#oc: ariya tabris

[inquisimer]

I commissioned @snacobie to draw my warden Ariya Tabris and Zevran and ahhhhHHHHH they're so cute. Snacobie was such a pleasure to work with and I'm so happy to have some art of my stabby rogues 🥰

[exalted-dawn]

“Some bonds break because of too much care.”

The Tabris Cousins, 9:41, Ten Years Post Blight. Featuring @inquisimer’s Ariya Tabris, @rosella-writes’s Rosalie Tabris, and my own Shaesa Tabris. The Shadow. The Pillar. The Vanished.

Close-ups below the cut!

[inquisimer]

For a da4 prompt that doesn't involve rook: tabris and zevran in antiva meeting with lucanis (forcibly, or willingly) to discuss the future of the crows if he (dares) take over >:)

EHEHEHE thank you for this one blue, I had a lot of fun with the Pondering™️bioware give me more lucanis info STAT tho

for @dadrunkwriting | 1249 words, tabris/zevran, mild da4 spoilers

-

The bed was empty when she woke. Ariya rolled over, stretching in the residual heat Zevran’s body had left between the sheets. Curious, she slipped upright and pulled his shirt about her shoulders before padding out between the stained-glass doors he’d left ajar.

There was a messenger raven perched on the balcony rail. Zevran stroked its neck idly, considering the missive it’d brought.

“What does the Inquisition want now?”

He chuckled lowly, drawing her against his side. “Not the Inquisition, amore.” His breath ghosted over her ear as he pressed a kiss to her mussed up braid. “An old…well. Not an old friend, but an old something.”

“Oh?”

She felt his smile against her temple. “Don’t worry. You’ll like him, I’m sure.”

-

The party was abuzz below, guests too deep in their cups to be bothered by the heavily perfumed smoke that the Prince was pumping in the place of air. Ariya detested the habit, personally, but there was no accounting for taste. She could still taste the barest hint of the false berry flavoring from her perch on the roof, legs swinging above the hazy murk.

“Took you long enough,” she said.

“Well, it’s not as though my presence could go unnoticed,” Zevran said.

“It could, if you wanted it to.” Ariya flipped over her back, eyeing the man her lover had brought with him curiously. He sized her up equally, with an expression as hard to read as her own.

Not that she’d expected anything less. She had plenty of experience with the Crows by now.

“May I present—“

“Don’t you start,” Ariya scowled, cutting him off. Zevran kept her titles in his hip pocket, like favors to be handed out. But there was no need for that here. She straightened her shoulders and nodded once. “Ariya Tabris. There’s a slew of things he could say, but simply know I’ll cut your throat if you step even slightly to the left of where we expect you to be.”

Zevran’s friend smirked. “I like her.”

“I told you you would,” Zevran chuckled. “Amore, meet Lucanis Dellamorte, heir to the First Talon and fugitive from his grandmother’s expectations.”

Ariya glanced Lucanis up and down, appraising in the context of rumor. “Pleasure, I’m sure,” she said.

“It always is,” he smirked. Ariya raised a brow in Zevran’s direction.

“Lucanis is in the unique position of both power and dissatisfaction,” Zevran purred. He closed the space between them and caught Ariya’s hand with his own, brushing a comforting kiss across her knuckles. She relaxed, if only because she knew he would not give his back to someone he did not trust to keep their daggers from it. “You know how I love to manipulate the circumstances.”

Ariya turned his line of thought over in her mind. “You said Caterina is the one we cannot touch.”

“I did.”

“So?”

“You cannot take Caterina down as you have the others,” Lucanis said. He flicked dirt from his nails nonchalantly with a stiletto dagger. “But that does not mean she is beyond your reach. For instance, if she were to hand power over willingly—“

“To someone she openly trusts,” Zevran finished smoothly. He gave Ariya a pointed, knowing look. It was hardly a secret across Antiva: Lucanis would inherit the Crows. Oh, Illario would gripe about it, loudly, but there was no one Caterina trusted to take over the reins other than Lucanis.

“All of his recent contracts have been against the highest ranking Venatori,” Zevran offered quietly, “Even to the delay of Caterina’s summons. Sounds…familiar, no?”

Ariya looked sharply at Lucanis. He seemed bored, on the surface, but with years’ practice reading Zevran, Ariya saw the tension in his shoulders, the tightness at the flat corner of his mouth, the extra press of his fingers into the grip of his dagger.

Her own mouth went flat. Maker, what the Crows did to their children. But wasn’t that why they were taking them down?

“So, what? You take over the Crows and…let them fall into nothingness? Seems like Caterina is as likely to stop us then. She’ll hardly be without resources when she steps down.”

“The Crows understand hierarchy, and orders,” Lucanis said. “A few pointed orders and Caterina is vulnerable to his blades, or yours, in a way she will not be as long as she commands.”

“And then what?” Ariya repeated.

“We stop them,” Zevran said, holding up a palm against Lucanis’ impatience. “Hold, please. She does not know the Crows as we do. Amore,” he took Ariya’s hands between his own, soothingly, “whomever controls the First Talon controls the guild. That’s not to say there will not be danger, from the lesser Talons’ attempt to take over, but we can manage that.”

He slid his hands up to cup her face. “First Talon controls the contracts; if they say no recruitment via slave markets, the lesser Talons will comply. If they say we only take anti-Venatori contracts—“

“Racist, blood mage assholes,” Lucanis muttered.

“—the lesser Talons will listen.” Zevren swiped his thumbs along Ariya’s cheekbones. “This is a chance to bend the Crows to our purpose, amore, instead of burning them to the ground.”

Ariya pursed her lips. But she wanted to burn them to the ground; for what they’d done to Zevran, how they’d raised him, how they’d molded him and bent him to purposes that corrupted his heart—they deserved to fester into ashes of nothingness. And she could only imagine they’d treated Lucanis with as much kindness, if he was here, conspiring with them.

But—it wasn’t her axe to grind.

She covered Zevran’s hand with her palm. “They do not deserve your mercy.”

“It is not mercy I offer,” her lover countered. “I come for them as I always have. They will change, or they will die. That is no different.”

“Might save you a bit on the dry cleaning, though,” Lucanis offered. Ariya regarded him coolly around Zevran’s shoulder.

