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wren--bee · 11 days ago

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Three DAO fics

@ithinkthiswasabadidea inspired/encouraged me to share my fics so… I am doing that!

These were written during my last playthrough of Origins, where I came to see a few things about my character differently. They’re three quickly written moments from within the game, with a heavy spin of my Mahariel’s journey and shifting relationship with Alistair, and a little headcanon in there too.

(Theron Mahariel, Dalish elf, blood mage with rogue/dual wield abilities- heavily modded game. Romanced Zevran, had something of a queerplatonic relationship going on with Alistair at the end.)

(I might do the same with my Alistair-romancing Cousland, but that would be written from scratch, since I didn’t write fics for her last time I played her!)

Moment one- Theron, the ogre, and Falon’Din (Tower of Ishal at Ostagar)

Preamble

Theron’s vallaslin is of Falon’Din, guide of the dead. I didn’t originally choose it for any meaning, but by the time I was attached to it I was also attached to the idea of the god. But I never quite understood Theron’s relationship to death- it was something he was comfortable with, for sure, and he was good at bringing it about. But beyond that I wasn’t sure- until I got to the animation of Theron killing the ogre, and I saw… something. And things clicked into place. (It’s also based off something I saw someone post about the tower.)

Warning- bit gorey.

The fic

They were dead.

Theron knew it. He suspected Alistair did as well. The tower guards accompanying them probably had known it too- briefly, before not knowing anything at all.

Theron wondered if the darkspawn knew, when their time came- did they feel the clutches of death upon them, look upon the one who brought it, and find a peace in the end, however unfair?

Probably not.

His ribs hurt. His blood burned. His arms ached, his magic spent, his gloves a strange combination of slick and tacky with blood- some of it his own.

One last push- a leap of faith, literally, Falon’Din’s name in his heart and his lungs, to give him long enough for what was needed before guiding him from this place- he nearly fell from his blades, hanging from where he had sank them into the ogre’s chest, but the impact instead toppled it and he clung to his daggers and to it, it’s heat and stench rolling over him.

It was dead, too. But it still moved, body not entirely aware of that fact, and he managed to wrench one blade from where the throat and the chest met-

There was a brief moment as he stared into it’s eyes. They were dead- not in the way that he had killed it’s body, but in a way that implied they had never truly been alive. No soul to be guided to any resting place, only darkness and taint, but he felt a connection to it anyway, a closeness, an intimacy.

He slammed the blade into the eye socket.

A small but violent upheaval in the ogre’s body and then it lay still; a small geyser of blood, blinding and vile, nearly splashed into his own eyes. He used his hand as a shield, looking down into the dead darkspawn’s face for another moment.

He had killed before, of course- although recently it had mostly been creatures corrupted or already dead and reanimated. There was always something… special about it. To end a life to preserve that of his people was a sacred thing- how many times had he guided animals to Falon’Din to nourish his clan? Or ended a threat? Those were lives, real and vibrant- and the darkspawn were not.

And yet. It still felt somewhat… right. To do what needed to be done- to end them, by magic or blade.

He managed to yank both blades free while Alistair lit the beacon- he’d die with them on his person, not buried in some corrupt creature, his blades from his clan, all he had left. He staggered off the giant body of the ogre- barely keeping his feet- and stumbled over to where Alistair had collapsed next to the beacon, now lit, their job done. Every movement hurt- in places it should not, inside his chest, lower down, all blurring together in one blend of pain that was more distant than it should have been.

He welcomed that. He managed to slide down the wall next to Alistair who looked up at him. Blood clogged one eye- the Warden (his fellow Warden, his mind managed to recall, I’ll die here with a shem as my brother)- the Warden managed to grin.

“Hey, we did it. Guess now we wait for the good news, huh?”

Theron took in a breath to reply and pain- sharp and unwelcome- cut through the fuzziness. He coughed instead. Each cough hurt. Each breath hurt.

Finally he had enough breath to respond.

“Right. Just… just have to wait for word from Duncan, right?”

“Yep. Keeping me out the battle again. Hah.” Alistair’s breathing didn’t sound great either- better than Theron’s. He tried to sit up to look down at the sh- the hu- at his fellow Warden. The attempt didn’t work. The pain flashed again and he flopped back down, only serving to move closer to Alistair, head flopping against the armour on his arm with a donk.

That was nice. He wasn’t alone. It wasn’t his clan- but if they were both Wardens, it sort of was, wasn’t it? Yeah. That worked.

He started to recite a prayer to Falon’Din in his mind- not trusting his voice to finish it- asking for guidance to the Beyond, for peace.

To find Tamlen there.

He didn’t get far- or get lost in his thoughts- before Alistair’s voice intruded.

“Hey. I’ll look good with an eyepatch, right?”

“Oh.” He wouldn’t wear an eyepatch. He wouldn’t get the chance. They both knew that.

“Sure,” Theron said. “Very… dashing?”

“Extremely convincing.”

“I’ll w-” Another caughing fit stopped Theron’s words. “I’ll work on it,” he forced out once it stopped. “I’ll convince you when you have it.”

