This is the most random thing but the rhythm of this phrase just reminds me of "your hand at the level of your eyes” from Phantom of the Opera and that’s the cadence I keep hearing when I read this.
I coulDN’T DECIDE WHAT PAIRING SO it’s all of my current faves surprise. Cassandra/female Lavellan, Varric/Hawke, Solavellan. Everyone is happy everyone else survives. <3 Also I stole some dialogue from another WIP of mine so if it crops up again, whoops. @dadrunkwriting
Cassandra had spent more than half her life training not to notice little things that bothered her during battle. They returned to her slowly when the imminent danger had passed. An itch somewhere beneath her armour, a particular twinge in her right knee, and something (usually several somethings) on her face. That was the way it had been with her most noticeable scar. She’d barely noticed it until someone else was telling her she was coming undone.
She was biting the inside of her cheek so hard it smarted a bit. Her lips were dry and cracked, and when she licked them she tasted blood, but still this did not draw her focus from the wreckage just a flight above where she stood--
Indeed, where they all stood, waiting.
Like a pot of water over a fire, a hazy emotion began to simmer in the pit of her stomach, gradually rose and bubbled and boiled over in white-hot panic. The Inquisitor had survived many things--things that seemed so impossible they were miraculous--but could she survive this?
A fitting end to one of Varric’s tales. The tragic young hero is slain in the final confrontation, sacrifices herself for the good of the world. For the good of people who would not have done the same for her.
A fitting end to a story, perhaps, but a senseless end to a life, to a person. Slowly, Cassandra allowed the weight of reality to tumble down upon her shoulders. Small realizations created tiny cracks in her armour until the whole facade fell asunder, and Cassandra hung her head in despair.
She felt a change before she saw it. It was like the warmth of the sun. Lavellan appeared as though from a heavenly light, shining down upon them, whole and alive and miraculous, and Cassandra wiped her face to hide her tears, and was surprised by the blood on her gauntlet.
Returning to the physical world after standing in the goddamn Fade should have felt better, more normal. But Varric felt like he was underwater. Everything was murky and distorted and too loud, but garbled and nonsensical. Like the Fade was the place that made sense, and the real world was a bunch of bullshit.
There was blood in his mouth. Blood running down his face. Was it his or someone else’s? Was he biting the inside of his cheek still? His face felt numb.
“Where’s Hawke?” he asked, and couldn’t hear his own voice. It was like he hadn’t spoken at all, like the words had gotten caught in his throat.
Varric had never had a dream or a nightmare, but he remembered what Hawke had said to him once, in a rare moment of quiet honesty.
I have this dream a lot. I try to scream, but I can’t. It’s like it won’t leave my throat, like I don’t have the air.
“WHERE’S HAWKE?” he screamed, could still barely hear himself over the dull roar of the crowd around them, or some kind of distant, otherworldly thunder from the Maker-forsaken place they’d staggered out of.
There was blood dripping down his chin now. Definitely his. He couldn’t feel his cheek where he’d spent too long biting it. He looked at the Seeker, whose attention was on anything but him, wasn’t sure he could bear to lock eyes with Lavellan, but he had to know the truth.
Then the world was white and impossibly louder, and Varric’s hearing was impossibly worse. His hands and knees hit the jagged pavement and now there was blood on them, too, but he could barely feel them. The first clear words he heard were Lavellan, trying to make some awkward speech about heroes and sacrifice and Alistair.
But Varric was blinking away bleary vision in a vain attempt to focus on the figure of Hawke, hunched over, and she was bleeding, too, but she was not trapped in the Fade forever. She was bleeding, and here, and alive, and somehow this made blood seem like a victory. They were bleeding because they were alive.
For the first time in centuries, Solas found himself utterly torn on the matter of how to proceed from here. Corypheus had shown himself, and in doing so had shown himself to be a far greater threat than even Solas had already realized. That was what came of tampering with forces beyond one’s ken, he supposed bitterly, but there would be plenty of time for self-hatred later. There always was, after all.
At the moment, he was faced with Lavellan, half-dead from any number of ailments, plucked out of the snow by the Seeker maybe an hour or two from freezing to death with a dislocated shoulder and the remnants of battle wounds from the skirmish that had led up to Corypheus’s grand entrance. He’d set her shoulder and was embroiled in the long process of curing her hypothermia, but these were in the end superficial concerns. Lavellan was stalwart enough to bear the orb’s mark; she was unlikely to succumb to any mortal ailment.