“And why would you agree to this?” she asked. She knew the rumors of his displeasure with the life, though they were a well kept secret, and she still had trouble believing it. It was one thing for Zevran, who had plenty a grievance with his former employers. Lucanis was a prince of the guild, raised in all the luxury that implied, despite the pain. She had trouble seeing his intentions as genuine.

“Power isn’t all it’s chalked up to be,” Lucanis shrugged.

“So, why not just disappear?”

“I loathe wasted potential.” Lucanis smirked. “I may not want Caterina’s power, but I would be a fool to cast it aside entirely, given…recent events.” He laughed bitterly. “It was she who taught me to manipulate a situation to my advantage, after all.”

“And what is your advantage in this arrangement?”

“I don’t have to lead the Crows,” Lucanis said bluntly. “As they are, anyway. And no one attempts to murder me for refusing my birthright.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Even if I do nothing, they will come for me, either because they see plotting where I have none, or because they cannot abide one who turns his back on them. I must be proactive, or suffer a lifetime of looking over my shoulder.”

That she could understand. Satisfied, Ariya tightened her fingers where they tangled with Zevran’s and pulled herself taught against his chest. Thus comfortably settled, she regarded Lucanis over a jutted out chin.

“Well then. What’s the plan?”

[inquisimer]

these violent delights

As soon as I saw Lucanis in the first Veilguard trailer, the idea of Zevran & Tabris helping him fake his death popped into my head - this is the result >:] First chapter is up while I edit the remaining three!

✨read it on ao3 here!✨

Zevran/f!Tabris, Zevran & Lucanis & f!Tabris | T | chapters: 1/4

cw: implied/referenced child abuse

When Lucanis decides to leave the Crows, he looks outside the guild for the help he needs to pull it off—and survive. - Zevran shook his head. “I have no doubt that word of Caterina’s death would spread very fast, but we’ve heard nothing. No, if Lucanis is looking for a face-to-face meeting I am…inclined to take him at his word.” “A Crow you can take at his word?” Ariya’s brow cocked up in surprise. “Those are rare, or so I’ve heard.” “Exceedingly.” Zevran pressed an affectionate kiss to the corner of her mouth. “And getting rarer by the day.”

Addt'l Tags: Action/Adventure, Fluff and Humor, Antivan Crows, Assassination Plots, Scheming, Intrigue, Minor Andarateia Cantori/Viago de Riva, Rogues Doing Rogue Shit

DAFF tag list: @warpedlegacy | @rakshadow | @rosella-writes | @effelants | @bluewren

@breninarthur | @ar-lath-ma-cully | @dreadfutures | @theluckywizard | @oxygenforthewicked

@exalted-dawn-drabbles | @blarrghe | @delicatefade | @leggywillow | @plisuu

@hekaerges

[inquisimer]

these violent delights, ch 4 - as they kiss, consume

✨read it on ao3 here | read from the beginning✨

Zevran/f!Tabris, Zevran & Lucanis & f!Tabris | T | chapters 4/4

cw: implied/referenced/child abuse

At Caterina's party, Lucanis makes his escape. - Up in the rafters, though, both Ariya and Zevran saw it all. “He is slick, I’ll give him that,” Ariya murmured. “He would not be alive, otherwise. Now come,” Zevran said, teeth glinting in the flickering chandelier light. “Wouldn’t do for us to be late.”

Addt'l Tags: Action/Adventure, Fluff and Humor, Antivan Crows,Assassination Plots, Scheming, Intrigue, Minor Andarateia Cantori/Viago de Riva, Rogues Doing Rogue Shit

DAFF tag list: @warpedlegacy | @rakshadow | @rosella-writes | @effelants | @bluewren

@breninarthur | @ar-lath-ma-cully | @dreadfutures | @theluckywizard | @oxygenforthewicked

@exalted-dawn-drabbles | @blarrghe | @leggywillow | @plisuu | @hekaerges

[inquisimer]

these violent delights, ch 2 - and in their triumph die

✨ read it on ao3 here | read from the beginning ✨

Zevran/f!Tabris, Zevran & Lucanis & f!Tabris | T | chapters: 2/4

cw: implied/referenced child abuse

Ariya and Zevran meet with Lucanis in Rivain—and make him regret that morning coffee habit. - “You keep referencing the ‘plan’,” she said. “Not that I expect it to go as intended, but hearing the rest of what you have in mind will go a long way to convincing me this isn’t some weirdly elaborate trap.” “Why would you come, if you thought it might be a trap?” “If we avoided every invitation that might be a trap, we’d never go anywhere.”

Addt'l Tags: Action/Adventure, Fluff and Humor, Antivan Crows, Assassination Plots, Scheming, Intrigue, Minor Andarateia Cantori/Viago de Riva, Rogues Doing Rogue Shit

DAFF tag list: @warpedlegacy | @rakshadow | @rosella-writes | @effelants | @bluewren

@breninarthur | @ar-lath-ma-cully | @dreadfutures | @theluckywizard | @oxygenforthewicked

@exalted-dawn-drabbles | @blarrghe | @delicatefade | @leggywillow | @plisuu

@hekaerges

[inquisimer]

these violent delights, ch 3 - like fire and powder, which

✨read it on ao3 here | read from the beginning✨

Zevran/f!Tabris, Zevran & Lucanis & f!Tabris | T | chapters 3/4

cw: implied/referenced/child abuse

Lucanis, Ariya, and Zevran sort out their plan, then head to Antiva City to pick up the last person they need to make it work. - Illario drummed his fingers along the back of the couch. “What are the odds that doing so involves me in a scheme that I regret?” “Why Illario,” Lucanis teased, leaning over the bar, “I didn’t know you were the type to regret.” “I often regret getting involved in your plans.”

Addt'l Tags: Action/Adventure, Fluff and Humor, Antivan Crows,Assassination Plots, Scheming, Intrigue, Minor Andarateia Cantori/Viago de Riva, Rogues Doing Rogue Shit

DAFF tag list: @warpedlegacy | @rakshadow | @rosella-writes | @effelants | @bluewren

@breninarthur | @ar-lath-ma-cully | @dreadfutures | @theluckywizard | @oxygenforthewicked

@exalted-dawn-drabbles | @blarrghe | @leggywillow | @plisuu | @hekaerges

[inquisimer]

How about “ why is it so difficult for you to believe that you deserve to be protected? " for Tabris/Zevran

ty for the prompt Jacs!! some angst for @dadrunkwriting

wc: 602

-

Ariya sat on the floor of Valendrian's painfully empty apartment, determinedly failing to wrap a bandage around her dominant hand. Her off hand was dexterous enough with a dagger--it shouldn't be any harder to tie off a bandage. But it slipped through her fingers anyway, and a frustrated sigh through her gritted teeth.

