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tired-truffle · 23 days

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Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOriginal Character Fic

Word Count: 3.6k

Part 1/39

Summary: - 'I did not like to be touched, but it was a strange dislike. I did not like to be touched because I craved it too much. I wanted to be held very tight so I would not break.' - Mary Hornbacher

Gwen had spent so long on her own, distanced from the world behind a mask of her own making, that when he smiled at her like she hung the moon and the stars, she thought she would be blinded by the need that coursed through her rotten veins. She was not a creature that deserved love, but by the Maker did she need Alistair like she needed the air in her tired lungs.

Masterlist

“It takes a special kind of person to hide away in an abandoned hovel instead of help fight to save the town that one is currently residing in.” Gwen could barely conceal the anger rolling in her tone like the sound of distant thunder, the dark blue bandana covering from her oddly flat nose down to her neck shielding the dwarf from the full effect of her fury. Yet, from the look of shocked outrage wrinkling the skin of his large forehead, he at least seemed to understand what she was implying. “I thought dwarves were supposed to be brave and strong,” she continued, “but all I see is a whiny coward who is far past his golden days.”

The dwarf’s chair creaked against the wooden floor as he stood up in a rush, apoplectic and red in the face, “You know nothing of me, girl, I have fought my battles, you cannot cow me into joining human militia,” he spat the words like they were dirt on his tongue, “I may as well string myself up and lather my body in butter for those beasts to snack on, all the good that’ll do me.”

Gwen crossed her arms over her chest, the muscles in her jaw twitching with irritation. She was finding it increasingly difficult to think as that ever-present whisper shivered down her spine, drifting through her in a way that threatened to consume her carefully balanced poise and turn her into the feral creature she knew lurked underneath. She’d come all this way, fought night after night against the undead raiding this town like a plague, and this is what she got? A cowardly dwarf who refused to help in a fight?

When she’d first heard that there was a veteran dwarf holed up in this tiny room off the town centre of Redcliffe, she’d figured it couldn’t be that hard to convince him to join up.

She should have known than to underestimate a dwarf’s stubbornness.

Gwen placed her hands on the table between them, leaning forward so she towered over his seated form, “If you do not join the militia, I will ensure that it is not for lack of will, but for lack of physical capability,” she snarled, her lips curling back under the blue fabric. Dwyn froze, all that righteous indignation falling from his face as his eyes flickered downwards to where the dark blue fabric rested against her starkly pale skin.

Gwen's usually calm composure transformed, her anger pulsing through her body and emanating off of her like a dark aura. As she towered over the dwarf in front of her, his eyes darted around nervously, searching for an escape. The air around them felt charged with fear as Gwen leaned closer.

“What are you?” Dwyn's eyes narrowed as he looked at Gwen with suspicion and distaste, taking in the blueish hue of her flesh and the unnatural wispy grey of her eyes. His gaze lingered on the bandana for a moment, a subtle sign of his fear and uncertainty.

Gwen cocked her head to the side, her voice cold enough to send chills running down the dwarf’s spine, “Would you like to find out?”

Dwyn, realizing this line of questioning was not going to get him anywhere pleasant, shook his head, “I know a freak when I see one, you don’t gotta tell me twice,” he grumbled at her, picking up his axe from where it rested against the floor, the metal scraping against the wood of the floor.

Gwen stood tall, her shoulders squared and chin lifted in defiance, giving no indication that his name-calling hurt her, and in truth, it didn’t, not in any way that mattered. She’d heard it from people for her entire life - freak, monster, demon - and she’d learned that it only ever genuinely hurt when it came from those she cared about. And she didn’t have anyone she cared about anymore, so she was immune to such petty name-calling. At least until she would crawl into bed, her blood stinging as it ran through veins not made to carry its toxicity, the familiar names echoing in her mind like screams into a canyon, adding to the constant clamour that plagued her every night.

The rustling of fabric and shifting of items could be heard as Dwyn adjusted his pack, the heavy clanking of metal objects and creaking of leather indicative of the weight he carried. His footsteps were quick and hurried as he tried to make a swift exit, avoiding Gwen’s intense stare that she shot like daggers against his skin. A door creaked open and stayed that way as a gust of wind slammed it into the outside wall. The room fell quiet once again, with only the lingering echoes of Gwen's heavy exhale breaking the stillness.

