#mage!hof

[ambootyos]

So...Cullen and Amell...

I freaking ship it.

[amervalk]

WIP Wednesday

The Warden at Amaranthine:

This is about my Warden Lorraine, who I haven’t written about in a very long time. I was feeling her today, and how she would feel about the subject of mage rights. Not exactly mage rights, but her getting to know one of her comrades, Anders.

The Warden-Commander enjoyed the peace of her den, or rather the silence. It had been more than a year since she had found any true peace. Amaranthine was on its way to becoming an unmitigated disaster. Her advisers were less than worthless as they gave her consistently bad advice. Her return from the Black Marshes as proof enough of that as she was forced to kill her own citizens. She smiled pleasantly as she unwound her dark hair, enjoying the feel of it against her neck. If Alistair was here he would have attempted to braid it himself and inevitably create some ridiculous masterpiece she would be forced to untangle later. A myriad of memories stirred, as she recalled how fascinated he was by her hair when they first made love.

“How do you ladies, you know, do things with all this hair?” He would ask in teasing wonder. “You know I bet I could tie you up with it.” Alistair said, his voice dark with intention on a concept Lorraine knew he barely understood. Still, her eyes lit up like a bonfire when she laughed and then Alistair would kiss her, his hands holding her face with wanting and earnest desire. Fingertips curled against her cheek, and she could barely breathe as he kissed her as if it were for the last time.

“So you can smile,” she heard a familiar voice say.  Lorraine sighed in recognition, Anders, the apostate. He was far from her favorite person, in fact, she struggled to like him at all. But he was useful and that was enough. He grinned as he sensed her disapproval and took a seat without asking whether permission was granted. “You don’t have to look at me like that, I’m not a monster. Besides, I just came here to thank you for trying to help with my phylactery.” Lorraine glared at him, her golden eyes irritated.

“You’re welcome, I may not entirely agree with you but we are comrades,” she said directly. Her choice of words were succinct. The subject of mages, even being a mage made her uncomfortable. After Klinoch Tower, and Jowan she despised her own kind, even herself for being cursed with a gift that was so dangerous.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Anders interjected over her thoughts, “What makes the First Enchanters pet student rebel against the Circle, and how did they just let you go?” He asked boldly, scooting his chair closer to where the warden-commander sat. The woman was slight and quite pretty. Her eyes, Anders imagined would look wonderful if she wasn’t so set at scowling at him. Even then, he found something lovely about her. Her features were delicate with a small nose and exacting expression. She was control and focus, just what a mage ought to be. It made him wonder, how had he turned out so wrong? He expected to be rebuffed, even scolded as he approached her with audacity, but he watched her shoulders slump.

“My friend Jowan was going to be made tranquil. He told me they thought he was too weak to endure the harrowing, so I agreed to help him escape the Circle. It was a trap, and the Knight-Commander wanted an example made of me, but the Wardens intervened.” she answered with austere honesty. Her words, as usual, were chosen precisely. “Jowan was a blood mage. I later killed him with my own hands after he poisoned the Arl of Redcliffe.” The betrayal stung less now, in fact she wondered how her friend was driven to such evil acts. Lorraine was expecting a joke or some crass remark but felt the pressure of Anders’ hand against the top of her own. She gaped silently, startled by his kindness, it didn’t occur for her to withdraw her hand. It had been so long since another human had touched her with any gentleness.

“The circles are wrong,” Anders said softly, “It makes mages forget they are people even. When you forget you are human, it’s like you don’t even matter,” his words were pointed, but a rough draft of a more profound position. “I am sorry for your friend. To be driven to blood magic,” he sympatized. Deep within, he understood the rage and desperation. He still preferred to sleep with his door open, the sight of it shut rousing too many fears from the year he was locked away beneath Klinoch Hold. He examined the Warden-Commander carefully. She was younger than him by a few years, as he tried to see past the chains from the circle and saw a scared, tired woman. Her nature forged in steel as she survived templars, darkspawn, and archdemons.

