now.

He followed Botis into the flat next door.  The dining room had not been big enough to hold such an enormous banquet table or this many people, he was sure.  Angels and demons lined the table and the walls. The demons all cheered when he came in.

“Goodness,” he said to Botis quietly.  “What are they cheering me for?”

“Our lord has kept us alive and safely seen us through a battle with an archdemon,” Botis answered him.

“I didn’t really do anything, though.”

“Lord,” said Botis, directly into his ear, pushing him towards the head of the table, “it is a rule of thumb that one never gets anywhere in Heaven, Hell, or Earth without taking credit for things they are not responsible for.  Let them celebrate.”

He noticed with astonishment that everyone was here.  The entire garrison of angels had gathered alongside his demons, and they were mingling.  Rosia and Rava were feeding each other pieces of fruit, and the angel and demon Aziraphale had caught in the closet before were getting just a bit too handsy for public view.  Adramelech was trying to explain something about the food to the angel next to him, who listened with the bare minimum of polite interest, more focused on the turkey leg that was just barely out of reach now that someone had moved the tray.  Even Victoria, who had been in the habit of staying relatively aloof, was there in the kitchen doorway helping Oryss bring in the remainder of the food.  Maltha and Beth were squished together in one chair, their words lost in the general buzz of conversation, but looking very content with each other.  Noah was sitting on Adam’s lap, drinking what Aziraphale sincerely hoped was apple juice out of a wine glass.  And Michael was in the corner, holding Angelo’s hand, and for once nobody looked nervous around him.

And there was Crowley, his beloved demon, smiling at him with those glittering yellow eyes, in the seat next to the head of the table. He felt his heart swelling.

He took his seat and watched as the last few trays of food came out. The table was, if anything, too small. It reminded Aziraphale of a feast he had been to in ancient Greece.  It was the only thing he had been to that rivaled this atmosphere.  

A few years ago—even a few weeks ago—he would never have believed this were possible.  And here they were.

“That’s everything,” Oryss said, nudging a wine bottle aside to make room for a bowl of rolls.

“Let’s give our compliments to the chef, everyone,” said Aziraphale, and the room erupted in cheers and applause. Oryss gave a slightly embarrassed bow.

As everyone scooched their chairs in and piled food onto their plates or poured drinks, Aziraphale felt like it would be proper for him to say something.  He tapped a fork on his wine glass until everyone settled down, looking at him expectantly.

It was only then that he realized he did not know what to say.   “Ahm…  A toast!”

He lifted his glass, and all the angels and demons followed suit.  “A toast to…” he continued.  “To, ahm…”

He looked over at Crowley, who had amusement dancing in his yellow eyes.  Aziraphale knew then what he wanted to toast.

“To love,” he said.

Everyone murmured low approvals, tapping their glasses against each other, and drinking.

Aziraphale regained his seat, preparing to tuck in.

“Hold on,” said Michael. “Aren’t we going to say grace?”

The room fell coldly silent. Aziraphale had no idea what in Michael’s fever-brained mind would have made him think that was an appropriate suggestion.  Even Victoria was cringing, waiting for the reactions of the demons in the room.

“Actually…” said Oryss. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

Murmurs and whispers peppered the room.

“If the angels are used to saying grace before they take their meals,” said Adramelech, “then we can suffer through it for their sake.”

“Really?” said Aziraphale.

“Why not?” said Abraxas. “It’s merely a formality.  It’s not like He actually pays attention to it.”

Nobody made any objections.

“All right, then,” said Aziraphale cautiously.  “Let’s join hands.”

Hands reached out and found each other, from beside one another, across the table, across the aisle, occult and ethereal beings partaking of a gesture that had probably never occurred before in history.  Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand in one and a second angel’s in the other.

Aziraphale bowed his head, and everyone else followed suit.

After a few seconds of silence, Aziraphale lifted his head to look at the room

Everyone had their heads bowed and their eyes closed. Except Maltha.  She was holding Beth’s hand, but she had flatly refused to take the hand of the angel next to her, and she was staring straight into Aziraphale challengingly.

Aziraphale gave her a pleading look.

He felt a tentacle in his brain as Maltha inserted her thought directly into his ears without speaking.  I’m the only one here who looked God Himself in the eye as I fell, and I will die before I bow to Him even one more time.  You’ll be waiting a very long time indeed unless you proceed without me.

Aziraphale looked at the faces of the lesser demons around him, heads bowed in respect for someone who had rejected them, and he could sense that perhaps they had wanted to do this all along, but like Oryss approaching Michael, they had been too scared and needed his help.

