Been meaning to pull this together for a while. If you know anything good that I’ve missed, stick ‘em on the end! I’ll reblog in a while with additions.
Dragon Age Wiki–first-stop resource for basic character and plot information, class and area info, and a lot of codices from all three games.
An Illustrated Timeline of Thedosian History–What it says on the tin, put together by @penbrydd.
Travel Times:
Ferelden travel: distances and times–DA: O specific areas, also includes interesting discussion of forced-march speeds
More travel time ideas including Inquisition areas
Thedosian Titles–Ranks and titles in Thedas, as taken from the tabletop rpg guides.
Thedosian slurs–a compilation of derogatory terms used by various Thedosian peoples.
Thedosian calendar–Thedosian dates and holidays with a speculative matchup of the Gregorian equivalents.
Human names–information on naming in Thedosian human cultures.
Qunari, dwarven, and elven names–some information and examples for each group.
How old everyone is in Inquisition–answers or best estimates using in-game or WoT information.
War Table spreadsheet–all the War Table missions, options, and outcomes.
Dragon Age Meta Nexus–a collection of meta posts drawn from Tumblr with standardized tags to facilitate search. Fairly new.
Hawke woke up on Isabela’s couch with a groan and facepalmed. I’m such an idiot when I’m drunk, she thought. Well, I’m an idiot all the time. I’m just especially an idiot when I’m drunk. She couldn’t believe she had used magic in a public place like that and with that elf Fenris in the next stall over! I might as well have served myself up to the templars on a silver platter, she thought. On top of that, she had a pounding headache building.
Isabela was still fast asleep in the other room, snoring away without a care in the world. Her roommate, a graduate student named Merrill, was already up and making tea.
“Hello Hawke!” Merrill said cheerfully. “Would you like something for breakfast or some tea?”
The thought of breakfast food made Hawke’s stomach turn.
“No thank you, I feel like I’ve been hit by a steamroller at the moment,” Hawke said.
“Oh, that’s not good,” Merrill said. “Do you need some medicine or anything?”
“Not unless you have something that can cure a hangover.” Hawke got up and pushed off the flimsy blanket she had been sleeping under. She had several missed calls from her mother. And the day was starting off so well, she thought wryly.
She walked outside the apartment and dialed her mother, who picked up on the first ring.
“Victoria! Where are you?”
“I told you, mum, I stayed at Isabela’s.”
“It was incredibly immature of you to go running out like that, and you’ve upset your brother! Now he’s trying to move out.”
“Good, I’d love my own room.”
“Victoria, this is hardly the time for sarcasm.”
“I wasn’t kidding. Let the kid move out, mum, he’s an adult with a job now.” There was a long pause at the other end of the line.
“This wouldn’t have happened if Bethany was here.”
“Three grown siblings sharing a room would have been a little cramped.”
“Maker’s breath. Just come home soon.” And a click followed as her mother hung up. Hawke sighed. Another day in paradise. She went back into Isabela’s apartment, brushed her teeth, and left with her overnight bag before Isabela could wake up. It was time to get some work done, and by “get work done,” she meant driving strangers around the city for a meager hourly pay plus tips.
I started a new longfic! You can find it on AO3 here but here’s a snippet:
Fenris wasn’t sure what he thought of the new volunteer at the shelter. She came in a room like a summer squall- brash, with a loud, easy laugh and a frequent grin. Her lack of height belied her large personality, and her short dark hair framed her face. She was pretty, he’d admit. But Maker, was she a handful. She even went by her last name- Hawke, a name as bold as she was.
Decided to have some fun with upcoming Valentine's Day this year with a prompts list in the theme of my favorite fandom!
I present The 14 Days of Dragon Age Lover's Prompts!
Starting February 1st and of course ending on Valentine's Day. Any pairing from Dragon Age so have fun with your favorite ships.
Make sure to tag your posts with #14DALovers so I can check out everyone's posts!
