Written for @caffeinatedrogue for OC Kiss Week, Day #2! Our crazy lovebirds, Elias and Leda <3
Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins
Pairing: f!Surana/m!Amell
Rating: General
Summary: A Chantry garden might be beautiful, but there was one thing more beautiful to Elias Amell: his wife to be, Leda Surana.
Words: 754
Additional Tags: OC Kiss Week 2026, Day 2- Wedding, Warden Surana, Non-Warden Amell, Post-Canon
Read on AO3
The Chantry of Denerim’s garden was in full bloom, every shade a person could imagine painting the ground around him: blues, yellows, purples, pinks, white… a rainbow interspersed with green foliage. The scent of each flower Elias Amell passed by tickled his nose. He wished he could identify which flowers they came from, hoping to hold onto the smell for a little longer, if only for the calm it brought him.
Pebbles crunched beneath his boots as he walked the winding trail, careful to avoid treading on any stray stem or petal, not wishing harm to anything in his path. Once he was certain that the foliage was safe, his gaze focused on the beautiful sight in front of him. A petite auburn haired woman stood in the center of the garden, face tilted towards the statue of Andraste as it towered over her, the familiar white flowers of Andraste’s Grace surrounding the base, still clinging to the early morning dew.
Leda Surana, the Grey Warden Commander of Ferelden. Former apprentice of the Circle of Magi, the Hero of Ferelden, but only one title mattered to him.
That would be ‘the love of his life’.
She didn’t speak when he stepped up beside her, amber eyes curiously studying the prophet in all of her glory, crowned in sunlight and surrounded by blooms.
Leda tucked a strand of hair behind a pointed ear, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, a playful tilt to her full lips. “Isn’t it bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?”
A responding smile came immediately to his face. Because bad luck or no, it was worth it to see Leda standing in the Thedosian sun, flowers strewn through her hair, each braid as intricate as the last, waves of copper reaching her waist. Elias had to stop himself from reaching out and running his fingers through them, knowing he’d ruin her hair before they even made it to the chapel.
“Bad luck for whom? Me?” Slipping his hands around her waist, his fingers twisted into the ivory fabric bunched at her hips, and he counted each bead and ribbon by touch alone. “I’ll take whatever bad luck the Maker decides I deserve if it means I spend the rest of my life with you.”
Leda laughed breathlessly, turning in his arms so she faced him fully, eyes shining in the afternoon sun, like flawless amber in the palms of his hands. “You don’t have woo me anymore, Eli.”
Elias brushed a hand upwards, over her bodice where more of the beading and ribbons were stitched in, across her collarbone where a dainty pendant sat between her breasts, before he gently gripped the point of her chin, his thumb brushing softly against the skin there.
“I’ll never stop trying to woo you. Not when you deserve more.”
Leda let out a happy sigh as Elias leaned forward, lips pressing to her forehead in a kiss, soft and sweet. In a few short hours, she’d be his wife, though the Chantry ceremony meant little when they’d already been to hell and back for each other. Nothing formed a bond as deep and as binding as fighting beside one another, keeping each other safe and whole, keeping hope alive even amidst the horrors of the darkspawn army.
There were days when he missed traveling across Ferelden, trudging through mud and rain, sitting around a campfire with friends, sleeping under the stars with Leda in his arms. They were safer now, the blight quelled and the darkspawn ran back underground, and there were less meetings with the nobility, less training sessions with warden recruits, less responsibilities to attend to on a daily basis.
But no matter what came in the future: more blights, more kings, more battles… he would do it at Leda’s side.
She wrapped her fingers around his hand, waiting for him to pull back from the kiss so their eyes could meet again. A smile spread across her face, a smirk that spelled trouble for him just as much as it spoke volumes of her affection for him.
“I have more, Eli. I have you.”
Leda shifted forward, pressing her face into his shirt as she hugged him, her body fitting perfectly against his as they stood among the gardens, among the sun shining and the birds singing, the promise of forever closer with every minute passed. Elias counted this moment among the best days. Because everything was better with Leda.
Summary: While Warden Frederick Amell is off on a quest to find a cure for the Calling, Morrigan and their son spend time at Skyhold. The three exchange letters and Morrigan pretends not to love Frederick as much as she does; wouldn't want him to gain an inflated sense of self-importance, after all. He knows how to read between the lines.
Words: 1789
Read it all on AO3 or continue below!
Hello Little Man,
So you are in a castle in the sky, are you? Take care that you don’t sprout wings and fly away; I need to be able to find you again when I can come home. Did you know that there were legends of such a place referred to in dusty old tomes that I read when I was a boy like you? I had always thought that they were no more than that. I must say that I am very glad that you were nowhere near the Temple of Sacred Ashes when all this business began - it was impressive long ago, when your mother and I traveled there, but even then would have caused you nightmares due to the lyrium woven through it. Hearing that that lyrium was corrupted made me worried for you when I realized that you might have come near it. I hope any temporary proximity to it had no ill effect, though I’m sure if it had your mother would have taken wonderful care of you.