“It’s more complicated than that, Anders,” she offered, using his name. “All it takes is one blood mage, one apostate, and every mage  is a target.  Like during the blight, where innocent mages died because of one Senior Enchanter.” She didn’t agree with his radical notions, even if she understood them. Anders was serious as he stared into her eyes, unblinking and without fear,

“That’s the joke of it though right,” his tone was light, dancing on the fringes of anger but still pleasant enough, “No mage is innocent though, we’re born guilty.” He chuckled as he found something amusing in the irony of it all.  Lorraine  squinted judgmentally as he leaned back and actually burst out in open laughter. She withdrew her hand and asked,

“What’s so funny about it?” Anders was nearly undone as he continued his outburst. He took a few deep breaths and answered,

“Oh, well,” he struggled until finally controlling his laughter, “for a moment, you actually seemed human. But, you’re just a mage, like me.” Anders remarked brightly, he actually smiled as he leaned in to kiss her cheek, bracing for the inevitable slap to follow. It didn’t, but Lorraine didn’t respond as his lips brushed against her skin. Even so, his kiss was friendly, affectionate but not intimate. Just a gesture.

“You truly have no fear,” Lorraine declared, her gaze affixed to him intently. She didn’t want to admit that Anders had a point, but could not bring herself to disagree. A wry grin sat on Anders lips as he admired her in earnest jest,

“Oh, Maker, yes I do,” Anders breathed, a bizarre smile on his features, “But I have courage too. The Chantry could never convince me that I was less than human. Even if they tried, it was why I never stopped trying to escape. We deserve more, Warden-Commander. We’re not just mages.” He stated, his voice finding certainty amidst his mocking tone. “Do you really think you’re just a mage?” He challenged. The stern expression on her face, marked by her silence was enough to tell him that she resented his words and he was delighted. Anders stood, his lanky body accentuated by long robes. “Well, I should probably be going,” he affirmed, ready to enjoy sleeping in a proper bed. As he turned, Lorraine  asked, more curious than upset,

“Why did you kiss me, Anders?” She stood as well and his expression was impish as he his eyes sparkled,

“Simple really: first, you’re pretty, and second ,you looked as if you needed one. I was more than happy to oblige.” Lorraine’s face softened as she mentally shrugged. It was a good enough reason, she supposed.The apostate departed on those words as Lorraine unwittingly smiled.

[amervalk]

A Warden’s Confession:

