#Queen Cousland

[inquisitorgaywarden]

My Warden Cousland Tarot Card

The background is inspired by DAI's Warden Card! :]

#dragon age #dragon age art #dragon age origins #warden cousland #dragon age tarot card #dragon age tarot #dragon age inquisition #Queen Cousland #my art

[crunchbuttsteak]

Awakening and Witch Hunt are so funny by way of implication if you play as a Cousland who’s either queen or prince consort.

Like, you do Anders’ personal quest and the templars just… try to kill you, The Queen or Ferelden.

The Chantry just blatantly attempts regicide and then it’s just… never brought up again?

#dragon age origins #dragon age awakening #warden cousland #queen cousland

[edenxrosey]

Misc moments w/ my beloved Warden, Aileana <3

#cousland warden #queen cousland #cousland origin #Cousland #Aileana Cousland #dragon age #dragon age origins #art #my art

[ladyhighever]

Dragon Age Origins - Bioware || Funeral Blues - W. H. Auden ||Reflections - Ana Carrizo || Down Bad - Taylor Swift || Bruise - Jhoanna Lynn Cruz || Parallel Universe - Clara Benin || One Last Poem for Richard - Sandra Cisneros

#dragon age #dragon age origins #alistair theirin #web weaving #ttpd #taylor swift #wh auden #jhoanna lynn cruz #clara benin #sandra cisneros #queen cousland #except not in this universe babey!!! #ailis cousland

[mrssgreenleaf]

warden: what’s the most inspiring thing i’ve ever said to you?

alistair: “don’t be an idiot”

alistair: changed my life.

#dragon age incorrect quotes #dragon age #dragon age origins #alistair theirin #warden cousland #female cousland #queen cousland

[waratah-moon]

Good Morning

A lazy morning between the King and Queen of Ferelden. masterlist

Pairing: King Alistair Theirin x queen!Cousland OC

Warnings: morning wood ;), mostly domestic fluff

"Your Majesties," one of the young maids working in the castle spoke from the doorway. "I've been told to make you aware of the Arl's arrival."

"He's here?" Alistair pushed himself up on his elbows, squinting at the girl, his eyes still heavy with sleep.

The girl averted her eyes, looking at the floor. "Not yet, your Majesty. The party from Redcliffe shall arrive by mid morning, about two hours from now."

"Thank you, Mallory, you may leave us," Alistair fell back against the pillow with a wave of his hand.

"Wait, Mall?" Helena’s voice was muffled from the blankets covering her face, but the young maid listened carefully. "Would you send up breakfast? And some Coffee?"

"Right away, your Majesty," Mallory nodded with a smile as she closed the door behind her. The young maid had grown up serving the royal family of Ferleden, and King Alistair and Queen Helena were rare in the sense that they bothered to learn the names of their serving staff.

Back in their shared chamber, Helena groaned, flexing her toes as she stretched out her legs, rolling over to press her forehead into Alistair's chest, "it's too early," she grumbled.

"You've never been a morning person, huh?" Alistair mused, his arms wrapping around her body and pulling her closer against him. "It's a shame, really. You're so beautiful in the morning."

"Flatterer," she mumbled into his bare skin, her cold toes pressing under his legs trying to find warmth.

"It's sincere flattery," his hands moved down her back to cup her behind, lovingly squeezing it. "I swear to the Maker."

She giggled, moving her thigh to brush against the hardness she could feel pushing at her stomach. "Because you're an honourable chantry boy, right?"

Alistair scoffed, "of course. The most honourable-est."

"So you're not just buttering me up to give you a hand with this?" She arched her neck back so she could look him in the eyes, knowingly smirking at her husband as her hand slipped below the waistband of his linen sleep pants.

"I was hoping for a little more than a hand," he was biting his lip hopefully.

Now that made Helena snort. “Mallory will be back any minute with breakfast. Do you really want that poor girl walking in and seeing me with my mouth around your cock?”

“I suppose that would make her drop the tray," he pondered. "But you’re not exactly helping the situation, my love,” he looked down to where her hand was moving below the covers.

“After breakfast,” she removed her hand, patting his chest.

“Promise?”

“Alistair you sound like a child,” he was still looking at her with puppy dog eyes. The same eyes she fell in love with. “I promise.”

