#morrigan x female mahariel

[anneapocalypse]

Anne's Dragon Age Femslash!

Happy Femslash February! Have a list of all the F/F fics I've written for Dragon Age so far. Listed from shortest to longest. Ratings are noted here; please check AO3 tags for full list of warnings/content notes.

Herald's Rest. Female Trevelyan/Sera, 370 words, rated M. The Inquisitor finds a respite.

In Darkness Enveloped. Cassandra/Leliana, 1800 words, rated E. The Conclave is destroyed. The Divine is dead. The Left Hand and Right Hand are at odds, and at loose ends. It's the worst of times. It's certainly the worst possible time for this.

What We Can Do Together. Shianni/Briala, 2000 words, rated T. Briala has never called her away from Denerim before, so Shianni can only assume this is important.

Gifts of the Hunt. Female Mahariel/Morrigan, 13000 words, rated M. Lyna Mahariel follows Morrigan through the eluvian, leaving behind her life with the Wardens and with her Dalish clan. With only each other, Morrigan's child, and the magic of a long-forgotten past, what kind of future will the two of them have together?

No Woman Rules Alone. Anora Mac Tir/Female Tabris, 34000 words, rated E. Warden Tabris convinced Anora and Alistair to marry for the good of Ferelden, to unite the lands against the darkspawn. They have settled into a functional partnership and even friendship, but there is no love between them and they both know it. Over time, Anora finds that it is the Warden-Commander and Arl of Amaranthine who has won not only her respect, but her heart.

[maintitle]

Since this has become kind of a center of fanfiction for me, I wanted to mention I do in fact have an Ao3 account and write on there sporadically!  Mostly it’s sporadic one-shots and incomplete, rarely updated Marvel series, but I just finished a near-100 page series of short stories and journals for my DA characters!  Check them out if you feel like it!

[weaveandwood]

The First Time

Pairing: Alistair x Female Mahariel (Ellaria, a dual wielding rogue) Words: 4.2K NSFW

Summary:

Alistair Theirin did not expect many things that had happened to him since he became a Grey Warden. He didn't expect to be betrayed at Ostagar. He didn't expect to lose his mentor. He didn't expect to be one of the only two Wardens left in Ferelden that he knew of. He didn't expect to be traveling with such an...eclectic group.

Above all of this, he certainly didn't expect to fall in love with his fellow Grey Warden, a Dalish elf named Ellaria. Could she feel the same?

AN: In my playthrough, the scene for Alistair asking to spend the night with my warden triggered after the Urn of Sacred Ashes quest, which requires everyone to take off their clothes. I thought the timing was hilarious, and this one shot was born.

Read on AO3! comments and reblogs are very appreciated!

Alistair didn’t know what made him start feeling this way about Ellaria. He paced around his tent - and really, pacing was being generous. It was more like turning in circles. Slowly. He was a tall man and it was a small tent, after all. 

Was it her bravery? She had been tireless, fierce, stunningly brutal every day since he met her. Whether it was leaping onto an ogre to deal the killing strike or telling off his half-sister in Denerim, she was unwavering. 

Could it have been her beauty? When she was cleansed by fire to retrieve a pinch from the urn of sacred ashes to help Arl Eamon, just hours before, he had never seen her so…exposed. He would have to be a blind and incredibly stupid man to not admit that seeing her in that state of undress sent a hot flush through him he was surprised Morrigan did not comment upon. 

Maybe it was that she listened to him. He had mentioned his mother’s broken amulet as a regret he had, in passing, never expecting her to place it into his palm with an excited smile. Of course I remembered, you are special to me.

Or was it before that? At the Circle Tower, when they passed the tortured templar she remarked to him that she was glad he was not a templar anymore. Or even the first time they spoke at Ostagar, when she called him a strange human. 

How it started didn’t matter, he supposed, just that it did. Perhaps he fell for her over time, a trickle of interest slowly turning into a waterfall of feelings that landed on him all at once. He fell in love. With a fellow Grey Warden. During a blight. And they were the only two left to end it. Perfect timing, really. 

Which is why he couldn’t wait any longer.

He left his tent knowing she was on her shift for watch duty, and found her staring into the nearby campfire while absentmindedly petting Barkspawn. The fire cast a warm glow on her, turning her white hair and fair skin almost golden. Her brow was furrowed, a sure sign she was deep in thought. Tomorrow they would journey into Orzammar and with the way their luck was headed, into the Deep Roads. He closed his eyes, pushing the thought out of his mind. Still, the Deep Roads was where Grey Wardens went to die, and he would never forgive himself if something happened with words left unspoken or actions left undone. 

He felt his heart start to race as he drew nearer to her before settling down on the ground beside her. A pit threatened to form in his stomach before she glanced over at him and gave him a soft smile that instantly reassured him. She took his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world, like it was something easy, something instinctual she just did when they were near each other. He sighed.

“Is everything okay? Why are you not resting like all of the others? Tomorrow will be a long day of travel,” she said, her attention focused on him now instead of the images she must have been seeing play out in the flames. He thought he saw a glare from Barkspawn. 

Now or never. 

“I…I really don’t know how to ask you this,” he stammered as he looked at her from the corner of his eyes, her face turned to him. Those deep green eyes he adored were highlighted by the orange light of the fire. This was not helping. He dragged his hand down his face. “You’d think it would be easier by now, but every time I’m around you, I feel as if my head is about to explode - in a good way! I just can’t think straight!” He felt his cheeks starting to burn hot and his resolve starting to waver. 

She laughed, the sound high and clear in the crisp night air. Oh, he loved all of her laughs, but this one in particular was his favorite - the one laugh she had when she was caught off guard by something he said or did. He loved it so much that he did everything he could to coax it out of her while they were at camp after long days of fighting darkspawn, bandits, and demons, no matter how silly it made him look. 

“You know, I feel the same way when I’m around you,” she said. Barkspawn had flopped over on his side and she was scratching his belly now. Lucky dog. He would give anything to feel her fingers on his skin, to only feel each other instead of fumbling around clothes or armor when they kissed in his tent in the evenings, away from the prying eyes of their companions. Well, friends at this point, he supposed. You couldn’t walk away from the things they had seen without being friends at least. He scolded himself internally, not wanting his mind to wander to Sten or Wynne or, Maker forbid, Zevran while he was trying to drum up the confidence to ask what he was attempting to. He turned his body to face her, keeping her hand in his. His heart now felt like a war drum, one beat away from pounding through his chest. She did the same and earned a whine from Barkspawn once her hand stopped scratching. 

“Here’s the thing, Ellaria: You are impulsive, you run headfirst into danger, you’re always putting yourself right in the middle of all the darkspawn or bandits or whoever else…being near you makes me crazy.” He saw her eyes drop and felt her starting to pull her hand away, quickly realizing he had only named negative things. He held on to her hand tighter, placing his other one on top. “You’re brave, you’re fierce, you’re protective, you’re beautiful…I can’t imagine being without you. Not ever.”

“Oh,” she said. He could see a faint flush on her cheek and the softest hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth at his confession.  

“I don’t know how to say this any better so here goes. I want to spend the night with you. Here. Tonight. In camp. Is this too fast? It might be too fast, I don’t know. I know what I feel, and what I feel is that I want to be with you. We stumbled into each other, and despite this not being the perfect time, the perfect place, I found myself falling for you in between the fighting and everything else. Honestly, even during the fighting - you’re quite breathtaking.” Visions of her sweaty and panting and covered in blood flashed through his mind. He wanted to recreate it -  minus the blood. 

“I guess you really liked what you saw in the temple today?” She laughed as he stammered and flushed a bright red, rubbing his neck with his hand. “Alistair, Alistair! I am teasing you. But…are you sure? Even though I am not…I am not human? I know what people say about elves. I have heard a lot of it on our travels,” she said, sounding uncharacteristically nervous around him. Every time someone called her knife-ear or rabbit, he saw red. He had never and would never consider her any different from any other person they had come across just because of the shape of her ears, her shorter stature, or the elegant swirling tattoo on her face. 

