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cadaveerie · 3 months ago

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Are Alistair and the Warden alive? Will they be alive in The Veilguard? And how old are they?

This post with stunning older Alistair art inspired me to search a little about something. Along their art, OP asked the following:

"Is your Alistair still alive in Veilguard? I still don't know about mine. Grey Warden's have a 30 year span, give or take. There is a possibility he is still kicking, but probably close to the end."

And I wanted to know for sure. Since Alistair is one of the few companions that we have an exact date (year) of birth of (9:10), and we also happen to know when Duncan recruited him (9:29), this makes it possible to know Alistair's exact age and how close to the calling he is (if alive).

As op said, Grey Wardens have about 30 years after their joining until they get the calling. Doing some research (aka reading the wiki), I found a not so fun fact! There's this old interview with David Gaider in which he speaks of it:

DG: It's something I put in Alistair's dialogue that I now regret! Afterwards I was like, "Wow, thirty years is a long time for that time frame." I didn't really intend when I was writing it, and only afterwards when I went back I said "Oh...I guess it does sort of implies thirty years after you take the Calling, doesn't it..." Sorry, after you take the Joining. That wasn't really my intention. But it's out there now so I'm like, okay, thirty years. But the idea is also that it varies. Thirty years is the maximum that you could probably expect. It's going to vary for an individual according to their willpower and the level of their interaction with the darkspawn.During a Blight you can expect that the Grey Wardens are going to have shorter lifespans. Outside of a Blight the Grey Wardens would tend to live longer. We have instances in the game of people going on their Calling after five or ten years. Alistair's thirty year quote shouldn't be taken as gospel, that's the way I like it.

So basically... Most people probably don't make it those 30 years. And if there's a blight, the life expectancy is even less.

Here's the math: Alistair joined the Grey Wardens at 19 (9:29), and was born in 9:10. The events of DATV start at 9:54 (10 years after Inquisition), which means... At the moment that The Veilguard begins, Alistair will be 44 years old (if alive), and it will have been 25 years since he did the joining. This means that he's, AT MOST, 5 years away from the calling (which btw, is 6 years for the Hero of Ferelden, if they're alive).

But there's another thing to consider, and that is... both the warden and Alistair fought a Blight, which as David Gaider said, makes their lifespans even shorter.

My hope is that since the Blight only lasted one year or less (which is not much considering how much other Blights lasted. Like, the first one lasted almost 200 years), this will reflect in his lifespan and will give both him and the warden more years to live. And technically speaking, I'd expect that the fact King Alistair is not adventuring to the Deep Roads (presumably?), he shouldn't have been close to darkspawn after he was crowned... Sooo, if the writers were to take that into consideration, it'd make sense that he lives longer than other wardens that might visit the deep roads. But perhaps this is just wishful thinking on my part, lol.

Having said all of this, please keep in mind this is all speculation. Perhaps what David Gaider said has been retconned to some extent since at least 2012 (January 14, 2012).

For all we know Alistair might have already died, for this or other reasons, and perhaps the Warden as well (which... would kinda suck I guess, but I suppose I wouldn't be that surprised). Although I admit that the fact that the Warden was looking for a cure in DAI gives me some hope. Perhaps in the 10 years between the end of Inquisition and the beginning of DATV the Warden has already found a cure? Perhaps they find it at some point during DATV, very last minute to prevent their deaths? Everything is possible. Even if I get the impression that the writers don't seem very interested in the Warden having more importance in the games... Since The Grey Wardens have made a comeback, it'd make sense to know about this if it happens! I have hope hahaha.

#dragon age meta #alistair #alistair theirin #dao #dragon age: origins #dragon age #king alistair #the hero of ferelden #hero of ferelden #hof #warden #dragon age speculation #datv speculation #dragon age theory

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sasha199 · 1 month ago

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Legacy: Part 1 - The Crown and the Archer

Alistair x Warden no smut in this one only kissing.

This is the first part of my Dragon Age Origins fic. It takes place about 4 months after the battle with the Arch Demon, both my Warden, Marissa Cousland, and Alistair survived the fight. Afterwards, he stayed in Denerim to rule as king, while Marissa returned to Highever as the Hero of Ferelden. They did not part on good terms.