What plagued Solas was that he had been seized by an overwhelming need to provide something useful to the Inquisition, or more precisely, to her, in the days and weeks to follow. He ceased his pacing to sit at her side, checked the setting of her shoulder although he knew it was fine, and allowed his eyes to dart over the contours of her face.
Slave markings of Elgar’nan, dark and twisted and ferocious. But beneath them the face of an elf with the spark left in her eyes. She did what she could in this broken world to remain awake amongst sleepwalkers.
He touched her face with his fingertips, the bare skin left untouched by the blood writing. There was a bit of blood drying in the corner of her mouth. He had to touch her face to remove it. A perfectly logical reason for what seemed a senseless gesture.
The feeling of blood on his fingers was a curious thing, thick and sticky and still warm. For some reason the sensation of it drew all of his focus, and he thought of the spark in her eyes and the sleepwalking masses and how displaced he had felt here until very recently, and how blood was just as much an indicator of life as it was of death or destruction.
Lavellan’s eyes fluttered open and she focused her attention on him. He had no excuse for the small smile that tugged at the corners of his lips.
“Lovely way to die,” she murmured.
No excuse for his fingertips tracing the vines of bare skin that broke up her dark Vallaslin. “You’re not going to die. Not tonight, at least.”
“You sure?” she responded. Her words were slurred, and there was more blood on her lips. No excuse for the way Solas felt his heart twist at the prospect that she might have had a closer brush with death than he’d realized. “Should’ve died...few times already. Must be...very unlucky.”
He chuckled in spite of himself. Meant to reach for a cloth to wipe away the blood at the corners of her lips, but was not eager to break the stillness between them. No excuse for it.
Bloody and bruised in an Ally way so fare from home (any one)
Sorry for all the Naele/Fen. I need the practice; gotta get the feel for it back.
for @dadrunkwriting
“For Mythal’s sake, Naele! What happened to you?”
I looked up at the sound of Dorian’s voice, struggling to see due to my right eye, which was nearly swollen shut. He was with Fen, who looked ready to puke at the sight of me…or maybe it was the way the alley reeked of garbage, trash, urine, vomit, and Creators-know what else. My mind spun, but the few flashes of memory didn’t seem familiar. I knew I was injured, that I had been wounded, but I didn’t know how or when, or even where; somehow, I knew in my gut that I was nowhere near Crestwood, and was very far from Dorian’s villa in Val Royeaux.
“I—don’t remember,” I managed, though the pain it caused my jaw to talk soon had me whimpering.
“Oh, Nae….”
Dorian sounded horrified and hopeless as he ducked into view, kneeling by my side. Fen stayed standing a good bit a ways, and I could tell he was as stiff as a board despite not being able to focus my eyes on him.
“It hurts,” I barely moved my mouth, but recognized the unique, metallic flavor of my own blood as I felt it spill from my lips.
“I know, my pearl,” Dorian’s voice broke—it had to be worse than it felt, “I know it does, but I need you to stay with me, okay?”
“Mm—”
I didn’t try to talk anymore: it all hurt too much. Everything hurt. Dorian brushed my hair away from my face, pulling painfully at the strands that had been caught in dried flecks of blood or broken skin.
“We need to get her to a Healer,” He seemed to try to lift me, but Fen’s voice was suddenly very close, stopping him.
“I’ve got her.”
The haze of Elfroot, black pepper, cedar, and that obscure scent that was so inimitably “Fen” surrounded me—and then the hard ground fell away as pulled against the warmth of his body. I let my head roll into him and my body go limp, too weak to do anything else.
“I’m so sorry, Nae. I’ve got you, now,” Dulcet mahogany voice whispering into my hair, “I never should have let you walk off alone. I will make it up to you, I swear.”
Both are good! But I would’ve definitely preferred an Oblivion HD remaster to a Skyrim one. I do understand that it would be a hell of an undertaking redoing Oblivion though.
"You better take care of that car, or I swear I'll haunt your ass!"
Circinae/Fenris. Tequila Incident AU
@dadrunkwriting
Circinae was quiet as Fenris wheeled her out of the hospital,her arm heavy in its cast, nose still bandaged, scabbing red forming a dramaticslash over her face. Her car sat in the parking lot, powder blue and rustmixing into a pile of love and hope.