Today we traveled through lands scarred by the Fourth Blight. I am glad that the Fifth was stopped quickly; this is a dark and barren land. Here and there structures from when the Grey Wardens were plentiful jut out of the landscape, always near water, and I think of you and your mother; my own oasis. I am sad to be without you, but glad that you are not in danger here. I have included with this letter a small carving that fell off an outpost that I thought you might find interesting.
Be careful, my dear son. You are valuable to many for their own use and ambition and so I worry for you in such a place. I love you always. Take care of your mother and pay attention to your lessons. You will have to tell me about all you’ve learned when I see you next.
Love,
Father
---
My dearest and most beguiling witch,
It’s always good to see my name in your wispy hand on an envelope. Even the little bit of paper your letter is written on feels like home since I know it was once in your possession. I know you think I’m ridiculous, and I’m aware that I am, but do not pretend that you do not enjoy it.
I’m glad to hear that you’ve gotten out of Orlais. You know how much I despised the little time we spent there among such insincere schemers and disliked leaving you to their tender mercies, though as always I trust in your judgment. Nevertheless, it relieves a worry knowing that you and Kieran are away from the court. Is this Inquisition much safer, though? If nothing else it is a predominantly religious organization and for all your virtues Andrastianism is not one of them. Can you really trust this “Inquisitor?” If you believe this to be the best course of action then of course you have my support; no one knows better than I the extent to which you would keep Kieran from harm. You cannot control every unknown for all your foresight, though. Take care, darling.
For my own part I am in equal measures freezing and boiling, with the predominant complaint dependent on the time of day, and my feet are so tired and sore that no amount of magic will mend the exhaustion filling all of me. I had hoped not to put this blue and silverite back on but it seems that was not to be my destiny. I hear of whispers among the other Wardens though, friends leaving cryptic goodbyes for each other and becoming unreachable. Things one might expect of one going to their death, but in such numbers that something seems off. I can reassure you that I have felt nothing that could cause concern. There was one day as we traveled out of Orlais that I noticed my fingers tapping a rhythm of their own accord but it has not happened again. I would know, I’ve been on my guard ever since. I won’t let this kill me. Not now. I was forced to part from you yet again and I am determined that we will be reunited. None of my current companions allow me to warm my feet against them in the middle of the night and I have decided that I cannot meet my end without doing that once more.
I know you will think me a fool for waxing poetic about romantic feelings and self evident truths but you are welcome to do so; it is foolish. My arms feel empty without you in them and it is like I am missing a limb when I look to my side and Kieran is not there standing next to me. I think often of quiet moments we’ve spent together, the three of us, in recent years. I carry your sideways smile with me, along with the softness in your catlike eyes when you tell me that I am a foolish man. The pride you attempt to hide when Kieran and I are deep in theory-crafting magic and he shows that he is wise beyond his years and yet so sincere and innocent. The silkiness of your hair after you’ve washed it, the scent of herbs that follows you. I’m inclined to weep just writing of it with the knowledge that it will be some time before I can return to you. Laugh at me if you will, I will not care if I can but hear you tease me once more.
My travel companions look to me like I’m the Maker returned; some have even taken to calling me “Warden-Commander” again even though I am nothing of the sort. Without you to ground me I fear that I may return with an inflated sense of self-importance and then what will become of me? I shall be truly insufferable. Clearly I must be rescued from myself.
Keep me informed of any new developments, or even mundane lists of the subjects of Kieran’s current study. I spend many hours alone with my thoughts; I might not feel so alone if I can picture the two of you leading an average life, or at least what is average for us.
My affection for you is endless, but I will ensure that this letter is not so that it can be sent by the quickest post. Farewell, my raven-feathered woodland corvid,
Yours,
Frederick
---
My Warden,
I would tell you that you are ridiculous, but not only are you aware of that fact I should not wish to give you the satisfaction. Judge yourself as you will. I cannot say that I miss your cold feet against my skin chilling me in the night, just as I cannot say that I miss your laugh boisterously and annoyingly filling our home or the exhaustion following talks that drag on nearly till sunrise.
Kieran speaks of you often. Boasts, more appropriately. Having been granted the freedom to speak freely on the topic he announces to anyone who might listen what, “My father, the Hero of Ferelden,” would opine on a given topic. The most irritating part is how often he’s correct; the boy does know you well. There is a mortalitasi staying at the castle; he has become determined to ask him questions on your behalf so that you might discuss it later when we are reunited.