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dao alistair #dragon age alistair #alistair x cousland #alistair theirin #queen cousland #dragon age fanfiction #alistair x reader #maggie writes

[inquisimer]

HELLO MER i come to request some Alistair x Warden based off the poem "Love Is" by Nikki Giovanni (who i got to meet once she's so cool and also very short and powerful love her so much):

Few recognize that love is commitment, responsibility no fun at all unless

Love is You and me

hap late friday ro💜 this felt very king alistair/queen cousland to me, so have some Alistair x Ember in her queenverse :3

725 words for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

Heavy is the head that wears the crown, that’s what they said. They also said it would weigh heavier on their young heads, that they’d taken it in a fit of idealistic passion, that it would all crumble around them.

They didn’t care.

Alistair rose from his throne first, stretching crooked bones and muscles in a decidedly not kingly manner. He pushed his crown up to scratch at where his hair had matted against his skin. With half a smile, Ember propped an elbow against her own throne and used her fist to rest her chin.

“You know, you could always grow you hair out. It helps with the—“ she gestured at her own head, where thick locks of red hair protected her sensitive skin from the thin band of gold, twisted in an ornate pattern that mimicked wheat at its ends.

“It’s not the hair,” Alistair groused, “It’s because they make me wear one that’s three times as thick as yours just because I’m a man.”

“I’ll swap with you. Eamon doesn’t need to know.”

“He’d know,” Alistair said darkly. “He always knows.”

Ember stood and closed the space between them with graceful steps. She lifted Alistair’s crown from his head and held it to her chest as she gently kissed his cheek. As she pulled away, he caught her face with both hands and pulled her back for a proper kiss.

“What are we going to do about Edgehall?” she asked, resting her forehead against his chin. “I feel as though we’ve poured so many restoration efforts into the region, and yet it seems to do no good.”

“Maybe we need to look at Lendon. He always seemed a bit slimy to me.”

“You think all of the Arls are slimy.”

“Not true,” Alistair countered. “The arl of Amaranthine is perfectly lovely.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Now that’s simply untrue.” He hooked an arm around her waist and drew her from their dais, toward the door that would take them to an illusion of privacy. “But as far as Edgehall is concerned, perhaps an independent envoy, rather than money directly to the arl? That would settle the matter of where the breakdown in the funds is happening, at least somewhat.”

“It’s something,” Ember agreed. They passed into their private suites, laying their crowns in the designated cases in the foyer. Beyond that lay their chambers, the closest thing they had to true privacy.

Walking through those doors felt as freeing as loosened hand cuffs, as though the hangman had cut his noose from their necks. It had been nearly a year since they agreed the nation could not be trusted to Anora’s plans, and yet neither relished the power they’d come into, despite what the papers and the rumors said.

“We deserve a break,” Alistair said suddenly.

“Yeah?” Ember snorted. “And we’re about as likely to get it as we were before the archdemon was dead.”

Alistair hummed thoughtfully. “We could come up with a plausible idea….a visit to Highever, maybe?”

Ember’s heart soared and tightened at the same time, as it always did at the mention of her home. She leaned into Alistair’s chest and sighed. His arms encircled her knowingly, stroking soothing motions up and down her shoulder blades.

“You don’t think Eamon would see through that?” she said, voice soft and weak as it could only be when they were alone.

“Who cares,” Alistair said loftily. He pressed a kiss to her hair. “He wanted me to be king so badly, he’ll just have to listen.”

He pulled back slightly, tracing down the line of her cheek and finding a home for his hand at the nape of her neck. “Fergus will have things in hand, I’m sure, and we could have some truly uninterrupted peace.”

“Mmmm been a while since we had that luxury.” It was sorely tempting. All of that and to be surrounded by the childhood home she missed and mourned in equal measures. And her brother.

“Alright,” she agreed. “But only if you tell Eamon. He barely tolerates me as it is.”

Alistair bent his head to kiss her softly. “Almost makes you miss a tent out on the edge of the Wilds, no?”

That made Ember laugh, and huddle a bit closer to Alistair’s fur-lined tunic for memory of the chill. “Almost, indeed.”

