#lia tabris

[noctuaalba]

 Lia Tabris for @princessbatteringram! <3 *adds to the list of fictional characters crushes*

[ravenqueen89]

evening’s shadow

further @ockissweek offerings: this one is for @princessbatteringram featuring her absolute queens Lia Tabris and Firiel Lavellan. In this slight AU, Lia did the Tabris origin but was recruited by the Red Jennies rather than the Wardens and later joins the Inquisition as an agent. Firi remains the Inquisitor. I am in love with them so my feelings ran wild here in the form of making out against a stone wall.

fandom: dragon age

rating: teen and up

cw: very oblique references to the Tabris origin.

word count: 979

There is no hierarchy within the Red Jennies, but Lia Tabris is a legend among their ranks. Sera tells Firi all about her sometime before dawn, slumped over a table at the Herald’s Rest, several empty tankards on the table between them. Firi thinks there is an element of myth at play in the retelling, but then Lia appears at Skyhold, walking in right after sunset with the evening cloaked around her shoulders. The Red Jennies are never identified by name, but Firi can see why Lia retains hers the moment their eyes first meet. She is not someone who can remain in the shadows of anonymity.

They talk in cautious bursts the first few times Lia visits Skyhold to bring reports directly to Leliana but Firi finds herself seeking Lia’s company whenever they both coincide within the fortress. She doesn’t bother trying to mask her vivid interest in spending time with Lia because something keeps pulling her towards the other woman, like a tether, like a plea.

Lia offers few words but never refuses her company and Firi wonders whether they both recognise the steel in each other, whether they are both attracted by the promise of that glint. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t question it. She continues to ask for scraps of information about Lia’s whereabouts. Her heart races every time she anticipates Lia’s next arrival. It is foolish. It is a distraction. It is what gets her through expedition after expedition and frustration after frustration. It is what makes the politics of humans bearable.

One evening, Firi is attacking the practice dummies, her movements frenzied and chaotic and defying every step of her training. She is so tired of Corypheus, so tired of her duties, so tired of the barely-whispered insults aimed at her back every time she crosses the Great Hall. The world needs her but it will never respect her, not truly, and that knowledge is bitter on her tongue.

It takes her far too long to notice Lia watching her, but she’s too exhausted to care about the absence of her instincts. She stands her ground, waiting for Lia to walk towards her in the shadows of torchlight. When Lia is close enough, Firi sees something written on her face, something dangerous, something unleashed. She realises that there is a shared understanding between them only a second before Lia’s hands are on her hips, only two seconds before her breath rushes out from her chest as her back meets the wall behind her, the cold air between them misting in the absence of space. Lia’s right hand grabs Firi’s left wrist and the mark on her hand flashes, reflecting in the sharp green of Lia’s eyes. Lia watches her like she’s waiting, but Firi has nothing to say that Lia hasn’t already read on her. Firi is angry and tired and she wants, she wants, she wants. Her right hand cups Lia’s face, thumb tracing her cheekbone. A faded scar crosses Lia’s cheek, barely there, and Firi’s fingers linger over it like they’re trying to erase it.

‘The first man I killed left that for me. He wasn’t the last,’ Lia says, and Firi knows the name of that man but she condemns him to be further forgotten.

They look at each other and Firi’s skin is clammy with anticipation, her weapons on the ground.  Lia’s leg finds its way between her thighs and Firi pulls the hood of the cloak off her to bury her hand in her hair. She maps Lia’s piercings with her lips, from Lia’s eyebrows to her ears, to her nose, to just under her bottom lip, and then she breathes, and she waits. Lia smells like smoke and metal and snow, and there’s so much strength in her hands, so much strength in her eyes. Firi’s hair has escaped its braid and it’s falling in front of her face but it doesn’t matter because Lia presses herself against her, pushing her up, the stone wall and Lia’s thigh and Lia’s hands the only things supporting her. Firi tries to take a breath but the attempt is lost to Lia’s mouth, like the sound that tears itself from Firi’s throat at the contact. They both kiss each other like they’re running out of time, like the world is chasing them, but for now they’re hidden in the shadows and Firi feels herself shivering, feels herself burning. The hand Lia had on her hip slips under Firi’s shirt to trace skin and the other slips over Firi’s palm, allowing their fingers to entwine. Firi’s hand is still tangled in Lia’s hair and she kisses with no finesse because there’s no coherence left, there’s just hunger, there’s just this.

