#f!Cousland x Anora

[mxanigel]

OC master post: Heather Cousland

(left piece by @/savnanigans, right piece by @/lilithkb)

Basic info:

Dual-wielding rogue fond of poisons and stealth; taught the bow from a young age but prefers daggers

She/her pronouns, biromantic, bisexual

25 years old when the Fifth Blight began; younger twin sister of Fergus Cousland

Extremely close with her immediate family

Has a short-lived fling with Nathaniel Howe as a teenager

Falls for Anora in her late teens; their eventual relationship remains clandestine because Anora is betrothed to and later marries Cailan

Is absolutely devastated by her parents' deaths, as well as that of her sister-in-law and nephew, at the hand of Rendon Howe

She barely escapes with her life and eventually operates in the shadows during the Blight to wage her own war against Howe (and support the Warden from a distance), becoming Denerim's Dark Wolf

Continues to serve Ferelden even after Anora ends their relationship in 9:33 Dragon

Ends up in a throuple with Nathaniel Howe and Neri Surana at Vigil's Keep for a time in the mid 9:30s (but it's complicated)

Ultimate endgame ship is with Anora because I need that (yes it will be messy but WHO CARES~ they'll figure it out somehow)

Fics and writing snippets:

Stories of Thedas 6 one-word prompt responses [on tumblr]

Heather and Anora have a little too much mulled wine [on tumblr]

After the Battle of Denerim [on tumblr]

[fereldanwench]

started thinking about what worldstate i wanna create for my first run in veilguard because of course i have.

we can't import past saves and we won't be using the keep anymore, so I'm not sure how detailed we'll be able to get with it but I've got a few possibilities to play with:

the first and most likely is my mostly canon-compliant worldstate with these bbs:

lorelei cousland [rogue; double-wield] warden / queen of ferelden / li: king!alistair

daphne caron [rogue; double-wield] warden commander / ruler of vigil's keep / li: warden!bethany

ansley hawke [warrior; board & sword] champion of kirkwall / pirate / li: isabela

melisande trevelyan [rogue; archer] herald of andraste / inquisitor / li: cullen

rosalind hendry [mage; knight-enchanter] former chantry scholar / inquisition agent for leliana / li: blackwall

the second is my slightly less canon-compliant worldstate that i never brought into inquisition because i didn't want to have to choose between alistair and my favorite hawke in the fade lmao:

karina amell [mage; i do not remember her spec] warden-commander / li: warden!alistair

rhiannon hawke [force & elemental mage] champion of kirkwall / temp viscount of kirkwall / li: cullen or fenris*

*last summer i did replay da2 with an iteration of rhiannon that actually romanced fenris and i loved it and I've complicated shit for her, lmao. rhiannon x cullen were my goro x valerie of 2013-2014 and making her officially with someone else feels wrong bc i loved them together so much. but i just can't enjoy cullen anymore. so do i do i give rhiannon a boyfriend upgrade? do i make a whole 'nother hawke inspired by her? do i just let rhiannon x cullen and rhiannon x fenris exist in different AUs? i don't know!

and the third is kind of the opposite of the second one: a worldstate i made just for inquisition in the keep with some choices i had never made in the previous games. i don't even have the worldstate in the keep anymore so i don't remember everything but i think it was like this:

default f!mahariel [rogue; archer] no li / recruited loghain / made alistair marry anora

default m!hawke [mage] li: anders / sided with mages

keagan trevelyan [mage; knight-enchanter] herald of andraste / inquisitor / li: cullen (although i headcanoned a polycule with her, cullen, and josie)

one of my conundrums with all of these is, as i mentioned, i can't enjoy cullen anymore. he was obviously a big fave, i think his arc is fascinating especially in da2 and especially if you side with the templars and he has to contend with the shit he's done for meredith, and i enjoyed all the different shipping dynamics with all different kinds of ocs. but i can't separate him from his dipshit VA at this point. hearing his voice is just an instant NOPE for me now

i am 99% positive cullen will not be in veilguard for 2 reasons: 1) the writers said during inquisition that they were no longer trying to work in characters whose fates could be too varied depending on player choice and 2) that twitter shitstorm a few years seemed to guarantee ellis will never work with bioware again lmao

now i suppose there's a possibility that ellis could have recorded lines before that happened and somehow they would be able to be used despite all the changes that happened, but I'm trying to be an optimist here

nevertheless, all of the inquisitors i played were with him, and it sounds like we'll be able to engage with our inquisitors in some capacity in veilguard so do i even want to have a passing mention of cullen? idk. i mean, my disdain for his VA isn't so bad that this would ruin the game for me or anything, but i also feel like this is an opportunity to enjoy another character

between keagan and melisande, melisande was definitely my more developed OC, but i just loved playing as a knight-enchanter gameplay-wise so keagan is actually the only one of the two who did trespasser and jaws of hakkon. i never did the descent--the only DLC in all the games that i haven't played. I've been debating firing up my inquisitor!valerie game again to play that with her but i know the descent recommends a pretty high level and i can't remember how far i got in the story with her (I think i just reached skyhold that last time i played)

so anyway, i've got some decisions to make!

as for what i'm leaning towards playing in veilguard: at this point in time, i'm pretty sure my first rook will be a mage of some kind and lucanis sounds like he was made specifically for me lmao so odds are looking good that'll be my first ship

[seigeocs]

Ships and Characters

Skyrim

My OCs + their ships. Farkas Vilkas Brynjolf

Fallout 3 Butch Cross Jericho Charon

Fallout New Vegas (if it’s not obvious, I really like the ladies in NV) Boone Lily Bowen Raul Cass Veronica

Fallout 4 All of the romance options Deacon Maxon The Raider bosses in Nuka World except the Black siblings

Fallout (TV Series) Ghoulcy Maximus x Lucy

Destiny 1 Any of my OCs Siobhan x Emyr Siobhan x Shaxx Siobhan x Uldren

Destiny 2 Any of my OCs Siobhan x Crow Siobhan x Shaxx

Dragon Age: Origins Any of my OCs established ships F!Cousland x Anora, F!Warden x Leliana, F!Warden x Morrigan, M!Warden x Morrigan, M!Warden x Zevran, F!Warden x Zevran

Dragon Age: Awakening F!Cousland x Nathaniel Howe, F!Cousland/Anders, F!Warden x Varel

Dragon Age 2 I’ll write for any of the characters and ships in DA2.  My favorites are: F!Hawke x Fenris, F!Hawke x Isabela x Fenris, F!Hawke x Varric, M!Hawke x Fenris, M!Hawke x Fenris x Isabela

Dragon Age: Inquisition I like almost all of the ships.  I struggle to write Solas so he’s just not available unfortunately.  Not that I don’t like his character, I just suck at writing him. My OCs and their ships, Dorian x Bull are some of my favorite.  I also love writing interactions that don’t involve smut for the companions as well.

Dragon Age Veilguard (when it comes out as I’m trying to keep away from most of the game information)

Mass Effect F!Shep x Kaidan, F!Shep x Ashley, F!Shep x Garrus, F!Shep x Tali (DON’T CARE IF THEY WEREN’T OFFICIAL, THEY EXIST TO ME).

Mass Effect 2 F!Shep x Garrus, F!Shep x Thane, F!Shep x Zaeed, F!Shep x Garrus x Thane, F!Shep x Tali, F!Shep x Miranda, M!Shep x Jack

Mass Effect 3 Same ship as 1 and 2.  I also write F!Shep x James Vega but in the non creepy Citadel DLC way.  That doesn’t exist in my canon.

Stardew Valley I’ll write smut about many of the characters in the game.  My one farmer is shipped with Harvey and my other is shipped with Leah.  If you give me characters I’ll make it work.  My only line in the sand is I will not write any cheating.