#dadwc #my writing #oc: ember cousland #ember x alistair #alistair theirin #king alistair #queen cousland #alistair x cousland #warden cousland #dao #dragon age

[zaeyos]

Another Laelette Cousland WIP

#art #digital art #drawing #digital #fan art #dragon age #illustration #painting #bioware #dragon age inquisition #sketch #dragon age origins #procreate #dragon age 2 #dragon age fan art #commission #queen cousland #warden cousland #female cousland #wip #art wip #current wip #work in progress #lineart #greyscale

[hawkezone]

[[ RETURN TO HALAMSHIRAL - PART ONE ]]

A missing Queen Cousland, whispers of an elven rebellion, and one hell of a party: Hawke, Fenris, and Varric attend a lavish ball at the Winter Palace celebrating Empress Celene and Marquise Briala's alliance, where Hawke finds himself enlisted to help by a man with a strong Fereldan accent and a deep-seeded fear of swooping. A Trevelyan-Dorian & Fen(m!)hawke imagining of the events leading up to Dread Wolf, sequel to The Seat of Power.

CHAPTERS: ♕ [1]

♕

“I cannot believe you’ve talked me into this, Hawke.”

Fenris, frowning, fidgeting uncomfortably in his velveteen guardsman’s uniform. It was the closest thing either of them had for formalwear - Hawke, being a man of habit, had smuggled some amount of finery out of the Hawke Estate when they’d escaped Kirkwall that night so long ago, but, much like Hawke’s usual escapades, he neglected to pick up a few key items - such as britches that actually matched their doublets, and shoes. Any shoes. At all.

“I think you look handsome,” Hawke smiled, impishly, knowing that Fenris, while grumpy, had a little room left in him for some light teasing. Unlike Hawke’s usual methods of heavy teasing, which typically led to even heavier petting when the two were left alone.

Fenris didn’t take this well, but he merely sighed, tugging the uniform so its creases unfolded. “My least favorite part of going undercover,” he said, solidly and glumly, “is that the rest of us have to play-act while you always get to be yourself. Do you remember when we went to Chateau Haine? You had to accompany that awful Tallis, and Varric and I were assumed to be your manservants.”

“I remember,” Hawke chuckled. “You almost threw that guard in the moat outside the formal gardens.”

“I should have!” Fenris pouted. “Manservant. The gall.”

Hawke turned, and swept Fenris up by the waist. He smiled, from ear to ear, and Fenris - very briefly - forgot what he was mad about. Briefly.

“I promise. This ball will be better. And if anyone calls you a manservant, I’ll punch them in the face,” Hawke smiled.

Fenris, despite himself, let out a crooked smile, too. “That would blow your cover, I think.”

“Who’s to say the Champion of Kirkwall doesn’t go about punching random nobles in the face for calling his boyfriend a manservant?” Hawke said, defensively.

“You’re ridiculous,” Fenris said, but he didn’t let go of Hawke. Or stop smiling.

-

The gardens at Halamshiral were abuzz - it was a hot, breezy, summer night, and the fireflies were out in full force. The sun had set not but an hour ago, and the coolness of the evening had just begun to lay down on the stuffed shirts in attendance at the Winter Palace. The hum and splash of the magnificent fountain, forming the centerpiece of the front gardens, made for a soothing backdrop to the idle chatter and excited gossip of the guests. This was a much less fussy affair than the Winter Ball - but as an afterparty of sorts, to greet guests cordially as one of the first “informal” parties of the social year, and to introduce the Empress Celene and her recently reconciled lover, the elven Marquise Briala.

Hawke and company, however, had alternative goals in mind.

“Thanks for coming, Hawke,” Varric muttered, feeling rather out of place at the soiree.

“You still haven’t told me why we’re here,” Hawke replied, a little suspiciously. “You’re not one for parties. Well, not this kind of party, anyway.”

Varric sighed. “Just - trust me when I say I’m glad you’re here, all right?”

This time, unlike at Chateau Haine, Varric was wearing an unusually formal shortcoat, and he seemed ever so slightly nervous, shuffling from one foot to the next - which piqued Hawke’s interest, as his best friend almost never showed any signs of things getting to him. Especially social affairs.