“Honestly, at this point I think elves are better than humans,” he smiled softly at her, stroking her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. “I really don’t want to wait anymore. I’ve never done this before and I want it to be with you, while we have the chance. In case…” he trailed off, fear of the Deep Roads seeping into his veins. 

“I want it to be with you, too,” she smiled up at him. “My first time. I was hoping you would ask.” 

This time, he was the one who laughed as pure relief flooded his system. He kissed her softly. “Come to my tent after your watch ends.” 

The next few hours felt like an eternity. Alistair had tidied up his meager belongings, everything folded and placed into a neat stack in the farthest corner of his tent, which was actually not that far away at all. He lay on his bedroll, willing at least a little sleep to come but it was as elusive as it had been most nights since their journey began. So he lay there, staring up at the fabric of his tent and attempted unsuccessfully to calm his nerves while he waited for her. 

“Alistair?” he heard her whisper quietly, checking to see if he was still awake. Finally. He bolted upright, glad for the darkness to camouflage his awkward movements.

“Over here, Ellaria,” he said softly, reaching out for her hand as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. He should have had a candle lit. Should he light one now? Or would fumbling in the dark be better than fumbling in the light? His nerves caught up to him again as the reality of what they were about to do sank in. Her smaller hand clasped in his, he felt her kneel beside him. This wouldn’t do - he wanted to see her and decided right then and there that lighting a candle was the course of action to take. He placed the candleholder down on a book he used more often than not as a table rather than reading material, the small flame throwing just enough flickering light in the tent to send the darkness fleeing to the edges and corners. 

“You are so beautiful,” he said, smoothing her hair behind her delicately pointed ear. He brushed the tip of it with his finger, eliciting a small gasp from her lips. His eyes, instantly drawn to the source of the sound, took in their gentle curve, the full pout of her bottom lip, the slightly downturned corners that made her always look like she was deep in thought. He could no longer resist, closing the distance between them and pressing his own lips gently against hers as they had done for so many nights now since the night he gave her the rose outside Honnleath. This time, however, there was an undercurrent of something different, an anticipation of what was to come as their kisses grew more intense and their tongues danced, finding a rhythm that built and built. His hands fell to her waist, grateful more than ever for the Dalish dress style - the bare expanse of her stomach was one of the first things that drew his attention to her when she walked up to him at Ostagar, before he really knew her. Now it seemed like a bonus. In addition to the privilege of knowing her, he was also able to see those muscles flex and relax as she fought, or walked, or even laughed. 

He felt her fingers, fine and light, reach for the bottom of his shirt, crumpled from tossing and turning with unsuccessful sleep. She lifted it up, smiling against his kiss as she struggled. Impatient, he broke the kiss, pulling the shirt quickly over his head, leaving him bare chested in front of her. Obviously, she had seen him without a shirt on as he washed in rivers and streams, but this was different. Everything would be different after this. She reached out, running her hands through the fine hair that dusted his chest and left goosebumps in her path before turning around and allowing him to loosen the laces on the top she wore for sleeping. She pulled it off over her head, and he traced the faint red marks on her skin from where it had slightly dug in. She let out the softest sigh as he kissed the joining of her neck and shoulder, tilting her head to allow him more access which he gladly accepted.

She laughed softly. “I do not know why I am so nervous to turn around.” 

“I promise you will get nothing but rave reviews here,” he said, placing a kiss on her shoulder, her skin smooth and cool beneath his lips. 

She turned around and his heart skipped a beat. She was gorgeous when fully clothed, but she was without a doubt earth-shatteringly beautiful half undressed. He felt himself stir as he took her in, his eyes sweeping down to her breasts, small but perfect, nipples perked once exposed to the cool night air in his tent, before meeting her eyes again. 

“Beautiful,” was all he could whisper. 

She reached one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him to her to kiss her again while the other threaded through his hair, her nails sending delightful tingles through him. He would have to remember this, he wanted her to scratch his head for hours. Now he understood why Barkspawn was so upset when he interrupted earlier. Stop thinking about the dog, Alistair. Half naked Ellaria, right in front of you . His hand moved from her waist to her breast, fully covering it and squeezing lightly. It was softer than he thought it would be, given how lean and muscular she was. His thumb traced lightly over her nipple, feeling it grow even harder under his touch. The way her body reacted to him sent a crackling warmth through him. He crashed his lips against hers, kissing her deeply and pulling her onto his lap though he knew she could feel him growing harder for her with each second that passed. She pressed her hips against his, the pressure causing him to groan softly into her mouth. The sound made her press against him again and again, her hips slowly rocking against him. He rocked his own hips back into hers, a preview of how the night would end, if all went well. He needed her. He had never been with anyone before and yet he knew he needed her more than he had ever needed anything in his life. His fingers went to the drawstring of her loose sleeping pants, untying it, ready to cross the line from innocent flirting and kissing to something else.  

She smiled and climbed off his lap to stand before him. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her pants, pushing them off her hips slowly, exposing more of her fair skin than he had ever seen. He discovered lines of scars, both old and new. He discovered the patch of soft white curls between her legs. He discovered just how muscular her thighs were as he smoothed his hands over them, her pants and undergarments in a puddle at her feet. He thought he had a good idea of what she would look like from the temple, but seeing her up close, fully undressed? His imaginings didn’t come close to doing her justice. He stood up, his fingertips slowly tracing the outlines of her body - her hips, the underside of her breasts, her nipples, her collarbone, the sides of her neck. He wanted to commit every curve of hers to memory. He wanted to remember this for the rest of his life, no matter how long that life would be - days or weeks or months or, if they were lucky, years. 

“Ellaria, you…I don’t have words,” he said softly, reverently. He quickly undid the laces of his own pants, pushing them and his smallclothes down without the finesse he used on hers. He watched as her eyes moved over his body, taking him in.  He could feel himself flushing under the weight of her stare and felt the slightest tinge of shyness as he was fully bared in front of her for the first time. He had no worries about his size, having been told during his short time with the other Wardens that he should be proud of the sword he wielded - typical brotherly ribbing, but it did wonders for his confidence in this matter at least. She said earlier this would be her first time too, but he knew she was betrothed before all of…this, and he didn’t know what she had to compare against. He supposed it didn’t matter, at the end of things. He just hoped the rest of him was enough. That he was enough. That he deserved her. 

“Creators,” she whispered. “I am lucky,” she teased. 

She stood on her toes to kiss him, and he bent down as they did night after night to negate the vast differences in their heights. He stood a good foot taller than her, and he would be the first to admit it was easier to kiss her sitting down. He imagined it would be even easier to kiss her laying down. The thought sent a hum through him, settling into his abdomen. He felt himself pressed against her hip, impossibly hard for her. She reached between them, her fingers brushing against him with featherlight touches that caused him to gasp and press his hips harder into her. She wrapped her fingers around him and began to stroke him slowly, her hand moving from the base to the sensitive tip. He tipped his head back and saw stars. Never would he have imagined that someone else touching him would feel so…different. In a good way. In the best way. Better than his own hand felt when he pictured a night like tonight, with her. 

He wanted to make her feel this good. 

“Alistair, maybe we should…lay down?”

“Good -” his voice cracked. He cleared his throat while she giggled. “Good idea.”

They lay on the bedroll, facing each other, kissing each other. Her mouth moved from his lips to the corner of his jaw, then to his earlobe, lightly nipping at it because she knew it drove him crazy. The soft moan that escaped his lips was proof enough. His hand moved down her body - ribs, waist, hip, thigh, inner thigh.

“Can I touch you?” He whispered. 

“If you did not I would be very upset,” she replied softly before going back to work on his earlobe, then down his neck. She kissed him again as his fingers parted her, feeling this part of her, of any woman, for the first time. It was soft, warm, wet. And utterly foreign. 

“Show me where,” he said. He felt her hand on his, guiding him to where he assumed she touched herself at night. That was a thought to come back to later on a night spent alone, he mentally noted. He rubbed her in gentle circles, her hand guiding him before she pulled it away. Left to his own devices, he kept the same rhythm, her soft breaths acting as her approval of his technique. He sped up slightly, her hips starting to move against his hand. 