Have no fear with regard to the Inquisitor, my love. Though he is cleverer than he initially appears, he is easily managed. I do believe he may even have a healthy fear of me which I have made no effort to diminish. He seems principled and I have no dislike of him, though I have not been able to adequately estimate what your feelings on the man might be. There is no affection for study within him but he is far from indolent, constantly seeking activity. He has become fond of Kieran, genuinely I believe, and so though I remain on my guard I can identify no threat from him.
It has been an odd thing to find myself reunited with erstwhile companions in Leliana and Alistair. Both are quite changed, and both want little enough to do with me. Alistair is less sulky, at least. I have caught Leliana staring intently at our son, likely puzzling how someone such as myself could raise a boy with his courteousness and curiosity and ascribing it to you. Of course she would be wrong, but you are aware of my efforts with regard to his upbringing. And perhaps your influence may be the slightest bit visible, in some small way. I have added a sheet listing his current curriculum as you asked. He will surely be delighted to hear your insights, and perhaps it will aid his investment in the topics.
I have included a pair of socks with this missive. I did not make them so do not get any overinflated notions of your own importance into your head. I simply do not wish for you to be uncomfortable.
Yours,
Morrigan
---
Dear Father,
I am fine, do not worry. I had some headaches before but it’s okay now. Skyhold is old and pretty and I like it. The Inquisitor is funny and nice, he lets me ride his horse sometimes.
When will you come back? Mother says you have to go far away before we can meet you again, but I miss you. I have lessons every day but they aren’t fun anymore. Mother says I have to go, though.
Did you know, Father, that there is a mage from Nevarra here? I have asked him how he learned how to become a mortalitasi. Do you know what he said? He didn’t have a person to teach him, just that he drew the soul of another necromancer to him. Do you think my soul could float around like that? Maybe if it could it could float right back to you. Would you hear me if I was a spirit?
Mother was especially grumpy this week. She said she was learning to knit socks, but they got all tangled until she threw everything away, even the needles! It was funny to watch the ball of yarn roll away down the mountain. She tried to hide that she had bought some from me later. Why would Mother need secret socks? I don’t know why she would hide it. Maybe they’re a present? But who would want socks as a present? I would like a book as a present, Father. Or for you to come home.
Mother tells me stories before I go to sleep but she forgets parts. Come home soon, please.
Series: Part 5 of the a tale of too many wardens because i want everyone to be happy and heres how
Fandoms: Dragon Age: Origins
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: None
Characters: Fergus Cousland, Levin Surana, Male Surana, Ser Gilmore, Ser Jory (Dragon Age), Daveth (Dragon Age), Morrigan (Dragon Age), Tristan Amell, Male Amell (Dragon Age)
Additional Tags: The warden recruits all meet morrigan, fergus tries to not yell at them, Prince Alistair AU
“Well, well, what have we here? Are you a wake of vultures, I wonder? Scavengers poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely intruders, come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey? What say you, hmm? Scavenger or intruder?” A woman’s voice called out to the group of recruits, startling more than a few of them.
“I would first know who you are and where you come from,” Fergus called back, already having assumed the leadership role amongst the group. The woman looked Chasind, her clothes patched together in a somewhat unusual style. However the way she spoke in combination with the large staff on her back indicated something else entirely.
“Intruder? And just how are these your Wilds?” Surana asked, more to himself, but still echoing what Fergus said. The woman just began to chuckle before answering.
“Because I know them as only one who owns them could. Can you claim the same?” She asked, clearly not expecting an answer as she continued speaking and walked through the group confidently, going to stand on a large rock. “I have watched your progress for some time. Where do they go, I wondered, why are they here? And now you disturb ashes none have touched for so long. Why is that?” she mused.
“Don’t answer her, my lord. She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby,” Ser Jory cut in, as if Fergus hadn’t already assumed as much. The woman just raised an eyebrow and looked at him incredulously.
“You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?” she joked, raising her arms over her head for emphasis. Ser Jory at least had the decency to look ashamed, and turned his head away.
“She’s a Witch of the Wilds, she is! She’ll turn us into toads!” Daveth suddenly cut in, interrupting whatever response Fergus might have had. Out of the corner of his eye, Fergus could see Amell and Surana look at each other, clearly trying to hide their amusement. Fergus wasn’t entirely sure about the Witch of the Wilds statement, being unfamiliar himself with the stories of this region of Ferelden. But it was clear that she was definitely a hedge mage, and not to be trifled with.
“Witch of the Wilds? Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own?” She drawled, clearly losing any amusement and almost starting to sound bored with the claims Daveth and Ser Jory had made. Fergus had to rein in his frustration and hope that this conversation was still salvageable and not just going to end up in some kind of fight. The group had run into quite a lot of darkspawn on their way here, and while that meant they definitely had the darkspawn blood that Duncan requested, they still needed those treaties.