But Maltha.  She was too proud.  That was just who she was.

Aziraphale nodded at her. That’s fair.

He bowed his head once more and began.  “Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts…”

The generic grace prayer seemed ill-fitting for this group. But what he really wanted to say, he could never say aloud in this company.  So he started a separate prayer in his head, sincerely, that maybe God would listen to.

Lord God, I know I cannot question your ineffable judgement.

“…which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Be present at our table, Lord.”

But I care very much for those around the table with me here now.  They are kind and merciful and so good.  I do not know why you would cast them out…

“Be here and everywhere adored.  These mercies bless and grant that we may feast in fellowship with Thee.”

...But perhaps you could find it somewhere, in your infinite mercy and grace, to forgive them—forgive us all—and to bless this strange gathering.

“For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful.  In the name of God, the gracious, the merciful.  Amen.”

“Amen,” everyone murmured.

Angels rarely pray directly to God, because they simply get their directions from their supervisors and few of them have anything important enough that they would dare speak to God about. And God does not really speak to one, per se.  When He wants to communicate with someone, He puts His words directly into the recipient’s brain, similar to what Maltha had just done, except He does not put words in, because that would not be ineffable enough.  When one hears from God, they more are left with a sort of impression that they just suddenly remember hearing Him speak a few seconds ago, and are now left with whatever thoughts and feelings they would spawn from hearing that, since He presses it directly onto their brain in a way that’s hard to describe.

And the feelings Aziraphale had as soon as he finished his Amen were associated with the following message God sent to answer his prayer:

Fuck off, you disgusting little creature.

Aziraphale’s hand clamped on Crowley’s, so hard Crowley flinched.  Whatever opportunity there might have been to say something to the group as a whole after the prayer was lost as the meal finally began amid the clinking of silverware and the buzz of conversation.

“Angel, are you all right?” said Crowley.

Aziraphale’s eyes roved the dining hall, then finally came to rest on Crowley, bewildered. Crowley’s serpentine eyes grew serious with concern.  “What’s wrong?”

“I-I…”

“Did…”  Crowley returned his grip just as fiercely.  “Did He answer you?”

It was a mistake. Just a mistake.  He had gotten a message intended for somebody else.  Haha.  Of course God wouldn’t have said something like that to Aziraphale.  Not to him. He was an angel. That kind of talk was only reserved for demons.

Right?

“Angel?  Talk to me.”

Aziraphale’s mouth opened and closed.  A demon nearby put down their silverware and looked at him with concern.

“He said something I rather did not expect,” said Aziraphale quietly.  “But I would prefer not to share it.”

Crowley squeezed his hand again.  “Okay.”

“Now why don’t we enjoy this delicious meal our friends have prepared for us?” said Aziraphale.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Aziraphale’s phone rang.

Aziraphale’s phone never rang.  His number was not really a secret, but there were not many people who wanted to get ahold of him.  He had thought all of them were here with him.

He still had on the generic ringtone, and its beeping was barely audible in the loud room, but it was insistent.  He felt his stomach sinking deeper with each ring, as though the call would be from God himself.

“Angel, you’re phone’s ringing,” said Crowley.

“I-I’d better take this.  Please continue on without me,” said Aziraphale. He stood and wobbled out of the room unsurely, holding the vibrating device in his hand.

Crowley watched him go, concern growing in the pit of his stomach.  In his absence, Crowley made do with sucking down the hors-d’oeuvres.

Relax, he told himself.  Just relax.

Crowley had no idea what response to his prayer Aziraphale could have gotten to unsettle him, but surely it couldn’t have been that bad, right?  Otherwise God would have smitten them all by now.  Surely it was just something that startled him.  And that phone call could be from anyone.  A human customer, even.  There was nothing to worry about.

He should just enjoy the meal.  Everyone seemed to be having a good time already.  He took a breath and steadied his nerves, determined not to be shaken so easily.  He reached for the wine, poured himself a glass, and began to drink it, resolved to enjoy the evening if it killed him.

Botis appeared in Aziraphale’s seat.

“Botis,” said Crowley, eyeing him strangely.  “You can take your armor off, you know.”

“I’d rather keep it on, sir,” said Botis.  “I’m going to keep watch after I’ve eaten.”

“….all right,” said Crowley, thinking it was rather unnecessary, but knowing personal defense of his lord seemed to be Botis’s hobby.  And with that phone call, who knows, it might be a good idea…

“Sir,” said Botis, colouring.  “I…um, I didn’t recognize you until I saw you in your armor.  With your staff.”