Her fingers wrapped around him again in a tighter grip than before, a groan escaping his lips when her thumb used the bead of moisture that had collected at the tip to help her stroke him. He couldn’t help but thrust slightly into her hand while moving his hand down to her entrance, a finger slowly slipping in and instantly wrapped in tight warmth. He moved in the same rhythm she did, easily able to glide his finger in and out, in and out, in and - 

Maker , the sounds she was making. If she felt this good around his finger, how would he be able to survive entering her? He couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Ellaria, I want to be inside you,” he whispered into her ear. 

“Please,” she moaned softly. “I am ready. I want you.” 

She rolled to her back, looking up at him as he moved between her now spread legs, using his thighs to spread them farther. His breathing picked up, his heart racing once more. No turning back now, not that he would have wanted to. This, with her, was everything he dreamed about these last few weeks. He wrapped a hand around himself and lined himself up at her entrance. It was at this moment he had a dreadful thought that he might be uncomfortable for her. He looked into her eyes, and she nodded. 

“Please,” she whispered. 

“You’ll let me know if I need to slow down, or anything?” he asked, getting another nod in return. He pressed forward slowly, so slowly , the tip entering her at last. He breathed deeply. Keeping eye contact, he looked for any sign of her discomfort as he kept pressing little by little. Finding none, he sank into her inch by inch, feeling her give and stretch around him as he entered her. Her moans filled the tent, and he was positive whoever had the next watch could hear them. A thrill went through him as he found himself almost fully sheathed inside her, the sheer realization that he was inside her sending a jolt of lightning through his veins. He stayed there for a moment, letting her get used to the feeling. And if he was being honest, letting himself get used to the feeling as well. He was not prepared for how warm she would be, how tight she would be, how wet she would be as he found himself enveloped by her. For him, all for him, because of him. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, breathless. 

“Better than okay,” she smiled. He took her in. She was…everything. Her white hair was splayed out on his thin pillow, the flickering candlelight throwing dancing waves of light over her body. She was divine, she was his religion, she was his life now. He would swear any oath to her that she wished for, any desire she had was his to fulfill. And he would, gladly. 

He leaned over her, his arms on either side of her head, and pulled back his hips, then pressed them forward. Pulled back and pressed forward again. And again. And again. He kissed her neck, the soft skin muffling the sound of his own moans, her soft gasps landing on his ears like the gentlest of butterflies. He lowered himself on top of her, needing to feel her body pressed against his, wanting her skin against his. He wrapped an arm around her back, holding her tightly as he thrust slowly, deeply inside her, each slow roll of his hips feeling better than the last, somehow. 

“Alistair…” she whispered, “more, I want more.” 

A fire pooled in his abdomen, desire taking the lead. He moved back to his knees, his hands grasping her hips. He picked up his pace, moving faster, thrusting a little harder. Together, they lost themselves to the moment. There was no Blight, no darkspawn, no archdemon. There was only this tent, this candle, this feeling. She held onto his arms, arching her back against the bedroll. He watched her breasts move each time their hips met. He watched the muscles of her stomach flex when she rocked her hips to meet him each time he thrust into her. He watched where their bodies met, her slick arousal coating him - the image alone making him veer dangerously close to the edge. He could feel it, just on the margins of his awareness. 

“Ellaria…I…” he panted. “I don’t know if I can last much longer.”

“Just a little longer, please, I am almost...there,” she moaned. 

“As you wish,” he joked, hoping that just a little longer was not that long at all. He focused on keeping the same rhythm, keeping the same pace, and listening to the sounds she was making. He felt her start to tighten around him - a little at first, then tighter and tighter. Her body tensed up and she grew quiet. He took one of her hands in his, squeezing, and she threw her head back and cried out, his name on her lips as she found her release, her orgasm rocking through her, making her tremble and shake beneath him. The feeling of her pulsing and fluttering around him made him lose what little control he had remaining. He dug his fingertips into the one hip he was still holding and thrust into her with reckless abandon. The fire in his abdomen turned into tension, building and building, moving lower and lower. He kept eye contact with her as he drove into her one last time, calling her name as he felt his release fill her. He could have sworn for that moment that the world stopped turning.

He looked at her - she was sweaty and panting, his mental images from earlier come to life. He fell down onto the bedroll beside her, laughing as their shoulders touched.

“Why are you laughing?” 

“According to the Chantry sisters, I should have been struck by lightning by now, and here I am...suspiciously lightning free.” 

“Maybe I should be thankful for their error - I do not want to be struck by lightning. You should have mentioned that was a possibility before we spent the night together, I may have changed my mind,” she teased before rolling onto her side to face him. Maker, she was so beautiful - even more beautiful now than she was when the night began. Something swelled within him he had no hope of ever containing. Not now. Especially not now. He didn’t want to contain it. It was bad timing, a bad situation, and probably doomed, but he had to get it out.

“I love you,” he said. 

Her eyes widened slightly before she broke out into a smile. 

“ Ar lath ma, vhenan. I love you, too.”

[inquisimer]

HEY BB if you had to pick 5 fics you’ve written to make a “crash course” and sum up your writing personality, which would they be? I must know.

thank you for the uno reverse, MWAH

it's only fair that I have to turn this lens on myself but DANG was it hard to be like "what is my writing personality?" I think it really boiled down to: platonic relationships, grey wardens, a just a hint of Lore™️

Gen'adahl - Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford, Rated G, 1485 words

this was one of the first ever DA fics I wrote; I remember scrawling it out in a notebook at my last job where I wasn't allowed to keep my phone at my desk. And I was so proud when I finished it! For me, it represents the proof that I can finish pieces, no matter how long it takes

to be seen feeling - Male Mahariel/Morrigan, Rated T, 5039 words, a gift for @dreadfutures as part of the 2023 DAFF DIscord's OC Swap

writing this fic was not only an absolute joy, it was a pinnacle for me: if I could write a fic that captured the depths of Blue's OCs, I could probably do anything. And I did! And I can! It was exactly what I needed at the time and also a reminder that however blase my own knowledge or fandom experience feels to me, it will slot into what even the most knowledgeable fandom personalities know in surprising ways.

Shards of Glass - Female Brosca & Rica Brosca, Rated G, 3304 words

One of my first toe dips into the gray area of lore! It was so fun to imagine an alternative for Brosca's origins, to give her a deeper connection to the Stone, to play in the absolute barren wasteland wide open sandbox of Bioware's dwarven lore. Beyond that, this piece highlights my Sibling Bias™️ and how much i love exploring the DAO origins before the Blight, in general.

nothing hits the ground without an echo - Alistair & Bethany Hawke, Rated G, 1045 words

My first Dragon Age canon/canon fic! Absolutely wild to think that before I got into Dragon Age I was vehemently anti-oc in fanfic 😂 I'm so glad I outgrew that and can love and celebrate all of our OCs. At the same time, it was a joy to return to my canon x canon roots and play up the Grey Warden lore and happenings at Vigil's Keep that seemed to die in game after Awakening ;-;

I carried my own ashes to the mountain - Zevran Arainai & Female Brosca, Rated G, 1202 words

Nothing particularly poetic to say about this one, to be perfectly honest, I just like the Vibes™️. I think the humor and sarcasm suits my writing personality, and the lighthearted overtones that are haunted by unnamed pining and angst are Very Me :3 Also Nika not recognizing her face and yet reluctant to let go of it until someone gives her permission is something deeply personal to me, that I didn't even realize until after I'd written this. I look back on it and go, yep, yeah, I see you now, past mer😅

[blondie-inky-esaldir]

Okay, so hear me out...

Mahariel and Cousland survives their backstories long enough to reach Ostagar. Cousland, being a noble, takes the lead more often than not. However, being an expert hunter and scout, Mahariel goes ahead on the path to check for traps and possible ambush.

Eventually...

Male Mahariel x Alister romance

Female Cousland x Morrigan romance

Male Mahariel fathers Keiran

Female Cousland gives Alister an heir

[ell-vellan]

about me

Hi! Call me Ell or Autumn (she/her). I'm a writer by hobby and profession. This blog is mostly Dragon Age and Baldur's Gate 3, but also a little bit of The Witcher Netflix, Shadow & Bone, Mass Effect, writing, and just generally media I enjoy. Probably going to include more Sleep Token in the future. Sometimes science. Rarely, my own meta and fanfic writing.