“You there, handsome lad. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine. Let us be civilized,” The woman called, looking past Fergus, and towards Surana. Fergus had no idea at what point the woman had decided that Surana had caught her attention, but Fergus prayed to the Maker that the socially inept mage didn’t screw this up for them. Even Amell had started to look nervous at her claim for the two of them to be “civilized”.
“I am Levin, pleasure to meet you,” he said, even bowing his head a little. Fergus could feel his shoulders start to lose their tension, this was a good start. As mother always said, niceties could get you anywhere.
“Now that is a proper civil greeting, even here in the Wilds. You may call me Morrigan,” She said, with specific emphasis on the “you”, leading Fergus to think that the rest of them were still on thin ice with her. “Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest, something that is here no longer?” Morrigan continued, crossing her arms as she looked down at all of them.
“Here no longer? You stole them, didn’t you? You’re some kind of...sneaky..witch-thief!” Daveth exclaimed, interrupting them. Fergus wanted to tear his hair out at the other recruit’s idiotic words, but just clenched his fists and kept his mouth shut. Morrigan had tolerated his antics for this long, Fergus could only hope she’d tolerate them for a bit longer.
“How very eloquent. How does one steal from dead men?” She asked dryly. Fergus had to step in.
“Those documents are Grey Warden property, and in order to face the darkspawn, we need them to call our allies. If you happen to have them, you would be doing us, and Ferelden, a great service,” he soothed, hoping that with an explanation, she might be swayed.
“I will not, for ‘twas not I who removed them. Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish; I am not threatened,” She stated, leveling a heavy stare at Fergus.
“Then who removed them?” He asked, bewildered.
“‘Twas my mother, in fact,” She replied.
“Could you take us to her?” Fergus asked, hoping that none of the other recruits would screw this up.
“There is a sensible request. But I shall only bring a few of you, I have no desire to be in the presence of too many idiots,” Morrigan hummed, leaving them a bit stunned. Before Daveth could say anything too stupid, Fergus hauled Surana and himself forward, hoping that whoever the other two who decided to follow would have the good sense to keep their mouths shut.
“The rest of you, head back to camp, stick together and if Duncan asks, tell him we’ll be back soon,” Fergus ordered, moving to follow Morrigan, who had already turned and started to walk away from the group. Surana almost tripped over himself after Fergus let go of his arm, and quickly tried to right himself so as not to look like a fool. Fergus could see Ser Gilmore and Amell move to follow them and sent up thanks to the Maker that at least these two were men he could trust.
"You're so, so, so pretty." With Alistair and Amell?
Mild NSFW.
He moves with grace. Languidmotions, muscles that swim in movement, roll with primal instinct. His bodyknows the dance, even though his thoughts are tangles, don’t completely knowthe steps. The hand on his chest trembles, the other palm pressed beside hishead. Eyes close, only to open, the shudder on his bottom lip. Alistair reachesup, puts a hand against his cheek, slipping to the nape of his neck, and pullshim close. He bends easily, from palms to elbows, forehead against forehead.Alistair slowly rocks his hips upwards, and Amell meets every thrust.
Amell bites his bottom lip, lashesfluttering, finally to open. Dark liquid pools, himself almost reflected inthem. There’s a flush on his cheeks and in his chest. Alistair tilts his faceup gently, testing the waters for a kiss. Lip brushes against lip, only topart, only for him to crush his mouth against his. This is a thing withoutgrace. Heated and needed, chapped lips and meeting tongue, a groan in histhroat. “Alistair,” he says, each syllable wrapped around the moan. He leansback, puts his palm against Alistair’s chest once again.
Alistair moves with him. Puttinga hand behind himself, propping himself up. His other hand splays at his back,Amell’s legs on either side of him. He drapes his arms over Alistair’sshoulder, pulls himself close. The warmth rises off of him in waves, somethingfrom the very core of him. “I want to see you,” Alistair says and it’s spokenlow, muted, hoarse. He obliges, practically nose against nose. The flush in hischeeks deepens underneath Alistair’s gaze.
There’s a birthmark near hisear, on his left cheek. A single spot, the only hint that three more hidebehind his earlobe. Shoulder-length black hair, hastily cut, held for the daggerto be pulled through. Messy, choppy, so brilliantly him. There’s bags under hiseyes. He hasn’t been sleeping, and maybe that’s a little his fault, but he’dmake it up to him. He doesn’t know the right way to call him. Pretty seemsclose. Handsome as well. Gorgeous. Beautiful. Close, not enough. Alistairhunches forward, both hands on him now, holding him, smiling up at him. “I loveyou,” he says, ever earnestly.
Amell holds his face in his hands, wearing hisown smile. This kiss is met enthusiastically, carefully, deeply.