Days will build up in intimacy like any good relationship does. Day 14 is NSFW, but of course is optional. If you don't feel comfortable with a NSFW contribution call it a 'freebie' instead.
Open to art, fan fics and other Dragon Age media (screenshots, GIFs , etc).
I have seen a few tags where people aren't sure whether to do this or #ockiss20.
I wanted to mention that the prompts for days 10 through 14 were chosen specifically to incorporate a kiss if you wanted to do both and didn't want to have to choose between this and #ockiss20 💛
You wake up one day and realize that you can see transparent figures walking around amongst normal people. They don’t acknowledge their surroundings, and can walk through walls. You freak out, thinking you can see ghosts now, but in reality a parallel universe is brushing up against your universe and somehow you can see through the veil between them.
since it’s April, I wrote a list of prompts fo people to use for writing one piece per day for the whole month. Feel free to use them/reblog/tag me in your work!
1. smash
2. question yourself
3. burning
4. flaws
5. amnesia
6. eviction
7. describe fear
8. animal noises
9. lazy afternoon
10. holiness
11. cross that out
12. briar patch
13. silent as fog
14. knife to meet you
15. romantic horror
16. the age you knew
17. rubbing
18. frostbite
19. sirens
20. not enough
21. feverish
22. hotel corridor
23. under the stairs
24. cherries
25. on mute
26. complicated
27. love as foreign
28. mirrors
29. question
30. over again
“Just be quick Isabela, before Fenris gets back. I want to surprise him.”
“You can’t rush perfection, sweet thing.”
Isabela hovered over Hawke’s head with the scissors, snipping at strands here and there. Hawke’s hair was long, well past her shoulders. Well, until now. They had gotten restless under quarantine and Isabela had promised that she’d done this before.
“Do me next!” Merrill said, sitting on the side of the bathtub. Hawke sat on a stool in front of the mirror while Isabela stood over her.
“Not a chance, love, I don’t want to mess yours up.”
“What, but you’ll mess mine up?” Hawke protested, watching as Isabela cut a chunk off the back of her hair.
“Don’t look a free haircut in the mouth,” Isabela said.
“Where did you learn to cut hair?” Hawke asked.
“Someone once made a bet with me and lost, and the deal was that I got to cut her hair short,” Isabela said. “I haven’t heard from her since then.”
Hawke groaned. “I knew this was a mistake,” she said.
“What was a mistake?” Fenris asked, coming in the bathroom holding a shopping bag of frozen food. He stopped suddenly when he saw Hawke. Hawke grinned at him and put her hands up.
“Surprise?” she said.
“Hawke, why is half of your hair short?” he asked.
“Because Isabela hasn’t done the other half yet.”
“Hawke.” Fenris closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “You three are sick and supposed to be resting, and yet I come home to this.”
“I’m feeling much better,” Hawke said. “Merrill is too.”
“Okay, don’t look in the mirror yet,” Isabela said, moving to block Hawke’s view of herself. “I’m doing the finishing touches.”
Fenris sighed and went back into the living room, trailed by Barkspawn, who had taken a real liking to the elf. Isabela continued snipping away, until she started turning Hawke’s head this way and that, examining her hair from all angles.
“You look gorgeous with short hair!” Merrill said before coughing. “Of course, not that you didn’t look good with long hair.”
Isabela stepped out of the way of the mirror. Hawke looked at herself and she had to admit, she looked pretty damn good. Isabela had cut her a dramatic pixie cut with a slight fringe and it worked really well.
“Isabela, if I wasn’t taken I’d kiss you,” Hawke said. “If all else fails, you could be a hairstylist.”
“Fenris!” Isabela called. “Come see my masterpiece!”
Fenris stopped short in the doorway, smiling at Hawke, who sheepishly grinned back.
“I like it,” he said.
“It’s not the worst impulse decision I ever made,” Hawke said, fluffing it with her hands.