BG3 *waves hand to OCs* I’ll write whatever for them and their ships.  If you request BG3 just give me some options and I’ll figure it out.

Helluva Boss* Established canon ships!  I am loving the angst with Blitz and Stolas right now.

Hazbin Hotel* Established canon couples, Angel Dust x Husker (mostly fluff for these two because Angel Dust needs it).  I won’t write Alastor in any romantic ships.

My Hero Academia*

I mostly write Reader insert fics for MHA.  I also write ships between characters too.  Platonic fluff, found family, sarcasm, and anything that is G to T rating is for every character.  My main ships: Midnight x Eraserhead x Mic Midnight x Eraserhead Mic x Eraserhead Fatgum x Mirko Fatgum x Hawks Fatgum x Eraserhead All Might x Eraserhead Mirko x Shigaraki (Don’t question it, I love the toxicity of it) Compress x Twice Twice x Hawks Hawks x Dabi

Demon Slayer*

My OC x Rengoku My Demon OC x Muzan Reader Inserts for all the over 18 characters I also write platonic found family for all the characters

Kaiju No. 8*

Hoshina is my absolute favorite character in this show. Kafka Hibino is a close second Narumi (omg the anime did him a disservice so badly) Eiji Hasegawa Haruichi Izumo Iharu Furuhashi Reno Ichikawa

Any any platonic, fluff, cute stuff with any of the characters

Haikyuu

As everyone in the main cast is over 18 by the end of the manga, I’ll write all the characters.  It’s mostly Reader Inserts but I’m open to OCs and character x character ships.

One Punch Man

Saitama Genos Atomic Samurai Blast Zombieman

[v-arbellanaris]

Re: rarepair Hell. I would like to know how many pits we mutually occupy, so. Could I get a list of like, idk, your top ten (based in enjoyment level) rarepairs? And/or headcanons but I would prefer "and".

okay i'll assume you mean dragon age specifically MFDSKJFSDKJF but okay, i'll list some!!!!

the obvious ones:

fenders (fenris x anders) : i love a good narrative foil

zevistair (zevran x alistair) : idk if this counts as a rarepair but!!! their canon flirting banters always make me go sooo insane. that you can include zevran in the foursome w alistair if alistair is hardened (lol) makes me INSANE. they are basically canon aND YET!!!!!!

warden x loghain : ive written so much abt them already. you get the idea

nanders (nathaniel x anders)

the less obvious ones:

anders/merrill (bonus: anders/merrill/isabela): for all the same reasons i ship fenders (which i would argue is still relatively a popular pair, so not quite rarepair??); they're such good mirrors, they're both encapsulate what the other fears. anders being 100% okay to hurt people despite being a healer vs merrill being a blood mage who has never wanted to hurt anyone is just *chef kiss*. you can take a look at this for more compelling reasons to ship them.

fenris/merrill: for all the same reasons as above. i think if u dont ship each individual LI of the kirkwall polycule w each other, u shouldnt say u ship the kirkwall polycule.

solavelyan / soladaar / soladash / solas x non-lavellan inqs: i still think it should've been a romance option for all inqs tho i suppose they didn't really have the time to develop a non-lavellan route for them, but i love thinking about it, and i love the vibes for it so much. again, i love narrative foils, and i think it's so natural to be drawn to someone who could understand you like that.

alistair x bethany: a not-templar and a not-circle mage, in the wardens together. i think they'd really like each other and have a very interesting kind of energy!!! they've both got these secret bitter/spiteful sides to them, there's a lot of parallels (like alistair thinking warden conscription is a good thing bc it was for him and bethany having v different emotions abt being a warden in general). i've also really enjoyed most of the fics i've read for them.

nathaniel x f!cousland: UNFORTUNATELY THOUGH i dont think i've been able to find the kind of fic i want for them in the tag. i've got too many wips as it is, but maybe one day i'll write the nathaniel/f!cousland fic of my dreams...

nathaniel x anora: this one is admittedly @rosella-writes' fault, but they've got me by the THROAT as a concept

m!hawke/cullen: LIKE ESPECIALLY IF IT'S ONE-SIDED FOR CULLEN it's something that can be SO fascinating to explore (esp in an amell worldstate). [shaking cullen] babygirl what is WRONG with you!!!!!!!

m!hawke/sebastian: sebastian grappling with his admiration for hawke vs his chantry vows but THIS TIME make it mlm..... i think this is probably baby vee coming through w how hard i used to ship d/estiel in the early 00's LMAO. fsr they hit the same beats in my skull.

morrigan/leliana: noooo girlies don't fight haha <3 they should dump the warden and kiss instead <3

josephine/the iron bull: i read a few fics for them that admittedly captured my interest. i think their dynamic is something that could really be interesting to delve into for so many reasons. i've read the evidence and i find it compelling enough to put on this list

[labhellan]

f!cousland x anora but it’s rhaenicent vibes

[seigephoenix]

Happy DADWC! For F!Cousland x Anora: “You make me nauseous.” “It’s called love. You’ll get over it.”

Happy @dadrunkwriting! Elaina and Anora are a ship I adore and wish I had more time to write about them. Thank you for the prompt!

Content Warning: wholesome flirting, cheeky Warden Length: ~800 words

“Your Highness, you have a visitor.”  Anora looked up from her reports with surprise.  She didn’t have anyone on her schedule but she glanced over just to double check she didn’t forget anyone.  No.  Who would be so brazen as to drop in unannounced…  Her lips flattened into a thin line as she knew exactly who it was.

“Thank you.  Show them to my sitting room please.” He bowed and backed out to inform her guest where she would be staying.  Anora rose and took a moment to reflect on her potential visitor.  Usually when she visited there would inevitably be chaos, especially if she brought any of her contacts with her.  The woman was infuriating but…  Anora knew that if anything happened to her while she was out on a mission, her heart would simply shatter.  Though she’d never admit it aloud, she had to cling to some pride.

Anora brushed off her skirt and pushed the unwanted thoughts to the back of her mind.  The thoughts that would inevitably lead to dangerous thoughts.  Thoughts about stolen kisses in the shadows, searing into her memory and making her ache for so much more.  If only she could toss society on its ear and be with the one she loved, but the shackles closed around her throat preventing her from doing what her soul ached for.

Her feet barely made any sound as she walked towards her sitting room, nerves tangling in her belly at meeting her again.  She opened the door and paused to take in the scene in front of her.  Elaina’s mahogany brown hair glistening in the firelight, a touch more silver to it now after all the years.  She noted there were more lines around her eyes and around her lips.  Anora realized that the years were catching up and the Calling would be upon Elaina sooner rather than later.  That thought paralyzed her.  She was going to lose her.  Anora shook herself out of those panicked thoughts and stepped into the room.

“Good evening Your Majesty.”  Anora jumped at her greeting; Elaina hadn’t even turned to face her.

“How?”  She tilted her face up as Anora paused behind her and that ever familiar smile was on her face.

“I’ve spent enough time memorizing how someone moves to recognize your footfalls.”  She held out her hand for Anora to sit beside her in front of the fire.  Anora resisted at first but that only made her lips curve from a warm smile into a wicked one.  “What’s the matter Your Highness?”  Anora stiffened but grasped her hand as Elaina helped her to sit.  The feel of her fingers against her skin reassured Anora she was real, she was there with her.

“Mabari got your tongue?”  Elaina grinned as she leaned in, earning her a frown from Anora.  “What?”  Elaina huffed as she saw the skeptical look on Anora’s face.  “I made sure to bathe before I came here.”

“I should hope so.  Do you know how mad the head housekeeper was from all that mud and whatever else you dragged in last time?”  Anora glared at her as Elaina threw back her head in a laugh.

“I’m sorry.”  Elaina brought their hands up to her lips, pressing a kiss against each one of Anora’s fingers.  Anora cursed her traitorous heart as it fluttered with each one.  “Next time tell her to take those grievances up with me.”