She has her mouth on Lia’s neck while Lia’s leaving the mark of her lips over Firi’s collarbone when one of the guards patrolling the battlements coughs loudly above them. They part immediately even though Firi knows they can’t be seen. The courtyard is too exposed a place for the Inquisitor’s moans, but Firi already mourns the loss of Lia’s mouth, already feels the absence all over her skin.

They’re both breathing heavily but Firi focuses instead on running her hands over her shirt to smooth it. Her movement is interrupted when Lia lifts a hand to Firi’s face again, fingers tracing the vallaslin like she’s trying to discover the story behind it. Firi’s lips ache with the need to kiss, but Lia moves away before Firi can hold on to her again.

‘My report. I’ll come find you when I’m done,’ Lia says, already pulling the hood back over her hair, already leaving.

Firi’s heart is beating so quickly it almost hurts, but she composes herself, picking up her weapons. She says ‘you know where I’ll be’ and then she finds herself alone again with only the memory of touch.

[bohemiantea-scorpiocoffee]

@sundogsandrainbows tagged me for a Six Sentences Whenever thing - my WIP well is kinda dry, though. I mean, the Skyrim oc stuff I’m just cranking out straight onto a blank post, and my longfic WIP I’ve shared before. (Any new follows interested can check out my “vigilance fic” tag or follow links from my fic and oc pages.)

So instead I’m just going to share a section of the last published chapter of my longfic that I’m really proud of. It’s a lot more than six sentences, woops.

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Tabris was sprawled out on the cot in her cell when Zevran and Velanna entered. She peeled her attention from the ceiling to regard them both, slowly tipping forward away from the wall as well until her elbows rested on her knees. One side of her mouth stretched into an unpleasant, triumphant smirk.

“Guess you missed me, huh. Need a kiss goodnight?” She puckered her mouth and made obscene sucking noises at the air. Zevran admired her willingness to be a cocky shit in the face of her declared enemies. It felt familiar. He smiled.

“Don’t be disgusting,” Velanna said, irritated. “We would like some conversation instead. Or at least, he does – I’m here to make certain you don’t cause trouble for him.” She swung her hand toward Zevran and flapped it once vaguely.

“I don’t plan on it unless he wants me to,” Tabris said with an insouciant grin. She cocked her head to one side consideringly, tonguing at her lower lip.

“Oh, but you do plan on it,” he said, smiling as he sauntered toward her cell. “You have been planning for a while now.” He heard Velanna sigh in exasperation and the shift of her posture, watching Lia Tabris closely. The giggling Velanna had mentioned and her current “friendly” demeanor was definitely a marked change, and not for the better where Lyna was concerned while Tabris’s mystery was unresolved.

“We only just met,” Tabris said in coy denial. “And I’m not big on planning.”

“How interesting, neither am I.” Zevran came to a stop at her cell and leaned on the bars. “The thing that got us both captured, hmm?”

The coyness fled Tabris’s face, replaced with annoyance and anger. “Suddenly I feel really bored.”

“That’s a shame, because we thought talking to you might be enlightening. What was so funny earlier?” Velanna demanded.

Tabris snorted and shook her head.

“You know, what’s making it even funnier now is you were there for it, and you still don’t get it.” She snickered. “The look on your face.” She glanced at Zevran. The unpleasant grin was back. “But you woulda got it. Right off.”

“This is childish. It does you no good to withhold information,” Velanna said. Zevran was certain she wasn’t merely nettled, but uneasy as well; it sounded as if she were shifting from foot to foot. He watched as the younger woman shrugged them off and laid herself out on the cot.

“Yeah, probably not, but seeing you two upset makes me happier than I’ve been in a while, so I’m not about to ask for forgiveness for grabbing a minute’s joy.” Tabris pulled one knee to her chest to yank off one boot. Zevran could see a threadbare patch on the bottom of her sock.

“And yet, I think it would give you greater pleasure to tell me, wouldn’t it?” he asked quietly.

“Since I dunno how or when it’s happening…,” Tabris said with a grunt as she did the same with the other boot, “…I think you’re right.” The other sock looked worse and now Tabris just seemed pathetic as she lay on the cot, staring at the ceiling, wiggling her toes. “Because you wouldn’t know how to stop it, would you?”

“That would highly depend. I am not without resources of my own.”

“Yeah, we all think that until they get taken away,” Tabris said with a sigh.

Velanna inhaled sharply. “This is that stupid shemlen matter. Why should Mahariel care about losing a title? Grey Wardens don’t need them.”

But one wishing to marry a king does. Zevran shivered.