“Recognize me?”

“The healer.  The only healer besides Maltha who fell.”

Now it was Crowley’s turn to flush red.  He had never been treated very well once other demons found out he was a healer. “What’s your point?”

Botis ran his fingers along the hilt of his sword.  “I…I was among the group of angels who pressured you to join the rebellion in Heaven.”

A shockwave of recognition flashed through Crowley.  Take away the horns…Yes, he had known him as an angel.

“You must hate me,” said Botis.  “I’m so, so sorry.  If I had known what would happen, I wouldn’t have done it.  We were all young and stupid.”

Botis had a look of genuine sorrow and distress on his face.  Crowley could tell it had been eating at him.

He put a hand on his shoulder.  “Botis, that is quite literally ancient history.  I think you’ve redeemed yourself by now.  The way you threw yourself in front of me and Aziraphale when you thought we would have to fight Agares is plenty.”

Botis’s face dissolved into relief and happiness, but he suppressed it with a serious expression soon enough.  “Thank you, sir.  I’m just doing my duty.”

“Of course you are.  Now, why don’t you get smashed while you have the opportunity?”

Botis saluted and marched off.

Aziraphale did not come back for a worrying long time.  Crowley sipped his wine slowly, tension building in his stomach.  Victoria caught his eye, staring at him from down the long table.

Crowley broke eye contact and went back to his wine, but Victoria got up and navigated the crowded space to him anyway.

“Is everything all right, Crowley?” she said, slipping into Aziraphale’s empty seat.  “You look nervous.”

“Aziraphale got a phone call,” he said.

“Oh,” said Victoria, “is that all? For a minute I thought you were concerned Michael was going to start a fight.”

Crowley looked over at Michael. He could not help but notice the archangel was not eating anything and was starting to look like he was enjoying the meal progressively less and less. Crowley hadn’t been concerned about that before Victoria mentioned it, but he was now.

“I wanted to reassure you I’m committed to making sure everything stays peaceful,” said Victoria.

Crowley nodded. “Thanks.”

Victoria’s fingers idly reached out for a handful of grapes on the table.  “So why is it so concerning that Aziraphale got a phone call? Who’s it from?”

“I don’t know.  Not many people have his number.  I’ve just got a bad feeling.”

“Intuition?”

He shook his head, then occupied himself with emptying his wine glass to avoid meeting the power’s eye. She had taken another handful of grapes by the time he set it back down.  “Hey, Victoria?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t think I ever thanked you.”

“What for?”

“For saving my life when Kabata attacked us. When we showed up in Heaven and you took me back down and got Raphael to treat me.”

“Oh, that?  It already feels so long ago.”

“Yeah.”

“I was just doing my duty.”

Crowley peered into his empty wine glass, swirling the remnants on the bottom.  “To be honest, Victoria, when I opened the portal to get into Heaven, I didn’t expect anyone to save me.  I figured the odds of anyone in Heaven being both willing and able to treat a demon’s injuries and being available right then and there were low enough.  And that was assuming the person at the gate cared enough about me to try and keep me alive, if they didn’t actively kill me first.  When I saw you come out, I half expected you to take Aziraphale off me and then leave me there to die on Heaven’s doorstep.”

Victoria flushed with embarrassment.  “Crowley, you really think I’d do that to you?”

He did not dare look up to see her expression.  “It wouldn’t be the first time Heaven’s gates closed on me when I needed help.”

“You thought Heaven would let you die, but you still went there?”

Crowley looked away, pretending like he was trying to find a refill for his wine glass.  “I knew you’d save Aziraphale.  He may not be very popular, but he’s still an angel.  I figured at least one of us could survive the attack.”

Crowley took the ensuing silence as a cue that he should finally look up at her.  He was shocked to find that her eyes were watering.

“Crowley, I had no idea demons were capable of such selflessness.”

He could have been insulted by it, but he knew she had meant it as a great compliment.  He did not know how to respond.  So he lifted his wine glass and tipped it to get at the leftovers on the bottom.

“Crowley, you are a creature of great honour and nobleness,” said Victoria, holding out her hand. “I’m so glad that I could get to know you.  I’d save your life again in a heartbeat.”

Crowley looked down at her hand; it took a moment to realize she wanted him to shake it.  He took it, slightly embarrassed, not feeling very noble at all.  “Erm, thanks.”

After the handshake was over, they both just sat there, slightly awkward.  Victoria sniffled and pushed her chair back.  “Well, I’d better—I’d—Look, your friend wants to talk to you.”