“As if she’d lecture the Hero of Ferelden.”  Elaina laughed and tugged Anora’s hand until she fell against her.  Those strong arms wrapped around her and Anora breathed in the familiar scent of her lover.  Her hand brushed over her hair, running down her back until pausing right at her waist.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Spoilsport.”  Anora tilted her face up and saw the mischief in Elaina’s face.  No matter how old they grew, she remained so playful with her.  Anora had seen her at formal events and even directing her troops, and there wasn’t a single trace of humor on her face then.  Yet, when they were together the Warden Commander softened and let out her real self.  It was something Anora treasured.

“You make me nauseous.”  Anora huffed and Elaina’s laugh filled the room before she grabbed Anora.  “What are you!?” Anora squealed as Elaina fell over backwards, cradling her against her chest and laughed as she was now sprawled on top of the warden.

“It’s called love.  You’ll get over it in time.”  Her hand slid up Anora’s cheek to tangle in her hair.  She brought her down for a kiss that was so tender it brought tears to Anora’s eyes.  So achingly fragile she was afraid to move lest she break the moment.

“Will you stay?” Anora whispered when Elaina broke the kiss.

“Only if you want me to.”

[laurelsofhighever]

Alistair x Cousland, slow burn

Excerpt:

This letter has been folded and unfolded dozens of times over so that some words are barely legible, the corners ripped as if it has once or twice been shoved hastily into a pocket to keep it hidden.

Anora,

I must have started this letter a dozen times, and each time I scratch out my clumsy sentences all I can think about is how much better than me you are at this sort of thing. The easy charm with which I am credited in person falls flat when it comes to the written word – when it comes, my Dove, to you.

I miss you. There is no other way to say it. I miss hearing your laugh and holding you while you sleep. I even miss those long, tedious mornings in petty court where one problem comes after another and it seems we may never get a moment’s peace for ourselves. Your sound judgement and quiet warmth is sorely lamented on these cold winter nights, spent in exile from the one whose presence is dearer to me than sunlight to the first blushing petals of spring. This matter that has risen up between us has stained everything, not just our own lives but the whole of Ferelden, and it galls me to know that what should be private is, as ever, bared for the whole world to see. That pressure has always been with us, and harder on you, I know, with those busybodies and gossips discussing our affairs as if we were nothing more than horses put out to stud; and now the issue of an heir has once again come between us, but not for the reasons of which your father has accused me. I freely own to my mistakes; those times when the pressures of ruling became too much, when we could not find a way to talk and I sought comfort elsewhere; they were unworthy of you, but I cannot let it happen now. In this, at least, I may prove a proper husband.

It is true that there has been communication between myself and Her Imperial Majesty Empress Celene of Orlais, but not on the subject your father fears; never once have I contemplated jilting you for another, and certainly not in favour of someone so connected to the Great Game, our sworn enemy of but a generation ago. I cannot speak of Her Radiance’s motives, but on my part it was a fostering of a trade agreement only, to make Ferelden seem more profitable as an ally than as a conquered province. Our fathers fought for this country in their own way, and now I must do no less, even if there happens to be less open bloodshed on this battlefield. I should have told you, my Dove, and my only excuse for not doing so is that I feared what would happen should your father find out.

Tell me that you, too, appreciate the irony of the result.

As for the other matter, that of my uncle’s letter, I did not tell you because I wanted to spare you. When our match was suggested, I agreed. At the time, though I did already admire you greatly, I thought it would be nothing more than a political union, designed to unite Ferelden in a time of uncertainty. King Maric’s loss was greatly felt by the people, and by all who followed his leadership, and I will always be grateful to your father for the advice he offered me during those weeks, when all I could feel was my own unreadiness to rule and every day was nothing more than a reminder that the man to whom I had always looked for guidance was no longer there. But it is not for a King to feel such things, and so for the sake of the future, I accepted his offer. It helped that we had grown up together, knowing the match was subtly intended all along, but I never expected how deeply I would come to feel for you. That I would come to love you as if you were part of my own flesh. You have always been the better part of me, and I would spare you any pain in the world, including this. My uncle’s attempts at persuasion were reprehensible, but I beg you to believe me when I say he has learned a hard lesson about repeating them.

By now you will know I say these things not only as a foolish husband, but as a King hoping to hold his country together before all we have worked for is lost. Dear Heart, darling Wife, you always were clever. Your father listens to nobody but you. Convince him of my words, of my sincerity, and we may yet avert this disaster before it can truly gain a foothold. Do not allow fear and the threat of war to undo the peace that has allowed Ferelden to prosper these past thirty years. Many of my advisors gave up hope of a diplomatic solution when the ravens brought news of the golden Drake flying over the corpses of travellers in Gherlen’s Pass, but they lack the faith in you that I possess.

Please, Anora. If not for me but for the sake of all the lives that will be lost in this war, I beg you to sway your father’s resolve and stop this madness before it can begin. The people love you, and so do I, and it is my hope you will let that be a guiding light towards resolution.

I pray by Andraste’s Grace that this letter will reach you, and that it will not be intercepted by those whose desire for power would see Ferelden fall.

I remain, as ever, Your willing, devoted servant,

Cailan Theirin

In my own hand, 9:31 ~ 6th Wintermarch

[the-8-of-spades]

Do YOU love this rarepair? Are YOU a fan of sluffy, incredibly well written forbidden love romance fics? Well have I got the fic for YOU

the Anora Mac Tir tag on ao3 is so goddamn useless it’s literally about anything but Anora :/

[heniareth]

ZevWarden Week 2022

Day 1 - Culture

Words: 3028 | Rating: Teen and up | Zevran x f!Tabris

Hi hello ^^ It’s my first time participating in the ZevWarden Week and I’m beyond excited XD XD XD Thank you very much for all the wonderful people who are putting this event together. I hereby submit my first entry. It’s rated Teen and up for an instance where one character takes undue interest in another character’s love life, and it gets mildly suggestive at the end as Zevran and Astala talk about their plans for the night before the scene fades to black. There is also some talk about poisons, but no poisonings happen. Enjoy and happy ZevWarden Week to all and sundry!

Astala Tabris visits Antiva City for the first time as part of a diplomatic delegation. She hasn't seen Zevran in three years and seven and a half months, the longest they have been separated since his failed assassination attempt. During her first meal on Antivan soil, a note appears next to her plate. Could it be from Zevran?

Read on AO3 or continue below the cut:

Astala was the first one on deck when the lookout announced the sighting of Antiva City. Soon afterwards, she could see it herself, white and red dotted against a background of green and ochre. As the city grew closer, Astala realized just how big it was: easily five times the size and twice as imposing as Denerim. It occupied several hills, and even at this distance it was easy to see which districts were richer and which more run-down. Large mansions with plenty of space and greenery around them rose over narrow buildings that were mashed together as if by a child’s hand. The city was divided by several arms of the Rialto river as it flowed into the sea. The water was a bright blue, the air was warm and heavy with humidity. And amidst the cry of seagulls, the smell of fish, drying seaweed and fouling water, the hustle and bustle of the large harbor, Astala disembarked and set foot on Antivan soil for the first time.

This, then, was Zevran’s home city. Although she could feel the sheer size of it and the myriad of sights, sounds, smells and sensations creeping up on her as if trying to drag her with them, she understood why he spoke with so much love of it.

Had he received her letter telling him of her visit?

Much as she would’ve liked, however, Astala wasn’t in Antiva to visit Zevran. Queen Anora wished to strengthen the ties between Ferelden and Antiva and did not have the advantage of so many other Thedosian nobles of having Antivan ancestors. So she had done the next best thing, namely sending a delegation consisting out of the few people among the Fereldan nobility with any ties to Antiva: Astala herself, and the teyrn of Highever, Fergus Cousland. How Fergus was related to the country she didn’t know; the man had been somewhat reluctant to broach the topic. Other than that, and the fact that he was a tad bit traditional however, he was a pleasant traveling companion. And right now, he was staring at the city just as much as she was.