Bethany was dressed in an Orlesian gown of periwinkle blue and white, in lush velvet, with a high collar in delicate gold filigree, embellished with designs of leaves and rings, reminiscent of the Circle. It had been a gift from Leliana, sent by courier when she had heard the Good Lady Bethany would be attending her first party at the Winter Palace. Hawke had interpreted this as a nice gesture, but Varric was quick to point out that the Nightingale had probably gifted her the dress as a sort of measure against the Inquisition’s acquaintances, however distant, being played as rubes in the dangerous machinations of the Game - especially when debuting.

Varric seized a beignet from the tray of a passing masked server, staining his gloves immediately with powdered sugar. The server either didn’t notice or pretended not to.

“Are those the ones with the chantilly cream?” Hawke asked, with interest. “Last time I was in Orlais, they had these tiny little beignets full of chantilly cream. And dusted with sugar, just like that. Only I think they had little swans made of gold foil on the top, too.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “Nobles,” he said, scoffing. “Always trying to outdo one another.”

Varric bit into the beignet, and made a face. “Nope. No cream. It’s filled with something, though.”

“Hmm,” said Hawke, eyeing the server who’d gone off with the tray. “I could go for some something.”

Before he could pop off in search of the most ridiculous food the party had to offer, Varric grabbed him by the coat.

“Have you noticed,” Varric began, very slowly, “That this party is filled to the brim with people who have pissed off the Tevinter Imperium?”

Bethany, who had taken a beignet of her own and was nibbling with interest, nodded along. “Isn’t the majority of Orlais an enemy of the Tevinter Imperium? That’s like saying the Qunari and Tevinter are in a little spat.”

“No,” Varric continued, slowly, looking around again. “I mean, this party, specifically, is full of people who have made specific enemies of the ruling magisters of the Tevinter Imperium.”

Hawke, listening, subtly reached for one of his sheathed daggers, which he’d kept on his attire for an emergency. Most people saw it as a bit of a Hawke-esque flourish, just another quirk of the Champion of Kirkwall. But it comforted him - as both an accessory and an accessory to a quick escape.

Varric, who had finished his beignet, patted down his coat as well - just to make sure Bianca was in play. “We’ll keep an eye out. Could be the Empress just keeps really good company.”

“I’ll admit, it’s a bit of a who’s who of people I’d like to meet,” Hawke said. Was that even a hint of being impressed in his voice?

Fenris, in the meantime, had not let his guard down for one second since entering the gardens, and was stationed just to the back of Hawke, in a position, he subconsciously realized, to thwart any surprise attacks on his charge. What was he to call Hawke, now that they were together, but he still felt compelled to protect him? What did Donnic call Aveline, do you think?

“I don’t trust a thing anyone at this party has put forth,” Fenris said, muttering, darting poisonous glances at the nearest group of nobles, who huddled together and began to giggle, which only infuriated Fenris more.

“Keep it together,” Hawke advised, patting Fenris on the arm. “They’ll probably kick you out if you try to rip out their organs. Although it is rather salacious when you do.”

Fenris frowned, but Hawke winked, boyishly, and he found himself smiling, despite himself.

Towards the group came a meandering group of ladies, all dressed in triplicate; the Empress’s Ladies in Waiting each curtsied lightly, one after the other, like a set of ascending piano keys.

“Messere Hawke,” the first one said, curtseying lowly. Her golden mask glinted in the gaslights that dotted the garden’s walls.

The second one giggled at Varric, and bowed to Bethany, who began to wave, then began to proffer a hand, then, finally, attempted a sort of curtsey, which was rather hard to tell in the voluminous dress Leliana had lent her.

“Why didn’t Mother ever prepare us for this sort of thing?” Bethany hissed, turning ever so slightly to Hawke.

“Mother was trying to run away from this sort of thing when she met Father, I think,” Hawke said, with a smirk.

“It is most pleasurable to see you, Lord Tethras,” the second one continued, to which Varric immediately held up his hands, which were still powdered with beignets. 

“Please,” he said, shaking his head. “Just Varric. Thank you. This is hard enough.”

“We’ve read the Tale,” the third one said, nodding at Varric, who - Hawke could tell behind his mask - was already sheepishly shrugging in extreme apology for the fracas that he was about to invite.

“Yes, the Tale,” the second one went on, animatedly. “Is it true, then, that the Champion really defeated the Arishok in hand to hand combat?”

“Well. It was more knife to knife,” Hawke shrugged, with a lopsided grin.