“That, I believe, might be better answered by the First Warden,” Zevran said neutrally, pushing away from Tabris’s cell and turning to face Velanna. Lyna told him bestowing the title of Arlessa on her had been agreed upon between the First Warden and Alistair, the former having employed some flattery and suggestion to get it. She’d also told him she’d never much cared for the title, although she’d accepted the responsibility itself with good will. But that was before she had reconciled with Alistair.

“Then don’t look at me, I’ve never had contact with him. Her? Him?” Velanna said, holding out her empty hands.

“Him, I believe,” Zevran said. “How did you find out? Who said this to you?” He ignored Tabris giggling to herself again.

“It was one of the guards we followed into the city,” Velanna said, irritation turning to thoughtfulness as she realized Zevran was taking this seriously. “He and his fellows helped us unload a wagon, and while Barlen was taking care of the prisoner, he said we…” Velanna chewed on her lower lip. “We shouldn’t get used to it. Because the Warden-Commander wouldn’t be Arlessa for much longer.”

“Could you two go away now? I was having a great time thinking about her disgrace,” Tabris complained.

“There are better things to dream of,” Zevran said abruptly. “Such as being reunited with your family. I suggest we meet with Shianni tomorrow.”

“And I suggest you fuck off,” Tabris said sullenly. Velanna rolled her eyes, leaving the room along with Zevran.

“So… the First Warden,” she said softly once they were in the hall outside. “Should we be worried?”

Zevran shrugged. “I do not know. Possibly. It is said he is ambitious. However, unless Lyna directly threatens his plans, I doubt this is his work.” Was it? Alistair would not take the title from her without significant pressure. It has to be someone powerful enough to make the threat real. But he kept his demeanor casual and unconcerned. It was useless to fret until one had more information, and most of the time not even then. Never give anyone that kind of power over you, whispered his training. He smiled, his gut in turmoil.

“Well if it’s not him, I refuse to worry,” Velanna, pressing her lips together tightly. “Grey Warden autonomy and authority can’t be threatened.”

Zevran recalled the possessed corpse of Sofia Dryden and the ghosts of a slaughtered rebellion.

“You are right,” he said. “I would not worry. I will go tell Lyna, however, and enjoy a hot meal at the palace.”

“I hope someone gives you weevilled bread,” Velanna muttered, and headed back down to the larder of horrors.

[buttsonthebeach]

Ritual

Man, did I love writing this sweet and funny short scene for @princessbatteringram! Thank you so much for commissioning me - Lia and Zevran are a treat to write <3

My Ko-Fi || My Commissions (Slots currently open as of 6/21/19)

Pairing: Lia Tabris x Zevran Arainai

Rating: General

****************************************

Zevran Arainai fought like no one Lia Tabris had ever known in the alienage. He was like a shadow come to life, quick and silent as clouds passing over the sun, always alert to the next weak spot, the next advantage. Even more than that - there was an elegance to the way he moved, pivoting from one stance to the next, rooting himself and striking, and then pivoting away again. His was not a style born purely out of a need for survival. It was an art.

Lia, for all her years of training, all of her mother’s lessons, and everything she had learned since her Joining (since Soris, Vaughn, Nelaros, Shianni), felt awkward beside him at first. Panicked, even, because she had been the soft-hearted fool who had agreed to let him join their party, whatever the others said. And Zevran was not only a consummate assassin but a perceptive one at that (or perhaps both of those skills went hand in hand) so of course he had noticed that his first night at camp, and had offered her physical exertion to get her mind off of things.

“Sure,” she’d said. “After that, how about we spar?”

Zevran had barked out a surprise laugh at her returned innuendo, and risen from his spot by the fire and moved towards her, and that was where their sparring tradition had begun. It had started as way for Lia to reassure herself that she wasn’t a fool, that she was keeping this dangerous assassin for her own purposes and that she was going to stay one step ahead of him and learn how he fought so she could neutralize him if she had to.

Of course, that was not where the sparring tradition had led. It had led to them laughing, exchanging tricks, playfully trying to one-up each other. In the midst of the carnage and chaos of the Blight it was a reprieve, even if they both knew that the skills they were honing today would be the only thing keeping them alive tomorrow.

It had led to this moment, this cool evening, the two of them the only ones on watch, their daggers put aside as they sparred hand to hand. Lia catching the first punch Zevran threw with a forearm block and then quickly twisting her wrist, grabbing his forearm, pulling him off balance, stepping behind him, going to jab at his kidneys with another hand. But he had learned this trick of course and so he let her pull him, followed the momentum, spun out of the way of the second punch, pivoted on his foot and kicked, making light contact with her ribs.