“I never thought it’d be this big,” Astala ventured.

“I’d heard it was,” Fergus answered. “But to hear it and to see it are two different things entirely.”

That Astala could agree with, and then they were already ushered into a slim boat that took them up the longest canal of the city before they were transferred into a carriage en route to the royal palace. Astala practically drank in the sight of the lively city.

And Zevran had been right: there were flowers in bloom everywhere.

Introductions were made to the king of Antiva, who seemed more interested in the lunch he had invited them to than their arrival. They were immediately led to a richly appointed table in the shadows of the garden’s orange and lemon trees, and then the first course was served. Astala was inspecting the delicate arrangement of cheese slices and some kind of fruit preserve when she saw it.

On her plate lay a neatly folded piece of paper.

The king had launched into an explanation of Antivan customs around the frequent use of poison and the gloves they had been provided with to avoid direct contact of the skin to the cutlery. While he was busy presenting his food tester, a man with a thin smile who looked like he was in constant pain, Astala slipped her gloves on and unfolded the note.

“Welcome to Antiva, amore mio,” it said in a flowing script. “Has your journey been comfortable? Write your answer on the backside if you wish; the servants know what to do with it. Enjoy your meal! Always yours: Z.”

The author had scribbled an approximation of Zevran’s tattoo in a corner of the note.

Astala risked a glance around the garden. She did not see Zevran, of course, and she had to be open to the possibility that it wasn’t him at all. Someone could have imitated his handwriting. But oh, she would find out soon enough. Astala pulled a small graphite pen out of the pocket that held her notebook—which she had started to keep when her mind alone wasn’t enough to keep track of her duties at Amaranthine—and quickly scribbled down her answer.

“Remind me of the poem you recited to me the year we first met. Yours always (if it’s really you): A.”

A servant immediately took the note away when she laid it down on her plate. Astala watched her go, then turned back to her food, waited and ate—and noticed how small the portions were compared to a normal Fereldan meal. Was this standard practice in Antiva? She would have to make friends with the servants to get some more food in that case.

The next course consisted out of a cold tomato soup with strong notes of garlic and softer ones of cucumber. A new note was tucked under her plate. Astala opened it immediately.

“Brava,” it read. “Let me see if I recall.”

A small, lopsided heart separated this first line from the rest of the text, which was a perfect replica of the bit of Antivan poetry he had recited to her during the Blight. There was no way anybody but him would know those verses. He had even added some new ones, and the some heavily crossed out words told of his efforts.

“The symphony I see in thee,

It whispers songs to me:

Songs of hot breath upon my neck,

Songs of soft sighs by my head,

Songs of nails on muscled back.

Songs of thee come to my bed.

Amidst your sweet The sound of thy sweet melody

Drowns me, as does the sight of thee.

I’ve in my heart a lingering ache

And But now I feel it start to fade

Since you are finally here with me have come here to my home

And are at last so close to me.

Always yours: Z.”

Astala had to hide the wide smile spreading across her face behind a long sip of her drink. He really had gone above and beyond. With the king and Fergus still immersed in their conversation about poisons, assassinations, and the political machinations in the city, Astala had ample time to write down her answer.

“I love you,” was the first thing that came to her mind, and then she chewed on her pencil for a while until she had composed the rest of the message. ��I missed you, Maker’s Breath I’ve missed you. You have such a way with words (I know I tell say that all the time but it’s true!). Any chance we might be even closer together? Don’t think we have anything planned for the afternoon. Yours always: A.”

It was terribly rambly and not half as artistic as Zevran’s poem. It would have to do. The servants had already removed the note alongside her plate, which had held another very tasty but disappointingly small portion of food.

The next dish arrived, an arrangement of small red peppers stuffed with rice, goat cheese and olives. This was the third course. Very, very suddenly, Astala remembered how Leliana had told her that meals in Orlais were usually composed out of three separate courses. In Ferelden, a banquet just went on until the kitchen ran out of food or nobody wanted to eat anymore (which was when the feast would get shoved off to the servants and everybody would have something to bring back home to their families), but Antiva evidently worked more like Orlais than like Ferelden. Was this the last dish? Was this her last chance to get a message to Zevran?

As soon as the plate and the note sat in front of her, Astala snatched it up and opened it.

“You should see, amore. The tongue that speaks these words has gotten even sweeter since I came to Antiva. I do so wish to be by your side again so that we may both enjoy it. You have a talent for drawing such sweetness out of me, my Warden.”

And there the note ended. Astala feared the worst and turned it around. Nothing. Only a blank page for her to respond.

Now that was a problem.

She wanted to meet him. She could, of course, have suggested a meeting place herself if only she knew what kind of meeting places there were in Antiva. Such as it was, she could just as well try to navigate the city blindfolded. She’d never be able to find him.

“What are you reading, arlessa?”

Astala covered the note with her hand. That was stupid. The king was now even more interested, leaning forward to try and see what she was hiding.

“It’s rather private, your Majesty,” Astala said.

“Oh!” The king’s eyebrows drew up. “Intimate, maybe?”

Astala narrowed her eyes. “Definitely not.”

“Ah, I was hoping you might want to share,” the king said with a smile.

“Your Majesty,” Astala said, “especially if it was something intimate, I would never share it publicly.”

“I see,” the king said, a smile that now looked terribly smug on his face. “And there is no way I might find out?”

Astala was about to give him a piece of her mind, but then an idea occurred to her.

“It depends, your Majesty,” she said. “How about you first satisfy my curiosity.”

“Only too gladly,” the king answered eagerly.

Astala’s smile widened. “Lovely! What are some good places to visit in Antiva?”

Judging from his expression, the king had probably expected another question. He did, however, give her some useful options after a bit of prodding in the right direction. Astala then pulled her notebook out of her pocket and hid Zevran’s note while she gave the king a detailed description of what she had been “reading”. It was good fortune that made her land on her writings on different customs in the villages of Amaranthine, and the king lost interest after the first half minute of her talking. Astala pretended not to notice and talked on as he tried to politely change the subject. She let him squirm for a while, then sat back down and waited until Fergus had once again engaged the king in conversation and then quickly pinned down her answer for Zevran.

“Listen, I’m not sure if this is the last course. I’m gonna try and head to the market at the Piazza della Fortuna afterwards. See you there? Yours always: A.”

And then she ate. When she had finished, her stomach wasn’t even starting to feel full. What was it about Antivans and small portions of food?

The plates were collected. The note had been gone for a while now, collected by a servant who had refilled her glass. Fergus and the king were still conversing, or, rather, the king was talking, and Fergus kept valiantly trying to get a word in. Astala was wholly prepared to leave the table and track somebody down who could give her directions to the Piazza della Fortuna when suddenly the servants appeared again with more plates. Astala looked on with probably very badly concealed surprise as they sat down a plate with grilled fish in front of her and retired once again. Fergus leaned over and quietly asked her if she was alright. Astala could only nod before her eyes fell on a neatly folded piece of paper resting against her glass.

With a side-glance towards the king, she made sure he was too busy with his fish to pay her any mind. Only then did she reach for the note.

“I am truly sorry, but I must disappoint you, amore. I have a meeting to attend to this afternoon. I assure you; it will be much less fun than exploring the city with you and only necessity keeps me from dropping it entirely. Please, forgive me.”

There was no helping the disappointment that spread through her, but Astala knew him well enough to be sure that he would absolutely toss the meeting aside if he could. But he was playing a dangerous game in Antiva. Above all, she wanted him to succeed, and she would happily step aside if that was what he needed of her. She would help him in any way possible, just as he had done when they were fighting the Blight.

