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greypetrel · 5 months ago

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Hiii 👁️👄👁️💜 Maybe: 🎄 spirits follow everywhere i go - or alternatively:🎄 oh, you fool, there are rules

Hello! Bet you forgot you sent me this, uh? 💜

WELL, it's here! After much consideration because I love the album that contains both these songs, I thought that the Yawning Grave just yelled Morrigan. A minor possible spoiler for the Arbor Wilds/What Pride Has Wrought but well. I'm not explaining whys and hows anyway.

Tis the prompt list

Oh you fool, there are rules.

[ Morrigan x Female Mahariel | 3.692 words | No trigger warnings - Hurt/comfort ]

I tried to warn you when you were a child I told you not to get lost in the wild I sent you omens and all kinds of signs I taught you melodies, poems, and rhymes Oh, you fool, there are rules, I am coming for you (You can run, but you can't escape) Darkness brings evil things, oh, the reckoning begins (You will open the yawning grave)

Morrigan didn’t stall long in Skyhold, after Corypheus was defeated.

She had done what she must. That was it. She never meant to stay much longer.

She was grateful for Aisling, for her concerned expression as she told her that she would have tried to help her if she only had let her. Tried to fix whatever was done to her at the Well. Morrigan knew guilt when she saw it. It resonated deeply in her heart, and she was at the same time grateful and repulsed. It only made her want to run.

Run from that castle, run from another series of mistakes, run from companionship and friendship she still doubted she deserved.

Old books and ruins were much safer companions. They never talked back.

She wanted to believe the Inquisitor, be sure that everything could be fixed, that if they put their mind to it, they could have found a solution. Freed her from the cage of a past that wasn’t her own alone anymore, once again. She really did.

She wasn’t fool enough to actually do it.

Aisling knew not the extent of the magic that had been bestowed upon her. The extent of the control it could exert, how much she felt it deep in her bones, like the loose strings of a puppet. She knew, painstakingly well, for all the voices of the Well whispered it into her ears, that as talented as Lavellan was, as undoubtedly bright and creative with magic, she wasn’t powerful enough to break that spell.

None of her people was. No one else was, anymore. Save for… but he had vanished after the battle.

She thanked Aisling, told her words of comfort she didn’t feel, and of trust that in spite of herself she couldn’t convince herself not to mean. She at least owed her a nice goodbye. Kieran hugged her tight, and the elf stalled, caressing his hair and recommending him to listen to his mother. She whispered something in his ear, which made the boy giggle. Morrigan smiled: it happened much more rarely these days.

And before the first light of days could tinge the sky in pinks and lilacs, she took her son’s hand and left the fortress.

“You don’t have to do that.”

Leliana had waited for her, just outside the first outpost, before the descent to the valley.

She knew she didn’t have to go. She knew it well that right now, Skyhold was probably one of the safest places in Thedas. A place run by a person who knew her, knew partially the extent of what she did, could help her should something awry happen, should the Well decide to take full control of her. A person that loved Kieran and, she knew, would have gone out of her way to keep him safe and bring his mother back.

But she missed her.

She missed her and that choice of old, the separation, seemed now the biggest in a long list of mistakes she made. She had gained the knowledge she craved, and for what?

“I miss her.” She just told Leliana, too tired, to battered up to bite back something.

Leliana nodded, smiled in a knowing way that brought back memories, made her look like the young person she once was, and stirred some irritation.

“It was plenty of time you did.”

“Don’t tell the idiot.”

“Oh, I’m saving this bit of information for a special occasion, worry not.”

“If you hear from her…”

“You’ll hear first.” Leliana smiled. “You always hear first from her. You know it, yes?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She sneered, the pang to her heart finally enough in bringing some old bite back. “I wouldn’t dare implying I know more than the next Divine.”

“It’s been nice to meet you again, Morrigan.” She looked down, and smiled at Kieran. “To meet you both. Come say hi if you are in Val Royeaux.”

She travelled south for a couple of days, just to mislead any possible person who followed her.

And then, she headed straight to Amaranthine.

---

Nathaniel welcomed her warmly and ruffled Kieran’s hair, complimenting on how much he had grown.

Morrigan saw him frowning as the boy answered with a smile that was there for politeness, but didn’t offer any explanation to the fact. She couldn’t, not now. Not with him first.

“Is she here?”

“No.” He sighed. “Still Maker knows where. The last letter came from the Anderfels, but it was five months ago.” A pause, he looked into her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Of course.

It was no surprise, after all: when she came to bid her goodbye in Orlais, Alyra had said she would have been gone for a while, and that communications would have been difficult. She had built a net of spies, but it wasn’t so widespread as to reach desolate places. In the Anderfels, Morrigan knew she had a handful of people in Weisshaupt, but nothing more. And, she couldn’t risk getting found or tracked.