The door creaked open, briefly shattering the suffocation of her self-imposed solitude. When it thudded shut, Zevran's fingers had replaced hers and deftly cinched the bandage around her knuckles. Ariya looked away as the heat of shame flooded her face.

"I just about had it," she muttered.

Zevran brushed a kiss over his handiwork, then tipped her face back toward his with a knuckle on her chin.

"I know," he said simply, allowing her that lie. "But you know I would not see your suffering extended if I could end it a moment sooner."

"That's better than I deserve." Ariya made to pull her hand from his, but Zevran tightened his grip and frowned.

"It's not."

Ariya sighed. Not this again. "We should--"

"There is an entire community out there that has their lives thanks to you."

"And just as many who don't!" Ariya snapped. She gestured angrily around Valendrian's cabin. "Our hahren is gone, along with Maker knows how many others. Taken, killed, enslaved--because I didn't get here sooner. I don't even know who's missing, because it gives me an excuse to be a coward who can't look at their families and apologize."

She yanked her hand away from Zevran and began packing away the medicine kit with harsh, jerky movements. He, of all people, was in no place to fight her on this. "I just--we need to go. Eamon is waiting."

"He can wait a moment longer." Zevran caught her by the shoulders, hands still warm from the sun outside. It seeped through the fabric gabs in her leathers as he slid them up to cup her face. "Why should the pain they suffered at the fault of another mean that you do not deserve help? It was not your doing."

"Wasn't it? I could have come here first. I should have come here first," Ariya bit out, "shem politics be damned. How many more could I have saved--"

Her voice broke and the tension that held her stiff fled with it; she let Zevran crush her against his chest.

"Not enough to satisfy you, I think," he murmured.

That was true, of course. Ariya pulled away from his gentle comforts, wiping at the corners of her eyes.

"And now I'm going to leave again. Walk away to deal with more noble shem problems when the people who need me are here." She clenched her uninjured fist. "How many more will suffer--how many more will die--because of that?"

She slung the med pack over her shoulder, just another weight atop the responsibilities she'd acquired over the past year. They bowed her back, and yet what choice did she have? The world, and time, and the Blight pressed on.

Zevran tailed her to the door, putting a hand on the latch before she could open it.

"That might weigh heavy on your heart," he said quietly, "but you should not punish yourself for failing to bear a burden you could not have known about."

Ariya's smile was brittle. She knew what he meant--but knowing, and accepting it, feeling it in her heart...those were separate things.

It was her injured fist that she clenched this time, around the strap of the med pack. The broken skin pulled painfully around her knuckles and her guilty conscience.

"Let's go," she said.

[inquisimer]

a word that means destiny

Another entry in the Tabris Cousinverse, this fic is a birthday gift for @exalted-dawn-drabbles and features both of our Tabrises! It was inspired by this lineart from the talented @dreadfutures :3

✨read it on ao3 here!✨

Female Tabris & Female Tabris | G | 1105 words | No Warnings

On the last night before everything changes, Ariya and Shaesa find comfort in each other. - "That's not the point, anyway." Ariya swallowed hard. "No matter what, one of goes and one of us stays. I don't want to lose you, Shae." "We'll write letters every day," Shaesa declared. "And if all else fails, Shianni and I will sneak out and break you free of whatever cellar he keeps you in."

Add'tl tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Humor, Family Feels, City Elfl Culture & Customs, Pre-Canon

DAFF tag list: @warpedlegacy @rakshadow @rosella-writes @effelants @bluewren

@breninarthur @ar-lath-ma-cully @theluckywizard @nirikeehan @oxygenforthewicked

@melisusthewee @blarrghe @agentkatie @delicatefade @leggywillow

@about2dance @plisuu

[inquisimer]

I commissioned @dreadfutures for this lineart of mine & @exalted-dawn's Tabrises :3 they're so cute and there definitely isn't any angst waiting in this AU

Blue is a fantastic artist to work with and her tier of "line art that is easy to color" commissions was a really fun way for me to engage with this piece! Highly recommend getting some art from Blue - you can find info about her commissions here (:

[inquisimer]

Hello Mer!! Happy Friday! For today I give you a prompt for Tabris and Zevran: "You're very distracting, you know?" From the budding romance prompts. Happy writing!

oops, they're fucking 🙈 I would apologize but uhhhhhh I'm not sorry LOL😂 have some PWP for @dadrunkwriting :3

Ariya Tabris x Zevran | Rated E | 1652 words

-

Their inn key lay forgotten in the streets of Antiva City, a casualty of a night of revelry and a bit too much brandy. But neither Ariya nor Zevran cared, fingers and lips tangled as they stumbled up to their room. A pleasant buzz rippled through them both, passing between them with tiny zaps when skin met skin.

Ariya’s heel caught the top step when they reached the second floor and Zevran’s arm looped around her waist, spinning her effortlessly against the door to their room. Her lips were already spit-slick and swollen, but he captured them anyway, insistent and devoted with his affection.

“Il mio corvo,” she gasped, breaking away with a giggle, “Let me open the door. Else there’ll be no inns left in all of Antiva that will take us in.”

“Ah, who could refuse the pleas of such a beautiful woman? And a Grey Warden no less?” Reluctantly, Zevran put more than a breath between them, gently spinning Ariya to face away from him. She knelt, eye level with the lock, and fumbled her picks from the pouch at her belt.

As she lined up the tools, Zevran’s fingers danced along her shoulders. He pulled the tie from the end of her braid and tangled through the newly freed hair. She bit her tongue and tried to concentrate, but Zevran traced a dastardly path up her neck and along the pointed shell of her ear. His lips followed where his hands went, leaving a blaze of fire along her skin, building and building and building until his teeth caught the tip of her ear and a full-body shudder wracked through her.

“Focus, mi amore,” he murmured. He peppered kisses back down her neck, hands looping around her waist as she doubled down on the lock.

Click. “Thank the Maker,” Ariya muttered. She shoved her picks into her belt and spun around. Kicking the door open with her heel, she caught Zevran around the neck and pulled him inside.

