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cactusnymph · 1 month

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Prompt 33, bandaging the other’s hand and not quite letting go, for dragon age? ❤️

"Ah, I miss our dear Wynne and her impressive bo—"

"Don't. Say it."

Alistair has no capacity for Zevran's jokes right now. Every single muscle in his body is hurting and his blood is humming with the awareness of at least a dozen Darkspawn in the area close by.

Zevran's ability to make light of situations is something that Alistair might be able to admire if Zevran wasn't also bleeding out of various wounds.

Having Wynne here would make all of this so much easier and way less dangerous.

"It would do you good to think of something nice in a dark situation like this, my dear Alistair", Zevran says and doesn't bat an eye when Alistair goes to wash one of the deep cuts between his ribs. Zevran's pain tolerance is a frightening thing to behold.

The sweat on his forehead and his unusually pale skin tells a different story, of course.

He wishes he didn't drink his last healing potion an hour ago. While Zevran's pain tolerance might be very impressive, Alistair knows that he's the one who can take the heaviest hits. He should have taken the brunt of this.

"Yet again you're not following my advice. You look as if you're thinking of funerals and Mabari excrements", Zevran says and manages a smirk.

"I'll start thinking about nice things once you stop bleeding out", Alistair mumbles, pressing a bandage on one of the wounds and tying it as tightly as possible to stop the bleeding. Then he moves onto the next.

Three Darkspawn down the tunnel behind them.

He hopes Nerian is safe. Usually Alistair wouldn't mind if Morrigan's head got ripped off by an ogre, but maybe not while they're already in such dire circumstances.

"Is that worry I detect, my friend?"

For some reason Alistair wishes that Zevran wouldn't keep calling him that.

"I don't want Nerian to look at me with a disapproving frown when I let you die", Alistair lies, rummaging around in his pack to see if he has any elfroot left to disinfect some of the nastier cuts on Zevran's thigh.

Since they headed into the Deep Roads Alistair didn't exactly have time to examine his feelings for—well. Neither Nerian nor Zevran. Instead of taking some quiet time to contemplate his attraction towards not one but two men, Alistair is zoned into the constant humming of the Darkspawn blood flowing through his veins.

He could really use a good night of sleep under the stars without nightmares of the Archdemon.

"Ah yes. Your fellow Grey Warden has a fierce aura of disapproval about him whenever something displeases him. I can see how that would strike fear into your heart", Zevran says and watches Alistair's every move as he does his best to clean the wound with water and elfroot.

Alistair glances up at Zevran's pale, sweaty face and swallows.

"So. I noticed you—uh. Stopped. With the. With the flirting", Alistair finally says. This is absolutely the worst time to address this, but Alistair could do with a little distraction from the horrors and maybe Zevran feels the same.

Zevran chuckles weakly and Alistair is concerned about the way his eyelids droop.

"I am nothing if not respectful", Zevran says, making Alistair snort. "And since I noticed that you fancy our dear leader I have graciously decided to take a step back."

Five Darkspawn fifteen meters ahead.

The air smells like dust and blood.

"You don't have to", he finally mumbles, his ears burning with shame and the blood rushing into their tips.

There's a beat of silence while Alistair starts bandaging Zevran's hand. He's very aware of every callus and the way they're almost holding hands like this, with Alistair cradling the bleeding palm in one hand while cleaning the wound with the other one.

This is ridiculous. He has to concentrate.

For a breathless moment Alistair is scared that Zevran went unconscious, but when he glances up he registers that Zevran studies his face, his expression unusually serious and below all the strain there's a hint of curiosity that makes Alistair's cheeks burn and his heart hammer in his rib cage.

"Well, aren't you full of surprises", Zevran says with a lopsided smile. Alistair fumbles with the final bandage as he tries to sort the Darkspawn awareness from the rushing of blood he feels while he feels Zevran's eyes on him.

He only realizes too late that the bandage is already done and he's still holding on to Zevran's hand. Alistair takes a deep breath before hastily letting go and turning away from Zevran to grab his shield.

"Stay there", he orders and in one fluid motion beheads a Darkspawn turning the corner.

No one is going to die today. Not on his watch.

feel free to send me one of these <3

#alistair x zevran #zevran arainai #alistair theirin #dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age: origins #da fic #warden mahariel #zevran x mahariel #alistair x mahariel #alistair x mahariel x zevran #zevistair #mi writes

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aveny-art · 2 years

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sketches of my Hero of Ferelden, Shalise Mahariel

#hero of ferelden #mahariel #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #my art #alistair theirin #alistair x mahariel #alistair x warden

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smashingpigeons · 2 years

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They're having a grand ol' time 😌

[😩 link]

#I wonder sometimes if I should restart my patreon #🍋#🍋 link #dragon age #alistair theirin #my art #warden mahariel #aelawynn mahariel #dragon age: origins #alistair x warden #alistair x mahariel

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starlightchocolatecookie · 1 year

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“You could get her alone in camp, give her a gift perhaps.”

I’m still drawing a lot, most of it is just exercising so that maybe one day projects won’t take me forever. I like how this one turned out!