Alistair laughed at that. “Great. It’s a deal.”

“Yeah.” Theron didn’t have the strength to nod. It was easier to close his eyes and just focus on each breath, to ensure the next happened.

“It’s a deal.”

-------------------

Footnote-

the post that inspired this was talking about how much more effective they thought it would be if the Warden and Alistair weren’t suddenly jumped by darkspawn from below, but were badly wounded from the fight up the tower. This was partly because in their first playthrough Alistair was knocked out on the way up and had an eye injury. That little detail got lodged in my head, and- yeah, it’s how I see things now. (I really wish I could find it again!)

Alistair’s Light

Preamble-

This takes place after Alistair’s personal quest, and after taking the option that hardens him. It largely follows the in-game conversation.

The fic

They were relaxing at camp- for a given value of “relaxing”. Or “camp”, but it wasn’t as if they stayed in one place for longer than a night- all they needed was enough to keep them warm and dry. Warm and dry enough.

Evenings were the time Theron missed the clan the most. Instead of being busy travelling, fighting or doing something else to- in theory- further their goals he watched, and listened. Sometimes he talked. He served the role of Keeper for a clan he had not chosen and cared for more as a sense of duty than a sense of affection.

He was sat apart from the others- as was not unusual- watching the group while he ate. Zevran often joined him, or Alistair- Zevran was in conversation with Wynne, a situation unlikely to leave either remotely satisfied, and Theron idly wondered if he should interfere. She would judge, or he would make a point of winding her up, or both.

He glanced around and caught Alistair’s eye, and his fellow Warden decided his actions for him by getting up and ambling over to join him, looking completely nonchalant to anyone not paying any attention.

He sat next to Theron but watched the fire. Theron glanced between it and Alistair, seeing Wynne and Zevran separate- the former looking irritated, the latter looking as unbothered by the world as ever- an act which likely fooled Wynne, who Theron considered to be far less observant than she thought herself.

“Alistair.” Theron gave him an opening before taking another spoonful of the unappetising- but edible- attempt at stew.

“You know, I’ve been thinking…”

“Mm?” Theron made a noise around his mouthful, but when it didn’t seem to be sufficient he swallowed in order to speak. “What have you been thinking about?”

“Back when we left Goldanna’s, you told me I needed to look out for myself more than I do. I’m beginning to think you were right. I need to stop letting everyone else make my decisions for me. I need to take a stand and think for myself for a change, or I’m never going to be happy.”

Theron swallowed another mouthful of food. “Don’t let me influence you, Alistair.”

“No, what you said made sense. You were right. I should be looking out for myself more. Or did I not understand you?”

Theron bit back a laugh. The topic clearly meant a lot to Alistair- laughing about it was not going to help, despite the irony of Theron encouraging him to look out for himself more resulting in him seeking approval for doing that.

“You understood me fine, Alistair,” he managed when he trusted his voice. “But if you did it because I said so that would defeat the point- you don’t have to do what I say.”

“I don’t have to do it, I want to. What you said made sense. I should have done this a long time ago.” Theron- mouth full of food once more- was unable to reply immediately, but Alistair took his nod as enough and continued.

“I just wanted to thank you. You’ve been a great friend through all of this, the one bright spot in everything that’s happened.”

It was good Theron had swallowed before Alistair had finished. He looked at the human- his fellow Warden, his brother in arms. For a moment the lump in his throat was too much to speak past.

“Thank you, lethallin. I’m-” Theron swallowed again, turning his gaze unseeing to the camp. “You’re a good friend too.”

“Huh. What does that mean? If that’s okay to ask.”

Theron nearly laughed again- glad to be fighting that instead of the warmth he had felt choking him up.

“It means- brother. One of mine, my people.”

“Oh.” There was a pause- Theron glanced at Alistair only out of the corner of his eye. Alistair seemed to recognise the weight of being included as a Dalish elf’s people- or at least, recognise that it had weight. After a moment he continued.

“Thank you. I- that’s an honour.”

“Mm.” Theron had purposely filled his mouth so he couldn’t say anything more; and once he swallowed the topic shifted, to his relief. He didn’t want to say anything more about it- in case he said too much.

But the truth was Alistair was- he was- Theron wasn’t even sure. But he was glad to know him- glad that they were brothers in arms, Wardens together. This was a path he could never have chosen for himself and he knew that he would have been uncomfortable at considering a human close, meaningful, someone he wanted to- what, carve a life with? They were Wardens together, after all. That could happen- for whatever they had left of one.

“Lethallin” was correct. Theron was somewhat shamed at how ashamed he would have been at the prospect- feelings which still lingered a little, despite how he felt. He would never want Alistair to know that- that it felt like a tie to his past and his people being severed to look upon a human with such fondness. But- it was also a tie to a future, and perhaps-

Perhaps that was okay. To have a future with Alistair as his brother at his side.

And then it was over.

Preamble

I headcanon that (as Theron’s romance) Zevran knew about Morrigan’s ritual- and the cost if she’d played them false… or made a mistake. This takes place at the top of Fort Drakon.