He came willingly, of course. With a rogue’s dexterity, he flicked her belt free; her pants hit the floor before the door thudded shut. His fingers swiped through the slick between her legs and Ariya’s head fell back against the wall.

“Zev—“

It was Zevran’s turn to drop to his knees.

“Hold tight, amore.” He pressed a kiss to her stomach through the fabric of her tunic. With his free hand, he threw her leg over his shoulder, smirking as her fingers tangled firmly in his hair.

He licked up her thigh, enjoying how the sensitive skin tensed as he passed over her core and continued down the other side. When he brushed a tantalizing, chaste kiss to her knee, Ariya’s nails dug into his scalp.

“Corvo—“

“Relax, my love,” he chuckled. “When did you lose all of your patience?”

“About three shots ago,” Ariya huffed, trying to urge his head toward her center. “Zevran, please—“

In truth, he was no more patient than she tonight. Zevran surged forward and wrapped his lips around her clit. Her cries were sweet music to his ears and he worked hard for each one, fingers joining his tongue to tease her with shallow dips into her wet heat. She ground against his lips, chasing his finger each time they withdrew and whining, even as he sent jolts of pleasure through her with his tongue.

“Zevran—oh, fuck—“

She came with a loud, keening cry. Her hands held him tight against her and he was not complaining, working her sensitive flesh until she collapsed. Ariya sank to the floor, her leg slipping from his shoulder, her legs shaking with the aftershocks. She caught his face and swiped her thumb through her slick on his lips, then burned it away with a bruising, fiery kiss.

He could lose himself like this. The tightness in his trousers be damned, her lips were sweeter than Antiva’s finest wine, and the soft silk of her hair between his fingers was better than any well-oiled leather. He’d left her breathless and she kissed the air from his lungs in turn.

Ariya was well aware of the effect she had on him. With Zevran thoroughly distracted, he barely noticed her deft fingers in the laces of his trousers, not until she pulled them fully loose and sliced through the buttons on his tunic in the same motion. She splayed her fingers across his chest and pushed, following as he fell back against the floor.

The callouses on her palms bit pleasure into his skin as she traced his pecs. Zevran hissed as she tweaked a nipple, bringing a hand up to grip her shoulder as she bent and dragged a kiss along his sternum.

“Amore,” he gasped, not entirely sure whether he was asking her to stay or continue on. Her legs were a welcome cage around his hips and the thin fabric of his trousers did little to dissuade the pleasure of her heat against his cock. She rocked once, twice, smirking when his hips jerked up against her. The slightest of growls escaped his throat.

“Oh, did you want something?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder, giving him an innocent look that was completely undercut by her swollen lips and blown pupils. She sank backward, a delightful torture against his cock, apparently as comfortable as at an afternoon tea. “I was just going to—“

“Do not make me regret giving in to your pleasure so swiftly, amore,” Zevran panted. His fingers dug a bruising grip through her tunic.

Ariya dipped down and caught his lips with her own. “As if you would ever regret any pleasure you offered me.”

Well, she had him there. Still, his hips bucked up as their lips parted around a whine that rose from deep in his chest.

With a dexterity that defied her inebriation, Ariya pulled Zevran’s trousers down around his ankles. Kicking as best he could without striking her, he freed his legs, sighing with anticipatory relief. His cock curved up toward his stomach, hard and proud and leaking precum from their shared affections. Ariya wrapped her hand around it, swiping her thumb across his slit to slick the turn of her wrist as she stroked.

“Braska,” Zevran hissed. He closed his eyes and clenched his abs, holding himself flat against the floor with every iota of willpower he had. She stroked him once, twice, then her other hand balanced against his chest and he felt her soft, wet heat as she lined herself up to take him.

They moaned in harmony as she sank down on him. His fit within her was familiar, the stretch of pain and pleasure together, like the pull of a muscle that’s been worked just a bit too hard. She rocked back against him, fucking herself down onto his cock until he was seated fully within her and their hips were flush.

Zevran opened his eyes and Maker, what a good decision. Her head was thrown back, hair cascading down to brush against his thighs, eyes and jaw clenched with pleasure. With one hand, he traced up her side and caught her breast, pinching her nipple hard enough to make her gasp and flex around him.

“Who’s impatient now?” she smirked. Zevran answered with a roll of his hips and her smug smile vanished in a sigh of pleasure.

“Patience is overrated.”

“Oh, how the tables have turned.” Ariya lifted herself, slowly, painfully slowly, her flexing muscles nearly as enticing as the sight of his cock in her cunt. Then she sank back down and they both gasped, Zevran’s hand tightening around her breast.

There was no more patience in either of them, then. Ariya rocked herself up and back, fucking herself onto Zevran’s cock with the single-minded determination he so admired in her. Their coupling filled the room with obscene sounds as she drove back against him, over and over, chasing pleasure for the both of them.

Through the buzz of alcohol and pleasure, Zevran slid his fingers down to where they were joined. He caught the slick between them and circled her clit once, twice, a practiced motion that had her coming around him again, a high-pitched cry to match the low groan in his throat as she clenched about him.

She sagged, boneless, her forehead pressing into his chest. As she collapsed, he gritted his teeth and stroked up her sweat-slicked spine, holding himself in check with sheer willpower alone

“Amore—“ he finally broke, gasping into her hair. She put her chin against his chest and looked up at him over his nose.

“Take it, corvo,” she murmured, “take me.”

Her permission set him free and he surged, lifting her bodily off the ground so that he could bend his knees and find purchase. He drove up into her soft, pliable heat until his own pleasure crested and he pulled her flush against him. He spilled within her, a soft groan parting his lips as they lay together, panting and dazed and sated.

Ariya recovered her wits first. She pressed a kiss to Zevran’s sternum as their mingled spend leaked out around his softening cock, then laid her cheek over the scars there.

“Do you think they’ll charge us for the missing key?”

Zevran grinned lazily. “Only if we’re still here when they come knocking.”

“Weren’t you trying to keep us on the inn keep's good list?”

He brushed a kiss over the sensitive skin at the juncture of her neck. “As a matter of fact, I find that the inn has served its purpose. I’m sure we could find another. Between both our good looks and your fine, clever tongue—“

“Flatterer,” Ariya snorted.

“Is it working?”