“Now back to bed, all of you,” Fenris said. “You don’t want me to call Anders.”
“Fine, Dad,” Isabela said mockingly. Her and Merrill left the bathroom. Hawke stared at the multitude of hair clippings left on the floor.
“I promise I’ll clean that up,” was all she managed to say before Fenris kissed her softly.
“Now you’re going to get sick,” Hawke said, putting her arms around his neck.
“I’m living with three sick people. I think it was a little late for me anyway,” he said drily. “No more hair cutting, please. You need to find some other source of entertainment while you’re quarantined.”
Isabela had, predictably, packed what seemed like her entire wardrobe into a duffel bag. Maker’s breath, Hawke thought, how many crop tops can one person possibly wear? Isabela was also currently rifling through their pantry while Fenris carried their bags upstairs from her car, the Siren’s Call. So named because of the noises it made when you got it past 60 miles per hour- which Isabela did frequently, and with much glee.
Merrill came in the door behind Fenris, protesting that she could help with the bags while coughing. Fenris just glowered, but Hawke could tell it was softer than his usual glower. He wasn’t a fan of the blood mage, it was true, but Merrill was nothing if not polite even while she was sick. Hawke, of course, lounged on the couch and watched him drop the bags onto their living room floor with a loud thump. Their mabari, Barkspawn, looked up at Merrill and Isabela curiously before returning to his nap.
“Don’t bother to get up and help,” Fenris said.
“Sarcasm, Fenris? I really am rubbing off on you,” Hawke said, flicking through Netflix shows. “Besides, I’m an invalid.”
“Hawke, how are you feeling?” Merrill asked with concern in her voice as she sat next to her on the couch.
“Never better, thanks for asking,” Hawke said. “How about you, are you doing okay? I heard your fever was getting better-“
Isabela barged in, holding a can from their pantry. “Creamed corn, Hawke? Really? You know this went bad about a year ago.” Hawke shrugged.
“I have all the cooking skills of my mother and none of her charm,” Hawke said. “We’re a takeout household, Isabela, you know that.”
Isabela disappeared back into the kitchen. Hawke, Fenris, and Merrill all sat in an uncomfortable silence.
“Merrill, would you, ah, like a beverage?” Hawke asked. “I’ve never really hosted before, I’m not sure what the proper protocol is.”
“I’d love some water if it’s not too much trouble,” Merrill said. “You should probably drink some too, Hawke, it helps with fevers.”
“You sound like Fenris,” Hawke said. “Fenris, would you be a dear and get us some water?”
He shot her a glare but got up and walked into the kitchen anyway. Hawke continued flicking through the options on Netflix, settling on a random sitcom, when Isabela breezed in and sat down next to Merrill, flinging an arm over the elf’s shoulders.
“Why were you looking through our kitchen anyway?” Hawke asked.
“Just curious,” Isabela said. “You can tell a lot about a person from their pantry, you know.”
“Really?” Merrill asked curiously. “Like what?”
“Like that Hawke spends more money on food for her mabari than herself.”
At hearing himself mentioned, the mabari perked his ears up before settling back down again.
“Only the best for the best,” Hawke said. Fenris walked back into the living room, carrying two glasses of water. “Isn’t that right, darling?”
“You two are just so adorable,” Isabela said. “I can see why Varric is writing about you two in his next story.”
Fenris gave Isabela a piercing glare- one of his finest, really. “The dwarf is doing what, exactly?”
“He let you read it?” protested Hawke. “He hasn’t let me touch it, yet.”
“Oh no,” Isabela said with a wicked smile, “I got ahold of his computer and emailed myself a copy. It’s quite… salacious, if you catch my meaning. I was hoping to get a live viewing while we’re here.” At this, she waggled her eyebrows in Fenris’ direction.
“Maker, I’m going to kill that dwarf,” Hawke said with a sigh. Before she could continue, she was cut off by a fit of hacking coughs. Fenris frowned.