Hoping she would have been there, waiting to magically fix her mess, had been childish and stupid. She wasn’t living in a fairy tale, she was no Vassilissa, as much as she had liked to pretend she was, as a child. As much as Alyra had made her feel like that. Such mishaps had already happened: the first time she reached her in Vigil’s Keep, Alyra had been in Denerim, impossibilitated to move before a week. They had managed three days together. Nothing more, and it wasn’t the only time they had missed each other. It was foolish to hope things could go differently.

“Very well. Can we stay the night, before leaving again?”

Kieran looked at her, snapping his head quickly with a face of disappointment. Morrigan knew perfectly well what he was about to say, and shook her head at him.

The room was found, and there were not many things left to do save opening the window, get a fire going, and bring their bags there, their cloaks to be washed. The same room she had occupied every time she had visited, finding it in the same level of readiness to be occupied.

She observed a dapple of sun shining over the white of the fresh linens. The air smelled like clean, as clean a that place -the whole castle actually- was. Kieran shook Nathaniel’s hand, very politely, and Morrigan wished him a nice afternoon and thanked him for his hospitality. He scoffed the formalities, but hesitated on the door before leaving. He turned towards her.

“She left orders, you know.” He told her, with a smile. “You both can stay for as long as you wish. Not a word of your presence will leave the walls, she described in no lack of details what will happen to snitches to all the recruits and the staff.”

“It sounds like mamae.” Kieran convened.

“The recruits still have nightmares.”

Morrigan joined the other two laughing at that, in spite of the glomp in her throat that rose knowing that Alyra had, in fact, thought of her. Of them both. She clutched one hand in the other and told Nathaniel that she would have thought about it, when Kieran asked her if they could stay.

“Just until mamae is back. Please, mother.”

The room was warm and comfortable, and no servant batted an eye when she asked for dinner to be brought in her room, leaving Kieran to go dine with the others in the great hall. She just walked him there, watched him taking place on a bench close to Nathaniel and in front of Velanna, answering politely to the question the others asked him. Smiling.

Some normality, at long last, or whatever normality she could ever hope to offer him.

The image only made the glomp in her throat grow.

And the glomp grew further when, back in her room, the servant returned with her favourite dish.

“Lady Warden-Commander left a list of what you and your son like to eat, my lady. Just in case.” The old woman smiled, sympathetically. “If you have other preferences, please let me know.”

Morrigan closed the door behind the maid, thanking her, and with all the dignity she had left, walked to the bed and sat down, elegant as a queen.

And then she let go, falling heavily back on the bed. It was fresh and plush: a room well taken care of, as if she was expected. Alyra left orders. Alyra said to the cook what to prepare her.

She wished she never went through that eluvian, all those years ago.

What god to pray for Mahariel to come back to her safe and sound and please, come back soon, she didn’t know anymore, but she was tired. Bone-deep tired.

Maybe she could rest. For some days, at least.

Kieran would benefit from a familiar place to cope with the lack of part of his soul. Faces he knew and who loved him to help him through the change.

Yes, she decided. They both would use some rest.

For some days, at least.

If that was yet another mistake, at least Kieran would have been happy about this one.

She ignored the voices telling her to go.

---

The days became weeks. And months.

Morrigan thought they were past hospitality, but looking better she realized both her and Kieran were a part of the Keep. Expected and wanted. Kieran had his spot in the Library, and everyone in the Keep, Wardens and not, automatically started to teach him whatever knowledge they possessed as if the child was a part of their environment too.

It wasn’t Skyhold, with the Inquisitor and Lord Pavus struggling to cut a free hour for lessons in busy schedules. No, here he was welcomed and expected during activities, at very regular timings Morrigan knew were something Alyra had started in the Keep. Everything happened at a precise time, as she would have wanted.

Her absence was a presence in itself, and it was soothing. It relaxed her, and the boy as well.

Kieran still cried because at night he felt the air too silent, and often crawled in her bed, to be soothed with a hug. He was growing old for that, Morrigan knew, and yet she had not in her to shun him away, nor to scold him because it was unbecoming for a young man his age to seek his mother when he had a nightmare.

No, she hugged him tight and caressed his hair until he felt asleep against her shoulder, like she did when he was but a baby. Everything felt more bearable, more worth it, when she held him like so, alive and breathing and free.

She missed him tenderly when he was a baby, those days. She soothed him and soothed herself as well.

She missed tenderly the exact look Alyra made when she first saw him: she had melted down, the usual air of harshness crumbling in something tender and marvelled. She never looked smitten, not with her and not with Alistair. She had looked so with Kieran. She had smiled, and poked the baby’s nose with such delicate tenderness that Morrigan had burst in tears.

“If you haven’t heard from her… But I’ve written her, too. Told her you’re here.” Nathaniel said, one day when she asked again whether he had news or not. “You know her safe spots, she’s gonna return as soon as she’ll read the letters.”

“Is she?”

He sighed, deeply, stopping to look at the Wardens training in the courtyard, at Velanna crouching in front of Kieran to correct his grip on the staff. Everything went on like normal, like one would expect. A clockwork fortress that stood its ground, brought to discipline by a missing Commander and kept so by her lieutenant. Nathaniel looked that much older, and it wasn’t just the Blight paling his skin, starting to paint his black hair in grey at the temples. Command didn’t really suit him: he could do it, he had been grown for it. It was clear as day, knowing him, that he didn’t like it.