The note continued: “But let me make it up to you. Tonight, set up a red lantern in your window. I shall know where to find you.”

A red lantern. Astala lowered the note, only to notice that there was still more written on it.

“And do not worry: meals like this are usually ten courses long and we are only on the fourth. We have six more messages we can send one another. I might even compose you another poem! Did you like what I wrote for the last one? Always yours: Z.”

 The six following courses were more than enough food, and they even served plums with other fruits and yoghurt that had been chilled and sweetened as one of the desserts. Astala spent the afternoon finally stepping into the role of diplomat and trying to help Fergus get the king to focus on anything besides distractions and pastimes. It was a hopeless undertaking, and so for the evening she busied herself with finding a red lamp. It proved to be fairly easy. Only once she had acquired it did she realize that this could be the perfect set-up for a trap.

She lighted the lamp anyways and left it on the windowsill. She also tensed the one-handed crossbow she had brought along and fastened her quiver to her hip. It never hurt to be prepared.

The sun was setting—late as it was bound to do in the late spring but later still than in Ferelden—when a knock came from her door.

“Who is it?” Astala asked, loading a bolt into her crossbow.

“I come to fulfil a promise to the arlessa of Amaranthine,” came a voice from the hallway past the door.

The voice alone was enough to make Astala break out into a wide smile and rush to the door, swinging it wide open and pulling Zevran inside. Zevran lifted her up and spun her around while Astala squealed with laughter and slung her free arm around his neck. When he put her back on his feet she pulled him into a kiss. He answered readily, followed it up with more, until they finally broke apart and Astala got a good look at him. It had been three years and seven and a half months, the longest they had been separated in one go, since last she’d seen him. He looked good, even in the simple clothes he was wearing—she recognized the dress of the palace’s staff. His hair was bleached lighter by the sun and his skin was darker than she remembered, but his eyes were just the same. He looked at her and she felt her heart swell.

“I missed you,” she whispered.

“More than air,” Zevran answered, dead serious.

He brushed along the scar on the right side of her face.

“I cannot believe you are in Antiva.”

“I can’t quite believe it myself,” Astala admitted and nuzzled into his hand. “It’s beautiful, Zev.”

A smile full of joyful surprise flashed across his face. “You like it?”

“Are you kidding?” Astala pointed around the room with its tall windows, the lattices that covered them whose bars created small, star-shaped spaces, the colorful murals and the spacious, comfortable bed. “This is incredible. I wish I had gardens like the king, as much as they look like a real piece of work-”

“How did you like the food?”

Astala laughed. “Y’know, I was scared it wouldn’t be enough at first. You do your meals very differently here.”

“That is true,” Zevran nodded.

“But it was delicious.”

Zevran grinned. “Especially the plums, I take it?”

“Of course, plums are always- Wait.” Sudden realization struck her. “You told them-?”

“Oh, no, no, I would never give information like that to anyone,” Zevran said and shooed the idea away with a wave of his hand. “But I may have made sure the royal kitchens have stocked up on plums. For entirely unrelated reasons, of course.”

A smile so wide it almost hurt broke out over Astala’s face. “Zev. You didn’t have to, love.”

Zevran shook his head sheepishly. “Ah, it is nothing. To see this smile, I would do anything.”

Astala gently pulled him in and kissed him.

“Thank you, my love,” she murmured.

Zevran hummed and snuck his arms around her waist. “It has been far too long.”

“Agreed,” Astala said.

“Well then.” Zevran tapped against the quiver at her hip. “Will you put the crossbow away, my Warden?”

“That would be a bad idea,” Astala grinned. “I’ve heard there are a lot of assassins in Antiva.”

“Do not worry,” Zevran deadpanned. “They are all going after the king.”

Astala laughed. “He did take the whole poisoning thing very seriously.”

“He has to,” Zevran answered cheerfully. “You, however, have nothing to fear.”

He leaned away from her and unfastened the quiver from her waist. Astala took it, dropped it and the crossbow unceremoniously on the desk and turned back to Zevran.

“So. And now?”

“Now,” Zevran said, his voice far less cheerful and noticeably lower than it had been a mere moment ago, “now I will show you, if you would like, how we celebrate a reunion in Antiva.”

That voice sent the blood rushing into Astala’s face and ears, and with it came a swooping feeling of excitement. Zevran looked at her with soft, golden eyes. Astala returned his gaze and tapped a finger against her lower lip like she had seen him do so often. It was fascinating to see how his eyes caught the movement, lingered, and then snapped back to hers as.

“I think I would like that very much.”

Zevran took her hand and kissed it. Then he closed the distance between them.

---

Aaaaand off I wander to have a look at the other entries. Have a lovely day! ^^

[mxanigel]

after the Battle of Denerim

A bit beyond six sentences for this particular Sunday~ ^_^

Queen Anora Mac Tir learns of the Archdemon's fall and her father's death. Features forced-betrothal awkwardness with Alistair and a vulnerable moment with Heather Cousland.

-----

“My queen, I bring news regarding the fight against the Archdemon.”

The messenger’s hunched posture and inability to meet Anora’s eyes convey more than enough, but she must hear the truth from the woman’s lips. “Report.”

“The burst of light we saw did mark the creature’s death. The Blight is over.”

Over, at long last. But at what cost? “Who survived?”

“Most forces led into battle by Warden Surana remain with us, though many soldiers are injured.”

It is still strange to hear others refer to that mage as a commander. “What of the Wardens themselves?”

“Warden Riordan was killed mid-battle. Warden Surana yet lives. But Teyrn— Warden Mac Tir…”

Her heart twists. Her throat clenches. Her emotions do not—cannot show on her face. “I said, report.”

The messenger gulps. “According to Warden Surana, Warden Mac Tir died while delivering the final blow that killed the Archdemon.”

Surana did not claim the credit. Anora sets aside that detail for later consideration. “So it is defeated.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“By my father’s hand.”

“That is what I was told.”

Then he fell protecting the country he loved. A mixture of grief and relief she will not reveal builds pressure behind her eyes. “Thank you for the report. Ensure what we know is recorded. Once Denerim recovers, we will celebrate this victory.”

“Yes, my queen.” The messenger hesitates.

Anora narrows her eyes. “You are dismissed.”

The woman bows and flees the room.

There is much to be done—Denerim still burns, soldiers and civilians alike are injured, and even the healthy will require rations, shelter, a place to sleep. Anora is not so naive as to believe that no hostiles remain within the city walls simply because the Archdemon was slain. And she did not spend nearly every waking moment ruling this nation in Cailan’s absence and after his death to watch it fall apart now.

Hour after hour passes. Only her steward’s intervention ensures she eats meals at reasonable times. It’s long past sunset when a gentle tap on her elbow startles her out of her focus. She glances up to find Alistair’s face creased with concern. “You should rest.”

“Later.”

He grips her shoulder. “I don’t think you’ll enjoy me being the one to remind you of your duty to our people.”

Anora shakes off his grasp. “I accept your point. I will retire for the evening.”

“I’m not sure right now still counts as ‘evening,’ Anora.”

A realization of weariness unexpectedly doubles the weight of her limbs. “I will retire for the night. Alone.”

He exhales and steps back, his hands raised in defense. “We aren’t married yet. I wasn’t going to ask.”

She blames exhaustion for her words, her tone. Exhaustion and repressed sorrow. “Thank you, Alistair. For checking on me.”

He blinks. “Of course I checked on you. And… you’re welcome.”

Anora nods once in acknowledgment. Then she pushes herself away from the desk and wraps herself in a veneer of weary calm en route to her chamber, offering tired greetings and words of thanks to those she meets along the way. But once she closes the door behind her, she slumps backward against it and sliding down to the floor, burying her head in her arms. Yet tears do not fall.