“That’s it, you’re going back to bed,” he said. “Drink some water, too.”
As if on cue, Merrill started coughing too. Hawke groaned. “It’s like a hospital in here,” she said. “Fine, fine. You guys can watch whatever you want, just no porn. I’m gonna take a nap. Remind me to kill Varric when I wake up.” With that, she walked into the bedroom, followed by the mabari who seemed eager to jump in the bed with her.
As she drifted off, she could hear Merrill in the living room valiantly trying to make conversation with Fenris, who was less than interested.
Then all of a sudden she woke with a jolt. A hand was on her forehead. She opened her eyes and saw Anders standing over her wearing a mask, checking her temperature with the back of his hand. Anders and Merrill? Maker, I bet Fenris is having a great time right now, she thought.
Before she could say something, Anders cut her off. “Save the witty remark, Hawke. I’m only here on my break, so I have to be quick. How are you feeling?”
“Fantastic,” she said. “Best shape of my life.” Followed by another coughing fit. Anders removed his hand and looked at her intently.
“You need rest and lots of water,” he said. “Same goes for the two in your living room. I told Fenris already, but you three need to watch your temperatures. If it gets too high, or if you feel short of breath, come down to my clinic.” He went into their bathroom and washed his hands thoroughly. Hawke could see the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than usual. He must be pulling all-nighters, she thought, feeling slightly guilty for making so many jokes about the virus.
“Anders, do you need some food? You said you were on break, right?”
“Some food would be great,” he admitted, drying his hands. “I haven’t had time to eat anything all day.”
“Varric dropped off a container of chicken noodle soup earlier, you can have it if you want,” Hawke said. Fenris walked into the bedroom and nodded at Anders. Quite the gesture of civility, Hawke thought.
“Hawke, how are you feeling?” Fenris asked as Anders left to presumably finish off her chicken noodle soup. Ah, well.
“Not great,” Hawke admitted, coughing again. This was answered with a matching cough coming from the living room. So either Merrill or Isabela was awake, too. Fenris frowned and grabbed her hand.
“I’m surprised you haven’t gotten sick yet,” she said.
“I have rarely ever been sick,” he said. “Besides, someone needs to take care of you three.”
“Thank you for helping,” Hawke said in a low voice. “I know taking care of Isabela and Merrill can’t be your favorite thing.”
Fenris smiled. “No, but I would do it again for you, Hawke.” He lightly kissed her on the forehead and went back into the living room. Hawke smiled and burrowed in under the covers even more, leaning up against Barkspawn, who didn’t seem to mind. She drifted off again to the sound of coughing coming from the next room.
“It’s a fever, Fenris, I’m not dying of the plague.”
“You absolutely cannot go to the store.”
“I have surgical masks!” Hawke argued. “And I’ll stay six feet away from anyone else!”
“No. Not even over my dead body,” Fenris said, grabbing the thermometer out of the bathroom cabinet. Hawke sat on the edge of the bathtub behind him, waiting impatiently for her temperature to be taken (again- for the third time that day. Fenris was nothing if not a dutiful nurse).
Fenris put the thermometer under her tongue and waited for the beep, looking at the results with a low grunt. “It looks like your fever is going down, but you’re absolutely not going anywhere until this goes away.”
Hawke had known going to the bar was a bad idea, especially with the pandemic everywhere, but Varric had insisted on one last night together before the Hanged Man closed. “Just the usual crew!” he had said. “It’ll be perfectly safe! We’ll have a quarantine party.”
Well, now Hawke and Merrill had both come down with fevers and a cough. Fenris, who hadn’t gone out of his dedication to social distancing, had harrumphed as usual and told Hawke it was a bad idea. “Kirkwall is one of the cities with the highest infection rates, Hawke,” he had said. And he had been right. Poor overworked Anders hadn’t gone either- his clinic was stuffed to the brim with patients who had coughed once and wanted to be tested out of an overabundance of caution.