“I hope she is.” He answered, tone lowering. “What are we going to do if she isn’t?”

Morrigan considered. She didn’t want to, but it’s been seven months since the last time anyone had any news from Mahariel. The whispers in her ears told her nothing useful: tales and whispers of Deep Roads, and creatures slain, something stirring, deep down. The possibility that it was too much, even for Alyra, was concrete. More than concrete.

But she knew perfectly well what she would have answered.

“We stop being stupid about it and go on.”

He laughed, bitterly, and couldn’t but agree with her.

They went on, but Morrigan still didn’t feel like leaving, even if everything told her she should not stay any longer, she was being stupid about it, waiting for a person that would have never come back.

She once thought that her plans wouldn’t have allowed her to stay more than a handful of months in one place, but as per now, she wasn’t sure what were her plans anymore.

So, she just listened to the voices from the Well, concentrated on them and tried to interpret them.

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but all she could devise was one word.

Stay.

It seemed a fitting excuse to be stupid about it and listen.

---

Something was on the bed, crawled into her arms.

She sighed and shifted, still more than a half asleep, she shifted her arms on the figure, rested her chin more comfortably on the head, thinking it was Kieran.

“Another nightmare?”

“He had one, but he’s asleep, right now.”

It was enough to make Morrigan jolt awake, every trace of sleep instantly gone. She snapped her fingers and a ball of fire started in the air, balanced on the palm of her hand to illuminate the rest of her bed.

Red hair, glinting orange and golden in the firelight, carefully braided in an intricate motive to stay out of her face. A practical style, a travelling one. Dark tattoos marking her brow, making her features less minute and delicate than they were. Beside her eyes, usually, but tonight those eyes were mellower than their usual.

“You’re-” There were at least ten thoughts in her head, but the whispers were loud and insisting, hissing about alarms and danger and wrongness, and she grew distracted. “Am I still dreaming?”

It was all that she managed to spit.

Alyra Mahariel, the Warden-Commander, the Hero of Ferelden, survivor of yet another mission everyone with some brain would have deemed impossible, frowned at her. She rose on one elbow, the shoulder of her nightsuit daintly slipping off a shoulder. Muscly, but less than Morrigan remembered. She looked thinner, more ghastly, the bags under her eyes were darker and her cheeks looked hollow, and the Witch knew it wasn’t just the light. If all, the light masked how more grey-ish her skin had gotten.

“it depends.” Alyra extended a hand, hesitating just a moment, just to see a nod from the other, before cupping Morrigan’s cheek. “Is it a good dream?”

A thumb caressed Morrigan’s cheekbone with tenderness, the pressure barely perceptible. The elf slid forward, very slowly and carefully as if she was afraid of startling a wild animal. Her face grew closer, her lips parted, but still she stopped at but a breath space from a kiss. She brushed her lips with her own, and waited for the other to consent. As she had done from the start, inviting but never pressing.

It made the glomp in Morrigan’s throat only bigger, as she realized that it was really Alyra, not an impostor. Her breath on her lips, the gentle pressure of her hand on her cheek were not a dream. The whispers were more pressing, insisting on the verge of deafening: they spoke of decay and death and wrongness, and danger. Morrigan had seen her slice so many throats, kill enough people in cold blood to say the Well was wrong.

But that wasn’t the whole of it.

The Well knew many things, but the Well didn’t know everything. Not the care in which she cupped her face, not the love in which she still waited for Morrigan to take the first step, without forcing her or making her feel trapped or pressured. That little choice she gave her, knowing how important it was for her.

She waited in Amaranthine for 7 months, and for 7 months she endured and kept strong, hid under the carpet all the negative.

Only then, 7 months after Corypheus had been slain, 9 since she drank from the Well and lost her freedom yet again, in front of that little tenderness, Morrigan allowed herself to cry.

She folded forward, and the fact that she was met with a solid shoulder and arms that held her, made her cry more. She circled the other woman’s bust and held her with all she had in her. She didn’t remember the last time she cried like that, so loud and intensely. She held Alyra like she would have disappeared again if she let go, and squeezed her past the point of comfort. She had missed her, missed her so much that the voices in her head felt more distant, more quiet.

“What happened?”

She asked her, tenderly combing her hair with her fingers -stiffer than her usual, Morrigan didn’t want to know whether she was just tired or her mission had failed and the Blight was starting to get hold of her. She couldn’t face it, now. As the elf patiently waited for an answer. Morrigan felt the deep, satisfied sigh, her frame melting against hers, as if she too hadn’t relaxed in ages and was waiting for it.

“I-” She started, but the words died in her throat. She didn’t want to know, but she had to. She needed at least one thing to go right, in the grand scheme of things. “… Did you succeed?”