“You’re gonna have to drive,” she muttered bitterly, lowering her eyes and scowling at her arm.
“I know.”
“You’d better take care of that car,” Circinae said with agrimace, now openly glaring at her arm. They had reached the passenger side ofthe ancient sedan, the door opening with a squeak as Fenris jostled thejury-rigged lock, pulling on rusted wires and aged hinges.
“I’ll be extra careful,” Fenris reassured, helping her moveinto the passenger seat, moving the wheelchair out of the way.
“She’s sticky on second to third.”
“I know, Nae.”
There was a brief pause as Circinae eyed hi over the bandages. “I will literally hauntyouif you wreck my baby.”
Ship: Lea x Alistair x ZevranWord Count: 2.501This takes place a year after the end of the Fifth Blight, six months after the Warden becomes Warden-Commander of Ferelden, and the issues in Vigil’s Keep.Also keep in mind they are all very young, all under 25 and fumbling their ways through a polyamorous relationship.
Written for @dadrunkwriting========================
Alistair watched in silence as Lea talked animatedly with the mage, Anders. Alistair didn’t like the guy. He had this way of looking at Lea, this way of leaning her way when talking to her, or touching her that reeked of second intentions.
Grinding his teeth, the sliced yet another piece of cheese, and popped it into his mouth, chewing angrily, as Lea carded her fingers through the mage’s hair. Maker preserve him, but Alistair couldn’t stand the guy. And he couldn’t stand how Laleal seemed completely oblivious to the man’s obvious leery intentions towards her.
He sliced another piece of cheese, almost stabbing the cheese wheel in anger. Fine, so the mage was attractive, if you liked tall, lean and blond. And his personality was charming, the bastard. Disgusting.
Maybe Lea was liking the attention. Maybe that was why she wasn’t doing anything to stop the improper way Anders was looking at her. Was that it? Was she aiming to add another man to her life, a third person with whom Alistair would need to share her?
He couldn’t stand it.
Alistair stabbed the table, startling everybody around him when the knife stuck on the surface. He swung his legs out of the wooden bench, marching out of the room without looking at anyone. He heard Lea calling him, her voice worried and incredulous, but he couldn’t look at her now. He was angry, and one thing that Alistair learned in over the years together was to never engage Lea when angry. Things often got out of hand when he did.
He stopped outside the dining room, thinking. Vigil’s Keep was big enough he had places to hide, if so he desired, but Alistair didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t know what he wanted, but he both wanted companionship and a fight. A bad combination.
“Come, my friend. It doesn’t do to stay like this on the corridor. The servants will wonder if you’re having a fit.”
Alistair startled and turned, looking at Zevran, who looked... Well. Who looked like he always did: composed and attractive, always looking he was mischievously planning something. Knowing Zevran, that was exactly what he wanted people to think.
“Not now. I’m not in the mood.”
“We all can see that, querido. Your little display got our Commander puzzled.”
“Puzzled!” Alistair repeated, throwing his hands in the air, “Like she wasn’t doing anything to warrant my reaction.”
“Ah. I see. Come, Alistair. Let’s go to the bedrooms, yes? We can talk privately there.”
“I don’t want to talk,” Alistair replied moodily, but followed Zevran up the stairs and down the how, until they reached Lea’s bedroom.
Their bedroom.
It was a weird concept for Alistair that the elf in front of him had the same right to call this bedroom his. Alistair was still... Adapting. Lea had confessed, not long ago, that she loved Zevran as well. And Alistair had always known that, had known it back when they were still sleeping in tents, unsure on how to kill an archdemon. Alistair had watched Lea blooming under Zevran’s attentions, had jealously fought to keep her to himself, and, ultimately, he thought he had won.
Until Lea had told him it was never a battle to win. She was never his to keep, and her heart was big enough for more than one. Lea loved Alistair, she had said, but she loved Zevran too.
At first Alistair had struggled with the concept of having another person, but... It made sense. In a weird, twisted way, that Alistair was still trying to figure out, Zevran fit in their bedroom and in their lives.
It did help that Alistair found Zevran quite... Easy on the eyes. While they hadn’t gone there yet, it was something. A possibility in the horizon, uncertain, but made possible by Zevran calmly offering Alistair the chance, if he ever desired.