He saw that Maltha was motioning to him to come over.  

“I’d better go see what she wants.  Thanks, Victoria.”

“Hey, um, Crowley?”

He turned back towards the angel.

Victoria refused to meet his eyes.  “Your friend. Beth.”

“Yes?”

“Will you tell her it’s orange?”

“What is?”

“My favourite colour.”

He smiled.  “All right, Victoria.”

Crowley navigated his way through the packed room until he could wheedle his way into the space in front of the archdemon.  “What is it?”

“I was just talking to Beth,” said Maltha.

“Maltha told me that all demons have an animal form,” said Beth.

“Er, yeah,” said Crowley. “Nobody’s really sure why, it just kind of works out that way.”

Maltha downed an entire glass of wine in one go and then continued, “Yes, and I told her—”

“I asked her what your form was—” Beth slurred.

“But I didn’t tell her—”

“She made me guess—”

“She thought—”

“Shh, babe, I want to tell him!” said Beth, slapping Maltha’s arm.

It was at this point that Crowley noticed the gaggle of empty wine glasses surrounding the pair and their flushed faces.  “Are you two drunk already?”

“Yes,” said Maltha, while Beth simultaneously answered, “No.”

“How are you finding the wine?”

“I’m going to be honest with you Crowley,” said Maltha as more wine appeared in her glass.  “Of all the things I put effort into learning about in my time on this plant.  Planet.  Alcohol was not one of them despite my fondness for it. Once I tried to get drunk off of sparkling grape juice.  Beth had to explain to me why it wouldn’t work.  That’s why I keep her around.”

“Awww, babe,” said Beth as Maltha shook her with drunken revelry.

“My point is I don’t know good wine from grape juice,” said Maltha.  “Anyway, that’s not important.  I made her guess what your animal was—”

“I thought you were a cat,” said Beth between bouts of laughter.

“A cat?” Crowley exclaimed. “No, no, no.  If anyone were a cat, it would have to be Abraxas, wouldn’t it?”

Maltha sloshed wine out of the glass in her hand as she leaned in closer to Crowley.  “Abraxas thinks I don’t know what her animal form is, but I do.”

“Erm…” said Crowley. The two of them apparently found it totally hysterical, because they were having trouble breathing between fits of giggling. Abraxas was across the room letting Mittens eat turkey off her plate, too far away to hear them.

“Tell him,” said Beth.

“A mouse,” said Maltha in a strangulated voice.  “She’s a mouse.”

“What?  No!” said Crowley.

Maltha nodded and waved her wine glass.  Beth had been trying to give her a refill and missed.

“No wonder her cats like her so much,” wheezed Maltha.  “They’re probably waiting for her to turn her back so they can eat her.”

“And I wanted to ask you,” said Beth.  “Crowley, since you’re a snake—”

“Whatever it is you’re about to say, don’t say it.”

“Have you ever eaten a mouse?”

“Well of course!” said Crowley, a tad irritated.  “I had to eat while I was in a snake’s body, didn’t I?  Couldn’t exactly prepare a sandwich with no hands, could I?”

“No, no, I meant while you were in a human body.  You suppress those reptilian instincts all the way?”

Crowley grabbed the wine bottle out of Beth’s hand as she spoke and took a swig from it.  “I’m not answering that.”

“You did, didn’t you!” said Beth, unimaginably delighted.  

“I’m not answering that.”

“Hey, Crowley, are you all right?” said Maltha.

“Your girlfriend is harassing me.”

“No, seriously, though. You look a little…”  One of Maltha’s red pupils drifted off to the side drunkenly while the other remained fixed on Crowley.  “On edge?”

Crowley set the wine bottle down.  “Maltha, you’re the only one in this room who can protect us, but you’ve gotten too drunk to walk straight.  I’m sorry, I’m just a little nervous.”

Maltha put a hand on his arm.  “Crowley, I can sober up at the drop of a hat.”

Crowley flushed with embarrassment; he had nearly forgotten about that.

“Nobody can get in at us.  And I’m sure by now word of Agares’s death will have spread, and that will make everyone think twice about coming after us.  I wouldn’t be surprised if even more came over to our side because of it.  Nobody is going to attack us so quickly after that. We’re as safe as we can be right now. Relax.  Enjoy yourself.  You’re always so tense.”

“You’re right.  I’m sorry.  It’s just that Aziraphale got a phone call.”

“Why is that a problem? Expecting trouble?”

“Only because it always seems to chase me.”