She didn’t need to specify in which exactly. And she hated the whiny tone the question came out from her mouth with. It was pitiful and pathetic, and she wasn’t a person who begged. She could care later, tho.

“Avernus has it. A last round of control.” Alyra answered, her arms holding her tighter. “… I have the Cure.”

Morrigan started crying again, fat tears surging instantly to her eyes, as some weight she didn’t realise she was carrying lifted from her shoulder. Alyra disentangled from the hug, still as quick and agile as ten years ago in her prime, and moved to cup her cheeks and delicately pull her head so she was looking in her eyes. Her eyes were shiny too, and she looked tired. Bone-deep tired. But less stoney than she had seen her ever since she first met their son. She pushed forward and gently nuzzled her nose with her own, stopping as usual but a breath away from her lips. Morrigan, this time, didn’t hesitate: she filled the distance and kissed her, her taste all so familiar and soothing. Finally, after three years.

“What happened to you?” She broke the kiss, but didn’t stray far, delicately kissing tears away from her cheeks. “You’ve missed me before, but you haven’t ever cried like so. Not even when I told you I couldn’t follow you through your mirror.”

Morrigan sighed, pressing forward until her face drowned in the crook of the other’s neck. Alyra shifted, urging her to lie down after a while that they hadn’t moved. Her back ached, she said: she had ridden fast and hard all day, and they weren’t all that young anymore.

She settled them under the covers, tugging the hem on Morrigan’s shoulder with just one hand. The other arm held her close all throughout, as if she knew she needed to be this close, hear her steady heartbeat under her ear, when she moved.

Satisfied, she settled more comfortably around the witch, holding Morrigan as she kept combing her hair with her fingers, absent-mindedly. Tracing circles on her skin. Pressing a kiss where she could, every now and then. On her cheek, jaw, neck and shoulder. She even started to humm a song: a familiar tune she had sung to Kieran every time she was there to tuck him to sleep.

Three years since they last saw each other.

Morrigan could have written more, or could have travelled to meet her. She could have travelled with her, even. She could have stayed in Amaranthine, 10 years ago when they met for the first time after the Blight. Alyra couldn’t move, but Morrigan could have stayed. She wondered what could have been, if she had. Kieran growing up happy with people he could have called family.

She could have done so many things more for the woman in her arms, the woman she loved.

And yet, as cruel and ruthless and unforgiving as her fame said, Alyra Mahariel never put an ounce of blame on her. She was crying, so Alyra held her and soothed her until tears stopped.

She wondered if she would have done the same knowing what she did at the Well of Sorrow. Knowing that she took the Well away from two Dalish. The Well and the voices whispered she was theirs, that the illusion that she belonged with her was just that. She belonged to them, now. It was foolish to hope anything else. Such was the price she paid.

Bile rose in her throat, the thought of losing her love unbearable and anguishing.

But once again, she had to know.

Hunger for knowledge was what would have brought her demise, ultimately. And it was better now than later, she thought. Even if it was the most terrifying thing she had ever done.

Her hands fisted in the cotton of her shirt, a silent plea not to go, to stay where she was. Four words that weighted like the whole castle slowly creeped out of her lips.

“I made a mistake.”

#morrigan x female mahariel #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #warden mahariel #dao #da fanfic #writing petrel #angst #dai #da morrigan #nathaniel howe #it's gonna be fine alyra found a cure to the blight #what's defeating an ancient elven well #she'll speak with the voices in the well and convince them to behave or else #“Don't make me come there.” cit.

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a-gay-bloodmage · 2 months ago

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One of my favorite hobbies to engage in is ignoring the canon course of video game romances

#yes my warden in an open relationship will have a foursome at the pearl #and yes I will continue to have Morrigan sleep with Orest after the “I love you and I hate it” conversation #I am digging into her brain so deep rn #morri seeing sex as the main manipulation tool she has and being so scared to have orest be just In Love With Her #she says no to his invitation of sex once and he just goes oh okay I'm sorry #I still love you that's okay #and it scares the bejesus out of her #time to keep fucking him so I can pretend that he just wants me for my body #time to let him fuck other people so it'll be easier for him to leave me in the end #I can't have him so dependent on me for his happiness or else it will destroy him (the man I love) in the end #I have to let him leave my side slowly or else he'll die if I separate myself from him I saw what happened with his ex-lover (tamlen)#let him be happy with zevran or leliana or anyone #fool woman he will never let you leave and never stop loving you #I love morrigan and her fucked up relationship with intimacy so much #orest is also especially easy to think you're manipulating because he acts so stupid (and it's only partially an act)#he loves so openly and so intensely and yet he's also clearly very easily drawn in with the appeal of a Nice Ass #I could talk about them forever #I'm editing an old fic to better fit with their dynamic and the canon of the romance #and the orest x morri content I've written since I first wrote this fic #and this doesn't just apply to orest and morrigan #I ignore that tamlen and gorim are female warden LIs only #I ignore that Blackwall is “straight” (blackwall may be but thom isn't that's for sure)#I do whatever the fuck I want with da2 #anyway time to stop rambling in the tags and actually get back to writing #dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age ii #dragon age inquisition #original content #and mainly

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timelessda · 1 year ago

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Morrigan & Kara<3

[ART BY: Morght On ych.commishes.com]

I'm running multiple Dragon Age roleplays where Kara is an additional Grey Warden companion as opposed to, well, the main character [So participants Warden + Alistair + Kara] :') Depending on participant choices, Kara can either end up with Leliana, Morrigan or the participant's Warden (think Iron Bull/Dorian in DAI). So I figured, why not commission some Kara/Morrigan content?<3

Appearance for Morrigan is based on the mods I used for my most recent playthrough of Origins~!