Alistair watched as Zevran took his boots off, and sat on the bed, bouncing on the mattress. They didn’t speak; Alistair for being with his head too full, Zevran, because he was waiting.
Eventually, the ex-Crown broke the silence.
“You’re jealous of Lea.”
Alistair reeled, surprised. He didn’t expect Zevran to say that. He didn’t know what he expected Zevran to say but that...
“That’s not true! I’m not jealous!”
Zevran shrugged, and didn’t say anything, just leaned back in the bed and watched Alistair with hooded eyes.
“It’s not-- That guy, Zevran! Are you telling me that you can’t see it?”
Zevran shrugged, unconcerned-
“That he wanted to get into Lea’s pants? Absolutely.”
“What? You-- And you don’t care?” Alistair asked, baffled. How come that Zevran had seen exactly what he had and he didn’t care?
How could he stay this calm in collected? Wasn’t he afraid of Lea leaving? Wasn’t he afraid of her getting tired of them?
“I care a great deal, amado,” Zevran answered, sitting back up, and leaning on his thighs. he was looking at Alistair with a burning intensity, like he was on the cusp of understanding some rather difficult puzzle. Alistair hated that look, “But I also know Lea, and I know when she’s interested. She’s not.”
“And you don’t care she could be interested?”
“She won’t be.” Alistair laughed bitterly at that response. So sure of himself, despite the evidence.
“Oh, yes, because she doesn’t have a record speaking against her.”
Alistair winced, and Zevran smiled knowing. Crap. He hadn’t meant to let that out.
“Ah, so it’s about this?” Zevran gestured between the two of them, and Alistair looked away, ashamed.
He didn’t begrudge their arrangement. He didn’t. Except maybe he did a little bit. What was there to stop Laleal from deciding Zevran was a better fit, a better partner, and ditching Alistair? Looking at Zevran sitting her bed, looking so self-assured and attractive, Alistair felt inadequate. Small.
“Andraste’s tits, I didn’t mean it like this.”
“You did.”
“Oh, shut up, you can’t be completely comfortable with this!”
Zevran walked, no, he stalked to where Alistair stood, and a shiver went down his spine. Was this what Zevran’s enemies say before dying? Was this what Lea saw while eagerly waited for him?
Alistair was a mess.
“I want you to listen to me, Alistair,” Zevran said, when he was close enough Alistair could feel his breath on his face. He jerked when Zevran touched his face, but he didn’t pull away, and Zevran didn’t grab him. His hand was just there, demanding attention, but not restricting him.
“W-what?”
“Lea and I, we talked a great deal about this. She wanted me, and I wanted her, but I had my doubts about you. She wasn’t about to let you; she loved you. She loved you enough that she broke up with you when it came to choosing.”
He stared at Zevran’s, eyes roaming his handsome face, the face tattoo, the almost invisible tattoo close to his hairline. When had Zevran become this person?
When did Alistair started to like this person?
“I remember you didn’t leave her a choice.”
Zevran rolled his eyes, and his palms squeezed just slightly, and Alistair knew his face must be doing some stupid face, but Zevran looked at him fondly, and... Alistair wasn’t sure he cared.
“I didn’t leave her a choice because she had already chosen,” he answered, stroking Alistair’s cheeks. “Did you ever ask her what she was going to do?”
Alistair exhaled, and shook his head. No, he didn’t. He had pressured Lea, hard, when he realized that she had something with Zevran. Something serious. When she chose him, he never wanted to look back at it, until Lea mentioned them being a trio instead of a couple.
“Break up with both of us,” Zevran said in a soft voice, and Alistair startled, “I took away her choice, because I knew she was going to choose being alone and miserable, instead of having one of us. She never quite forgave me for that.”
“You what?”
The day Alistair saw her leaving his tent, was the day he confronted her. He wasn’t about to be cheated on, Alistair had thought back then. She was his, or she was nothing. Even if they were just courting, he was not stand for sharing; it was wrong, immoral, depraved. Lea had looked heartbroken and confused that night. She had been shamed by Alistair’s harsh words, and Alistair hadn’t felt pity for her, not even in her tears.
Looking back, Alistair wondered how she had felt. Had she despaired for the choice she didn’t want to make? Had she hurt over a love she was being condemned for feeling?
How had Lea even stayed with Alistair after that?