Hawke sighed. “We don’t really need anything anyway, I just wanted to leave the house.” She got up from the edge of the bathtub and hugged Fenris from behind, putting her chin on his shoulder. “Isabela said Merrill is getting better, too. Maybe we can have them over? Just those two? It’s not like I can get Merrill any sicker.”
“Not a chance,” Fenris said without missing a beat, shrugging his way out of the hug. He washed the thermometer and put it back in the cabinet. “And tell Isabela to stop dropping off toilet paper. I don’t know where she keeps getting it from, but we have plenty.”
Hawke coughed into her elbow. She tried to cough delicately, like tuberculosis patients in Victorian books, but what came out sounded like the hacking noise an aging smoker would make. Fenris looked at her with worry in his eyes. “You’re going back to bed,” he said- a command, not a request. Hawke saluted him.
“Sir yes sir,” she said, coughing again. She walked into the bedroom and put a hand on her head dramatically.
“Oh dear sir, I fear I have contracted the plague! I will not be long for this world,” she said, playing up her Fereldan accent. She was trying to go for the ‘damsel in distress’ angle but sounded more like her old backcountry neighbors.
“Is this your idea of roleplay?” Fenris asked, a rare smile quirking at his mouth.
“Why, do you like it? I can play up the coughing if that’s what you’re into.”
“I would really be into you laying down and napping, Hawke.”
Just then a knock sounded at the door.
“If that’s Isabela with more toilet paper, I’m banning her from ever coming back,” Fenris said. Hawke dutifully laid down and tried to get some rest while Fenris walked into the living room to answer the door.
Fenris reached the door when a voice sounded out.
“It’s just me!” Varric yelled from the other side. “Just coming to check on you! You don’t even have to open the door, Broody.”
“What do you want?” Fenris yelled back.
“Just bringing some food and gossip! Rivaini said Merrill is getting better, but apparently Isabela’s coming down with a fever too. They told me to ask if it’s okay if they stay with you for a while.”
“Yes, it is!” Hawke yelled from the bedroom at the same time Fenris said “No, it is not okay.” Varric audibly paused outside the door.
“Just text them when you’ve decided,” Varric yelled. “I’m dropping off some soup for Hawke, too. If you get better soon, I might even let you read the novel I’m working on.” Fenris waited for Varric to leave before opening the door and picking up the Tupperware of chicken noodle soup left on the doorstep.
Hawke was already behind him as he turned around. For someone as clumsy as she was, the woman could be incredibly quiet when she wanted to be.
“We have to let them stay,” she said. “I don’t want them alone while they’re both sick.”
“Where would they stay?” Fenris asked. “We don’t have a guest bedroom, Hawke. This apartment is too small.”
Hawke winced at the reminder. All the family money left over when her mother had passed was going towards her brother Carver’s college at the moment, and neither of them brought in much income from their odd jobs.
“They can sleep on the couches or something,” Hawke said. “We’ll figure it out. I can’t leave them alone when they’re both sick, Fenris.” Fenris considered this for a second, still holding the container of soup. Hawke took it from him and walked into the kitchen to put the Tupperware in the fridge. It was full of takeout leftovers and Jell-O shots (leftovers from the quarantine party) but Hawke made room.
“Fine,” Fenris yelled from the living room. “But only if you take a nap. And tell them to bring their own food.”
Hawke walked back into the living room to blow him an air kiss.
“You’re the best!” she said, plopping herself down on the couch. “I’ll text Isabela and let her know. Now put on a sitcom and let’s nap.”
Elena woke with a start, her cheeks wet. Had she been crying in her sleep? Asleep next to her, Alistair murmured and rolled over. He started snoring lightly. He was so adorable when he was asleep; he looked younger, less worried, more like the young Grey Warden she had first met and not the king he was today.