“Your Majesty.”

The only outward sign of anxiety was her death grip on the quill she held, still poised in the act of a signature. Lady Marissa Cousland, the Teyrna of Highever and Hero of Ferelden was the epitome of calm. She maintained a flawlessly deferential tone, despite her surprise. And was she ever surprised. There had been no word of his travel, not a whisper of his impending arrival. It made her suspicious and nervous. It smelled like a spy.

“My lady?” Katerina, her best lady’s maid, stood before her, head bowed and cheeks pink with shame. Marissa felt the hot inevitable anger swirling in her belly, but she softened her expression when she looked at Rina. She let her lips turn upward and her tone take on a gentle edge.

“Not to worry, my darling,” Rina met her eye then, relief flooding her delicate vulpine features, “I will get to the bottom of this.”

“Of course you will, my Lady.” She gave a slight bob of a bow and, glancing at the visitor standing to her left added, “shall I send tea up for you and-“

“Coffee, please. With cream and sugar. Thank you.” Marissa put her arms on either side of her chair to lift herself up to standing position, and froze. The dress she’d selected for herself this morning was an older one, it hugged her in places that would make her situation too obvious. She casually adjusted herself in her chair, better to remain seated and hidden behind her desk, for now.

Rina gave a deep bow to their guest before she departed, closing the door quietly behind herself.

“You remembered.” His voice, the tenderness of it, she still heard it every night before she slept, it made goose pimples snake up her arms. But she retained her composure, brushed a wayward auburn curl back over her shoulder, and met his brown eyed gaze, unflinching. That gaze was hard, not harsh, but stern, commanding. It was similar to her own, though her eyes were a sparkling blue-green. She had mastered that look at the age of nine, to see it on Alistair was almost unnerving. But he was a king now, and kings were used to having their way, she must remember that.

“How could I forget? T’was you who helped me to develop a taste for it. Though I have never been able to bring myself to drink it black.” Her voice was pleasant, conversational, a bit cool. Perfect. Her belly roiled righteously. “Forgive me for not receiving you properly, your majesty, but I’m sure you are aware that the fault for my inability to do so rests entirely at your royal feet.”

“I would apologize profusely, my Lady,” There was not a hint a deference in that tone, in fact it took on a jovial lilt as he continued, “but I seem to remember you about as well as you remember me. The last thing I wanted to give you was time to prepare for my arrival.”

Marissa said nothing, his admission stung. He couldn’t know about… could he? Maker take his eyes, there must be a spy among her people.

He was studying her face, was he pleased by what he saw there? She could not tell. His eyes trailed down to the rest of her, and he stepped closer, his boots echoing on the wooden floors. “Will you not rise and greet an old friend properly, m’lady? Surely I’m to be granted this act of courtesy at least?”

Was he smiling? She was going to murder him. All that work to put him on that throne only to have to strangle him here and now. Such a waste.

“I am quite comfortable where I am, thank you.” Marissa set the quill aside and crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair. It was comfortable, large and leather, worn with use. Her father’s chair. This small quiet room was where Bryce Cousland had preferred to do the drudgery required of the Teyrn of Highever. It was in the belly of the castle, without even a window to distract him. Everyone had known to not disturb him when he had been at work in here.

The coffee arrived, it was not Rina who brought it but a man named, Hylan. He had been in her family’s service since her father’s time, and had the worn warm look of hardy Ferelden folk. His hay colored hair and beard had long gone to grey, but his back was straight and he carried himself as if these walls were his own. In a way they were. There had been many new hires since Marissa’s return, but Hylan had been one of the few survivors of Arle Howe’s assault. Marissa was glad to see him, he would know to be discreet. Indeed, he did not bat an eye at seeing her seated behind her desk while the king of Ferelden stood before her like a petitioner. He brought her a coffee mug without hesitation after serving Alistair, and promptly left the room with a perfect bow, as was proper.

Alistair noticed none of this of course, so many of the quiet subtleties of noble life were lost on him, but he was not a dull man. And only a fool underestimated him. He did not seat himself after Hylan’s departure, nor did he touch the steaming mug set on the side table for him. His eyes never left Marissa.