Alistair pulled back just slightly, and just like that, Zevran let him go. He mourned the absence of his palms against his face, and Alistair flushed at the thought. He walked around the room to mask his reddened face, heart beating fast.
“How could’ve you known? That she was going to break up with us both?”
“I had a hunch. And I wasn’t completely selfless. I knew I couldn’t be with you two back then.
“No?” Alistair cocked his head to the side, and it pressed Zevran’s calloused hand flush against his face. He resisted the sudden desire to nuzzle in.
“No,” Zevran hesitated, and he looked like he was drawing into himself. But he didn’t back away, didn’t I had, ah, been in a similar arrangement. Before. I couldn’t put myself through that again.
“Did it end badly?”
Zevran laughed bitterly. Something crossed his features, a pain old and well-worn, and Alistair knew he had touched something from his past with the Crows.
“You could say that.”
“What happened?”
“A story for another day. What matters is that I couldn’t do it, but I knew she could be happy with you, if only I made the choice for her. So I did.”
Alistair said nothing. So many things to think about. So many feelings. How was he supposed to understand all of this?
“She loves us both. Equally,” Zevran said after a moment, and he sounded... Fond. Wistful. Sad. “And you either believe this, or this is going to break apart in our hands. And Lea is going to be hurt. And I don’t want her to hurt, Alistair, so I need you to be honest with me, now. Can you do this? Us?”
Alistair stopped wandering about the room, and stopped, looking at his boots.
Could he?
He looked at the bed, thought of Lea. Her smile, the way she looked so soft in the mornings, her kindness, and the steel she had in her soul. He thought of her loving hands, and her unending devotion, and he thought of all the things Lea had done in the name of love.
“I love her. I don’t... I don’t want her to leave me.”
“That’s not what I asked, but she won’t leave you.”
“You don’t know that,” Alistair snarled, and Zevran looked unperturbed.
“She won’t. Do you think she’ll leave me? for you?”
“... No.”
Zevran raised his hands, and shrugged.
“So you have your answer. Do you have so little faith in her you think she wants a harem for herself.”
“Maker, no... No. No, she... She isn’t like that.”
“Then why are you acting like she is?”
“I’m... This is strange. I’m...”
“Scared?”
Alistair grimaced, and Zevran smirked, knowingly.
“I was going to say adapting, it sounded less weak of me, but yeah. I’m scared.”
“You don’t need to be. But you need to talk to us, if you have a problem. You can’t just stab tables and stomp away. You didn’t see her face when you did it. You’re scared, but so is she. I’m scared, too, mi querido. But I think Lea is the one holding herself more tightly over this arrangement of ours. She fears you’ll abandon the boat.”
Alistair looked out of the window. The Keep was bustling with activity, with all the efforts to rebuild it. The battle that had happened here had been something awful, he could tell. It was a miracle so little losses were taken.
No, it had been Laleal. Always her.
“No. I don’t... I can’t leave her. I love her too much,” Alistair answered, and it was true.
“Then you have to come to terms on what you want to do. I can’t make you be comfortable with this. Only you can work on this.”
Alistair nodded, eyes still on the world outside, and after a moment he heard the quiet sound of Zevran preparing to leave the bedroom. He was letting Alistair know he was leaving, and Alistair was... Touched. By the way Zevran had come after him to talk, when he didn’t have to, how the elf cared for them both.
Wait. he cared for them both?
Alistair gasped, remembering. Remembering back then, when Lea was just an idea in the back of Alistair’s mind, and Zevran had his distrust, how he couldn’t keep his eyes off the tattooed expanse of Zevran’s back. How he had forcibly stopped himself from looking at the defined abs, or the cocky smirk. How Alistair had stopped himself from ogling the blond elf and having ideas, because those were so very wrong, so very improper.
And then there was Lea, and if she was there, he didn’t have to stray, did him?
Except now Zevran was here, and... What was Alistair running off from exactly? What was there to hide from now?
He could have both, why was he this scared?
“Zevran?”
“Sí, querido?”
Alistair walked towards Zevran and stopped. Walked again. Stopped. Zevran didn’t bother hiding his amused smile, and it bothered Alistair less than it should.
“Did you... What about me?” Alistair asked.
Zevran looked puzzled.
“You?”
“Are you... Do you care about me? I mean... Oh fuck it. Never mind.”
“Are you asking me if I want to have sex with you, or are you asking me if I have feelings for you?”