This is my first real attempt to write an Origins fic for WIP Wednesday. I have to confess my romance with Alistair was far less idyllic than a lot of the other people experiences I heard about. My warden picked Anora because she genuinely liked her as Queen and could not see Alistair as a King. In addition, she was really cynical and driven. Tired too. Anyhow. This is a scene between them.

~~~~

Lorraine followed the threads  of the canvas ceiling. She traced them with exacting precision as she memorized the weave of the fabric. It was something think about, on the eve that she would finally face down the Archdemon and hopefully survive. Alistair shifted beside her, sleeping as if they weren’t about to face down the greatest evil anyone had seen in four centuries, and she was fitfully jealous as she looked at his rested features. As if he noted her concentration, Alistar stirred from his rest, his face looked pleasantly whimsical as he yawned wide. It almost reminded Lorraine of her Mabari. She couldn't help but smile at his exaggerated expression as his hazel eyes enraptured her.

“Not sleeping?” He mumbled, his lips brushed against her skin in affectionate but lazy kisses across her skin. Lorraine thought she was certain of Alistair’s feelings but after the Landsmeet, her conviction had been tested. His gaze pierced her soul as he searched her expression intently:  concern, fear, doubt?  “Hey, what’s wrong?” he inquired, quickly rousing from his drowsed state. He lifted his body alongside Lorraine, embracing her in a comforting hug as she sighed into his chest. ‘Everything. Us,’ she thought, but simply murmured against his chest something indistinct and uncertain.  Leliana’s lecture on feminine wiles stuck firmly in her mind, like a warning, was she any better than an Orlesian bard? Because of her Alisitair was still a Grey Warden, forced to renounce his claim. Because she was afraid. Could anything lasting be built on deception. “You,” he chirped forcefully. His hand was gentle as he coaxed her face from hiding. He caressed her encouragingly, “Something is wrong. Don’t hide it.” Whenever Alistair spoke plainly, Lorraine could not help but smile. His frankness was irresistible and she felt like she could tell him anything. She owed him as much.

“I...love you, Alistair,” her cheeks were flushed in embarrassment. Why was it so hard to be honest? He deserved better than her, especially after her decision at the Landsmeet. He raised his brow curiously, aware of her unusually tense expression. Lorraine rarely emoted, but he knew she was biting back something important.  Alistair furrowed his brow, focused on the way her face fell as she confessed her affections. She should have been happy saying those words, not sad.

“I love you too, but you’re upset,” he stated matter-of-factly. His tone disturbingly free of any of his characteristic lightness.

“At the Landsmeet,” she confessed. Now was the wrong time to do this. Lorraine delayed as she intertwined her fingers with his longingly, knowing how this one admission could change everything about them, “I picked Queen Anora because I didn’t want to lose you. You would have been a fine king...” She barely spoke above a whisper, as if she was actively trying to silence herself. She watched his face exactingly, searching for signs of disapproval. Ready for his rejection, she braced herself for it.Lorraine shut her eyes tightly as if preparing herself for the impact of his disdain. A long silence filled the tent as Alistair thought, his mind turned as he considered multiple factors and if he even wanted to be King in the first place, now that he had renounced it. “If you want to leave me, I understand. I failed you,” she mumbled. Tears formed at creases of her shut eyes.  She loved him, but would it matter in the end.

Then, she felt the warmth of fingers, tracing the tears. She dared to hope as Alistair tilted her face toward him once more. Where his hand touched, Lorraine treasured as he kissed her lips, chaste and pure. It was like her first kiss at Klinoch. It was nearly reverent as he drew her into a tight embrace.

“I wish you would have just told me, Lorraine,” he sighed. “I felt like you didn’t think I was good enough to be king. Even if I didn’t  want to be king, I would have liked to know you had faith in me.” Alistair paused, he still loved her, but her selfishness almost felt like a betrayal. “I thought I knew you better, I guess.” He attempted to read Lorraine’s expression: confusion, sadness, regret. Her confidence appeared shaken.  “Just make it up to me, okay?” He mandated, smoothing the back of her hair as a comforting gesture. Lorraine lips quirked into the smallest of smiles and she nodded fervently. She thought to explain why, how she worried as Arl Eamon talked to him about duty and the proper way Kings ought to behave. How he would need a good wife to bear strong sons and how she couldn’t even communicate in private with him before the landsmeet began, but none of that mattered.

“I promise I will, my love. The rest of our lives,” she stated. She wasn’t going to cry anymore, Lorraine told herself. Alistair’s goofy, warm hearted grin returned  and her resolve cracked.  First, she kissed just below his lips, allowing the warmth of her breath to taunt him before attempting to pull away. He, however, had other ideas. Before she could pull away entirely he grabbed the back of her head, his fingers weaving through her hair, and captured her mouth. Lorraine gasped as their bodies crashed together limbs entwining. She engaged his tongue in a sacred ritual as lips brushed against each other in heated flurry. Catching her breath as Alistair started kissing down her neck, punctuating each kiss with a small, visible bite mark. He whispered into the hollow of her throat,

“No you don’t. I think you need to do penance.” He teased her relentlessly with light, but sharp kisses and ruthless tickling. Alistair employed his fingers dangerously as laughter rose to Lorraine’s lips, more than pleased to be at his mercy.