“And is it true, too, that your fellow Isabela ran off with the sacred texts of the Qun?” the first one asked, leaning in, with genuine curiosity.

“Just one book of the Qun, but yes,” Varric admitted.

“And is it true,” the third one said, earnestly, leaning in even further, “That you fought a High Dragon on the outskirts of the Bone Pits?”

Hawke, shrugging again, gave them a bit of a grin. “Fenris was there for that one. Varric, too.”

Tittering, the Ladies all looked at each other, flapping their fans at premium speed. A quick rush of whispers went through them, before they turned again to Hawke.

“We shall have to return, then,” the first one said, smiling coquettishly under her mask.

“And hear more of you and Lord Tethras’s stories,” the second one went on, as Varric winced at the “Lord Tethras” comment once more.

“It was a pleasure, truly,” the third one said, and all three of them curtsied, deeply, again, as Hawke bowed as they took their retreat, into the throng of the gardens.

It was as if they’d narrowly had a brush with a storm - or a windfall.

“Ugh,” Varric groaned. “Remind me to never tell people who I am or what I do, next time.”

“...Did they ignore you?” Hawke asked, looking back at Fenris, who was still standing a small distance away, his heavy, two-handed sword almost dragging in the garden lawn.

Fenris, sighing, barely looked up at Hawke as he dusted off the sword’s hilt. “I believe they are accustomed to people of your stature bringing elven servants as part of your coterie. Perhaps it would have been impolite to acknowledge my existence.”

Frowning, Hawke crossed his arms, glaring after the trio of Ladies-in-Waiting. “Perhaps it’s impolite to ignore you, at all,” Hawke said, scoffing.

Sighing heavily, Varric dusted the last of the beignet sugar off his hands with a clap.

“Well, I’m going to get just drunk enough to forget what’s going on, while being sober enough to remember why I’m here,” he said, stalking off with the firm purpose of a man who’s on a mission for nothing but the worst Antivan wine.

“And I would like to meet some new people,” Bethany said, with enthusiasm. “Is that the Marquess du Pompadour? Do you know her? Can we be introduced?”

“No, but I’m sure she’d be enchanted to meet the great Lady Bethany of House Amell,” Hawke smiled, as Bethany squeezed his arm excitedly before bounding off to introduce herself to Orlais’ best and richest.

“Have fun,” Hawke beamed, wagging his fingers at Bethany as she bounced to the next group of nobles, who already began chatting with her excitedly about the gold filigree neckline and the status of the party’s hors d’oeuvres.

Looking back at Fenris, Hawke frowned - but not at him.

“I don’t mind. Truly,” Fenris said, but his anger betrayed him in the way he wore his face.

Hawke frowned even harder.

“Well, I do,” he said, crossing his arms again. “One of the reasons why I agreed to come to this silly thing was to make up for Chateau Haine in the first place.”

Now, it was Fenris’s turn to frown. “Chateau Haine? I had assumed we came here to pry information out of the Inquisition. To assure their allegiance against the magisters. Or whatever strange twisted plan Varric has fished up.”

Nodding, Hawke waved a hand in the air. “I’m as eager to fight some magisters as the next man,” he said, continuing, “But I really wanted to come and show you a good time. I don’t like how things worked out at Chateau Haine - and I know how you feel about Tallis. I just supposed - perhaps - I wanted to take you to a party, and have you by my side. Properly. For once.”

Hawke looked rather embarrassed at this, and shrugged a little, in his reclaimed part-Hawke Estate part-leftover-guardsman-formal-uniform combination of attire.

“Hawke…”

Fenris’s eyes glinted in the moonlight. He reached for Hawke’s arm, and squeezed it.

“If you wish to have me by your side, you need only ask.”

Hawke, smiling, sweetly against the honeyed air of the garden, squeezed his hand back.

“I always need you by my side, Fenris,” he said, softly.

-

Meanwhile, at the other end of the party, Dorian Pavus was getting drunk. Very, very drunk.

He had harangued Josephine for an invitation to the Inaugural Ball, and, despite her best efforts, he had finessed his way into blackmailing, cajoling, and, in one case, outright bribing assorted members of Skyhold staff into bugging the Ambassador straight into sending Dorian one of the Inquisition’s coveted invitations to Empress Celene and Marquise Briala’s first ball, formally thrown together. Not counting the last one, of course. He felt he deserved it, after all, since he was both the life of the party and present for when they got together. The second time, anyway.