She pretended to think for only a moment, then turned her head to the side and captured his lips in a freshly searing kiss.

“Always, corvo. Always.”

[inquisimer]

sometimes it feels like teeth

chippin away at @febuwhump with day 12: semi-conscious. A reunion in the alienage for Ariya & Cyrion, where she must face the fact that she cannot save them all.

read it on ao3 here

Female Tabris & Cyrion Tabris | Rated T | 1629 words | CW: mercy killing, blood & injury, illness, slave trade

-

No sooner had the slaver’s corpse hit the floor than Ariya was at the cage, shaking hands picking open the lock. The metal door sprang open and she pulled each of her captured family from the brink of despair. Some did look ill; before she could even speak, Alistair pulled poultices from their packs and set to work.

Thank you, she mouthed.

“Amore.” Zevran gestured to the back of the cage with his chin. A few figures remained and the bottom of Ariya’s stomach dropped out as she recognized the familiar dips and planes of her father’s silhouette. He was staring directly at her, mouth parted in disbelief.

“Papa,” she breathed, and then she was at his side, running battered hands over him, checking for injuries, praying incoherently that she had not arrived too late. His arms came around her and squeezed.

“I’m fine, da’len, I’m fine,” her murmured. Tears choked his voice, but when she pulled back they were tears of joy that matched the bittersweet smile on his face. “You came back for us. My darling girl.”

“Of course I did. I’m sorry I—“ her guilt swallowed her apology, surrounded as she was by the echoes of those already gone. Was that Valendrian’s blood on the wall? Leah’s tooth in the corner? “I should have gotten here sooner.”

“That you came at all is a miracle.”

A noise behind him drew Cyrion from the bubble of reunion. He grimaced and held out a hand when Ariya looked beyond him.

“You probably shouldn’t—“

“It’s okay, papa,” she said softly. “Whatever it is, I’ve…seen worse.”

Cyrion’s face fell. He shifted aside so Ariya could see the reason he’d remained in the cage. One of the younger elves was propped in the corner, skin ashen and sallow. Her hair was brushed away from her face from gentle caresses to soothe her suffering.

“Oh, Gwen,” Ariya whispered. She knelt beside her father and took a clammy hand. Gwen’s hazy eyes slid in and out of focus, but her head lolled in the direction of Ariya’s voice.

“Ari?” she mumbled. “issat you?”

“Yeah. It’s me.”

“Gwendollyn was one of the first taken,” Cyrion said grimly. “I doubt she’d still be here if not for how sick she is.”

“Why is she so much sicker? The rest of you seem fine?” No sooner had she voiced the thought than the chilling realization that they might not actually be fine came to Ariya. But her father shook his head and gripped her leg reassuringly.

“We’re alright. Relatively. Gwen was—well—“ Cyrion drew aside Gwen’s dirty tunic, revealing a bandage that covered most of her abdomen. The blood that soaked it was dark—darker than it should be, even wounded like this, and the Blight in Ariya’s veins called out to this distant cousin of disease.

“Jumped in front of Mara’s little boy,” Gwen muttered, fingers fluttering vaguely over the wound. “Made a bad cough already worse and now we’re here.”

Ariya squeezed her hand. “For Tommy, of course. Oh, falon.”

“Just following your example.” Her lips twitched like they were trying to smile. “Since you were gone, someone else had to be the hero.”

“I don’t feel much like a hero today.”

Gwen’s brow dipped. “Of course you are. All these” —a cough wracked her wasting frame— “all of our family. You saved them—again.”

“I’m not so sure I did,” Ariya sighed. “The damage to the alienage…”

Cyrion winced.

“It will heal,” said Gwen, a faraway smile painted on her face. “Doesn’t it always?”

“Speaking of healing—“

“Amore—“ Zevran knocked against the cage, rattling the bars so they echoed in the now empty chamber. The last of the freed elves had left with Alistair and Morrigan as their guards back to safety. Piles of Tevinter corpses had been shoved aside and scraped of any valuable loot— including a beautiful dagger with snakes wrapped about the hilt, which glinted where Zevran spun it between his fingers.

“We need to be going,” he said, not unkindly. They’d traveled together enough that he recognized what Ariya had not yet acknowledged and there was sympathy in the smile he gave her. “The arl awaits our counsel and” —he tapped the documents tucked safely in his belt— “we have information that should be shared.”

“Of course.” To Ariya’s surprise, Cyrion stood readily, dusting his hands. Her confusion was only momentary, though, as he said, “Between the two of us we can probably move Gwen, I’d have done it myself if not for the condition of my knees.”

“Papa…” Ariya did not look at her father. Her eyes stuck on Gwen’s sallow face, tracing the bony edges of her weakened body, looking for something that defied what she knew to be true. But there was nothing. Ariya knew it, Zevran knew it, and, judging by the resignation in Gwen’s eyes, she did too. Only Cyrion still deluded himself.

Now Ariya had the unenviable task of giving words to dread and despair.

“She’s not just ill, papa,” Ariya said. “She’s…it’s a Blight sickness. Even if we took her back to the alienage, it would only be so she could die a painful death in lacking comfort.”

“What—but—we cannot leave her here! The cots in the alienage are rough, I know, but they are better than a cold floor and a cage. And if you intend to depart—well, I will not leave her to die alone.”

“Of course not.” Ariya’s hand rested on the hilt of her sheathed dagger, waiting. She still wasn’t looking at her father, but instead watching every half-conscious twitch of Gwen’s face. It seemed that she was slipping farther with every passing second, her eyes glazed and drifting, unseeing.

“How do you know for sure?” Cyrion demanded. “It could just be a rare disease—not that these Tevinters knew anything, but Alarith might have some potion, or know something!”

His fervor made Ariya wonder—Gwen had been a good friend, yes, though never so beloved by her father. But there had been a gap when Duncan took Ariya from the alienage; it seemed her father had filled it with another. She could not begrudge him that, but it still made her heart ache up into her throat.

“No.” She shook her head and finally met her father’s sputtering directly. “It is the Blight. I can sense it, now.”

I am not the daughter you remember went unspoken. There are things I can do now that you never wanted for me.

But this is how it is.

“I see. What do you propose, then?”

Ariya’s hand clenched around her dagger “It is unpleasant but…” she glanced down. “I’m sorry, Gwen, I’m so sorry. But a quick death is kinder, in the end.”