She hadn’t woken up crying in years, not since the Archdemon dreams. No, this time it wasn’t the darkspawn that bothered her sleep; it was the faces of Oren and Oriana, her late nephew and sister in law, that haunted her. She had dreamed about finding them- dead- again, with her mother. In the dream, her mother had blamed her. Tears sprang to her eyes again. She didn’t want to wake Alistair, not when he needed his rest so badly, but she couldn’t stifle the accompanying sniffles. His snores stopped and he lifted his head, looking over his shoulder at her.
“Elena?” he asked. “Are you okay? Did you have a nightmare?” When she didn’t answer, he rolled to face her and lifted his hand to wipe her eyes.
“Is it- do you think-“ he started. “Is it the Calling?” When she shook her head, he looked relieved despite himself. “What’s wrong, dear?”
“I had a dream about my family,” she said. “The night Howe attacked.”
She had told him the broad strokes of the attack but had saved the details for herself. Elena had never been good with emotional conversations, and this was no exception. Alistair shifted closer to her and put his arm around her.
“Sometimes I have dreams about Ostagar,” he said. “I dream about Duncan dying on the field, alone.”
“It was my fault, though,” she said. “If I had been quicker to wake- or quicker to see Howe for what he was- they might be alive today.”
“I’m sorry,” Alistair said, looking unsure how to respond. “Would a sarcastic, self-deprecating comment make you feel better?” Elena laughed, wiping her eyes on her nightgown. (Not that she particularly wanted to wear a nightgown, but advisers barged in at all hours about matters of state, and it wouldn’t do for their queen to be in a full state of undress- as she had been told, repeatedly).
“I don’t think it was your fault, at all,” he said. “There’s no way you could have expected Howe to betray your family. You were so young. And besides, then Duncan wouldn’t have recruited you and you never would have met me.” Elena laughed again.
“Maker forbid,” she said. “I would have missed so many excellent jokes.”
He lightly kissed her forehead and drew her closer. Her stomach fluttered. After so many years, he could still make her feel like a teenager again. She sighed.
“I know, logically, that it wasn’t my fault,” she said, “but I still feel that way. Does that make sense?”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Alistair said. “I feel the same way about Ostagar. Like had we been quicker to light the tower, or had I demanded to be on the field with Duncan, things might have been different.”
“Had you been on the field with him, you likely would have died, too,” Elena said matter-of-factly. “And Ferelden would have missed out on a great king.” He smiled at her, looking into her eyes.
“No, they would have missed out on a great queen, and the poor sap she married,” he said. “Maybe talking to Fergus would help you. I’m sure he feels the same way.”
Elena wrinkled her nose. “I love Fergus, but we don’t really talk about emotions. We mainly talk about Mabari, and how old we’ve gotten, but never the attack.”
“Well, maybe you should start talking about it,” Alistair said. Elena put a hand on his cheek and kissed him slowly, savoring the moment alone- moments so rare nowadays. She turned over and Alistair pulled her closer, putting an arm over her. She would never forget what had happened that night, but for the moment at least it didn’t feel so close.
Oghren might be on to something here, Elena thought, taking another swig of his ale. Nobody seemed eager to talk, not even Alistair, who would usually try to lighten the mood with a joke.
They were camped somewhere in the Deep Roads under many feet of rock, with the only light around provided by their fire. It had been Maker-knows-how-many days since any of them had seen the surface and all of them except Oghren were becoming more and more testy as time wore on.
Of course, that was before they encountered that… thing. Now the mood varied from pensive to straight-up irritable.
Elena passed the ale back to Oghren, who downed it with a belch.
“Heh, you’d think this was a funeral,” he said. “You lot need to liven up.”
“Be quiet, you lewd little man,” Morrigan snapped at him.
“This lewd little man could show you a good time.”
“That’s quite enough of that,” Leliana said. “Elena, is everything alright? You seem to be drinking rather a lot.”