Dorian was engaging in one of his favorite pastimes - flirting with the masked drinksman serving the flutes of violet cocktail - when he was jostled by another patron, elbowing his way in.

“Ale, please. Not dwarven. Please tell me you have ale that isn’t dwarven. Everyone says it’s top notch but it just tastes like piss, and I know it does, so don’t tell me otherwise.”

Dorian’s ears perked up. That voice. It sounded weirdly familiar. Weirdly… Fereldan.

Looking over, the man next to him, wearing a simple silver mask with blue silk piping, slumped over, sighing, putting his head in his hands. His dirty blonde hair was just barely poking out of the back of the silks of the mask, and he had the stature of someone who had spent a long, long time training as a warrior - and an even longer time sitting around afterwards, getting all antsy as those muscles waited for their next workout. The man tapped his fingers on the table - and his heavy rings clanked against the delicate, white-lacquered wood. One demon head ring, as big as two knucklebones. One thick, silver sigil, like the symbols carved on the tunnels in the Deep Roads marking the location of Darkspawn. And, on his ring finger, a delicate, tiny silver band, with the smallest of silver roses, inlaid with flakes of mother-of-pearl and red ruby.

Dorian raised his eyebrows.

“You’re not very subtle, Your Highness,” he said, leaning against the bar, rolling his R’s. Loaded, like bait.

Startled, the man turned around, coughing and straightening up, making sure his mask was covering his face.

“We’ve met,” Dorian went on, somewhat relishing in the man’s uncomfortableness. “However briefly. I believe you know my paramour, Lord Angus Trevelyan? He has nothing but good things to say about you. King Alistair.”

The man, startled, whipped his head back around to the bar, to make sure nobody was listening, then, as best he could, made an extremely frustrated gesture at Dorian, hunching over, clearly annoyed.

“Have we met?” he said, irritably. “Because you are absolutely blowing my cover, here. …Which would make you, I suppose, a likely candidate for Angus’s new boyfriend. Which is who I suppose you are.”

Alistar sighed, and put his elbows back on the bartop. The server returned with a large flagon of ale, and Alistair placed several sovereigns on the bar. The server sniffed.

“We don’t take Fereldan currency, messere,” he sneered, pushing the coins back towards him. Alistair - even with a mask on - looked utterly defeated.

��Here,” Dorian said, hiding a smirk, pushing a handful of shiny Orlesian gold pieces towards the server, who nodded curtly, and disappeared back behind the bar.

“Thank you,” King Alistair groaned, putting his head between his arms. “You would not believe the amount of social faux pas I’ve racked up tonight. If I’d gone as myself, Orlais and Ferelden would be back at war by now.”

Dorian looked at him curiously. “Why are you here, if I may ask?”

Alistair shook his head. “Ale first. State secrets later.”

Dorian laughed. “You’re cute. I see why you’ve got the whole country wrapped around your little finger.”

“I do?” Alistair said, surprised.

“Not this one. They seem to think you’re a gauche little imp, here,” Dorian said, airily.

Alistair frowned.

“Ferelden,” Dorian clarified. “I hear you and your little wife are something out of a fairy tale, a Grey Warden King and Queen alike. Must be some sight to see. Does seem rather romantic, in a way.”

Alistair paused, then, slumping even further, let out a sigh that seemed to shake the very foundations of Halamshiral, let alone the bartop.

At that moment, Dorian remembered the other thing Angus had told him about Alistair - the important thing.

“Ooh. Ah. Sorry. I - I know it must be difficult, with your wife missing, and all. I’m sure - I’m sure she’s busy doing, ah. Grey Warden. Things.” Dorian thought about this for a moment. “Ah. Oh dear.”

Alistair looked hopeless, but downed his entire ale in a resolute gesture of bravery. “Lord Dorian of House Pavus, right?” he said, straining his last Kingly muscle to make the most out of the situation.

“Yes. Please don’t tell anyone I’ve so successfully put my foot in my mouth,” Dorian said - charmingly. As charmingly as possible, under the circumstances.

Alistair sighed. “You’re part of the Inquisition, then. You - were at Adamant.”