“Damn. It’s cheating to have such long legs you know,” she said, swiping playfully in his direction as he danced out of her reach.

“That’s not what I heard growing up,” he said, bouncing from foot to foot, keep his movements light and easy. She knew from the placement of his feet and from his patterns that next he would use his back leg, a more powerful kick, though of course he would not hurt her, but it would keep his torso out of her reach. But if she could catch him, throw that balance off…

“You grew up in a brothel,” she said, watching, waiting for the dancing to stop, for the moment he would plant one foot and kick with the other. “Was anything considered cheating?”

“No,” Zevran grinned, and that was the moment the weight shifted and he committed to the attack, the moment she darted forward, caught his kicking leg by the knee, and pulled, once again upsetting his balance.

She earned herself a heartfelt whispered brasca for that trick, and she held him there. The difference in their height was to her advantage now. Held as he was by one leg, he could not kick with the other, and since she was shorter, he was struggling to make contact with her. The more cramped space she had defined for their sparring was now to her advantage, not his.

That’s what you’ll always do, her mother told her. You’ll take whatever they throw at you and you’ll turn it to their advantage. I know you will.

Instead of trying to hit him again, Lia decided on a completely different tactic. She tickled the back of his knee where she held it.

Zevran yelped, started hopping, but her grip was like iron, and he couldn’t get away.

“A low trick,” he said.

“See, the thing is, there’s no such thing as cheating in the alienage either,” Lia said, smiling.

“Very well,” Zevran smiled, and then he gave one last bounce and Lia felt the tense of his muscles and he was jumping, bringing up the leg she did not have a grasp on, kicking with that one towards her head. Lia ducked, let go of the leg she’d grappled with, put her guard up. Zevran spun, landed, stood there smiling and cocky and panting, the laces that held his linen shirt falling open and showing the rapid movement of his smooth bare chest beneath.

“Impressive,” she said, her eyes flicking back up to meet his.

“I am,” Zevran agreed. “But between you and me, my dear Warden, I wasn’t sure if that would work. It’s been a long time since I tried such a trick.”

Lia felt her pulse speed up at the endearment. It had sounded false to her when he first joined their party - an overt attempt to win her trust and favor - but she knew now that it wasn’t. The warmth that accompanied the words was real.

But - how real?

“Let’s go again,” she said, wanting him closer.

Zevran closed the distance once again, stood looking down at her. “As my Warden commands.”

Her heart sped again.

What a foolish thing to be doing - circling each other near the fire, ignoring the fact that daylight was entirely gone, that they were exhausted, that they had miles to cover the next day and the day after that, and darkspawn to fight, and treaties to uphold. She should be resting, planning. But Lia did not want to be anywhere else, she realized. This nightly ritual did not exhaust her. She drew strength and courage and renewal from it.

It’s just that it helps me hone my skills, she told herself as they went for another round, Lia leading off this time, getting inside his guard as quickly as she could to erase the advantage of his longer limbs, trying to hit the side of his head with an open palm so that he would raise his arms to block, so she could go low, for the softness of his stomach. Except, of course, it was not soft when she made her light contact there, but warm and firm as he tensed his muscles against the impact. She felt the soft puff of his breath as he did it. They were so very close to one another like this. She went lower still, sweeping for his legs, and he was not quite fast enough, and she toppled him, but he caught himself easily.

“Again! I won’t be fooled next time,” he said, still laughing.

They went on, attack, block, counterattack, longer this time, with less outward silliness, still smiling and laughing nonetheless, and slowly but surely Lia had to admit it to herself.

It’s just that he makes me smile, and I need that.

Zevran went on the aggressive as their sparring continued, quick and perceptive and ever seeking somewhere she could not block, hazel eyes watching her all the while, lips parted with his exertions now.

And this is the only time we get just the two of us.

“Careful, dear Warden.” The attacks stopped and Zevran had his hands on her waist, and she was abruptly aware that her retreating heel had caught on a branch, that she had been inches from falling.

And that was when the thought hit her, clear as the clarion call of a trumpet.

Months before, on her wedding day, she had looked at the stranger named Nelaros and seen his sweetness and thought I could love you. That feeling had been washed away in blood (like dogs, Shianni) and only blood had followed. The price she had to pay for all the adventures she’d wanted so badly as a child.

But now she stood there and she looked at Zevran - the gentle curves of his tattoos framing his cheekbones, the warmth of his golden-brown skin and his hazel eyes, the way his hands held her, like she was precious - and the thought came back to her, louder and clearer than ever before.

I could love you.

“Are you quite well?” Zevran asked, eyebrows knitting together now, seriousness chasing away the playful gleam in his eyes.