Morrigan Of Inquisition Mod

Morrigan Ashes Inspired Robes Mod

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tired-truffle · 6 months ago

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Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOC fic

Chapter Word Count: 3.3k

Part 11/50

"Ignore every instinct to flee. Remember: you are a monster too." - Destiny

Masterlist

“Ta-da!” With a dramatic flourish of his wrist, Darcy unfurled the rolled-up scroll and placed it on the breakfast table. Gwen had been so caught up staring at the spread before her, not quite believing her eyes that she hadn’t noticed Darcy’s arrival. The long oak table was draped in a fine white linen cloth, upon which sat platter after platter of sumptuous breakfast foods. At one end was a huge wheel of creamy cheese, its rind dotted with herbs. Beside it sat a basket of still-warm bread, the crusty loaf steaming gently in the cool morning air. Bowls of plump berries in shades of crimson, purple and blue beckoned invitingly, their sweet perfume wafting towards Gwen's nose. Slices of juicy ham, pink and glistening, were piled high on a bronze platter next to a stack of buttery croissants. In the center sat a vase bursting with bright wildflowers, their colourful petals still dusted with early morning dew.

The group fell silent, all eyes turning to Darcy as he stood at the head of the table a self-satisfied tilt to his chin, “Don’t hold back the compliments people! You’re welcome for gracing you with my brilliant forethought, planning, and use of personal connections.”

“Maybe if you explain what you’re talking about first, our lesser minds may be able to come up with adequate compliments for this spectacular feat of yours,” Alistair drawled, placing a croissant on his plate - having just sat down and the last member of their party to arrive - he had just joined the rest of their party at the breakfast table, still looking a bit dishevelled from sleep. His tawny hair was tousled and his gambeson was on inside out, adding to his charmingly rumpled appearance. As he settled into his seat a few places down from Gwen, she couldn't help but stifle a laugh. Across from her, Zevran and Leliana exchanged knowing glances and quickly placed bets on how long it would take Alistair to notice

“I’m so glad you asked, my good friend Alistair, I would love nothing more than to explain how amazing I am.” Darcy leaned in close to Zevran, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He playfully winked and fluttered his long eyelashes at the rogue.

Morrigan groaned, her initial pleasure at avoiding Alistair’s presence this morning disappearing under the haze of Darcy’s flirtations, “Cease this childish display and proceed, would you? Lest this idle chatter lull me back to sleep and we delay our exit from this place even further.”

“Alright, alright,” Darcy attempted to appease the witch, “Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

Morrigan’s jaw clenched with a sharp clack of her teeth and she muttered, “My knickers are none of your concern.”

Gwen breathed a silent sigh of relief as Darcy refrained from provoking Morrigan any further. Instead, he carefully untied the twine that bound the ancient-looking scroll and laid it gently on the table. The parchment was yellowed with age, and intricate map lines traced its surface, depicting the corner of Ferelden where they currently resided. However, anything past that knowledge was beyond Gwen. There were words written in an elegant, looping script on the lower left corner of the map, different from the other titles spread around the page, but given that Gwen was unable to read any language at all she couldn’t discern their meaning. She could guess - her travels had given her knowledge of the names of the surrounding locations - but the letters had never made much sense to her. Keeping her expression neutral was second nature to Gwen, a defence mechanism honed over years to keep others from knowing what lurked beneath the mask. It wasn't that she was ashamed; illiteracy was common among common folk. But revealing this vulnerability could only bring trouble, so she kept it to herself.

The gentle chirping of crickets filled the room, their rhythmic song blending with the soft rustling of leaves and distant birdcalls. The cool breeze that flowed through the open window carried with it the smell of damp earth and floral notes, a refreshing respite from the stuffy air inside the small room.

“Where on Thedas did you get this?” Leliana asked, glee coursing through her as she stood, palms pressed flat on the table to allow her a better view of the map.

“Brother Genetivi’s house in Denerim,” Darcy said as though that answered anything.

“I think the next logical question would be how, then proceeding that, how did you know to look there?” Alistair had straightened, his breakfast all but forgotten in favour of staring in wonder at Darcy.

“Sir Henric’s note. Remember that Templar we found killed on the road? He mentioned that Brother Genetivi, a scholar in Denerim, knew of the Urn of Sacred Ashes. It is located in Haven.” Darcy pointed at the spot on the map with the elegant script with one hand and produced said note out of his pocket with the other, passing it to Alistair who read over the note in bewilderment.