“I knew you wouldn’t relax until you were back here.”

Anora bolts upright, grabbing the nearby bronze candlestick—not much of a weapon, but it is preferable to empty hands. Then her alarm eases enough to recognize the woman seated on her bed. “Maker take you, Heather. When did you sneak into my room?”

Heather Cousland yawns while languidly stretching her arms above her head. “Some time ago. You kept me waiting.”

Anora opens her mouth to protest the absurd claim and then decides against it. Heather is goading her into a retort. “I asked you to support civilians in finding shelter. Why are you here?”

“Because after I heard about your father, I needed to be at your side.”

Admitting her selfishness instead of declaring she did this for my sake is unlike her. Moisture stings Anora’s eyes. “What game are you playing?”

Heather quickly crosses the space between them to grasp her hands. “No game, Anora. You’re hurting, no matter how well you hide it. When you hurt, I hurt. If you don’t want me here, say the word, and I’ll leave. But if there’s anything I can do to support you, name it, and it’s yours.”

Anora stands perfectly still as a battle rages in her mind. She must maintain her own strength. Any cracks will only confirm the belief that she should not be queen. Despite Surana’s surprising machinations, her betrothal to Alistair—and thus her position—is not set in stone, and she will not provide Arl Eamon further reason to argue against it.

But Heather’s gentle, earnest gaze overpowers her weakening defenses. She collapses into her arms, finally releasing her grief.

[musetta3]

For the prompt list: 14 and/or 19, please! <3

Hi @ellie-effie! I have an Alistair x Valena prompt for you. This was a fun one, thank you for the ask, my friend! <3

Drowning.

If Valena Cousland had only one word at her disposal to describe her current feelings, drowning in fear and helplessness would be most appropriate. She stood in the midst of the burning great hall of her ancestral home, watching in horror as the ceiling beams fell, and the rooms above crashed onto the table in a pile of flaming rubble. She couldn’t catch her breath.

“Mother?” she called. “F-Father?”

“Valena, come,” her brother, Fergus, replied, voice even and unaffected by all around him. She gasped. His soft white linen shirt was stained black with blood where he’d been stabbed. His eyes were a cloudy, dead brown, rot obviously setting in. Valena backed away.

“No,” she cried, trying her best to run, but her feet sank into the now molten floor. Valena attempted freeing herself, but in vain: the more she struggled and screamed, the farther she sank. Her heart threw itself against her rib cage. Was she choking on fear, or the smoke? She clawed at the floor, scrabbling for purchase. Valena was entombed in stone to her thighs, her hands sank into the floor; no matter what she did, she couldn’t move. Hot breath fogged on her neck; the putrid smell of death enveloped her.

“You let us die,” her brother hissed. “You abandoned us—”

“Lena!” A voice cried. Valena startled awake. Alistair leaned in, concern in his eyes.

“I heard you screaming. Nightmare again?” he asked. She sat up, clutching her forearms, not trusting herself to speak. Her voice would crack, she was certain of it. She nodded, throat aching with unshed tears. Alistair sat beside her on the bed, pulling her into an embrace. Valena crumbled.

“I-I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Forgive me for waking you, I didn’t mean it—”

“Lena, unless you lied abed and maliciously planned how to give me insomnia, there’s nothing to apologize for,” Alistair replied with a tired smile. He stroked her hair, humming softly. Valena closed her eyes, wincing against the crook of his neck. Her mother sang that song to her as a girl; her heart ached at the memories it brought up. Tears came unbidden.    

Valena didn’t know how long she wept. All she knew was that all the grief she’d repressed, all the mourning she’d pushed aside to deal with the Blight and to lead the others well, washed over her like a wave on the sand, pulling her under. Her family, gone. Their murderer still lived; he was here, in Denerim, yet there would be no justice. The only justice would come by her own sword, and by the Maker, she would exact that justice. Even if it killed her, she’d avenge her family; Valena had sworn it before Andraste’s sacred ashes.

Maker, she barely recognized herself, anymore. There wasn’t enough water in the world to wash the stain her vengeance left in her heart. Some days, it was all that kept her going. Now Valena felt herself shatter in her lover’s embrace.

“Let it out,” Alistair whispered, “let it go, Lena. You’re safe, I’m here.”  

By the time she came up for air, she had no more tears to shed. She slumped against Alistair’s shoulder, spent. He kissed the top of her head.

“Rest,” he said, “we have a busy day tomorrow.” She was too exhausted to protest when he laid her down on the mattress and smoothed the quilt around her. He kissed her goodnight and made to leave.

“Please,” she said, “don’t go. Al, don’t leave me. Just until I fall asleep.”

“Of course.” Alistair rounded the bed with a mischievous glint in his eye. He flopped onto the bed beside her, sprawling like a giant starfish. “Sooo much better than my bed,” he sighed happily. “Company’s infinitely better, too: a smelly mabari isn’t a good bedfellow.” She knew what he was doing; Alistair often used humor as a balm. He could always coax a smile from her with his silliness.

“I told you not to feed her cheese,” Valena said, turning to face him. “She gets gassy.” He scoffed.

“Blech, she makes brontos smell like roses, that one.” The door creaked. Valena’s hand went to the dagger under her pillow; she laid perfectly still, watching for shadows or silhouettes, yet seeing none. Who could it be, a dwarf? An assassin using stealth to sneak in undetected? She looked to Alistair, who had slid his hand under the mattress on his side to retrieve the emergency dagger she’d hidden there. He gave the smallest of nods, nearly imperceptible in the shadows.

“Three, two, one,” he mouthed. They lunged upright, blades bared. They were most surprised to find not an attacker at the foot of the bed, but a familiar tawny head lying on two paws.

“Anora? What are you doing here, girl? Did you miss us?” Valena asked. The mabari’s ears pricked up at her name; she took it as an invitation, jumping onto the bed and snuggling between Valena and Alistair. She was almost as long as Alistair when she laid her head on the pillow with a tiny sigh. Valena laughed, thankful to be with her two most favorite people— well, one person and one ‘person’—in Thedas.

[allmywardensaresafeandsound]

AU Worldstate 1

Rule of Blood

Warden : Michael Cousland (tag) Class : Warrior / Guardsman (Champion) Pairings : M!Cousland x Jamila Tabris (oc; fling), M!Cousland x Leliana (mistress), M!Cousland x Anora (wife)

A Machiavellian usurper if there ever was one.

His twin sister, Eliza doesn't survive the Howe attack on the castle.

Jamila Tabris worked at Castle Cousland as a servant, she survives the assault and escapes with Michael and Duncan. Michael helps her avoid being recruited and she finds her way to Lothering.

Douche-y playthrough. 

Werewolves recruited.

Circle annulled.

Marries Anora.

Loghain joins the Wardens.

Alistair becomes a drunk.

Goes through the Dark Ritual with Morrigan, stabs her at the Eluvian.

Kills Nathaniel Howe.

Fights -more or less secretly- the title of prince-consort to be recognized as King of Ferelden.

Champion : Luxis Hawke (tag) Class : Rogue / Archer (Marksman) Pairings : F!Hawke x Anders

Carver dies in the prologue.

Bethany dies in the Deep Roads.

Starts of as pretty understanding of the mages, but her shaky relationship with Anders, the tensions between the Circle and the Templar Order in Kirkwall and her mother's murder lead her views on the matter to sour gravely.

Comes close to the Qun, despite never fully bringing herself to join, and is proclaimed “basalit-an” by the Arishok before their duel.

Kisses Tallis.

Allies with the Templars.

Kills Anders.

Inquisitor : Jamila Tabris (tag) Class : Rogue / Prowler (Shadow) Pairings : F!Tabris x Michael Cousland (oc; fling), F!Tabris x Sten/Arishok, F!Tabris x the Iron Bull (fling)

Michael is one of the few humans Jamila trusts after being assaulted at the Castle by Howe’s guards, and after the Ostagar bloodshed she reunites with him at Lothering and takes the road with him, Alistair and Morrigan.