Maltha agreed that was fair enough and left him in his tension.  Beth also remarked about Michael’s apparent decline with concern, which did not help his nerves at all.

As time passed and the food disappeared, the wine bottles emptied and refilled multiple times, and the drunken merriment climbed higher and higher.  At one point, when there was enough space on the table, some board games came out of the closet and appeared amidst the food, and those nearest entered an intense competition.  Maltha and Beth decided to play as a team, but they wanted to use the dog token, which one of Michael’s angels had.  The angel said he would only give up the dog in exchange for the hat token, but Adramelech had the hat piece and wasn’t willing to part with it no matter what. Maltha ordered him to give it to her on her authority as an archdemon, but Adramelech said the sacred ritual of dibs was of utmost important on Earth and superseded even Hell’s authority. Maltha looked taken aback and believed him, and Beth couldn’t explain anything to her because she was laughing too hard.  The Monopoly game started considerably later than the game of Sorry! across the table, which was already in full swing with several murderous eliminations in the bag by the time someone had purchased their first property.

Crowley found himself unable to take Maltha’s advice and let himself relax.  Michael got up halfway through the festivities and exited briskly, Angelo chasing after him a minute later.  And Crowley kept his eye on the door, hoping Aziraphale would come back soon and tell him the call had just been a wrong number or something.

Aziraphale moved to the bedroom to answer the call, but it was too late and it went to voicemail.  The caller did not leave a message, but his phone vibrated in his hand with a call from the same number a few seconds later. He had to steady himself for a few deep breaths before flipping it open.

“Hello?”

“Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale’s blood turned to ice.  He knew that voice.  He had taken orders from it.

“Camael.”

There was an animalistic hissing on the other end of the line.  “Do not call me that.”

“Kabata, then.”

There was silence, as though he hadn’t expected getting Aziraphale to use his preferred name would be so easy.  Aziraphale felt like he wanted to catch up.  Haven’t spoken in a while.  How’s it been?  How’s life as a demon?  But he thought that it would be inappropriate.

“I know you have the antichrist,” said Kabata.

“I’m not denying that I do.”

Another pause. Perhaps Kabata was struggling because he was still new at being evil.

“Give him to me.”

Aziraphale actually had to stifle a laugh.  “No, I’m afraid you won’t get him that easily.”

“What happened the last time we met wasn’t personal, Aziraphale.”

“‘What happened’?  You mean when you tried to murder me and Crowley?”

Another hesitation. “Yes.  But I don’t have any interest in getting revenge on you, Aziraphale. I want the throne.  Now that Agares and her crew aren’t lurking about, you and I can talk about it.”

Aziraphale choked back laughter again.  “Kabata, you just fell.  Doesn’t that seem a bit…ambitious?  You’re competing with archdemons who have served under Satan for millennia.”

“I’m aware,” snarled Kabata. “Which is why I need the antichrist. If I can ignite the apocalypse with his son, Satan’s forces will have no choice but to recognize me.”

“You’re seriously trying to convince me to just give him to you?  Surely you must know that won’t work.”

“Well, I’m not just asking for him,” said Kabata.  “I’m offering you a deal.”

“…a deal?”

“You can be my second in command in Hell.”

“Not a chance.”

“I’ll let you keep all your demons.  Unharmed. Just as they are now.  I’ll personally guarantee Crowley’s safety against any of those still thirsty for his blood after what he did.  I’ll even let you keep any of those angels who strike your fancy.”

Aziraphale considered it. Just for a moment.  He wasn’t proud of that.

“Ahh…” said Kabata. “I see I’ve struck a chord.  I know what it is you want.”

“No, Kabata,” he said.  

“I’m not going to hurt Noah. I’m going to give him power. Aziraphale, there’s so much we could gain from this.”

“I will not ever participate in any plan that involves the destruction of Creation, do you understand?” Aziraphale shouted.  “That’s always been the point.”

“Please reconsider.”

“Kabata,” he said through gritted teeth, “I am currently sitting in a building laced with occult sigils that bar your entry, surrounded by a legion of Heaven’s finest warriors, including the archangel Michael—who I might add has been raring to kill an archdemon for weeks now—as well as a horde of demons that would die fulfilling my commands if I needed them to, and the archdemon who almost bested Satan for his throne while he was still alive. And you are alone, newly fallen, and have made enemies of everyone powerful in Hell already since you’re competing for the throne.  I very much doubt you have any ace up your sleeve.  If you want the new antichrist so badly, you are free to come and try to take him.”