A long sigh deflated what little tension Gwen still held. Her head jerked in the semblance of a nod.

“Would you believe me if I said it was a relief?” she asked weakly. “I have felt it coming for days now. And—“

Her voice trailed off, eyes drifting around the room aimlessly before snapping back to Ariya. She blinked rapidly.

“If it is to be this way, I am glad it is you, falon.”

“I understand.” And she did, though she could not share the sentiment. Ariya pulled her dagger free. “You might not want to watch this,” she told her father.

“It’s okay, da’len,” Cyrion echoed. “Whatever you do…I’ve seen much worse, now.”

A pause, then Ariya nodded. She grasped the back of Gwen’s head, her fingers tangling a grip in the greasy strands of her short hair. In the depths of her foggy eyes, Ariya saw a world long lost: afternoons scampering about the alienage, swiping meat pies from window sills and climbing things that ought not be climbed. It hurt, so she squeezed her eyes tight, hot tears spilling over her cheeks.

One of Gwen’s clammy hands brushed over her knuckles, too weak for a proper grip.

“It’s alright,” she slurred, her awareness fading with every passing second. “See Deidre again. And rest. I want to rest.”

“You deserve to rest,” Ariya whispered, a steel to her heart as much as a pleading for her friend. She opened her eyes and brought the dagger to Gwen’s throat. It shook and steadying her hand was a useless endeavor.

“I am sorry, my friend,” she said. It was not as unfamiliar a pose as she would have hoped. But even after all this time—well, perhaps she should only start to worry if it did get easier. “May the Maker guide you safely in the Beyond.”

A smile spread across Gwen’s face just as Ariya slashed the dagger down. Blight-tinged blood sprayed from the mortal wound, but Ariya did not flinch. In a cold sort of horror, she realized she’d already offered the rag she carried to her father before any sort of anguish clenched her heart.

But such was the nature of war. It hardened even the softest soldiers—and Ariya had never been one of those.

She reached out and closed Gwen’s eyes. At her side, Cyrion sniffled, wiping his nose on her bloody, mucked up rag.

“We should go,” she said, a soft, gentleness to the request that she hadn’t bothered with for months.

“My little girl,” Cyrion said, so quietly she almost missed it. It wasn’t really for her anyway. “What happened to my little girl?”

Her heart clenched. I told you not to watch, she thought. I said you didn’t want to know.

But now he did. She tucked the bloody cloth into her pack and gestured for her father to go before her, so he would not have to look at her as they went.

There could be no turning back.

[inquisimer]

Warden Tabris lowers her blade at the Landsmeeet and spares an unlikely ally.

So I went looking to reblog the post I made about this fic when I originally wrote it and....apparently, in the chaos of last spring, I forgot to make one! Better late than never, lol, and I still love this piece I wrote as part of last year's Arlathan eXchange💜

tags & excerpt under the cut

Rating: General Audiences

No Archive Warnings Apply

Words: 2970 (complete)

Relationships: Loghain Mac Tir & Female Tabris

Additional tags: light angst, platonic relationships, emotional hurt/comfort, Warden Loghain Mac Tir, Grey Warden politics

It was not wisdom or strength that changed her. Since joining the Wardens she had swallowed more bitter pills than she’d thought possible; by all rights, she should be dead. Instead, she had harnessed the insults and fury and indignation. She’d turned them into steeds she rode across Ferelden and it was on their backs that she reclaimed this world that hated her. But she was tired. Because after the river of blood she’d wrought in her wake, she still remembered the first time her blade brought a man death. And she still mourned the girl who had died along with him. After all the leading, the fighting, the deciding—and it wasn’t yet done—she made this one selfish choice for herself: there would be one less soul on her blade, and at least one other in the world who knew her burden.

DAFF tag list: @warpedlegacy | @rakshadow | @rosella-writes | @effelants | @bluewren | @breninarthur | @ar-lath-ma-cully | @dreadfutures | @theluckywizard | @nirikeehan | @oxygenforthewicked | @exalted-dawn-drabbles | @melisusthewee | @blarrghe | @agentkatie | @delicatefade | @leggywillow | @about2dance | @plisuu

[inquisimer]

I was tagged by @dungeons-and-dragon-age and @shivunin to create my OCs in this picrew, and their swords in this picrew! Thank you both - this was super fun! I love a good item picrew :3

these are definitely a mix of Actual Swords and Vibes, even for the OCs who actually use swords

Siobhan Hawke - no actual sword use, completely vibes, I just love her so much I couldn't leave her out. All black for Kirkwall, dripping with blood and chains for Symbolism and more Kirkwall

Nika Brosca - a dual wielder, so actual sword use! But the design, particularly the glowy lyrium blade, is all vibes. The hilt wrapped up in fabric with scraps hanging off the end is allllll dust town though. My scrappy Carta girl :3

Ariya Tabris - sword use Optional™️, only when she can't get her hands on proper daggers or an axe, until she has Vigilance. The design here is mostly vibes, especially the black vines up the blade for the Blight.

Ciel Andras - (everyone: Andras? me: the orlesian warden commander that bioware forgot ;-;) my Actual Sword user, a sword and board warrior! The sword here is literal, silverite for the blade and blue on the hilt and grip for the Wardens. Plus the hilt that I thought was close enough to Wing Imagery without being butterfly wings, and the black veins in the blade for, you guessed it, Blight Symbolism.

Ember Cousland - another dual wield sword user (sensing a type here hmmmm) and it's definitely with her family's sword no I don't care that the stats bottom out so fast. The hilt design here is to represent that, with the mirrored wheat design of the Cousland heraldry, but the on-fire blade is 100% vibes, a representation of her vengeance against the Howes.

tagging forward to: @leggywillow | @exalted-dawn | @rosella-writes | @wheat-and-wheat-by-products | @midmorninggrey |

and @thiefbird have fun friends!!

[inquisimer]

Nepenthe

Wrapping up OC kiss week with more Tabris cousinverse, this time between Ariya and @shivunin's Arianwen. I hope it's okay that I borrowed Wen twice - when I sat down to draft these, I couldn't choose which idea I like better, so I wrote both💜 And I wanted young Wen to have a friend ;-;

read it on ao3 here

Female Tabris & Female Tabris | Rated G | 948 words | No CW

-

A great boom of thunder echoed out over Denerim. It shook the Tabris’ door in its ill-fitting frame, rattled the thin sheet of glass in their lone window, and pulled nails from boards that barely built a house. Ariya bolted straight up in bed.