The fic

It was Theron. He was, Alistair had considered more than once, the strongest, the smartest of them. The most quietly observant- honestly, the most terrifying, in a way that had made him thankful all over again that he’d never become a full Templar, that he’d never had occasion to meet Theron as anything but an ally.

He’d known- as they entered Denerim proper, as they forged through the city- that if they succeeded at all, it would be Theron. It would be thanks to him they’d made it that far, of course, but it would be him- if Riordin hadn’t made it (and he had not) it would be Theron who would find the moment, the weakness, the brief, temporary opportunity to strike- and it would be Theron who would take it.

He hadn’t even realised it had happened until it was too late.

He’d heard Zevran cry out- glanced over, seen the anguish and fear on the elf’s face, realised that he knew, before his own grief and fear took over. Theron was- he had killed it and he was struggling, fighting, unable to free himself from, from something, something that was happening, that held him in his grasp- and it tore Alistair apart to see it.

It should have been him. He hadn’t been able to save Duncan- only avenge him, but there was no vengeance here. No anchor for anger but it lashed out anyway, curling back on himself-

It should have been him! He had found something beautiful in Theron- a friend, a brother, family beyond blood or oaths, he had been the best thing to come out of all of this and Alistair had not saved him.

He tried to approach- to do something, to intervene, dully aware of Zevran trying to do the same but they were both buffeted backwards by the waves of magical energy emanating from Theron-

And then the shockwave of an explosion knocked them off their feet, all of them, heat and light and pressure that held him to the ground like weights- and once it rolled over him, it was replaced by the weight of emotion instead.

He would have to get up. Theron had believed in him�� but at that moment he didn’t see how he could. He didn’t want to look, didn’t want to check and see, didn’t want to hope for what couldn’t be—

So he lay there, cold stone under him, numbness holding everything at bay while it could, hearing Zevran get up to do what he could not. Until finally sounds reached him and he managed to lift his head—

——————————————————————————

No. No no no- Zevran forced himself up, bruised and sore and exhausted and unaware of it in the moment, knowing instead desperation and panic and a different, far worse pain. Theron lay, flat on his back- unmoving and still- it couldn’t, it couldn’t—

He’d known, of course. The risk. To all of them but especially the Wardens- but Morrigan had said- it couldn’t be real—

He managed to regain his feet, a moment of unsteadiness fooling him- he thought he saw movement-

And Theron raised his head, lifting himself up, and Zevran broke into a run to reach him, falling to his knees to pull Theron into his arms. The Warden made a noise of pained protest but fell into his embrace, clinging back with arms that trembled against Zevran’s back. There were no thoughts- just relief, almost as painful as the prelude of grief had been, almost too much to bear.

“It worked…”

Zevran couldn’t reply to Theron’s choked whisper. He had thought he would lose him- that maybe he had lost him- and for now, for now it was enough that he hadn’t.

For now they were alive. That was enough. It was more than enough. It was everything.

——————————————————————————

Alistair couldn’t believe his eyes. If Theron moving and clinging to Zevran like a lifeline wasn’t enough of a clue, his mabari Da’Fen bounding joyfully around the pair was enough to bring it home.

He looked at the archdemon. It was still- shifting as gravity took over, head lolling, but no movement of life. The darkspawn had broken the moment Theron had- well, Alistair had known from how the ‘spawn had reacted, fleeing. It was dead. He’d have put money on it. Theron had killed it.

And he- he lived, they all did.

He climbed to his feet, feeling every ache in his body as if ignoring them during the fight had increased their power. He staggered, first few steps faltering, then breaking into a run, falling painfully to his knees next to Theron- unaware of how closely his actions mirrored Zevran’s–

“You’re–” His voice caught in his throat but it was enough to get Theron’s attention- he pulled back from where his face had been buried into the crook of Zevran’s neck and instead turned to Alistair, green eyes bright and full of life, he was- he was–

“You’re alive!” The words were barely more than a sob. Enough to elicit a smile from his best friend, his brother, and as he opened his mouth to speak Alistair reached for him- maybe to drag him into a hug–

“Alistair!”

The call cut through the moment. They all looked around- they were not alone on the rooftop. Eamonn was limping towards them- there was a small group of mages nearby, a few dwarves, Sten closest of all, sword still in hand, alert for danger even now–

Whatever moment there was to celebrate the relief of their survival it would have to wait. Unlikely that they’d get another quiet moment like this. He looked back to Theron who simply gave him a small smile, and Alistair settled for letting his outstretched hand clasp his fellow Warden’s shoulder- a moment to really satisfy himself this was real- before climbing to his feet.

He didn’t know what would come next… but he predicted that there would be little time to relax before a very different responsibility would be his, and his alone, to shoulder. He took a deep breath, straightened his back and turned to head towards Eamonn.

This had been his choice- and doing it with Theron alive to support him gave him everything he needed to face the future. Whatever came next, he had that.

It was enough.

It was more than enough.

In that moment… it was everything.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dao #dao fic #alistair theirin #alistair x warden #(queerplatonically)#zevran arainai #zevran x warden #theron mahariel #my fic #my writing

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