Alistair gave another step forward, almost unconsciously. His heart was beating on his throat.
“... Both?”
Zevran smiled, and it was soft, and fond, and Alistair was choking on air.
“Yes.”
“Yes what?” He managed to ask, because he had to know.
Zevran walked forward, and they stood toe to toe. He was shorted then Alistair by a whole head, and he was built much leaner, but Alistair felt small. He felt so very exposed, naked, and eager, and terrified.
“Yes in both accounts.”
“Oh.”
“Go talk to Lea, Alistair. She must be worried.”
Alistair held Zevran in place, one hand on his arm, feeling the hard muscles under the thin white blouse.
“Wait. You. You should come to.”
“Me?”
“Yes. If... If we’re doing this... This thing as a trio, we should start now. Maybe?”
Zevran pushed up on his toes, and kissed the side of Alistair’s jaw, and he shivered despite himself. Zevran pulled back, seeming satisfied.
13. Imagine person A of your OTP scaring person B (during Halloween) on accident so badly that they cry.
Alistair/Harea for @dadrunkwriting
---
When Harea bursts into tears, the first thing he thinks is this is all Leliana’s fault. And then he wraps her in a hug that lifts her off of her feet so she can try on him instead of into her hands.
Zevran is laughing hysterically on the other side of the campfire, his amusement knocking him backward off of his seat and, conveniently, into Leliana’s lap. Wynne shakes her head and sighs softly, turning away.
Fen runs over and nuzzles against Harea’s hand, trying to comfort his person. He nips at Alistair’s knee in punishment, and Alistair steps away, carrying Harea with him.
She’s shaking.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He runs his hand over her head, smoothing down her hair and tugging lightly on the end of her braid.
“Why would you do that?” She punches at his side the best she can from her position in his arm. Her anger dissipating with her tears, she nuzzles into his chest.
He sighs heavily. “For All Soul’s Day,” he explains, casting a glare at Leliana over his shoulder. Her eyes are on Zevran, completely ignoring the couple in front of her. “Leliana suggested some... pranks.”
Harea’s sigh sounds like a growl. Fen perks his ears up at the noise but doesn’t move closer to bite Alistair again. “So you jumped out from behind the tree? Alistair, I could have stabbed you.”
He kisses the top of her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Okay well don’t do that ever again.”
A smile pulls at the corner of his lips as he feels her forgiving him. “I promise.”
Alistair x Laleal Surana Post-AwakeningWritten for @dadrunkwriting
Lea groaned out loud, and let her head fall forward, soundly hitting the table in front of her with her forehead. She was exhausted, the reports seemed endless, she had to split Velanna and Nathaniel twice and it wasn’t even lunch time yet. She was ready to go back to bed.
When she took the job as the Warden-Commander of Ferelden, Laleal knew she would have handful. She knew it from day one, but she had expected less diplomatic functions, and more, well. Fighting. The problem was, it seemed that with the Fifith Blight truly and well avoided, she had to now appease and deal with Fereldan lords. Which was probably less about being a Grey Warden, and more about being Chancellor and Arlessa.
When did that happen? She was an elf, a mage, and now… She had a title?
“You’re too stressed out, love.”
Alistair’s hand landed on her shoulder and squeezed lightly, before releasing and squeezing again. Lea let out a pleased sigh. Alistair wasn’t the most skilled person out there, but Maker help her, he did know how to make a decent massage.
Lea suppressed a smile. Alistair had come back from a mission barely two days prior. She was enjoying having him around again. She missed him dearly; it still stung that Warden-Commander Clarel (or Clar-Ew, as Sigrun would call her, before giggling herself silly) had deemed it unappropriated for Alistair to remain under Lea’s command and relocated him to Orlais.
The utter bitch.
“Oh, I wonder why!” Lea asked, head still against the table, “Anora expects me to entertain her Banns. Look me in the eye, Alistair, and tell me I have any talent at all for entertainer? That’s… That’s for Orlesians. I would literally rather face another ogre.”
Alistair didn’t answer, and Lea raised her head in time to see him shrugging, a little smile playing on his lips. She stared, both because she could, and because she couldn’t help it. It was still a borderline alien feeling to look at him, and feel herself responding to such simple things, like his smile. The way he moved. How he talked with his whole body.
Maker, poets had gotten it right. Love was a strange, powerful, wonderful thing.