She is seduced by the Qun and what Sten tells her about it and she follows him by the end of Origins to join as a Viddathari and as his Kadan.

She is sent to the Conclave years later as a Ben-Hassrath spy and is the one touched by the Anchor.

Conscripts the mages.

Sacrifices the Chargers.

Loghain is Hawke’s contact.

Briala rules.

Hawke is left in the Fade.

Wardens are allied.

Leliana (hardened) is Divine, Inquisition is dissolved.

Kills the Iron Bull.

[7-oh-ta1]

Information no one asked for!

Across all my playthroughs of Origins, my favorite pairings with each of the followers are:

F!Cousland x Alistair (I like being royalty and Alistair is so soft and kind. I feel like she is his rock through it all)

M!Cousland x Anora (again, royalty and Anora is a badass)

F!Aeducan x Leliana (they make me feel warm and fuzzy, plus they pull all kinds of tricks together)

M!Surana x Zevran (Zev totally melted his icy heart and they showed each other that love is possible and real, even with they both thought it wasn't)

M!Mahariel x Morrigan (I like to think he taught Morrie a lot of what she knows about the Dalish in Inquistion. Plus he is an awkward but firm person and she adores teasing him. He has mixed feelings about her using the mirror after what happened to his previous mate, Tamlen)

[allisondraste]

Convalescence (1/5)

Chapter 1: Worst Person in the World

Summary: It has been four months since the Blight ended, and four months since Alistair and Lucia have seen each other. Relationships are hard, especially when there is no certainty that one still exists. (Sequel to "Let Me Go") 

Pairings: Alistair x F!Amell, Alistair x F!Non-Warden Cousland, Nathaniel Howe x F!Non-Warden Cousland

[AO3 LINK]

The darkspawn had all but vanished from the Fereldan countryside, their retreat harkened by the defeat of the archdemon months earlier.  Only straggler bands remained, cropping up on the roads from time to time, terrifying travelers. Even in smaller groups than the massive horde that had swarmed to the surface during the Blight, they were ruthless and deadly.  That did not even account for the pale eyes, skin that looked as if it were too loose, and the breath that would put a mabari to shame. Alistair observed the latter as he finished off the last of group of genlocks that had been plaguing one of the main roads leading into Denerim.  It laughed maliciously, baring a mouthful of pointed teeth, even as he sank his blade deep into its chest. Disgusting .

It wasn’t the most enjoyable job, but it was something to keep his hands - and more importantly, his mind - busy.  For a time, he had been able to focus on cleaning up the mess that had been Denerim in the aftermath of the battle.  However, the city had more or less returned to normal, and he was left with little to do except think about all the ways in which his life was worse since the Blight had ended.  Sure, he wasn’t out in the fray of things, risking his life on a daily basis, but without the distraction he felt restless and empty. Peace wasn’t as great as everyone made it out to be.

As he returned to Denerim, the comforting bustle of midday surrounded him.  There was a sense of contentment and comfort that he had only noticed in the past few weeks.  It seemed that peace was only disappointing to him, as the people of Denerim thrived in the absence of battle and hardship. Of course they did.  Only crazy people like him longed for conflict. It was all he knew, after all. Alistair laughed bitterly and headed toward the palace district.

Queen Anora had so graciously allowed him to stay in the palace, even after he had made a fool of himself demanding that her father be executed.  Of course, that had not happened, and the former Teyrn was spending his days in the dungeons now. It was a fair compromise, and one that Alistair was grateful had happened after the fact.  Killing Loghain wouldn’t have brought back Duncan or the other wardens, no matter how much he blamed the man for their deaths. Lucia had been right, as she usually was.

Lucia. His chest tightened and ached at the thought of her.  He longed for the day he could think about her without that happening, if it were even possible. If it weren’t, well… then, he would just have to stop thinking about her.  Simple. Right?

Prepared to descend into the dark places where he kept thoughts of their relationship, such as it was, Alistair reached the palace.  As he pushed through the heavy wooden doors, he was torn from his thoughts by a voice, shouting from across the large, open hall. He looked up to see a beautiful woman with long, red-blonde hair, braided loosely over her shoulder waving and walking in his direction.   Elissa Cousland .

“Hey! You’re back,” she remarked cheerfully, her silvery voice echoing in his ears, “How fare the darkspawn?”

“Oh, you know, same old, same old.  They were very upset that you never write them anymore.” He laughed and raised his eyebrows, a playful gesture.

“Well, we didn’t exactly leave things on good terms, did we? What with the Blight and all.”  She crossed her arms and shifted her weight from one hip to the other, not that he was paying attention to her hips, or anything like that.

“That’s what I tried to tell them, but they weren’t having it, so...I had to kill them,” he answered with a shrug, watching her large, brown eyes search his face for something, though he didn’t know what she hoped to find.  It certainly wouldn’t be the sadness he had hidden away behind the jokes. That was an expertise of his, honed over twenty-one years of pretending he wasn’t falling apart on the inside. Still, he mentally wished her luck.

“Seriously, though, did it go smoothly,” she asked, when she was reasonably satisfied that he wasn’t hiding a frown somewhere. “Are you all right?” Her voice was heavy with concern, and she began to scan his body for injuries.  It was more flattering than it was uncomfortable, though he still wished she would stop.

“Pfft, a few darkspawn hurt me?” He tilted his head upward and crossed his arms in feigned offense. “Never.”

“Oh really?” A sharp pain burned in his forearm as she tugged at it. “Then what is this?”  He looked down to see an large gash across his arm. There was only a trickle of blood, however, it seemed that the genlock had used a blade coated with poison, as there were green burns around the wound’s edges.  Fabric clung to the wound, effectively stopping most of the bleeding. Damn, that was going to hurt later. How had he not noticed that one?

“Oh that?  Just a scratch,” he laughed it off, pretending it didn’t bother him that he hadn’t even been able to keep his thoughts straight long enough to look down at his own arm.   Duncan would have scolded him. Lucia would have scolded him.  Part of him hoped that Elissa would scold him too.

“You’ll think ‘just a scratch’ when that poison rots half your arm off,” she lectured, almost as if on cue.  “We need to get you to the nurse.”

“If you insist,” he answered, as she all but dragged him down the hall toward the castle’s infirmary.  She was stronger than he would have guessed.

Elissa, or “Liss” as she insisted he call her, had been staying in the palace for nearly as long as he had.  As the youngest of the Cousland children, she had taken it upon herself to work in Denerim to repair the political damage dealt by Howe and Loghain, while her brother served as Teyrn of Highever.  She was warm, witty, and smarter than him - everything he would have expected a Fereldan noblewoman to be without the sharp edges and annoying formality. She and Alistair had developed a friendship in the few months that she had been in the city.  She listened to him and made him laugh at a time when he strongly considered throwing himself into the nearest lake on a daily basis. Her company was comforting, and at moments she made him forget that his world had fallen apart.

Cringing as pieces of the shirt that had served as an unwanted bandage were cut and peeled away, Alistair hissed a handful of curses that apparently offended the Andrastian nurse, causing her to work more roughly.  Liss stood beside him, her hand resting casually on his shoulder, an attempt to comfort him that would have worked better if she were not also stifling laughter that was undoubtedly in response to the swearing. He didn’t even use the worst one’s he knew.  Those were for special occasions.

“So Liss, you’re from Highever,” he spoke while the nurse continued to work, crushing the ingredients of an antidote into one of those bowls apothecaries used.  The name escaped him at the moment, but he remembered watching Lucia use one. He would ask her questions about the ingredients, and she would explain. She always hated when he said it,  but she would have been a wonderful mentor had she stayed at the Circle. He shook his head, remembering he had started a conversation and that he needed to listen.