“How did I miss this?” Alistair mumbled to himself.

Darcy took it upon himself to answer, “You didn’t miss anything, I kept the note from you in case it was a dead-end, I didn’t want you to get your hopes up.”

Alistair's lips pressed together in a tight line, his expression revealing a hint of displeasure although he did not speak up to protest.

“I asked a skilled friend of mine to investigate - his ability to slip in and out of the Alienage is like no other. He sent a letter along stating that Brother Genetivi is missing and his assistant dead, and that he’d been able to find this map among his things.” Darcy sat back in his chair, “It’s the best lead we have for the Urn, we should set out immediately if we are to have our best chance to wake the Arl. Thoughts?” Darcy opened the floor to discussion.

“And we have to save the Arl?” Gwen clarified, ignoring the indignant glare Alistair shot her way. Their conversation last night did little to warm her up to the idea of helping nobles, they had already saved Lady Isolde, did they really have to save another?

“Not all others lick the boots of nobles like you, Alistair. Why should those of common breeding care about the fates of their lords when the lords care little for them in return?” Morrigan berated him and at the same time, both insulted and defended Gwen. She frowned, unsure how to interpret such a backhanded compliment.

Alistair scowled at Morrigan. Yet before he could offer a retort, Darcy commanded their attention again, “Look, I know we all just woke up and we’re feeling a little strung out, but if we can wake up the Arl and get him on our side, we stand a much better chance of going against Teryn Loghain. The other Lords at the Landsmeet are not going to care about a bunch of nobodies, especially not ones led by an Elf.” He flicked the tips of his pointed ears for emphasis, “Unless we’re able to secure noble backing that can verify Alistair’s nobility, we don’t stand a chance and may as well charge head first at the Archdemon with no backup.”

In a rare moment of almost seriousness, Darcy had made an excellent point that Gwen could not argue. She shrugged and did not offer a rebuttal. What was an extra week or two of travel when they had wasted so much already?

“Any other objections?” Darcy spread his arms, welcoming their arguments.

“Can we go after we finish breakfast? I am reluctant to leave such a decadent spread after our long hours on the road.” Zevran took a suggestive bite of sausage and Darcy’s playful grin settled back in its usual place.

The table quickly devolved into meaningless chatter, Sten complaining of Darcy and Zevran’s un-Qun-like proclivities, while Morrigan took every opportunity to provoke Alistair’s ire. Leliana regaled Gwen and Wynne with stories of her travels with the Chantry, and Barkspawn slept soundly beside his recently emptied bowl. Gwen didn’t know when she had started to think of this as ‘normal’. Part of her longed for the quiet solitude she had grown used to have, but another part relished in the company, soothing the little girl inside her who wanted nothing more than to be surrounded by people she cared for.

“I forgot something in my rooms.” Gwen's fists were tightly clenched, her nails digging into her palms as she struggled to suppress the fiery anger rising in her chest. She couldn't help but notice Alistair's slumped shoulders and distant gaze as he returned from his meeting with Darcy, Bann Teagan, and Lady Isolde. The air around them felt heavy and tense, like a thunderstorm brewing on the horizon. “I’ll meet you at the gates.”

Darcy, who appeared to mirror her feelings, his nose crinkled and his eyes sharp, nodded his assent - a smirk of understanding pulling at the corner of his mouth. No one else seemed to notice their exchange and Gwen quietly slipped away from the group.

Frustration and irritation whirled in her mind like a tempest, fueled by Isolde's constant undermining of Alistair and the never-ending Calling that plagued her. The throbbing ache in her head was a constant companion, a reminder of her frayed patience. She had reached her limit with the haughty nobles and their archaic belief in their own superiority. It was enough to make her want to scream into the wind.

Her timing was perfect, Lady Isolde exited the throne room, her blonde hair pulled back tight in her braided buns, and her thin mouth set in a hard line as she started down the hallway towards the Arl’s study, Bann Teagan nowhere in sight.

With cautious steps, Gwen trailed behind Isolde, her senses on high alert. She could feel the weight of Isolde's trust in their familiar surroundings and she knew it was up to her to be vigilant. As they neared the study, Gwen instinctively jammed her foot inside the door, causing Isolde to startle in alarm. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of the masked intruder standing before her.

“You!” How kind of her to remember Gwen’s name, “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you have left with the others?”

Her pupils widened as she took an involuntary step back, raising an arm as though she stood a chance at shoving Gwen away. She’d barely done anything and already the Orlesian’s delicate sensibilities were affronted by her presence.

“You don’t mind if I come in, do you?” Gwen didn’t wait for the response of what was sure to be a resounding no before yanking the door out of Isolde’s white-knuckled hand, entering the room with firm steps, and shutting it firmly behind her.

Isolde’s quickened breaths stuttered in the deafening silence.