Ao3

My DA Meta Posts

My Writing

My OCs

I'm an adult and I write adult things, so follow at your own discretion. I don't knowingly follow back or privately chat with minors - nothing personal!

I try to curate a positive space here as much as possible for my mental health. I don't tend to post anti stuff, and I utilize the block function pretty readily.

I'm inconsistent at best with tagging, though I do make an effort to tag for common triggers. The only one you might see regularly is a cw for blood (in fanart, not real blood). If you need something tagged, you are free to ask, but I can't guarantee I'll never forget to include it.

I'm always happy to chat about any of our shared interests, be tagged in things, or get asks about my writing, characters, or media. But I'm not here to argue, and I don't engage with negativity.

My Canon Dragon Age Worldstates for fic purposes:

(List not exhaustive - major highlights only.)

"Happily Ever After":

DAO: female warrior Cousland x King Alistair, ruled together, dark ritual with Morrigan, killed Loghain

DA2: male warrior Hawke x Anders, templar Carver, sided with mages

DAI: undecided!

"Elfy":

DAO: Male rogue Mahariel x Zevran, King Alistair rules alone, killed Loghain, dark ritual with Morrigan.

DA2: Male mage Hawke x Fenris, spared Anders, circle mage Bethany survived, sided with mages

DAI: female mage Lavellan x Iron Bull (though my hc is Solas is an almost-maybe ex), allied with mages and Grey Wardens, Divine Leliana (softened)

Favorite DA Characters: (aka the ones you'll see most of my rbs about)

Zevran, Alistair, Fenris, The Iron Bull, Krem, Morrigan

Favorite pairings:

Zevran/Warden, Cousland/Alistair, Hawke/Anders/Fenris, Hawke/Fenris, Hawke/Anders, Bull/Dorian, Bull/Inquisitor

Not an exhaustive list by any means.

[sapphodera]

story summary: The camp is attacked by Shrieks and a ghoul. A ghoul Ashadin’an thought she would never see again.

pairing(s): Female Mahariel & Tamlen, Female Mahariel x Morrigan

rating: teen+

words: 2.1k

a/n: Just a one-shot I wrote about the shriek attack with Tamlen. Romance is there if you squint.

AO3 link

[lostinfantasies38]

Apparently my AO3 link was not active.  My bad!  If you want to read any stories of mine that are already posted - head there!  Multiple pairings.  

WARNING - Almost all of my stories are graphically violent and SMUTTY.  I try to list individual story triggers in the tags, so please read them.  Some are quite dark and I don’t want to scar anyone!

[padme4000writes]

One Does Not Simply Steal From Morrigan Without Repercussions

Wordcount: 784

Thank you to @jchb32273 + @accidentalapostate for the inspiration for this.

Pairing: Warden Mahariel x Alistair Theirin

Oneshot

Alistair looked around before reaching into Morrigan's satchel, once he had found what he was looking for and what she and Mahariel had been talking about he exclaimed, "Aha!" His hand flew to his mouth cursing himself for nearly getting caught.

He then tucked what he had found under his arm. Whistling once he was far enough away and as he walked towards the local steam for his morning ritual. Quite proud of himself, not noticing someone nearby with a very sly grin.

"What is Alistair so happy about this morning? Just last night he looked so sad after eating his last piece of cheese." She looked both sad at the thought of him being upset and happy that he was whistling away.

“I have no idea why the fool is so happy. Maybe you should ask him yourself?” Morrigan looked for one second like she had managed to get the cookie out of the cookie jar without being caught. But the next second her face retained it's normal countenance.

Mahariel’s cheeks reddened, “I couldn't do that! I wouldn't know what to say.”

“You two are really insufferable fools.” She began to walk away when all of a sudden there was a high pitch scream from beyond the trees. Birds flying in all directions and even a rabbit or two entering the clearing before noticing their mistake and hopping away.

Mahariel instantly had her daggers in her hand and was about to run in the direction of the scream, out of the corner of her she noticed the others reacting in a similar fashion.

Then he came from beyond the trees, everything was quiet. Until. “Hahahaha!” It was so quiet that Morrigan’s quiet laughter was as loud as a dragon stampeding towards you. Especially as the volume grew towards the end.

Mahariel glanced at Morrigan then Alistair and had to force herself not to laugh. It was quite hard but she didn't want to hurt Alistair's feelings more than they likely already were.

So instead she sheathed her daggers and walked towards him but paused when he pointed at Morrigan. “This,” he gestured to his now vibrant pink hair. “Is your doing.”

Morrigan merely smirked, “Twas not my fault you found it in yourself to steal from my satchel.”

Mahariel’s eyes widened, “You stole from Morrigan?”

“I… well…” He shuffled on his feet, cheeks reddening and his hand reaching to the back of his neck and scratching there. He walked away with a sad look on his face.

Mahariel ran after him sending a look to everyone that said ‘do not follow.’ Once she reached him she laid a hand on his shoulder, trying not to think about the fact it was bare and she could feel the muscle tense for a moment at her touch.

“Alistair?”

His sad eyes connected with hers, “I.. Overheard you both talking last night.”

She racked her brain for what had been said the previous night but came up blank. “What was…”

Before she could finish her question he interrupted, “You were talking about a plant that could change hair colour and make it look more vibrant.” He frowned as a strand of hair fell in his vision. “I guess the vibrant part was correct.”

“Ohh Alistair your hair was perfect the way it was. It always is perfect.” She blushed once she realised what she had said. Then she looked down.

By looking down she missed the big grin that appeared on his face, so bright it brought a twinkle to his eyes. “You think my hair is perfect?”

She nods.

Her hand falls down as he turns around, before she can register what is happening she is enveloped between two strong arms. Her face almost matching her hair in colour. Then she slowly raised her arms to hug him back, resting her head on his chest.

“I can help you remove it if you'd like? The clan always had issues with the younger ones pranking others with different colours. So we learnt quickly the best ways to help remove it faster. Or at the very least mix the right amount to get the hair as close as possible to the original colour.” She blushed further with her rambling, when she didn't get a reply she looked up slowly. Just to see a rather dazzling smile on his face.

“I would very much like that.” Then he leant forwards and placed a kiss on her forehead. Both turning crimson.

She stepped backwards. “I'll go get what I need. I will meet you by the stream!” Then she rushed off not leaving room for an answer. Leaving him stood there with a goofy little grin on his face.

[luvhrs]

Tomorrow, they save Ferelden. Tonight, the Wardens must save each other.

hey guys, i just posted my first fic on ao3 :’) it’s not my first ever fic but it is the first fic i wrote in a very long while,, my sister and i watched wonder woman last night and got teary-eyed and inspired + i’m currently procrastinating on a paper so here we are!! lmao anw i’d rly appreciate it if anyone checked it out and left some feedback, tysm ♥️

some stuff abt it:

spoilers for the climax of dragon age: origins !!!

multiple wardens!au, events set before DR

main pairings explored are alistair x f!cousland and morrigan x m!mahariel, but the fic is also a character/friendship study

canon wardens belong to me (evangeline cousland) and my sister @myloveisinthewilds (kaeden mahariel)

delicious angst and hurt/comfort, baby

[nathans-tales]

Ok so I was scrolling though your blog (no shame in my game) and the cliché angsty prompts thingy caught my eye! SOOOOO maybe when you have the time you could do a fic about one of them charging into battle after their love is hurt OR maybe the one is mind controlled and the other has to fight them! With Erathan or Aspen and their lovers! ( I tired to give the others some love cause they’re amazing too)

Lmfao it only took me like 2 months to finally write this, but here you go! I chose the first prompt for Erathan & Leliana, because it already tied into a fic idea I had in mind. This fic kind of got away from me while writing it, so it actually only focuses on your prompt for like a hot second and then it just keeps going lmao. Hope you like it though!