Aziraphale sucked in a deep breath after this outburst.  Kabata was silent.

“Even when I had authority over you, you never did as you were told, Aziraphale,” said Kabata’s voice, which seemed to ooze out of the telephone and prick his neck with a slimy tendril.  “And when you’re at your lowest moment, when you’re asking yourself why things turned out this way for you, I want you to remember it’s because you do not do as you are told.”

The line went dead. Aziraphale kept the phone at his ear for a few extra moments, his mind racing.

He snapped it shut, wishing he had not gotten quite so mouthy.  Kabata had deserved it, but still.  He lay back on the bed and sat there for a while, his head in his hands, feeling positively overwhelmed, not sure what to do.  

He lost track of time as he lay there.  He heard heavy footsteps thump in the hallway, and he levered himself upright just in time to see Angelo scurrying past the room looking concerned.

“Is everything all right?” Aziraphale called.

Angelo stopped.  “Oh. Um.  Yeah, everything’s fine.  Michael’s just not feeling so well.  All the noise was getting to him. We’re going to keep watch on the roof.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, thinking that might be a good idea.  “All right.  Thank you. Let me know if you see anything.”

Angelo disappeared. Aziraphale flopped back onto the bed, then suddenly realized the time.  He’d better go tell everyone about the call so that they could be on alert.

When he walked back into the dining room, he saw that the food was mostly gone, and that several board games had appeared.  The group closest to him was boisterously fighting over candy-coloured money and small plastic houses and metal tokens in the shape of shoes and cars.  

They were all drunk and happy.  He could not bring himself to interrupt them.  He turned back around, going down the stairs quietly, the loud noises and warm smells fading with the distance.

He found Botis in the main shop standing facing the door, silhouetted against the night through the glass shopfront, weakly illuminated by moonlight.

“Evening, lord,” he said. His cheeks were slightly flushed, obviously also a bit drunk.

“What are you doing down here?”

“He’s keeping watch,” said Crowley’s voice behind him, appearing on the staircase.  He padded down the stairs and across the shop, coming up beside them.  “I told him to relax for once, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“I just want to be sure my lord is safe,” said Botis.

Aziraphale grabbed his shoulder and squeezed.  “Thank you. Botis, Crowley.  Will you help me strengthen the anti-demon sigils on the shop?”

“Of course,” said Crowley. “Is something wrong?”

“I’ve gotten a call from an old friend.  Nothing to be alarmed about.  But I’d rather make sure he can’t get in.”

Crowley seemed to immediately understand who he meant and did not ask questions.  Botis did not see any point in asking too many questions of his lord, so he also did not ask questions.

They tightened the glyphs so that no demon was able to enter, full stop.  He was sure that Kabata wouldn’t have somehow grown to love the Earth so quickly, not someone like him, but he wanted to take no chances that he would be able to exploit any loopholes the exception might allow.  Aziraphale was sure that everyone was already inside the perimeter, and Botis assured him he would make certain nobody left that evening.

He could have a talk with everyone tomorrow about the change.  There was no way Kabata would be able to get in, no way he could make good on his threats.  And they could pass the night in safety, laughing and drinking, and deal with him tomorrow, whatever pathetic move he decided to try and make.

The universe would have to pull out a lot more than this to scare Aziraphale.

“Michael.  Michael, look at me.  Look at me.”

Michael was panting, his wings drawn out, his eyes half lidded, covered in sweat.

“It’s okay,” said Angelo. “You’re okay.”

“I wanted to kill her,” said Michael.  “Me, I should have killed Agares.  I’m the bearer of divine wrath.”

Michael seemed to have a bit too much wrath built up inside him. Angelo took Michael’s head in his hands. “It’s okay.”

“Metatron said this was going to happen,” said Michael, wiping an eye with his palm.  “That my bloodlust was going to get worse the longer the war was put off.  That I would start to deteriorate.   Because I’m…I’m…”

“How can I help you, Michael?  What do you need?”

“I need to kill something.”

Angelo could only say “It’s okay” so many times when it obviously wasn’t true.  He moved a strand of hair out of Michael’s face.  “I’m here.”

They both caught a spark of light and a fizzle out of the corner of their eyes.  A piece of parchment fluttered down, landing seal-upright.  It was from Gabriel.

Angelo picked it up. It was addressed to Michael, but he opened it anyway. And then he tried to hide it from Michael, but it was too late, because the archangel had been reading it over his shoulder.

“Michael, don’t.”

Michael pushed him off and drew his sword.  “Get out of the way, Angelo.”