“You are enjoying this,” Lea accused, smiling herself.
“What?” Alistair inclined his head to the side, and Lea snorted at how… Canine the gesture was.
“This. Me suffering over politics.”
Alistair shrugged again, and scooted his chair closer. He put his arm around her shoulders, and Lea leaned in. She still had a lot of work to do, but she could indulge in some comfort.
“Well,” he answered, “I’m just glad it isn’t me suffering through this.”
“I’ll remember this if I ever get a change to make you a noble again.”
The joke almost fell flat between them. Her position from taking the throne from Alistair had been a point of contention for a while between them, and maybe still a little bit unresolved. They both knew Alistair didn’t want the throne, but Lea had given him hope, convinced him to get used to the idea, only to back off at the last moment.
She almost apologized for her comment, when Alistair just pulled her a bit closer, and kissed the side of her head.
“Maker forbid that.”
“Do you think about it?”
“About what?” Alistair looked at her askance, and Lea knew he was stalling. She pressed on.
“Being king.”
“No.”
She stared him down, and Alistair looked away, ears red.
“Liar.”
“I do, okay. But I don’t wish I was king, and no, I don’t begrudge you for what you did, before you ask. I could see the question forming here,” Alistair tapped between Lea’s eyebrow, before thumbing the skin, until Lea stopped frowning, “You did what you told was the best for all of us. I didn’t want to be king, and I think… Maker, Lea. I can’t imagine a life where I would be married to Anora. Without you.”
“You might come to regret it one day. What if–”
“No ’What Ifs’.”
“But–”
“No ‘buts’ as well. Can we talk about this later? Right now I have a very beautiful woman in my arms, and I would rather enjoy that.”
Lea sighed and slouched further into her chair, ready to relax for a little while, when the door to her office opened with a bang, and she jumped, hand already glowing with lightning.
“Lea! LEA! Velen said we have to eat snails for the Bann, I’m not eating snails!” Sigrun screamed rushing into the room, with an excited Barkspawn barking after her, and followed by Oghren, who looked like he was about to collapse on the floor.
Velen entered the room last, looking cross.
“I said no such thing, Your Ladyship!” Velen said, and then the cook was there too, and really. How was this Lea’s life?
“It’s escargot, you uncouth dwarf!” The cook, a wry, thin elven woman said, branding a impressive long and stud-looking wooden spoon on Sigrun’s direction, “My Lady, the dwarf released all the escargot n the nearby river! Dinner is ruined!”
“Snails! I saved us!” Sigrun yelled.
“They did look gross– hic, boss,” Oghren added, “I would rather drink water than eat that.”
Lea looked at Alistair, pleading for help, and Alistair stood up, pulling her after him. The duo made it to the door, ignoring the mounting argument between Sigrun, Velen, the Cook and Barkspawn.
“I don’t want to know. I really don’t want to know,” Laleal said, stopping by the door. The group stopped bickering to listen to her. Small victories, “But I want to make something very very clear.”
“Yes, Your Ladyship?”
“I don’t eat… Snail. escargot. Whatever. I might have seen, done and eaten things that would make most men weep in despair, but I have standards and I’m drawing a line.”
No one questioned her, so Lea nodded and added.
“Now, I’m leaving things in your very capable hands, Velen. Sigrun, stop causing trouble. Oghren, stop drinking! If you pass out before lunch, Andraste help me, I’ll set fire to all your alcohol. We’re talking about this again later. Now, I’ll be in my room. Only call me if there are literally darkspawn coming through the basement again, okay, thank you, good day to you all.”
Lea marched out of the room, and Alistair held her by the waist, lifting her up and making her laugh.
“Put me down!”
“Have I mentioned how hot it is when you get all bossy over them?”
“Hm, yes. But you can show me how hot it makes you.”
Her full name (with all titles) is the Lady Inquisitor Grace Anne Fortunata Serena Trevelyan, Lady Hunter and Commander of the Templar Order. She’s a human
2. what is your inquisitor’s sexual orientation?
Grace is straight and polyamorous.
10. warrior, rogue, or mage?
Mage.
15. did they choose the qun or the chargers in iron bull’s personal quest? why?
Grace saves the chargers. This is both out of affection for her adopted daughter who absolutely loves the Chargers, and her personal dislike for the Qun (due to her own brainwashed past which she tries very hard to keep from affecting her decisions)