Lia straightened, stepped away from the branch that had nearly tripped her, and that only brought her closer to him, which only confused the issue further. She had responsibilities now, a Blight to quell, and who knew what lay at the end of that road, and Zevran was a wanted man, and this was not the time for this thought to be flashing through her mind over and over again, but here they were, and he was not stepping back, he was just letting her get closer, closer, and his hands were still on her waist.

“Of course,” she said, stepping back, over the branch this time.

“Are you certain?” Zevran said, still frowning, following her.

Lia let herself react to her first impulse, which was to sweep his legs again. He was still high in his stance and still focused on her and so it worked. He stumbled and was ready to fall and this time she caught him, steadied him, drew him close to her, and he was laughing, but it was a quieter, more intimate sort of laugh, and Lia knew there was nothing she could do now, no way to run from this. No joke she could tell to play the moment off.

“There’s something here, isn’t there?” She breathed the words out more than she spoke them. Like they were too fragile to truly voice. And maybe they were. She thought, again, of Vaughn, of Nelaros, of Shianni, of all the horror she had witnessed since. Ostagar and beyond. Of the hundred worries that kept her up every night.

Zevran raised one hand from her waist to touch her cheek, his knuckles brushing so lightly against her that it made her skin prickle all over, and he was looking at her the way elders looked to the vhenadahl, the way Chantry sisters looked to their carved images of Andraste. Like she was holy.

Lia fisted her hand in the fabric of his loose shirt, stood on her tiptoes, pulled him close, and kissed him.

Zevran Arainai did not hesitate for a single instant before kissing her back.

His arms went around her and he held her and he slanted his mouth against hers and he kissed her like this was the last time he would ever kiss anyone. Lia fell into it, kissed him back with the same fervor, let her hands roam over the body she had come to know through their sparring, feeling out with tenderness the places she had only felt through playful jabs before. His lean muscle, and all the soft places too, like the hollow of this throat, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

They parted, panting, but neither of them let the other go far. Zevran’s hands were on her face and hers were on his waist and they stood there, looking at each other, and for that moment the rest of the world fell away.

“That was a yes, by the way,” Zevran said finally.

Lia laughed, tried to push him, but he held caught her wrists and pulled her closer and kissed her again, bending down to her, cradling her head, molding her to him, and he was warm and right and perfect and maybe she hadn’t been an idiot after all, asking him to stay.

“So will it be cheating if I start doing that to distract you while we spar?” Lia asked.

“I don’t know. Shall we find out?”

Their ritual went on, changed now, interrupted by those sweet moments, like pinpricks of starlight in the midst of the darkness of night.

[thebloodychampion]

"Hello warden."

Lia looked up at Alistair and well just shrugged. “Well hello Alistair, what brings you here?”

[vargonautic]

“When I am down, I lay my hands upon this ground, For the thousandth time, I call him in, his earth is mine. Before I make the offering, Remember all the faces that I've seen, Now all the marks have settled on my skin, From all the different places that I've been, That I've been. And I feel the light for the very first time, Not anybody knows that I am lucky to be alive, And I feel the light for the very first time, Not anybody knows that I am lucky to be alive. War inside my mind, behind my eyes, is coming down, For the thousandth time, I feel too numb, to even mind. Before I make the offering, Remember all the faces that I've seen, Now all the marks have settled on my skin, From all the different places that I've been.”

Lia Tabris ~ Tarot card ~ The Star

[bohemiantea-scorpiocoffee]

Vigilance, Chapter 64 - “Promise”

Three POVs this chapter: Lia Tabris, Lyna, and Zevran. Promises implied, promises made, promises broken. Ashalle and the Dalish Promise. Political wrangling and inchoate, shadowy threats. All in one late afternoon to early evening. Dinner parties are a bitch and so is food insecurity in Denerim.

Music: Dermot Kennedy, “Glory”

'Til a set of eyes had pinned him Became his version of a kingdom Now I know they'll never hunt me When she's singing to me, "Glory" (And a hopeful rhythm woke within him)

[thebloodychampion]

@hartoforlais

Lia wasn’t so sure how that happend and how she got in this situation to begin with. But now she found herself in a forest, a dark and gloomy forest, but she didn’t find it scary. More like the amount of people gathering here. She was coming here to talk to the blood mage. There was something that didn’t make her fear this place, maybe because she had been going through Deep Roads and stuff. Darkspawn were much scarier than that thing.

She looked around for a second, seeing as everyone was hooded, she asumed they would just want to be unknown anyway.