Marissa sipped her drink demurely, and again met that gaze unwavering. He was getting impatient, she could feel it in the air, like humidity.

“Tell me,” Marissa began, if she let him lead the conversation he’d get to the point too soon, “who on my staff would dare conspire with you to hide your impending arrival?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He took another step towards her, Marissa fought the urge to hunch forward. It was a large desk, he couldn’t see anything. “I needed to move as swiftly and as quietly as possible. The entire nation will know that I’m here soon enough.” He seemed put out by that, and she sympathized a bit for him. Just a bit. He’d lost a lot of freedom as a king, the thought touched her…it had been so important to him to be able to come as go as he pleased. As a Grey Warden they’d…no she would not think about that, she would keep her mind on the matter at hand.

“Indeed,” she replied continuing to contemplate the severity of the situation. She was alone in her study with the king of Ferelden. Perhaps he had the right of it. There would be no time for games, not once word got out of his visit to Highever. Best to think of it as already known throughout the castle and country-side. Gossip always spread like wildfire, especially of a young and eligible king who was anxious to marry. Soon all of Highever would be whispering of his arrival, and Alistair knew...somehow he bloody knew about her condition. But she had to stall, had to find a way to table this conversation, at least until Tegan arrived. He would be here in another day or two…

“Marissa.” Alistair’s tone was suddenly soft, full of feeling. It caught her off guard. She opened her mouth, but he continued before she could reply. “Stand up. Please.” Oh he would not be deterred.

She said nothing for a moment or two, trying to get her heart rate under control. “Is that a command?” She finally managed through gritted teeth.

“Does it need to be?” He reached for her, as if to take her hand, but she pulled back instinctively. Pain flickered across his face. “Rise, Lady Cousland.”

When she still did not move his expression changed and he made as if to dart around the desk. “Alright!” Marissa snapped, slamming her fist in the desk in frustration. And she stood.

The dress she had chosen that morning was an older style, something her mother had designed for her surely, before Marissa had been conscripted. Snug around her breasts and belted at the waist with a long a-line skirt. A perfectly suitable dress for the Tyrna of Highever, a bit simple but then she had planned to spend her day steeped in paperwork, not receiving the king. However, as Alistair looked at her she knew it was not the dress he was observing. There was no hiding the soft swell along her lower belly, she had belted the dress higher in the waist to be more comfortable, but the skirt hugged her curves, it did not hide them.

“Happy?” She crossed her arms again and turned squarely to face him. The anger was plain on her face, no point disguising it now.

He said nothing. He was staring at her, with the most ridiculously reverent look she’d ever seen.

She sighed, almost deflating with the intensity of it. “Alistair, you must understand I didn’t-”

“No.” He interrupted her, “you don’t understand.” And then he was holding her face, his lips inches from hers. He still smelled the same. “This is everything, Marissa.”

“Everything?” She tried to step back but she was pinned between her chair and the desk. He stroked her cheek, she ignored it. “You spoke of…of your duty.”

“Yes.” His eyes were lidded, his lips parted. She could feel his warm breath on her face, he was watching her mouth as if hypnotized.

“You put that above me, above us. I-I knew you’d be a good king, that you would do what was right-“

He kissed her cheek softly.

“Y-you threw me away with both hands…Alistair.”

“I know,” he whispered and she shuddered as he took her earlobe between his lips.

“I c-can’t just forgive you for that…” she could feel heat gathering between her legs…his hands traced slow lazy circles up her back…it had been a long time…so long since…

“You don’t have to,” he murmured into her neck, leaving a trail of warm languid kisses along her jaw, “you can make me pay for the rest of my life.” His mouth found hers in a soft tentative kiss. “As my wife.”

“Wha-?!” But the word was swallowed under his coaxing lips as their mouths crashed together. The taste of him…Marissa’s mind flashed back to the very first time their lips touched. In camp, almost two years ago, he’d been so nervous, she remembered him trembling. She’d loved it. Marissa found herself melting into him, Maker how she’d missed this. She gripped his lapels and pulled him closer. He hummed with pleasure, deepening the kiss, muttering her name over and over. She could feel her heart pounding all throughout her body, it was so familiar, and yet part of her couldn’t believe it was happening.