Her first thoughts were of raids and purges. Fingers closing around the dagger under her pillow, she rolled into a crouch, eyes glinting, searching for the threat in the dark. Then she heard the rain—against the crumbling roof, dripping into the bucket they kept under the leak—and a streak of lightning cut across her face. She relaxed.

Her second thought was a realization that she was alone in the bed where three had gone to sleep. No need to panic, yet, she told herself. Stepping in her careful way to avoid the creaky boards that might wake her father, she checked the darkened corners and spaces underneath where a child might hide.

Nothing.

“Andraste’s ass,” Ariya muttered under her breath. Hiding her dagger safely at the small of her back, she shoved her feet into boots, wrapped herself in a cloak, and stepped out into the storm.

Rain fell in sheets, turning the roots of the Vhenadahl into a small lake and soaking right through Ariya’s stockings. It blew sideways in the wind, blinding her unless she shielded her face. Even then, water caught on her eyelashes and dripped from her chin, cold tendrils that jolted as they snuck beneath her collar .

The main path that wound through the alienage was nothing more than a mud slick now. She felt the squelch of her boots as she went, though the boom of thunder and the crack of the lightning that answered drowned out any other sounds. Sticking close to the buildings, she darted past Valendrian’s door, praying that the storm had not woken him. The only thing worse than the hahren catching her would be city guards doing the same—and none of them were going to come into the alienage on a night like tonight.

She circled the main square and skirted the edge of the meeting hall, right up to the old apartments. A generous name for such ramshackle lean-tos with no insulation and hardly a family’s worth of furniture between them. But that’s what they’d always been called. Ariya ducked inside and made a beeline for the back corner.

“Wen?” she called softly, wringing out her braid with numb fingers. “Wen, are you in here?”

Another peal of thunder shook the building—louder and closer than before. The cracks in the windows gave way and Ariya barely heard an alarmed squeak over glass clattering and the roar of the wind rushing in.

Hastily, she pulled the shutters closed and held them with a scrap of wood wedged into the latch. She kicked as much of the glass as she could see into in a pile, then knelt alongside an old wardrobe.

In some storm previous it had rotted through and collapsed, forming a small nook against the corner. Splinters would shred her hands if she tried to move it. Instead, she laid herself out prone and looked through the gap between it and the floor. Two wide eyes blinked back at her.

“Wen?”

“Ari?”

A sigh of relief pushed the tension from Ariya’s shoulders. “What are you doing out here, a stór?”

“Shia said we should climb up and see the lightning from the roof. That only pathetic babies would be scared.”

Shianni. Ariya frowned. Their cousin ought to know better—did know better, really, and just needed to think more. “Did she leave you here, Wen?”

Fabric rustled against wood as Arianwen shrugged. “She said she was going to get Soris, and she would be right back.”

Hm. Perhaps Soris convinced her to stay inside, or maybe the storm had worsened and she couldn’t make it back. Either way, she would have words with Shianni about dragging Wen into such nonsense. There were enough scamps giving the girl trouble without her cousins doing the same.

“I’m sure she meant to and got caught by the storm,” she said. “Would you like to go home and dry off?”

Hesitant silence met her request. “It’s…a lot of noise,” Wen finally said.

“What if you cover your ears?”

“Then people make fun of me. And I have to punch them, and then I get in trouble. It’s easier to stay in here.”

“There’s no one here but me.” Ariya couldn’t help a smile, even as she coaxed. “Do you think I’m going to make fun of you?”

A long pause. “…no. Probably.”

“Will you come out then? I’ll cover your ears with my hands if you want yours free for punching, just in case.”

“Really?” Wen poked her head out of the tiny gap and Ariya scooted back along the dirt floor to make room for her to squeeze through. At least they had stopped for cloaks before venturing out, she noted, not that either of their cloaks had done a very good job of keeping them dry.

Capturing Wen’s palms between her hands, Ariya blew hot air over both their fingers. A shiver wracked through Wen and little droplets of icy water sprayed off of her.

Unclasping her cloak, Ariya wrapped it around Wen’s narrow shoulders—it wasn’t dry, but it was the driest thing between them. She tugged the newly bundled girl into the circle of her arms and pressed a comforting kiss against her dampened crown.

Another peal of thunder shook the building and Wen tensed. But Ariya’s hands were already over her ears, stroking reassurance down the line of her jaw.

“Really,” she promised.

[inquisimer]

mer mer mer hi for Zevran and Ariya, perhaps:

But like earth heaped over the heart Is love grown perfect. Like a shell over the beat of life Is love perfect to the last. So let it be the same Whether we turn to the dark or to the kiss of another; Let us know this for leavetaking, That I may not be heavy upon you, That you may blind me no more.

ro ro ro hap friday beloved💜 I looked at this prompt tonight and it suddenly clicked as exactly the right way to explore Alistair's unrequited love for my Tabris, so here we go :3

for @dadrunkwriting

Alistair thought Ostagar would be his Great Reckoning. He thought that nothing could lay him so low as the loss of a family so recently acquired, the knowledge of Duncan’s corpse half-devoured and forgotten on the battlefield, the isolation that sank into his bones outside of the witch hut in the Wilds. All of the Wardens had them and he would need one so that someday, gray and grizzled, he could swig ale and bark laughter at foolish recruits who were eager to bathe their blades in darkspawn blood.

He thought it would be Ostagar.

As they set off, he anchored himself to Ariya. The only two Wardens left facing the Blight. If he was a bit too clingy, she didn’t seem to mind—surely she was as adrift and uncertain as he and he thought perhaps she clung to him in comfort just the same. She was the dagger in the back of his enemy and he was her shield against their swords. They were a perfectly matched pair.

Until the assassin came.

She’d lost her mind, for sure. Helping the elf up from the ground as though he hadn’t just laid a trap to kill them. Was she crazy? Alistair asked her as much and she gave him such a derisive eye roll that he wished he could shrink into his armor like a turtle.