Dorian shook his head. “Not personally, no. …And don’t get me started on how I feel about that. Have you ever had your boyfriend go off into the Fade and have you think he was dead for almost twenty-four hours? No, I suppose not.”

Alistair gave him a withering look.

“...Right, missing wife, right,” Dorian said, hastily. “Here. I shall buy you another ale, and I’ll answer everything you wish to know about our visit to Adamant, as told by Lord Trevelyan himself. But no promises on me remembering everything correctly. I’ve had quite a lot of champagne.”

Alistair sighed, then nodded, solemnly. “Everything?”

“Everything.”

Finishing off his ale, Alistair motioned to the bartender for another, while Dorian slipped over another handful of silver coins.

“Then let’s begin,” Dorian said, with a raised eyebrow and a mischievous grin.

-

#dragon age #return to halamshiral #god i love fuckin' writing fenhawke. gaaaawd #and also fancy parties. #dragon age fic #dragon age fanfic #fenhawke #m!hawke #purple hawke #da:i oc #da2 oc #dorian pavus #alistair theirin #fenris #bethany hawke #varric tethras #andey hawke #antoinette cousland #queen cousland

[flowerpaletteart]

queen of swords, queen-consort warden-commander elise cousland 

#dragon age #da origins #couslan #alistair x cousland #queen cousland #dragon age oc #hero of ferelden #grey warden #da #art #tarot #tarot cards #queen of swords #swords #swords suite #digital art

[marduksstuff]

For the first time I played for a noble person and in the end I made my warden queen

Her name is Elinor and she's hot

#dragon age origins #dragon age #dao #gray warden #female cousland #Cousland #dragon age cousland #illustration #queen cousland #dnd #dnd art #dnd human #dungeons & dragons #dragon art

[kala-sketch]

Happy Dragon Age Day! Here you go, a little Alistair and Clarissa Cousland fanart of their first meeting, made with tons of love!

#dragonage #dragon age origins #dragon age fanart #alistair theirin #alistair #warden cousland #female cousland #queen cousland #dragon age day

[nanowatzophina]

Get to know Alana Cousland! Through little notes and doodles! (I was gonna do Robin hawke next but I didn’t like how it was turning out so here we are)

#dragon age #character sheet #warden oc #warden x alistair #Alana cousland #Queen cousland #not my favorite of my playthrough but I do like her spunky spirit

[nateliert]

Queen of Ferelden, Rosemary Theirin

The more I think about Rosie the more I love her. She's a skilled diplomat and has a strong sense of justice so I believe people of Ferelden feel safe having a queen like her.

Alistair's a lucky guy😔 (especially that he doesn't enjoy nobles rambling so he's happy to leave that to his wifey)

#dragon age origins #dragon age #fanart #dragon age fanart #dragonage #dragon age inquisition #bioware #digitalart #cousland #queen cousland #oc #dragon age oc #rosemary cousland

[kuhristea]

My beloved Cousland with her big brother getting hitched to Ali. She said "bow bitch" to Isolde.

#dragon age origins #queen cousland #hero of ferelden

[crunchbuttsteak]

Elyssanya Cousland: Hello Sister Justine, what would you do if a vial of the Tears of Andraste herself just happened to fall into the Denerim chantry’s donation bin?

Sister Justine: Wait, are you the one who keeps putting all these priceless relics in the Chantry’s donation bin?

Elyssanya Cousland: I couldn’t possibly say. Incidentally, Bann Faranderel has so many worldly possessions that I highly doubt he’s even noticed some of his many possessions are missing, isn’t that funny?

LATER

Alistair: I hope somebody comes to rescue us from fort Drakon soon my love.

Elyssanya Cousland, who’s already picked the lock and cut the guard’s throat: Did you say something dear?

Alistair: Oh wow, I thought that would have taken longer.

Elyssanya Cousland: The locks on the doors here only have 7 tumblers and two security pins in them, it’s like they want people to break out.

#after the coronation nobles meeting the queen of Ferelden feel the need to check their pockets #there was a wave of valuables going missing in Val Royeaux after the queen of Ferelden visited #everyone thought it was a spy in the queen’s retinue #they didn’t think that it was the Queen of Ferelden herself #Queen Elyssanya take everything not nailed down Theirin née Cousland #warden cousland #queen cousland #dragon age origins #dragon age #alistair theirin #alistair x cousland