Pairing: Leliana x Female Warden (my oc)

“Hey, my cooking isn’t that bad,” Alistair argued, turning back to face the accusing party and nearly stumbling over a tree root.

“First of all, yes it is. Second, please don’t kill yourself before we reach Redcliffe, okay? We’re hardly an hour out of camp and I don’t wanna drag your arse the rest of the way,” Erathan teased. Leliana stifled a laugh as Alistair’s cheeks flooded red.

“Was my stew really that bad last night?” he asked.

“That was supposed to be stew?” Erathan replied, actually starting to feel bad for her companion. She heard a quiet laugh from the dark-haired witch at the back of the group and cracked a smile of her own. Alistair sighed and turned back to walk ahead. “I’m just teasing you, Alistair! It’s not like any of us are any better, except maybe Wynne. I wasn’t so sure of the bread rolls Leliana made the other night either.”

“Hey!” Leliana protested, poking Erathan’s side. The elf laughed and pushed herself onto the tips of her toes to place a kiss to her lover’s cheek before intertwining their hands together. She heard an annoyed groan from behind her and turned to look back at Morrigan.

“Aw don’t be jealous, Morrigan; you can hold my other hand!” Erathan offered with a grin, holding out her hand.

Morrigan scoffed, “I’m quite alright without all the touching, thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” Erathan replied, shrugging.

They walked in silence as the trees passed them by, bird calls and snapping twigs the only disruptions. As her mind wandered to what she hoped to accomplish in Redcliffe and the warmth of Leliana’s palm pressed against her own, Erathan almost missed the sudden loss of the bird calls; almost.

Silence settled around them like a cage.

“Ambush!” she called out, reaching for her daggers just as an arrow flew past her face. She ducked to the side of the small forest opening they found themselves in, scanning the area for unfamiliar faces.

Alistair was already slamming his shield into one of the bandits, sending them backwards into a tree. Morrigan sent a strike of lightning into the chest of a bandit who was rushing towards her, Leliana following with an arrow through the heart of another. Erathan spotted an archer aiming for Alistair’s back and quickly moved to dig her blade into their stomach before they could release the arrow.

She picked off another bandit before she heard a sharp cry from across the opening, the voice painfully familiar. Erathan turned and saw Leliana collapse to the forest floor, clutching her side, a bandit standing behind her with a bloody knife in hand.

Erathan froze, her blood running cold. Her eyes locked onto Leliana’s crumpled form and she suddenly felt a wave of horrified rage flood through her. Seeing red, she rushed towards the bandit.

Before the bandit could move to block her strike, Erathan’s blades were buried deep within their chest. She forced the blades outwards, slicing their chest open. As they fell with a strangled cry, Erathan turned to block a hit from an incoming sword. As she pushed back against the imposing blade with one of her own, she swung the other down to connect with the bandit’s stomach and tear through soft flesh.

When the final bandit fell, Erathan dropped to her knees beside Leliana and gently eased her onto her back from her hunched position. “Leliana how bad is it? Let me check,” Erathan frantically asked, reaching for where blood seeped through Leliana’s fingers.

“I’m okay, it’s fine,” Leliana insisted through clenched teeth, but her eyes closed tightly as her shaking hand was pried from her side. Erathan’s own hands quaked as she tried to gauge the damage. The blade had slipped between the panels of Leliana’s armor, entering just beneath her ribcage and pushing up towards her lungs. Alistair dropped to his knees on the other side of Leliana.

“What happened? What should we do?” he asked, hands hovering over her without purpose. Leliana whimpered and tried to grab for her wound again, but gasped and pulled away at the contact.

“I-I don’t know, Morrigan I need you to heal her!” Erathan cried, turning to find the witch. Morrigan stood apart from the group, looking stunned and uncertain.

“I’m not a healer, I only know a few limited spells. You would need Wynne to—”

“Morrigan please! Wynne’s back at camp and you need to heal this wound enough so Leliana can make it back,” Erathan pleaded, the fear in her voice leaving no room for argument.

Leliana groaned suddenly, sucking in a sharp breath as more blood seeped from her side.

“Leliana hold on, you have to hold on,” Erathan begged. Leliana’s breaths grew weaker and more frantic. “Leliana come on, no, please.” Before she could yell for Morrigan again, the mage was at her side and pushing her away to take her place.

“Alistair, reach over and apply pressure to the wound,” Morrigan commanded, her hands already glowing with magic. Alistair did as he was told; the color drained from his face when Leliana cried out in response.

“Leliana this is going to hurt; are you ready?” Morrigan asked, voice softer. Leliana nodded and clenched her fists.

As Morrigan worked, Erathan knelt by her lover’s head to run her fingers through her red locks, murmuring encouraging words and pressing kisses to her forehead. As the minutes passed Erathan lost herself in her own mantra of comforting words, trying to ignore the pained screams.

“This is all I can do,” Morrigan finally stated, resting back on her heels. The bleeding had stopped and drawn out whimpers had replaced the screaming, but Leliana’s wound was still open and threatening.

“You two start carrying her back to camp, I’ll run ahead and alert Wynne,” Erathan directed, only stopping briefly to take one more look at Leliana before turning and running in the direction they had come.

                                                           * * *

As Erathan forced her legs to go faster, pushing through the fire in her lungs, she couldn’t stop picturing Leliana hunched over, blood covering her side. She could still hear Leliana’s labored breathing and shook her head to push it away. Leliana would be okay. She had to be.

                                                           * * *

Erathan finally arrived at camp, crashing through the tree line just beside Morrigan’s tent. “Wynne!” She cried, still sprinting towards the elderly mage’s tent. “Wynne!”

Wynne emerged from her tent just as Erathan stumbled to a stop in front of it. “What are you doing back here?” she asked, brow furrowed. She looked around and realized Erathan was alone. “Where are the others? Has something happened?”

“Yes,” the elf answered, stopping briefly to catch her breath, “we were ambushed nearly an hour into our journey. Leliana is severely wounded; Alistair and Morrigan are bringing her back right now. I wanted to get here ahead of them so you could prepare. You have to help Leliana!”

“Goodness, that is terrible. Of course I’ll help her; can you describe her wound?”

Time seemed to crawl by as Erathan described where the blade had entered and how much Morrigan had been able to heal it, and helped Wynne prepare her tent for the healing process. Wynne seemed silently surprised that Morrigan had helped Leliana; she knew how cold the other mage often was to the girl. Just when Erathan thought she would go mad with worry, Morrigan entered the camp clearing, Alistair a few steps behind with Leliana in his arms. Leliana’s body hung slack, her head rocking with Alistair’s steps.

“Finally!” Erathan sighed, running over to meet them. She felt ill as she saw that Leliana had fallen unconscious.

“Bring her here, to my tent,” Wynne ordered, opening the flaps of her tent for Alistair. He carried her in and gently laid her onto the bedroll. When he came back out, his whole body was shaking; from exhaustion or nerves, Erathan couldn’t tell—likely both. She rushed past him towards the tent, but Wynne held out a hand to stop her.

“Stay out here,” she directed.

“But—no, I need to help,” Erathan stammered.

“I know you’re concerned, but I need space to work and it won’t help to have you worrying over her the entire time,” Wynne explained. “She’ll be okay,” she said gently. She turned and entered the tent then, leaving Erathan standing outside baffled.

The warden contemplated entering the tent anyways, but knew it would only distract Wynne from helping Leliana. When she finally managed to collect herself she walked over to where Alistair sat, hunched over with his head in his hands, and sat beside him.

Almost immediately, Alistair sat upright and began to apologize. “I tried to move faster, I’m so sorry, she lost consciousness about halfway here, I’m so sorr—”

“Alistair stop,” Erathan interrupted. “I came to thank you; you helped save her.”

Alistair stared back for a moment, as if in disbelief. “You really think so? I just carried her, I couldn’t keep it from hurting her.”

“But you helped, you really did. Thank you so much,” Erathan reassured him, her voice starting to break. She surprised herself and leaned in for a hug, wrapping her arms around his broad frame. Alistair hesitantly returned the embrace, stunned by this act of friendship. They stayed like that for a few moments before Erathan pardoned herself and walked over to the tent her dearest friend kept on the edge of the camp, so far from everyone else.