“What gave it away: The last name or the fact that my brother is the Teyrn?”

“You know what I mean.” A grunt escaped him when the dark green antidote touched his open wound.

“Yes, I happen to be quite familiar with Highever,” she stated proudly, “What of it?”

“I’ve just been meaning to go for a while now,” Alistair explained, relief washing over him when the nurse began to bandage the wound.  It was almost over. “My friend Duncan was from there. He died in the battle at Ostagar, and I want to make a trip to honor him.

“I remember Duncan.  He visited from time to time looking for recruits,” Liss explained, a wistful sound to her voice, “I begged to leave with him the last time he came by, but Papa wouldn’t have it.”

“Probably for the best.” He offered her an apologetic smile before looking down at his feet.

“Probably so.”

There was a long and heavy pause in the conversation, made only slightly less uncomfortable by the sound of the nurse’s humming.  She tied the bandage so tightly that Alistair’s heartbeat throbbed underneath it.

“There you go, young man,” the nurse announced suddenly, and Alistair jumped slightly, “That should do the trick.  Try not to move it around too much until the antidote dries.”

He nodded and stood, thanking her for her time, to which she replied with a good-natured smile before walking away to tend to a guard who entered with a broken arm.   Liss moved to examine the wrappings as if she did not trust the nurse’s work, but she did not appear to find fault with them.

“You’ll also want to keep it clean,” she asserted, her gaze soft under serious eyebrows, “You wouldn’t want it to get infected.”

“I know how to tend a wound, thank you very much ,” he snapped, uncomfortable with her concern for him.  Although, he figured she would assume he was annoyed.

“I just-,” she began, but threw her hands up in frustration, “Nevermind.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, making sure to smile and meet her gaze to show he was sincere, “ I know you’re just worried about me… I appreciate it. Really.”  He bent over to pick up his glove and leather bracer the nurse had removed as she treated him. He examined the corroded cut in the leather and sighed.  They were his favorite pair, but he would hate to see what his arm would have looked like had he not worn them.

Alistair and Liss exited the infirmary and walked down the hallway in less-than-comfortable silence.  He had learned from experience that sometimes silence was better than trying to force words, especially when those words made him look like and idiot, an arse, or both.  

Liss surprised him by speaking first.  That never happened to him.

“You know, I could got to Highever with you… if you wanted.” She looked down at the ground, a self-conscious gesture he had yet to see from the typically confident woman, “I haven’t seen Fergus in a while.  I’d like to meet that new woman of his and see if she’s up to my exceptionally high standards.”

He froze, flashes of a conversation with Lucia just days after Ostagar.  She barely knew him at the time, but offered to make the trip to Highever with him anyway.  Duncan had been important to her, too. It felt wrong to go without her, let alone to take someone else instead.  Then again, Lucia wasn’t there, was she? She had been gone for almost four months, and she hadn’t even written. Not once.  He didn’t know if she was safe or even alive, at this point. Considering the way she left, he didn’t even know if she still cared about him.   It wasn’t her fault that she had literal demons to deal with, but that didn’t ease the pain. It was a strange mix of heartache and anger that made his chest collapse in on itself.   He loved her more than he ever thought it was possible to love another person, but he wasn’t sure that he could continue to hold out hope that she would come back to him. It would hurt so much less if he could move on.

“You okay, Ali?”  Liss’ soft voice broke though his daze. He blinked his eyes a few times, focusing his vision, and hummed in response.  “You’ve been staring off into the distance and scowling for a while now. Far past the minute I usually allow you when I ask you a question.”

“Very funny,” he quipped and pushed her away playfully in an attempt to recover the shield of humor he liked to hide behind, only to decide that deflection was a lost cause at this point, ”But, uh, yes.  I’m fine. I was just...well, I was -.” He broke off, not sure what to say next.

“What is it?” Her eyebrows pressed together in concern and she touched his shoulders gently.  “Is something wrong?”

“Have I told you about Lucia?”  He laughed nervously and tried to look anywhere but her eyes. “I don’t think I have.”  He knew he hadn’t. Not talking about her was an active decision on his part.

“Lucia, the Hero of Ferelden? That Lucia?” Liss seemed offended that he assumed she did not know who the Hero of Ferelden was, but that wasn’t what he meant.

“Yes, uh, that would be be the one.”  He paused, gathering his thoughts. “She and I, well, we had planned to go to Highever together a long time ago, but obviously she’s not here now.”

“Where is she?”

“ Amaranthine .”

“Ah.” The bitterness must have stuck to his words because Liss’ tone changed. “I don’t have to go if it upsets you.  I just thought I would offer.”

“I- no.  You should come,” he answered, words leaving his lips before he had time to think about them.  Still, he didn’t want to go alone, and he refused to let guilt dictate his decision.

“I don’t want to spoil your trip,” Liss answered in a mix of concern and excitement.

“You?  Spoil something? Never,” he insisted, “Please come.  I could use the company.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”  Her caution was probably warranted considering his erratic behavior.

“Of course,” he assured her, “Want to leave first thing in the morning?”

“Well,” she began, tapping a finger to her chin in thought, “That doesn’t leave me much time for my beauty sleep.”  A mischievous grin spread across her face, her eyes glittering with amusement.

“Well, you don’t need it anyway.”   Sweet maker , what was wrong with him?  He scolded himself for his indiscreet tongue.  Perhaps he would have to cut it out, devote himself to Astyth the Grey.  That would be a first for the Silent Sisters. He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked up at Liss.  Her eyes were wider than usual and she blushed.

“I, uh, guess I will… see you in the morning, then.”  

“Yeah, I guess so.” He smiled politely, and then turned to head to his room, cursing himself with each step.  He looked back over his shoulder to see Liss still standing there, watching him walk away. She was lovely, and he was the worst person in the world.

[laurelsofhighever]

The winter of 9:30 Dragon draws to a bitter close. Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, hero of the people, has revealed a string of secret letters between King Cailan and Empress Celene of Orlais. The specifics are unclear, but suspicion of Orlesians run deep, and there are always those willing to take advantage of political scandal. Declaring the king unfit to rule, Loghain has retreated to his southern stronghold in Gwaren, with Queen Anora by his side. Fear and greed threaten to tear Ferelden apart.

In Denerim, Cailan busies himself with maps and battle plans, hoping to stem the tide of blood before it can start.

In the Arling of Edgehall, King Maric’s bastard son fights against the rebels flocking to the traitor’s banner, determined to free himself from the shadow of his royal blood.

And in Highever, Rosslyn Cousland, bitter at being left behind, watches as her father and brother ride to war, unaware of the betrayal lurking in the smile of their closest friend.

[archittect]

Hey! Your Cousland romances Anora and they seem very sweet, would you mind talking about her? Because from what little I know I LOVE her and fully support anora x f!cousland. It can be anything about her or her relationship

I was not expecting this ask!! Thanks!! (sorry for not replying immediately, though, I had to think about this)

Considering she marries into royalty, her home is well decorated, with fancy rugs covering the floor and somewhat fancy paintings of mabari hung on the walls (it’s Ferelden; why wouldn’t there be paintings of mabari?). During the events of Awakening, her room in Vigil’s Keep is well decorated, but not as much as the castle she moves into after Awakening.

Sedania has a fear of betrayal, stemming from Arl Howe betraying her family. She is capable of dealing with it, however, and when encountering Arl Howe this manifests itself as vengeance.

She’s a rather light packer, mainly carrying health potions during the events of Origins and Awakening, as well as treats for her mabari.

After Awakening, when she’s able to move the castle in Ferelden (for royalty, of course) she adopts at least 5 mabari, pampering each one on top of her childhood mabari. More often than not, they hog the bed her and Anora are supposed to sleep in.