“No, everything is not alright,” Elena said. The ceiling of the cave they had camped out in was starting to spin. “They- they took those women, and did that to them! And Branka let them.”
“It’s horrible,” Leliana said quietly. “Poor Hespith. And poor Laryn.”
“I wonder if the other Grey Wardens know about this,” Alistair said, his face dark. “They’d have to.”
Oghren had somehow materialized another flagon of ale from somewhere. Elena didn’t want to know how. She grabbed it and kept drinking, trying to get the image of the broodmother out of her head. When she closed her eyes she could hear the way it screamed- plaintively, as if it (she?) was calling for help. Elena shuddered and took another swig before passing it back to Oghren.
Maker, but the cave was really spinning now. She could feel tears springing unbidden to her eyes and tried to fight them back. The ale was making it harder. She laid back on the cold cave floor.
The next thing she knew, she was waking up in her bedroll with a splitting headache. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. The fire was still going, but everyone was asleep except for Alistair, who was keeping watch at the entrance of the cave. Elena got up and walked over to sit next to him. He looked up at her with a smile, but she noticed the dark shadows under his eyes.
“You should get some rest,” she said softly. “I can take over the watch for you.”
“It’s not a problem,” he said. “I wasn’t going to be able to sleep, anyway.”
“How are you doing?” she asked. “With all of this.”
He sighed. “Well, I’m certainly not doing great,” he said. “You know, I thought being a Grey Warden would be a cakewalk compared to staying in the Chantry.”
“Did you really?”
“No,” he said with a short laugh. “I certainly didn’t expect this, though. Like being alone during a Blight, or finding out where darkspawn come from.”
“You’re not alone,” Elena said, grabbing his hand on an impulse. She laced her fingers through his. “You have me. And the rest of these jokers we bring along with us.”
He smiled at her and squeezed her hand.
“Out of curiosity,” she said, “how exactly did I end up in my bedroll?”
“I had to help you,” Alistair said with a chuckle. “You really can’t hold your ale.”
“Apparently not,” she said with a laugh. “I haven’t had a headache like this since I was a rebellious teenager. Thank you, though.”
“What? You, a rebellious teenager? I can’t imagine,” Alistair mocked her. “You know, I’ve never really been drunk. There weren’t a lot of opportunities in the Chantry.”
“You’re not missing out,” Elena said. She grew quiet again, thinking about Hespith and Laryn. “I can’t believe Branka let them take those poor women.”
“What, you’re surprised that the woman who took her entire house into the Deep Roads to find a legendary anvil would abandon them when it suited her? I’m only surprised they made it this far.”
Elena sighed. “I just don’t see this ending well for Branka,” she said. “Don’t tell Oghren, but I’m not optimistic that we’ll be leaving with a Paragon.”
Alistair shrugged. “If it comes to that, I’m sure the deshyrs would be overjoyed that we fought their Paragon and left without her. They’d let us declare a king right then and there.”
Elena snorted. She leaned against Alistair and felt him tense up.
“Is this okay?” she asked. He nodded, his face coloring again, and slowly loosened up. Elena let herself relax for the first time in days. They sat together like that until the fire was nearly out and others were starting to stir. For once, Elena thought, things might be okay.
“Well, that went well,” Alistair said. “You know, by our usual standards.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Wynne said. “You saved a lot of lives today.” The mage stretched her neck this and that way, rolling her shoulders as if relieved of some secret tension.
Elena smiled (oh Maker was she actually smiling? She couldn’t remember the last time she had smiled) and turned around to face her companions. Alistair was walking right behind her, with Zevran and Wynne bringing up the rear.
“No, we saved a lot of lives today,” she said. “Without your help it probably would have been a massacre.”
“You are too modest,” Zevran said. “You can be very persuasive at times. Well, you talked me into joining you.” Elena smiled and turned back around to take the lead.