“Half the people in Denerim would have killed me for less than however much gold Loghain offered him,” she said. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

And suddenly things were different. Ariya no longer came to finish off his opponents in a fight; she stood back-to-back with this Zevran, her style mimicking his more and more each day. There was no more crouching about the fire with her to cobble together a stew over the coals—at night the pair of elves snuck off together and they took the same watches, leaving a rather disgruntled and increasingly jealous Alistair with Leliana (if he was lucky) or Morrigan (if he wasn’t).

Still, not all hope was lost. Even if the assassin was warming her bed there were things he could never share with her that a fellow Warden could. Alistair was more interested in her  heart, anyhow. He thumbed the faded rose and stared out into the darkness of the woods, thinking of how things had been before Zevran came and wishing things weren’t so desperate, so she would have agreed to leave him behind.

Weeks, months passed. Despite the pitying looks and thinly veiled derision from their companions, Alistair wasn’t oblivious. Ariya and the assassin grew closer, as time was wont to make them, but Alistair knew the truth. Her eyes were warm when he managed to steal a moment of her time and she fit perfectly in his embrace when the nightmares wracked them both. Perhaps she just didn’t realize the extent of his feelings, he thought one night, a great epiphany. After all, it wasn’t as though he’d told her. Likely she was with the assassin because he’d been open with his affection from the start.

In the end the rose stayed in his pocket until Eamon brought them to Denerim. He just couldn’t work up the nerve. But now there was tension between her and the assassin and he knew the inevitable decline of that misadventure must be nigh, so he seized the moment. When they trudged back in from a day’s worth of running errands about the city, he drew her into one of the empty guest rooms and shut the door.

“Is everything okay?” she asked. She was loosening her braid and Alistair’s breath caught. He so rarely saw her with her hair down and the fiery halo the flickering torchlight gave her felt like a sign that the moment was right.

He produced the rose and spun a metaphor of beauty and faith that he’d only half rehearsed in bed at night. When he’d finished, he looked up with a hopeful smile and held the faded flower out for her to take.

“Alistair…” her voice broke on his name, and not in the way he’d imagined a thousand times before. She bit her lip.

“I—you know I’m with Zevran, don’t you?” she gave an uncertain laugh. “I mean…we haven’t exactly been hiding. Literally everyone else has noticed, trust me.”

“Well, yes, but that can hardly be serious.” Alistair gestured aimlessly, confident in his assumption until he saw how her gray eyes went cold and flat at his words. “I mean—we’re the Wardens, Ariya, he can hardly follow—“

“We don’t even know how this is going to end,” she snapped. “Don’t presume to tell me what can and can’t be done.”

Lithe fingers twisted her hair back into a braid and ran an aggrieved hand over the plait. Just like that, the moment broke. Alistair’s hand dropped back to his side and the rose crumbled in his fist.

"You should go, Alistair," she said around a clenched jaw. "Just....go."

They didn't talk much after that. She left him to stew in Eamon's study, taking Leliana or Sten in his stead. One day they came back covered in blood as usual, but her smile was just a bit brighter, her shoulders lighter than they had been in weeks.

(He wished he could stop noticing such little things about her).

When she finished her report to Eamon and turned to go, Alistair caught sight of the little gold loop glinting in her ear and he slumped so low that the arl snapped at him to stand up straight.

He thought it would be Ostagar. Instead, it was the Landsmeet.

Whatever their personal drama, Alistair had no doubt of Ariya’s capability. Denerim was her home and she was in her element here, so it hardly surprised him to see her standing over that traitor as he knelt and gave himself over to her mercy. Alistair held his breath; justice, he thought. Duncan was about to have his justice.

Except—

“He’s right.” Ariya dropped her blades at Riordan’s objection and stepped away. “Put him to the Joining.”

“What?” In his white-hot rage, Alistair didn’t even realize it was him speaking. But all the Landsmeet turned to stare at him and for once the attention didn’t stagger him. He stared directly at Ariya and she stared back for the first time since that awkward, heart-wrenching moment at the estate.

“Alistair and Anora will marry and rule together,” the elf said. Her eyes never wavered from his, even as her voice carried around the chamber. “For his crimes, Loghain will be given to the Wardens, his fate left up to the Joining.”

For a moment, he was absolutely frozen. King? Marry Anora? Why hadn’t he heard of this plan before? Eamon had been talking about putting him on the throne all along, of course, but he’d thought that when it came down to it he’d had some say in it. Or Ariya would and she would ask him, at the least.

But they hadn’t been talking. And that was his stupid fault, but in the moment he couldn’t accept that. He felt nothing besides blinding anger.

“Absolutely not—“ Alistair stormed forward, close enough that only Ariya and the few closest to her could hear his hushed anger. “What are you doing? This man betrayed our entire Order and blamed us for the crime! He’s the reason Duncan is dead! And you would welcome him to our ranks?”

“We are not judges,” Riordan interjected. “Wardens have historically been thieves, beggars, murderers, criminals of all kinds. The Blight does not discriminate and so neither do we.”

“He’s right, Alistair—“

“No.” He cut her off, heartbroken and angry and desperately wishing he could truly blame either of those things on her. “If you do this, I walk. You all may force the crown upon me, but I’ll sever all ties with the Wardens and they’ll have no claim on me, if this is your decision.”

She didn’t even hesitate. “This is my decision, Alistair. If that’s yours well…you’ve made it, at least.”

And he had.

A week later at the coronation he stared out at the crowd. Even amongst all the nobles, she was infuriatingly easy to spot. Ashy white hair in her usual braid, griffon-stamped leathers freshly oiled and looking like they hadn’t been recently spattered in darkspawn blood.

And hanging off the assassin’s arm, of course.

He scowled at his boots.

“Chin up, Alistair,” said Anora without looking at him. He turned his scowl on her instead.

“It is good that you’ve been disillusioned,” she continued, unphased. “It was hardly going to work out between you two. Besides the political implications, just use your eyes for a moment and look at her. Really look.”

Alistair stared out across the crowd, watched how the assassin looped an arm around Ariya’s waist and pulled her flush against his side. She canted her head to let him whisper in her ear and a smile spread across her face, warm and adoring and just a hint scandalized. He couldn’t see it from here, but he could imagine how the tips of her ears were gone pink as she pressed a kiss to the corner of Zevran’s mouth.

“You see?” Anora said crisply, directly contrasting the warm smile and wave she was giving the crowd. “She is in love.”

Alistair frowned. Of course she was; that was the problem, wasn’t it?

She was in love.

And so was he.