Despite being skilled at intimidating others, it was a role that she despised. She had spent years perfecting the art of appearing non-threatening, constantly walking on eggshells to avoid provoking anyone, while at the same time unnerving others enough with her blank stares and tense posture - as though she was ready to strike at any moment - that they left her alone. She knew the consequences of revealing her true self, and she had no desire to relive those moments of her life, they were best buried in the past.

“Huh, I thought we’d have to do all that hard work ourselves but it looks like someone beat us to it.” The voice was a rich, warm timbre that rumbled from the depths of the speaker's chest. It was confident and bold, yet playful and mischievous, adding a touch of humour to the tense atmosphere. Despite its deepness, the voice carried easily, demanding the attention of anyone within earshot “It’s too bad, I was kind of hoping to try my hand at scaring the breeches off a dwarf.”

Gwen, who had been so lost in her thoughts, and that horrible, whispering voice that bounced around the base of her skull - too quiet to make out the words, but just loud enough to be impossible to ignore - she hadn’t heard the stranger’s approach. As she whirled around, her eyes wide with panic, she realized she had not only missed the speaker’s approach but that of his two companions and Mabari hound as well.

Shit, they’d startled her and she’d been so wrapped up in her own head she had forgotten to put on her mildly intimidating act.

Unsafe, unsafe, unsafe, her brain repeated to herself. Unhelpful, she wanted to add.

She crossed her arms over her chest, scowling under her bandana in an attempt to look less like a nug that had been caught outside its burrow. She focused on the elf leading the group who stands tall and willowy but proud. His features were sharp and defined, with piercing dark eyes that seemed as endless as the night sky. His chiselled jawline gave him the air of confidence and arrogance though it was softened by his expertly styled hair that cascaded back in loose burnished-brown curls that hugged the nap of his neck. The sassy smirk he wore on his lips that showed off the dimples of his cheeks made it clear he knew how attractive he was.

Gwen held back an eye-roll, but the handsome elf’s companion, a dark-haired mage judging by the wooden staff strapped to her back, who was beautiful in an I’ll-kill-you-with-one-withering-stare-and-a-cutting-remark kind of way, held no such reservations. She’d never seen an eye-roll of such high calibre sass, but she couldn’t help but feel a certain kinship with the woman, one she was sure would not be reciprocated.

“You could not ‘scare the breeches’ off of a blushing maiden, Darcy,” the woman spoke in a mocking tone, her accent posh and refined, “let alone a washed-up soldier, dwarf or otherwise.”

Gwen would have to agree, he was much too slight to scare anyone, and his light leather armor did little to invoke the image of a powerful warrior. His beauty was a delicate sort, his cheekbones may have been as sharp as crystalline glass, but they would shatter all the same.

The man, Darcy - as the woman had called him -, feigned a deep and horrid pain, clutching at his chest dramatically, “You wound me, Morrigan, and in front of our new friend too. Do you never tire of mocking me?”

“When you no longer provide fuel for my mocking, I will consider relenting.”

The Mabari barked his agreement.

“Traitor.” Darcy hissed, scowling down at the short-furred beast, its tongue lolling happily out of its mouth.

“Right.” Gwen kept her arms loose but prepared to strike, they did not yet seem to be a threat, but she had learned long ago to never trust first appearances, “What do you want?”

Darcy opened his hands in a gesture meant to appease her, “I appreciate a woman who is straight to the point. Murdock told us all about the masked stranger who’d been helping them fight back the undead hoards that have been descending upon their good city and we’ve completed all the other tasks he’d given to you. Well, save for Dwyn, but it seems you have that one handled.” Darcy smirked at her.

Gwen eyed the strangers, looking at the last companion she had yet to hear speak up. The man’s strawberry blond hair was kept short to his head except for a little more length in the front that stuck up a bit, little whisps trailed down over his forehead as though the hair disagreed with this arrangement and wished it to be known. His strong chin was dusted with a light goatee, and his sturdy warrior’s frame towered over his smaller friends. He stood behind them, but as his warm brown eyes met hers, she wondered why he let the much smaller two lead. It was a scene of unexpected camaraderie, a trio of unlikely companions united under a common purpose. The small dogs, full of tenacity and spirit, were determined to lead the larger one, who seemed content to follow along as long as he was a part of the group. The dynamics between them were as colourful and intriguing as a patchwork quilt, each unique in their own way yet working together despite the snags they may encounter.