“If I scream my guards will come and you’ll spend the rest of your days rotting in prison.” The quiver of Isolde’s bottom lip did nothing to help her attempt at intimidating Gwen. She merely raised an eyebrow at the Lady’s threat, unfazed by the mention of guards and prison. She knew that she could easily evade capture and that her presence here was more important than any risk of punishment. It wasn’t as though prison was something she was unused to, or unable to withstand, even if the thought of spending even a second of her time locked behind bars didn’t make her skin crawl.

“Relax,” Gwen rolled her eyes, “I do not wish to cause you harm.”

“What do you want then?” Isolde spat, backing up until she hit the desk, Gwen matching her steps, her eyes dark and intense as she peered at the smaller woman.

Her lip curled behind her bandana, “You are a cruel, vile woman. Stealing the only good thing he had away from him due to your petty insecurities?” Gwen had met many people like that, but to do that to someone like Alistair? If anyone in this world did not deserve that treatment it was him. “If it were up to me you would not so much as look at Alistair again, but alas he is attempting to save your husband - at the potential cost of delaying our mission and resulting in the deaths of thousands, might I add.”

Isolde’s eyes flashed with indignation, and she straightened, remembering her title and all the power it possessed. Unfortunately for her, Gwen did not care for such trivial things. “I am the lady of Redcliffe, you are nothing more than a common criminal, most likely, with the way you hide your face. What authority do you have to give me orders?”

The demure Lady had some fight in her after all. “You would think that, wouldn’t you?” Gwen stepped forward, crowding Isolde so she had to lean back on the desk, the wide cast of her eyes betraying her alarm, replacing the brief bout of vexation. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she struggled to maintain composure against Gwen's unexpected aggression. “That is all us common folk are to you nobles.” Gwen laughed humourlessly, her mouth curving into a feral grin under the cloth that covered it, the slit in her cheeks parting to reveal all of her pointed teeth. “Nothing more than a bunch of criminals. And while I may not currently be wanted by any authorities, I am more than willing to receive such punishment should I ever hear of you speaking to Alistair with no more than the utmost respect.”

Isolde’s lip pulled back in a sneer, “He is a bastard, a product of his father’s idiotic mistakes. There is no respect to give to boys like him.”

Gwen slammed her hands down on the desk, bracketing Isolde’s slender frame. The woman let out a yelp but Gwen pressed forward, “He is not his father, nor is he responsible for your misgivings about him. Either you kiss the very ground he walks on, you do everything he could ever want from you without question, and you shower him with praise like you would any other heir to the throne, or,” A prickling sensation at the nape of Gwen's neck signalled the impending Calling, its eerie hum growing louder with each passing moment. Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out any rational thoughts as she succumbed to the all-consuming rage coursing through her veins. With a swift and calculated movement, she pulled down her mask and pressed one hand firmly against Isolde's mouth to silence her screams. A twisted smile stretched across Gwen's face, her nostrils flaring as if scenting the anticipation of what was to come. Isolde's eyes bulged in terror as she desperately tried to find purchase on the desk behind her, realizing too late that there was no escape from Gwen's wrath. “I will make you regret it, and I will enjoy every second of your torment.”

Gwen held the woman in place, grabbing her by the front of her dress and pulling her close. Tears streamed down Isolde’s face as her pleas were muffled by the firm grip Gwen had on her jaw. This terror, a tangible force that choked her very existence, threatened to swallow her whole. It was a familiar feeling, one that she had grown accustomed to over the years. The anxious part of her mind that constantly worried about what others thought of her was momentarily quelled by this overwhelming emotion. She didn't have to worry about someone growing to hate her one day when they weren’t able to stand being near her in the first place.

Gwen leaned forward so she was only a few inches from Isolde’s reddening face as she struggled to get air through her nose and into her panicking lungs. “Do you understand?” Gwen let her jaw widen beyond what was humanly possible, letting it hang for a moment as Isolde froze in terror before she snapped her mouth shut, barely missing the tip of the Orlesian’s perfect nose.

Isolde nodded vigorously as she sobbed, her whole body quivering.

Gwen's heart raced as she watched Isolde plead for her life, her desperation palpable in every squirm. The urge to give in and consume her enemy simmered beneath the surface, growing stronger with each passing second. But Gwen resisted, holding onto the moment, savouring it like a rare delicacy. Her eyes burned with determination as she stood her ground against the tempting desires within her.

Gwen took a hesitant step back, her heart racing as she wrenched herself away from the dangerous edge of anger and vengeance. That wasn't who she wanted to be - a ruthless avenger willing to do anything to protect Alistair. She had only meant to issue a warning to the Arlessa, to make her back off and leave Alistair alone. She hadn’t even meant to truly scare her, and she certainly hadn’t meant to show off her face.

Isolde sank to the floor, her chest heaving as she gasped down breath after breath as though she’d thought she’d never breathe again. She had almost been right.