They trudged through the forest silently for a time, trying to keep track of the trail that led back to their camp. Elena was very aware that Alistair was right behind her. They hadn’t spoken much since that night in camp, save some pleasantries and battle directions, when usually they chatted about anything and everything. Elena had consoled him when his grief was still fresh, and he knew more about her family than anyone except Fergus. To go from that easy companionship to nothing was… odd. Not to mention unwelcome.
“So… uh… the weather’s been quite nice,” Elena said, dropping back to walk next to Alistair. Was he blushing?
“Yes, very nice! Great weather for… activities.”
“Activities?” Zevran asked from behind them, eyebrow raised. Elena didn’t have to turn around to hear the smirk in his voice.
“You know, like killing darkspawn, brokering peace between elves and werewolves, fun pastimes like that,” Alistair said. He stopped suddenly. Wynne and Zevran nearly ran into him.
“Did you hear that?” he asked. Suddenly Elena was on the ground with a great weight pressed on her. An arrow whistled past and buried itself harmlessly in the tree behind her, narrowly missing the spot where her head had been. She looked to her side and saw Alistair had pushed her down, their faces close enough to touch, his arm on her side pinning her to the ground. His face turned briefly red as he scrambled to get up and draw his sword. Elena did the same, jumping up with alacrity and drawing her daggers.
“Darkspawn incoming!” Zevran yelled, already engaged with a genlock who had emerged from the forest, bearing a leery, teeth-filled grin and a set of nasty-looking daggers. More came out from the forest behind them. Elena and Alistair quickly set to work, him attacking darkspawn from the front and distracting them while she came from behind to finish them off.
They finished the small band of darkspawn off quickly. Zevran and Wynne scouted the forest around them for more while the other two searched the darkspawn corpses for anything that looked useful.
“Nothing over here,” Alistair called. “Elena, have you found anything?”
“A health poultice and a necklace,” she said, trying not to think about how the darkspawn must have acquired the necklace. “I think Morrigan might like it.”
“Maybe once it’s been cleaned,” Alistair said, wiping his hands. He put his gloves back on. “Maker, but these things are disgusting.”
“I think I’ll give it to her covered in darkspawn goo,” Elena said. “I’m sure she’d love that.” She paused her search for a second and looked at Alistair. “Alistair, you saved my life earlier. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Really, it was nothing,” he said, cheeks coloring again. “Honestly, I didn’t even think about it. I just saw the arrow and- you know.”
“You swooped down,” Elena said, teasing him with a smile. Alistair laughed.
“Yes, I swooped,” he said. “I guess swooping isn’t always bad.” They stood there, looking at each other for a moment. Her heart was beating fast. Elena knew she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure what. Until she heard Zevran and Wynne returning.
“All clear,” Zevran said. “Camp should not be far.”
“Good,” Elena said, getting businesslike again. “Let’s get going before the darkspawn return.”
On their return to camp, Elena pulled Alistair aside. She took a deep breath and steadied herself.
“Look, I know the whole situation with Isolde was difficult,” she said. “It’s just hard for me to talk about… things like that. But I want you to know that if you need to talk about it or something else, I’m here for you,” she said.
“Thank you, Elena,” he said, smiling his crooked smile. “I know Isolde wasn’t exactly the best stepmother, but it wasn’t easy to watch her sacrifice herself like that. I feel… guilty, knowing that we might have to explain it to Arl Eamon if he wakes up.”
“When he wakes,” Elena corrected him, smiling back. “Let’s head to Orzammar and then we can try to find this Brother Genitivi and see about the Urn.”
“Here’s hoping the dwarves don’t have some kind of problem that only we can solve,” he said. “Maybe this time we’ll be in and out quickly. ‘Can we have some troops?’ ‘Oh yes Grey Warden, here you go, on your way!’” he said. Elena laughed.
“Wouldn’t that be a nice surprise,” she said. On a whim, she reached out and took Alistair’s hand, briefly squeezing it before letting go. “Whatever their problems might be, it’s nothing we can’t handle.”