Since he had been behind the other two, Gwen hadn’t noticed the symbol covering his breastplate, yet when he shifted and the light reflected off the polished metal as he stepped into her view, eager to be a part of the conversation, her heart sunk. It felt like some cosmic joke, right as she was headed on the path to find the answers she’d sought her entire life, that familiar Griffon she’d spent the last eight years avoiding was now staring her in the face, cornering her in this tiny room.

Of course, it was just her luck that she’d be face to face with a Grey Warden, though she knew it was only a matter of time until she found one amidst the Blight, she’d hoped it would be after she’d come into contact with Darkspawn. She should have kept that hope secret, lest the Gods find it and tear it to shreds along with the rest of everything else she tried to grasp.

Gwen tore her panicked gaze from him, content to ignore him until he gave her a reason not to. Her hands itched for her daggers, but until he showed signs that he meant to harm her, she would not give him any reason to. She had no way of knowing how he’d react to her, but she would ensure she did not meet her end when she was so close to getting the answers she’d wanted her entire Maker-forsaken life.

“Thank you?” Gwen wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or if Darcy was actually upset that she had stolen this piece of glory from him.

Darcy’s smirk widened and she wasn’t sure she liked where this was heading, but was powerless to stop it lest she provoke his ire, “What brings you to Redcliffe…?” He trailed off, his heavy-lidded eyes - a hint of amusement hiding in the darkness - awaited her reply as he leaned forward, intent in his stance.

Gwen’s gaze drifted into a vacant stare as she processed the question, “Gwen.” She supplied when it clicked - embarrassingly late - what he was asking for. She glanced back to the Grey Warden but saw no recognition in his eyes, only a curious expression as he watched this conversation play out. Good, she had worked hard to keep her name out of blabbering mouths, it would do her no good to hide her face if everyone recognized her by name alone.

“Gwen,” Darcy said the name appraisingly and nodded his approval, “what brings you to Redcliffe? Haven’t you heard that the Archdemon’s army marches this way?””

Gwen hesitated, she couldn’t tell them the truth, at least not the whole truth, but she couldn’t come up with a good enough lie that would explain why she wasn’t running away, “Yes, I ‘d heard.”

“And you’re willingly travelling towards it?” The tall Grey Warden spoke for the first time since they’d cornered her in this room. His smooth voice carried a Ferelden accent, a lightness to it as if he was constantly on the verge of laughter. The way he spoke was playful yet confident, teasing but never cruel. Gwen’s eyes flicker to him and then back to where Darcy stands, a hand on his cocked hip and that smirk still resting on his perfectly arched lips.

Gwen shifted her gaze nervously, unable to maintain a steady level of eye contact. She didn't want the Grey Warden to feel intimidated by her intense gaze, so she forced herself to glance away. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of his full lips pulled downwards into a pout, a rather put-out look on his face.

“Yes.” She answered simply, “Where there is war there is work.”

Darcy laughed, melodic and loud as it echoed in the small space, “And it seems like our work just so happens to line up at the moment,” Darcy took a few steps forward and held out his hand. Gwen had to resist every instinct to put space between them, but if he noticed her freeze up, he did not let on. Underneath all that charm was a cunning mind and she was reticent to trust him based on his word alone. Yet, she couldn’t risk upsetting him either, “So what do you say, Gwen, how about we work together to kill some undead, and then if you are as good as Murdock claims, you can come with us to stop the Archdemon before it destroys Ferelden forever. I’m sure you’ll find plenty of work along the way.”

Gwen balked, “You’re going to stop the Archdemon?” She glanced over at the Grey Warden again, were there more of them waiting outside?

“That or die trying, and the odds of our bloody deaths increase every day!” He quipped, much too cheery for such a foreboding statement. “And we’d be all that much safer if we had a mysterious figure such as yourself to help scare off some of our enemies. I must say there is something about you that is deeply unsettling.” Darcy added, jiggling his hand to remind her he was still waiting before sincerity caused his tone to lower, “We could really use someone like you.”