She found Morrigan sitting inside her tent, frustratedly flipping through one of her many grimoires. She stepped inside to no protest, so she sat beside the witch.

“What’re you doing?” she asked.

Morrigan continued to flip through the book, muttering to herself. When she finally found what she was looking for, she sat back with a sigh. “There, finally. It should be considerably easier to find healing spells, don’t you think?”

Erathan looked at her, confused. “Um, yes, I suppose. Why are you looking up healing spells now? Wynne has Leliana.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m well aware. But what happened reminded me that I must broaden my knowledge of healing magic. ‘Twas foolish of me to rely on Wynne to be the sole competent healer, and I won’t make the mistake of being caught off guard again.”

“That’s nice Morrigan, but you don’t have to—” Erathan was cut off by Morrigan’s muttering as she began to read the spells before her. “Morrigan,” she tried again. “Morrigan,” she said once more, reaching forward to still her friend’s hand as it skimmed down the page. Morrigan stopped and looked at her, eyes edging on anger.

“What? What could you possibly need that would require you to interrupt my work? I need to learn this; I need to be able to help you!” the mage snapped.

Erathan hesitated, at a momentary loss for words. “Morrigan, you did help us. I came here to thank you; you saved Leliana.”

When Erathan met Morrigan’s gaze, she saw uncertainty in her eyes.

“Just barely,” Morrigan said. “I could only manage to stop the bleeding, what good will that do us in more dire circumstances? No, I must learn this, I must improve. What if someone else becomes wounded too far from camp and I can’t help them? What if I can’t help you?” Morrigan asked, her voice becoming frantic.

Erathan grew quiet and laid her hand on Morrigan’s arm. “You already can help us. You did help us. You did what you could to heal Leliana, and I would trust you in the field to heal me as well. Yes it would be good to learn more healing spells, but you are already more helpful than you’re giving yourself credit for. I trust you, Morrigan. I owe you more than I can express, for saving Leliana. Please don’t worry about not being able to save us… to save me. I know you could.”

They sat in silence until Erathan realized Morrigan didn’t have a response, so she left her to her studies.

She paced anxiously around the camp, eyes locked on her feet as they sank into the muddy ground. Eventually Wynne emerged from the tent and beckoned her over.

“The wound is healed and I gave her some potions to ease the pain. She’ll make a full recovery,” Wynne stated. Erathan bent over and braced herself against her knees as a wave of relief hit her. She thanked Wynne and entered the tent, quickly making her way to Leliana’s side. She kneeled beside her lover and gently grabbed her hand. Leliana opened her eyes and cracked a smile when she saw who it was.

“Birdie,” Erathan whispered, tears flooding into her voice. “How do you feel?”

“I’ve felt better, but I’ve also felt worse,” Leliana answered with a sigh. “The pain has subsided. Mostly,” she said, grimacing.

Erathan squeezed her hand and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I was so worried. The wound was so deep.”

Leliana gave a short laugh. “It was, but I’ve been through worse. I need to thank Alistair and Morrigan.”

“I just thanked them; they’re both a bit shaken, I should let them know you’re okay.”

Leliana raised an eyebrow. “Morrigan is shaken? At my expense? That’s quite the twist,” she said with a smirk.

Erathan smiled. “She likes to pretend she doesn’t care, but I know she does. She just has her own ways of showing it.” Leliana hummed her agreement and Erathan ran a hand through her red locks. Leliana leaned into the comforting touch, closing her eyes. Before Erathan realized it, tears were streaming down her cheeks and she had to stifle a sob.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Leliana asked, opening her eyes.

“Leliana, I… I was so scared,” Erathan whispered. “I thought I might lose you.”

“Oh mon cher,” Leliana started, trying to sit up but falling back onto the bedroll with a pained gasp.

“No, no don’t sit up,” Erathan murmured, wiping her face and moving to lay down beside her lover. “I just, I don’t know what I would do without you, birdie. We’ve come so far, and I never thought—” she stopped and let out a shuddering breath. “I’m so happy you’re okay.”

Leliana reached over and caressed Erathan’s cheek, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m here, love. I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.

Erathan leaned in and kissed her softly before carefully wrapping her arms around her. She stayed there, focusing on the rise and fall of Leliana’s chest as daylight faded to an end.

[anneapocalypse]

April Recs!

I think my recs this month have a few different themes in common: choice, consequences, loss, and also a reimagining or deepening of some aspect of canon. I had a hard time coming up with a pithy thematic title for this post, but I can certainly say that all of these fics have given me a fresh or deeper perspective on characters and events in the Dragon Age universe! I'm excited to rec them all, and I hope that you'll enjoy them too.

As always, please check the full tags and warnings on AO3.

Counting Paces by XerosXVI. Male Lavellan/Cassandra, and other companions. Varlas Lavellan struggles to come to terms with the death of his clan, and to connect with the friends who both can and cannot understand. I think it really effectively explores the aftermath of the tragic end of the Clan Lavellan plotline, in a way the game does not. Warning for family deaths and grief. 8500 words, rated T.

The Old Gods of Serault by hes5thlazarus. Felassan & Imshael, and some other people. Sundered from his body, Felassan wanders, coming across an old acquaintance in the Tirashan Forest. A fantastic and fantastical fic that brings these minor characters and a part of the world we've never seen vividly to life in weird and wonderful ways. Warning for descriptions of mycelium and body-horror-adjacent things. 3500 words, rated T.

Halliserre, Half Sister by Cryptographic_Delurk. Jowan/Lily, unrequited Female Surana/Jowan, a hint of Surana/Lily. In this story, Halliserre Surana has escaped the Circle Tower with Jowan and Lily, and now wonders what future awaits her with the blood mage she loves and the woman he loves instead. I really love this deeper look at these three characters and their complicated relationships. Warning for unrequited feelings and unplanned pregnancy. 3200 words, rated M.

three truths and a lie (Orphaned work). Cassandra, Leliana, and Varric. Cassandra has asked many times and in many ways what really happened to Orsino. One day, following Hawke's death, Varric finally tells her. Hands-down my favorite reimagining of the end of DA2. Warning for violence, eye trauma. 1800 words, rated G.

For Love of the People by @ammoniteflesh. Female Mahariel & the Dalish at Arlathvhen, with a side of Mahariel/Morrigan. Ghila Mahariel, who defiled the Sacred Ashes of Andraste in vengeance for her people, meets her people again, and faces their reactions, both positive and negative. It's a really interesting exploration of that game choice from the perspective of a Dalish Warden. 1300 words, rated G.

Happy April, friends, and happy reading.

[elvesofnoldor]

still thinking abt that morrigan x female mahariel art where mahariel is placing a golden necklace on morrigan’s neck while saying saying “it suits you” to her...........they sure invoke the gay tenderness in that sentence huh....that is what the canon has denied us

[dapromptexchange]

The Warden gets sick and they have no healer in their party. Alistair is dubious about leaving her in Morrigan's care. She could just as easily poison the Warden as care for her!

[laurelsofhighever]

For the character thing: Leliana? (:

I swear I haven’t been ignoring this! I started writing out an answer but then Things Kept Happening, but now I am determined

How I feel about this character There’s always more to know about Leliana! girl has layers. In Origins I didn’t quite see eye to eye with her when I first played as Mahariel because of her views on elves, though I appreciated that you can get her to re-examine her opinions. I got on better with her when I played Cousland, and stealth triggered her romance which meant I got the jealousy talk with her and Alistair and felt absolutely terrible about it. In Inquisition, I really like her character development, all the stuff she’s been through since the Blight has had an impact, but you can still see who she is underneath and it’s really fun to see her putting her experience as a bard to good use. And her voice is very soothing.

All the people I ship romantically with this character I love Leliana x Warden, and I also like the idea of her and Zevran having a FWB situation going on if the Warden is otherwise engaged, since the world is ending and all and people need stress relief, and if not that, I like her with Morrigan, and in Inquisition, Leliana x Josephine as a past relationship when they were bards that may or may not be rekindled depending on whether either of them gets romanced. I guess she’s just very personable XD

My non-romantic OTP for this character I really like the friendship between her and a female Cousland specifically, because Cousland is someone who’s had their entire world ripped away, and not only does Leliana understand that, she’s also the only one who also has experience of nobility, so they have a lot in common and have a great basis for mutual support. It’s something that they carry on when they both become big important people later on.