Gwen had expected to be consumed by a wave of guilt, but instead, she was struck with a deep sense of revulsion as she stared down at the pitiful woman cowering on the floor. Her sobs echoed through the room, filling Gwen's ears and senses with their spinelessness. How could someone so weak and insignificant dare to think they were worthy of someone like Alistair? The thought made Gwen's blood boil. Alistair, with his kind heart, brave spirit, and infectious humour. But perhaps that was the root of it all - this woman's inferiority complex gnawed at her and she lashed out at Alistair because he believed himself to be lesser than her. This cycle had to end, and even if it meant facing consequences for her actions, Gwen couldn't bring herself to regret standing up against this injustice. The air in the room felt dense and oppressive, suffocating like a heavy cloak wrapped around them both. But beneath it all, there was a fiery determination burning within Gwen - a flame that refused to be extinguished.

Gwen pulled up her bandana, turning to leave before she could continue in her recklessness, not wanting to stay in case the urge of the Calling took hold of her once more - pushing her further into the monster lurking below her skin. She stopped when Isolde spoke in a trembling voice, “What are you?”

A monster, a creature so unlovable even the holy Sisters of the Chantry could not find anything redeemable about me. She wanted to say, but Isolde must already know that, it was written across her skin in the disfigurement of her mouth, the scar around her neck where the collar of shackles had once sat, and the bottomless darkness behind her eyes.

“If you tell anyone about what you saw or what I have said, what I am will be the least of your concerns.”

Gwen's anger boiled over, leaving no room for further discussion. She stormed out of the study, her hands clenched into tight fists, her nails pressing bloody half-moons into her palms. The sound of her heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway, each one marking her determination and frustration. Her face was flushed, her jaw set in determination as she left the room with purpose.

“You okay?” Darcy asked when she met them at the gate, his eyes flickering with curiosity. Gwen's response was a mere grunt, filled with an ambiguous mix of emotions that she struggled to put into words. Panic and satisfaction battled for control within her mind, making it difficult to form cohesive thoughts.

Darcy grinned mischievously, the rest of their party grabbing their packs, ready to head on the next leg of their adventure, their sights set on the small village of Haven. He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, meant for Gwen's ears alone, “Whatever you did, she deserved every second of it.”

Gwen’s gaze flickered to where Alistair fiddled with a fraying strap on his shield, oblivious to what had just happened, and she felt the anger start to dissipate in the glowing sun. He deserved so much more than she could give him, and yet… “Yes, she did.”

Next Chapter

A/N:

I apologize for the lack of Alistair in this chapter, but there is more to come of him next! This chapter was a bit transitional and shorter than most of the others but we should be back to our regular length when I post on Sunday!

As always thank you for reading my little story <3 It would mean so much to me for any likes, reblogs and comments!

#angst with a happy ending #slow burn #fluff #eventual smut #falling in love #humour #alistair dao #alistair dragon age #alistair theirin #alistair x original character #original female character #leliana #zevran arainai #zevran x warden #wynne dragon age #sten dragon age #morrigan dragon age

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maintitle · 1 year ago

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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!

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curiousthimble · 2 years ago

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The Wrong Warden, Ch. 179

The Wrong Warden, Chapter 179: Sisters

Hera's group joins Alistair's in Denerim, but she's keeping secrets about her encounter with Flemeth.

Alistair has slept poorly ever since they went through the Deep Roads, darkspawn haunting him night and day. Without Hera’s presence to ease the strain; it gets even worse; waking beside her and hearing her soft whisper in the dark always helps. It’s almost a relief when Morrigan’s shrill voice breaks through the nightmare. “Alistair, they are here!”

Tripping over Ares, Alistair throws on a shirt and follows her to the courtyard, rubbing his face briskly to wake himself up. Somewhere behind him, Zevran stumbles and curses, trying to put on pants and run at the same time.

The sight that greets them in the courtyard is a startling one. Ares jumps and barks at servants and stablehands, come to take horses and their packs. Among it all, guards call out to one another, confirming identities before opening the gates. His own arrival was less chaotic, and that had practically been a parade.

Hera, Leliana, and Sten had left Redcliffe on large, sturdy horses, a packhorse loaded down, and looking moderately well. In the flickering torchlight, Leliana leans against Hera, half asleep on a shared horse, her face bruised and her clothing bloody and tattered. Hera herself looks just as bad; she has a dark bruise around her throat, a split lip, and blood trickling down the side of her face.

Sten grimaces when he swings out of the saddle, clutching his side briefly before turning to catch Alistair’s arm as he hurries to help Hera dismount. “She has an injury on her back,” he says in a low voice. “She would not let us use a health potion for it, but she allowed me to bandage it.”

“My Sten,” Morrigan says softly, looking worried. “You are well?”

#dragon age origins #alistair #grey warden oc #dragon age #dragon age fic #fanfiction #alistair x female warden #alistair/warden #flemeth #morrigan #dragon age morrigan

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weaveandwood · 24 days ago

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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.”

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dao #dao fic #alistair theirin #alistair x warden #alistair x mahariel #alistair fic #alistair x ellaria #my writing

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