Gwen’s heart twisted in her chest, uncomfortable feelings swirling through her stomach, like a swarm of angry bees. They wanted her, just like that? No need to prove herself, no demands to reveal her face… There had to be some trick there, no one wanted the off-putting stranger who refused to show her face around unless they were desperate. Though perhaps no other Wardens were waiting for them outside which would stand to reason that they could, in fact, be rather desperate for willing participants in their fight. And Darcy did make a fair point; she was trying to help Redcliffe and so were they. If she agreed to accompany them for this battle, she could determine their true intent and decide if it was worth joining them or shaking them at the first available opportunity. They had to sleep sometime and escaping into the night was a specialty of hers.

Gwen clasped her hand in his and gave him a firm shake, his grin growing and Gwen already regretted agreeing to this. She looked to the woman - Morrigan, Darcy had called her - who looked as though she’d eaten a batch of sour grapes. If Darcy could convince such a sullen woman to be a part of his group, she likely did not stand a chance, better to agree early and part ways when he wasn’t looking. The Grey Warden piece was a complication that lurked like a shadow in the darkness, a blade waiting to strike, but it wouldn’t be the first time she had lived on alert at all times. She could handle it for the time being, given that they all lived through the upcoming onslaught of undead creatures, of course.

“Your penchant for adopting strays shall spell our doom,” Morrigan muttered, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Dramatic as ever, Morrigan,” The Grey Warden teased, and the death glare he earned had Gwen surprised he wasn’t reduced to cinder right then and there, “I, for one am happy to welcome you to our humble little party.” He beamed at her, his smile lopsided and boyish, and even though she was still wary of him, it warmed a small piece of her that he seemed to genuinely mean it. “I’m Alistair, by the way, since everyone else has already had the chance to introduce themselves.”

Alistair bounced with nervous energy about him when he spoke that had Gwen eyeing him warily like he was an over-excitable pup ready to jump on her and begin licking her face with abandon. Maker, she needed to stop thinking about him like a dog or she would never be able to resist anything he asked of her.

A loud bark reminded Gwen that they had a real dog among their group, strays indeed.

“Oh, and this is Barkspawn.” Alistair gestured to the Mabari, covered in war paint, who sat on his haunches, an air of pride swirling around him. Gwen coughed to cover a startled laugh, Barkspawn? Had they named their dog with a blight-based pun? Maybe she didn’t have to fear them as much as she had originally thought, but rather whatever chaotic situations they were no doubt to pull her into.

Morrigan made a disgusted sound, her painted lips twisted with a sneer. Gwen was sure she was going to be hearing that sound from her a lot in the upcoming time spent together. “Yes, it is a pleasure to meet you,” Morrigan’s tone dripped with sarcasm and haughty disdain, “But we must end this ceaseless prattle, lest we squander more time in our preparations than we already have. Our true objective is to defeat the Archdemon and we cannot do so when we are preoccupied with saving this town from suffering the consequences of their own mistakes.”

“For the hundredth time, oh witchy one,” Alistair’s dry tone lent his words a grating sort of touch, “We can’t just leave these people to die, and we need Arl Eamon’s help to-“

“If I wanted to listen to your whining, Alistair, I would have simply listened to the mutt’s whimpering, at least that is more pleasant to the ears.” Morrigan cut him off with biting words.

Darcy’s laugh stopped Alistair from releasing whatever scathing remark was poised at the tip of his tongue, “Welcome to the team, Gwen, you’re going to love it here.”

That remained to be seen, but at least if the witch could distract the Grey Warden’s disdain from her, maybe she could at least survive the night.

Next Chapter

A/N: Thank you for taking the time to read my fic <3

I will be posting minimum once a week, but my last fic I posted almost daily sooooo we will see!

No warnings for this chapter but all future warnings will be posted in the beginning notes.

I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments and they keep me writing faster :)

Art of Gwen for anyone interested :)

#alistair theirin #falling in love #angst with a happy ending #slow burn #hurt/comfort #fluff #alistair dao #alistair dragon age #humour #eventual smut #learning to love yourself #Alistair x original character #Alistair x original female character #childhood trauma

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