She felt his large hands curl up into her hair, gently pulling her body closer. Her breast pressed against him and she whimpered reflexively. He pulled away slightly, nuzzling her cheek, “Did I hurt you?” His voice was low, almost a whisper and full of concern.

She smiled against his mouth, and shook her head slightly, “I-It’s nothing.” This could not get out of hand, she reminded herself. She could feel her mind searching, fighting to come up for air. She must resist, for herself and for her child.

As she began to pull away Alistair tightened his grip on her, he knew her too well. “No, not yet, please,” he moaned, kissing her so fiercely she was dipped back against the desk, “just a bit more.”

A throaty laugh bubbled up as she placed a flat palm against his chest. She gave a gentle push, and he reluctantly stepped back from her, after sneaking in one more kiss, of course.

There was a youthful look to his face now, an openness she had not expected to ever see again. She hated to crush it.

“Alistair,” she began, breathlessly, “I cannot-“

“No. No. Don’t. Do not do this, Marissa.” His tone was commanding, she arched a brow quizzically, before schooling her face to a more empathetic expression.

“I will always love you, Alistair.”

He took a deep breath. And then another. Marissa was having trouble reading him. He held her hand in both of his and brought his lips to her palm. She watched in silence, her mouth pursed. When he pulled her hand away and opened his eyes, she saw she was facing the king again.

He let her go and went to seat himself on the opposite side of the large squat desk. He took a sip from the coffee mug still sitting on the side table, and gestured for her to be seated as well. She did, smoothing her skirts. She had no idea how the rest of her looked but she assumed she appeared as ruffled as she felt.

He waited until she was settled before speaking. “What is this about, Marissa. You have something larger at play here. What happened between us...after the Landsmeet.” He winced, as if the memories were painful to recollect. “I left you in tears. You begged me to reconsider, you insisted it was not the end. I do not bring this up to hurt you...but it does not make sense. I am offering you a future with me. You would not dismiss that purely out of spite…” he paused, assessing her reaction, “would you?”

Only fools underestimated this man.

“I was broken.” Marissa’s blue-green eyes were clear, but she could weep at just the memory of it. And she had, often. “I did want you back.”

She had hoped he would never figure it out, that he would take her pain at face value and not question her motives. Alistair approached her directly after the Landsmeet and had crushed her heart in front of their entire party. He’d said that he’d needed a wife that was not tainted, someone who would live to see their children grow up. Someone who was not her. Zevran and Wynne had tried to comfort her. But she had been inconsolable. No one could help her because she had done this to herself.

“So why? Why will you not marry me now?”

Marissa hesitated. Part of her did want to tell him the truth, the whole truth, about why she had decided to make him king. She felt that the Alistair she had saved Ferelden with, who she had risked life and limb with, who she had fallen so deeply, wholeheartedly in love with, deserved that. But was this man, this king, who sat before her, him? He had kissed her in the way Alistair had.

But she didn’t know. She couldn’t risk it.

“Your majesty, I will not lie to you. I cannot say that there is not some part of me that deeply desires to be with you, always. At least for the amount of time that I have left, until the calling comes…” she did dread that, and she could not help but rest a hand on her belly protectively. Alistair’s hands clenched reflexively. “But it cannot be so. What is done cannot be undone, our paths take us towards separate destinies now and your duty to produce an heir with a woman who will live to raise them has not changed.”

“My lady,” Alistair leaned forward, his hands clasped his voice raspy, he was so terrible at holding his composure. It was adorable. “I implore you to reconsider. May we speak further? Tonight?”

Marissa allowed herself a playful smile, “Do you mean to seduce me, your majesty?”

“Yes.”

She felt her face drop. He was serious.

“I will do what I must. This is my child.”

“Excuse you, my child.”

“I will see you tonight.”

“I have made plans this evening, unfortunately.”

“Then unmake them.” Alistair stood, “You will be spending your evening with me.”

#dragon age origins #dragon age #dragon age warden #dragon age fic #alistair romance #alistair x cousland #alistair theirin #alistair x warden #alistair #king alistair #marissa cousland #hero of ferelden #dragon age fanfiction

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