My unpopular opinion about this character Do I have an unpopular opinion about Leliana? I tend to let her kill Marjolane and that woman in the chantry in Inquisition, if that counts.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon. I wish in her appearance in DA2 she had been more suspicious of the templars because all of her other characterisation makes her very pro-mage considering her place in the Chantry hierarchy and that whole plot point was a disappointment. It could have been a real opportunity to examine the sides of the mage/templar unrest, but it wasn’t, and other people have been far more eloquent in exploring that.

[jawsandbones]

The Evening Red - Chapter Three

Rating: E

Summary: The blighted plague at your feet, and ghosts at your bedside. Those things that go bump in the night? They follow behind you. If only you had someone to protect you. A late-Victorian era re-imagining of Dragon Age Origins.

Pairing: Zevran x Female Warden

AO3 Link: Click Here

Chapter Three: Contention

Her eyes are slow to open. She frowns as she buries her face deeper into the pillow, her fist wrapped in the blanket. The window above her bed is unkind to sleeping, but it’s a far better alternative to the stale air of her flat. Noya rolls over, a hand flat over her chest, and looks up through the curtains to the blue sky outside. The breeze moves it this way and that, the sunlight playing on the blankets. The floorboards creak underneath her steps, and she can hear her neighbors above also moving around their flat. She kneels on the bed to pull back the curtains, and attempts to close the window once again.

She pays the price for having it open, the sagging frame unwilling to accept it back. As early as it is, the streets have already begun to fill. There’s the cacophony of horses and taxis, conversations overlapping and overpowering one another. The factories will be in full swing soon enough, and smoke has already begun to billow from the stacks. With a painful retch, the window finally closes in place. A flick of her finger is all it takes for the latch to swing over, lock in place. Save for the stack of books beside the bed, there isn’t much to suggest someone lives here.

It’s sterile, as clean as it possibly can be, and almost wholly empty. One of the cheapest places she could find in Denerim, and a single room was all she needed. A bed in the corner, a table in the middle for everything else. The kitchen is small but functional, and the same could be said for the rest of it. She fills up the kettle with water, lights one of the burners of the stove as she begins to change. The nightgown falls around her feet as she goes to the closet. She finds something simple, a blouse and a skirt, and that’s good enough.

She pulls the kettle from the stove when it begins to whistle, in time to hear the knock at the door. “Good morning,” he says, when she opens the door. Noya steps aside as Alistair enters, a basket under his arms. He throws his cap onto the table as he settles at one of the chairs. She pulls a few eggs from the basket and gets to work. It’s become routine, more or less, for them to have breakfast together every morning. Particularly once his stove stopped working. The landlord said he’d fix it – but then, that’s what landlords always say before they increase your rent.  

“Did you sleep well?” he asks as she puts a plate in front of him, one at the other side.

“Zevran didn’t visit me last night. If he did, I would tell you,” she says, cutting straight to the heart of his question. She takes a seat, crosses her legs as she pushes a cup of coffee towards him. Alistair seemingly barely registers her answer, too busy inhaling the eggs and bacon. He fixes her with a stern look after a moment, washes down the food with a hearty gulp. It’s as though he doesn’t even feel the burn of it. She settles a hand on the table, her index finger pricking at the flat of her thumb. She moves from one finger to the next, begins again.

“Now, when I knock at your door, I worry that all I’m going to find here is a body,” he says, reaching for the toast. Noya chuckles dismissively, her gaze moving downwards as she shakes her head. Three hard swipes with the knife and the butter scrapes across the bread. He downs it as quickly as all the rest. There are crumbs in his stubble. He wears an old grey shirt, the buttons undone at the collar. There are a few odd color stains – from grease, and the bleach mistakenly used to remove them. Suspenders and a belt, and his trousers are in no better shape than his shirt.

“He’s dangerous,” Alistair says to her silence. Noya reaches for the napkin, brings it down to her lap. She turns it in her hands, folding it this way and that.

“I’m quite aware, I’m not arguing otherwise.” she says.

“You should have someone stay with you,” he says, “or stay somewhere else.”

“That would be breaking the terms of our agreement, and we owe him,” she says.

“We owe him nothing,” Alistair says, shaking his head.

“Yes, we do. You of all people should know how much of a risk it is to give us his blood. People won’t understand what he is. All they know, they know from folk tales and stories meant to frighten children in their beds. It’s more complicated than that,” she says.

“Is it?” he frowns. “I of all people know exactly what you’re getting yourself into. You’ve been lucky with what you’ve seen and who you’ve met. Zevran is unlike Morrigan, Wynne and I. Vampires are – I just don’t understand why you’re acting so naïve with him.”

“Don’t mistake me for an innocent,” she says harshly, before relenting. Noya reaches across the table, taps a finger against his knuckle, before she pulls back. She sighs, “Zevran needs to trust us. Better to think us naïve than suspicious. If a vampire’s blood holds the key to the cure, then we’ll need more, and a lot of it. I don’t imagine anyone would be volunteering for that. We need him.” They both look towards the door when they hear the voices outside of it. The building is beginning to empty, and the footsteps echo in the hallway. Alistair stabs the last egg with his fork.

“He’s a murderer, the same as the rest of them,” he says after a moment.

“Maybe so, that doesn’t change anything.”

“At least have Morrigan or Leliana stay with you,” he says, the fork settling against the plate with a metallic tap. He leans back in the chair, one thumb wrapped around a suspender. “Then he might be less likely to eat you.” The noise of the city invades their conversation. She glances towards the window, firmly shut. Denerim invades from all sides. She drops the napkin on the table as she stands, moves towards Alistair, and brushes the crumbs from his cheek.

“I understand your concerns, but it’s a risk I have to take,” she says. Her words end with a tone of finalization. It isn’t the first time they’ve had this argument. It won’t be the last, she knows. She doesn’t resent him for it, but her patience wears. Alistair collects the plates, the cups, cleans them and puts them on the rack as she collects her jacket, her keys, finds the single book she needs from the pile.

“Have you seen Tam lately?” Alistair asks as he takes his cap, fits it on his head. She locks the door behind them.

“I haven’t had much time,” she says as they make their way down the stairs, avoiding the people who loiter there, “but I was planning to go see him tonight.” Navigating through the crowded streets is much easier by Alistair’s side. His height and width incline others to step out of his way, and all Noya has to do is stay slightly behind him.

“Well, tell him I say hello and that he still owes me two gold,” he says.

“I’ll be sure to mention it,” she says as they rush across the street, to where the steel works await. They stop at just the side of the entrance gates, and huddle together. “Be careful today.”

“I always am,” he says, putting his hand on her arm, “you too. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” He gives her a gentle squeeze, before turning away. They go in separate directions, with Noya focused on heading towards the University.

“Good morning Wynne,” she says when she finally makes it to the classroom, hanging up her coat. Wynne has her glasses perched at the edge of her nose, the scalpel in her hand as she dissects the arm on the operating table. Wynne looks up and smiles as Noya places the book on her desk.

“Good morning Miss Mahariel. Are you finished already? Did you answer all the questions?” she asks, as she looks back down at her work. She has a bloody apron wrapped around her waist, covering her skirts. The theatre will fill with students soon, all prepared to learn from Wynne.

“I did. Whether I got them correct or not remains to be seen,” she says as she approaches the table. Wynne chuckles under her breath as she carefully moves the vein, begins to pull at the radial nerve.

“I’m sure you did. You’ve a mind for riddles,” she says.

“Nerves today?” Noya asks, as she peers over the table at what Wynne is doing. Wynne opens her mouth to answer, but is stopped by the door to the classroom flying open. Morrigan is breathless as she pulls the scarf from around her neck, tosses it with her jacket onto Wynne’s desk.

“Your class is to be cancelled – and we are all to be summoned,” she says, the hurried and points steps of her heels echoing in the empty space. Wynne raises her eyebrows and puts down her scalpel, takes off her gloves. “We are to speak with the King himself.”

“About the blight?” Noya asks.

“There can be no doubt,” Morrigan says.

“Ah,” Wynne says, pushing up her glasses, “I don’t expect they’ll ask any complicated questions. They will want to know if we’re close to a cure, and that’s all.” The voice of experience.

“This is our chance to impress upon the King and the Court that the blight is not to be taken lightly. We need more funding, more space to research – more everything. Thus far they have looked upon it as though it is no more than a common cold,” Noya says, the frustration coming through clearly in the latter half of her words.

“I would not expect the King to properly listen,” Morrigan says, “presumably he will promise us something, and his advisors will look into it and find there is nothing in the coffers to aid us.” She waves her hand in the air dismissively.

“Hush,” Wynne says, glancing towards the door. Sure enough, a figure soon fills the frame. Imposing, but not unkind, Duncan scratches at his beard as he smiles at the three women. The Dean of Medicine, Noya has only met him once before. Wynne, on the other hand, is the only one to smile back.

“Should I even bother, or has Morrigan already told you?” he asks.

“Is he coming here, or are we meeting him elsewhere?” Noya stands at attention, her hands clasped behind her back. They squeeze each other tightly, her knuckles white, fingers pressing into each other. She keeps her attention on Duncan, doesn’t look away.  

“You’re to come to the Chancellor’s office when you’re ready. I would suggest leaving the apron behind,” he says. Wynne is untying it already.

“Thank you Ser Duncan,” she says, before he nods, leaves the way he came.

“He does not come here, or to our offices to see our research. ‘Tis disappointing already and we’ve not yet met the man,” Morrigan says, as she turns to the others.  

“If it doesn’t touch one of the nobility or someone else of importance, then it’s overlooked. It’ll be printed that he visited and spoke to us about a cure, and that will be enough to placate the masses until it gets worse,” Noya says. Wynne folds her apron, tucks it underneath her arm.

“There’s no point in arriving already furious,” she says. “We’ll be polite, we’ll answer his questions and we’ll try to inform him of the importance of funding. There’s nothing more we can do.” Noya squeezes her hands together tighter. It takes them only a few minutes to get ready, make their way across the campus. Even then, they’re left waiting outside the Chancellor’s office. Noya puts a hand over her knee, to stop her leg from bouncing. It’s Duncan, once again, who retrieves them, brings them into the office. Chancellor Irving is sitting, his cane resting against the desk, his hands folded on top of it.

“King Theirin.” It’s a chorus that moves from one to the other, as they each curtsey in turn.

“Ms. Aequitar,” Cailan says as he stands to meet them, his hand already extended towards Wynne, “what a pleasure it is to see you again. I hear you’re doing wonderful work to make the University proud. To make all of Denerim proud.” He raises her hand to his lips, presses a chaste kiss against her knuckles.

“Your Majesty, I didn’t expect –”

“The King to take an interest in medical research? How could I miss all the fun,” Cailan says with a wide smile. He’s personable, at least. Noya shifts her gaze from Cailan to the one behind him, a much sourer personage. “I take it these are your new ‘recruits’?” He lets Wynne’s hand go gently, before turning to the others.

“Allow me to introduce you, your Majesty. This is Noya Mahariel and Morrigan Connobar. They give me comfort to know that when I retire, the students will be left in their capable hands,” she says.

“I assume they are assisting you in finding a cure for this illness they’re calling the blight?”

“That’s correct, your Majesty.”

“Excellent, I’m glad to hear it. These things are common to large cities, are they not? I hear that most of it has already been quarantined. I’m sure that –”

“Excuse me your Majesty,” Noya says, stepping forward, “but have you seen the sick?”

“You’re asking if your King has been to a dangerous and infectious place,” the man behind him states dryly.

“Hush, Loghain. I haven’t. Please, go on,” he says, turning attentively to Noya. She clenches her jaw, shifts her frown away from Loghain.

“Then you don’t know what’s happening to them. This sickness robs them of their humanity. It strips away their morals, their rationality. They are violent, dangerous, and yes – contagious. It moves slowly through their system, taking a piece of them as it goes. If we do not find a cure, we can never return those already sick back to their loved ones. They will die, and it may be a mercy. If the blight takes any more, it will expand from Denerim throughout Ferelden,” she says. Cailan continues to smile.

“You make it sound so dire! I know how capable Ms. Aequitar and Ser Duncan are. I’m sure that together, all of you will find a way to stop this blight in its tracks,” he says.

“You say it turns them violent.” Loghain plays with the fraying edges of the armrest. His dark hair is slicked back, his suit subtly expensive and neat. “How so?”

“They lash out and attempt to kill any close to them, ser,” Morrigan says.

“You think this blight came about naturally, or could it have been manufactured?”

“Oh Loghain, please. Orlais would never do such a thing,” Cailan says. Loghain fixes him with a silent stare, before he looks back at the others. The three of them exchange a glance.

“There is a possibility that the blight isn’t natural,” Wynne says slowly.

“Please accept my apologies Ms. Aequitar, Miss Mahariel, Miss Conobar. Lord Mac Tir is getting quite paranoid in his old age,” Cailan laughs, but there’s an edge to it; a warning. “I’m sure we’ve taken up enough of your time. I’ll discuss things with my advisors and see if we can’t get you more funding, hmm? I have faith you’ll find a cure soon enough.”

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Wynne says, putting her hand at Noya’s back. This is also a warning. It silences her, and her mouth shuts with a clack of teeth. Duncan opens the door for them – and they’re dismissed as quickly as they were welcomed. Outside the closed door, Morrigan laughs mockingly.

“As we said. Disappointing,” she says.

--

Noya makes her way quickly down the street. Most of the city attends to their supper, and the streets aren’t quite as busy. Even more so down the route she takes. She keeps her hands in the pocket of her coat, and her steps are fixed ever forward. A superstitious lot, most people cross the street instead of walking in front of the hospital Noya now stands in front of. She’s met with familiar nods, greetings from the nurses and orderlies she passes. Down the stairs, into the basement, where a guard stands with a key.

The sick mask does nothing, she knows, but it does make them feel better. She puts it on, signs her name in the book, before the guard unlocks the gate. They’ve made the basement a prison. Patients writhe as they’re strapped to beds, bits in their mouths, wrapped around their skulls. Their eyes stay wide, bloodshot and frenzied. A few nurses make their way between beds, cleaning up what they can. Noya drags a stool from a corner, towards a single bed. She brushes back his hair, checks his neck. The discoloration has already started. “Hello Tam,” she says softly. Tamlen only bucks underneath the straps, his hands trying to reach from her. Drool spills down his cheek, salivating at the sight of her.

Noya takes the cloth from the table, dabs at his mouth gently. “Alistair says hello. He hasn’t forgotten about the bet you lost yet. Give it another week,” she says. She speaks as though she doesn’t see him bite at the tack in his mouth. She pretends he doesn’t look at her without recognition, and that his whole body doesn’t ache to attack her. She leans in close, her elbows on her knees.

“I’ve found one, Tam. We’re studying his blood now. I know there’s answer. It’s going to be alright. I’m going to find a cure,” she whispers. Hesitantly, she rests her hand on his arm. He’s cold to the touch, almost dead. His grunting grows louder, his thrashing fiercer. Only when he begins to scream through the bit does she take her hand away. She smiles as she clenches her hand into a fist. “You’re going to be okay, I promise.”

Her visits are never long. They’re for her, not for him. “Coming back soon?” the guard asks as she leans over to sign the book once again, noting the time of her exit. She sighs as she undoes the mask.

“Tomorrow, most likely.”

“See you tomorrow then, Miss Mahariel.”

She walks slowly, leisurely, without direction. Her brows knot together, her every thought occupied. She pauses when she feels the hair at the back of her neck raise. She presses her hand against her nape, and turns. She looks down the street, sees people laughing and smiling together. Some share food, others talk loudly, while others walk in silence. There is nothing and yet – Noya cannot shake the feeling she is being watched.