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age alistair #alistair theirin #dragon age romance #dragon age fanart #dragon age origins fanart #alistair x warden #alistair x tabris #alistair x surana #alistair x amell #Alistair x Aeducan #Alistair x Mahariel #alistair x brosca #alistair x cousland

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big-cheesy-productions · 1 year

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Character Intro: Jayla Mahariel

Once again using Marian Churchland's templates and @palipunk's Absolution tutorial to introduce you to: Jayla Mahariel, my Warden! Jayla is a Dalish rogue who doesn't know anything about human politics and doesn't care to. The image above is around the time of Absolution so she has had the corruption for about 15 years and it is starting to show.

Her and Alistair have been reunited after Inquisition and she's just happy to be back with him so they can find a cure together.

She's a stabby sweetheart and I love her very much <3

Enjoy!

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dreamfyrestudios · 4 months

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So! I've got the itch to get art commissioned, because I just don't have enough time in the day to work/crochet/game AND draw ;~; maybe i'll squeeze some time in, IDK. Anyway - I'm putting some feelers out for artists that are okay / interested in the following: FFXIV (G'raha Tia/WoL Au ra, as seen above)

Dragon Age - Taleal Mahariel ( dalish elf) / Alistair

Allandra Lavellan (dalish elf) / Cullen

Baldur's Gate 3 Alathea (High Elf, Bard, haha) Gale

Feel free to comment / DM me with your info! Looking for either the characters together, or just my OC's. If together, something light/cute / fluff. Kissing/hugging at most.

#looking for art #ffxiv #graha x wol #dragon age origins #alistair x mahariel #dragon age inquisition #cullen x lavellan #baldurs gate 3 #tav x gale

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imdoingaokay · 2 years

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Warden-Inquisitor Pt 3

Hi guys, this is my little self-indulgent angst/fluff piece I just had to write because I was feeling some kind of way.

Also, I have a bunch of stuff in the works right now~! Promise~!

Alistair's part is a little confusing because I wanted to keep it ambiguous if he was a king or a warden, but I think it's lowkey implied he's a king.

TW: Mentions of death, descriptions of death, mentions of sexual activities, angst (but with fluff at the end)

Gentle Spoiler Warning~!

Alistair: It wasn’t fair. None of this was.

He had sprinted up the stairs of Fort Drakon, praying that a miracle would happen, hoping that they would still be alive.

But as he threw open the door to the roof, all he saw was the lifeless body of the archdemon and the woman he loved.

The Warden’s companions had placed a piece of cloth over their faces as a shroud. But Alistair knew, of course, he knew.

He could feel his legs turn to lead as he stumbled towards his lover, pained as he gingerly dragged the cloth away to gaze at his lover’s face.

He felt his hands travel to their cheek, thumb rubbing the now-cold skin that used to be so warm. So very warm.

Their eyes were closed, thank the Maker. Alistair didn’t think he could handle seeing their eyes still open.

Some soldiers offered to take the body of the Warden down on a stretcher, but Alistair angrily refused, opting to carry his love down himself. And that was exactly what he did.

The fort was silent, save for a few people murmuring and those tending to the wounded. But those who saw the Warden- no, the Hero’s body, stopped. Many knelt, many bowed their heads, and some even wept. But it was Alistair who grieved the most. He lost the most that day.

As the funeral drew closer, he found himself toying with the Warden’s belongings, finding the rose he had given them tucked underneath a pillow or within a knapsack. And for a moment, as he held that rose, he felt a little bit better, only to lose that feeling when he saw a petal fall. After that, he asked Wynne to perform a spell to freeze the rose. And he kept it with him, placing it on a nightstand or desk, wherever he could see. But only where he could see.

Years passed, and more news from Ferelden and Kirkwall surfaced. The Arishok losing his mind, a chantry blowing up, even the Divine Conclave happening and… failing, of course. Alistair had a feeling it wouldn’t work out, but he couldn’t bother to focus on that at the moment, the large hole in the sky was taking up more of a priority.

He was writing a letter at his desk when he overheard someone speaking rather hurriedly to their friend.

“-said they just dropped out of the fade.” One person spoke.

“Really? But are the rumors true? That it’s…?” Their friend asked, their voice barely above a whisper.

“The Hero of Ferelden? I’ve got a cousin in Haven right now who saw them, they said it’s got to be them.” The original speaker continues, and Alistair looks up from his letter, gazing at the frozen rose. He places his pen down and leans back in his chair, his breath shallow and quick.

“But? Is it really possible? That they’ve just risen from the dead?”

“Crazier things have happened, right? My cousin says they’re just like the stories about them, they know all about the Grey Wardens too. The Left Hand of the Divine seems pretty eager to call them the Hero anyways.”

Alistair freezes, grab a new piece of paper and quickly scribbles down a hasty letter before sending it off. His breath quickens, and he can’t tear his gaze away from the rose. If he could, he’d travel to Haven on his own. But he knows he can’t.

It takes time, but a few days later he sees a bird on his window, and with a letter written for him.

His hands shake as he opens it up, and nearly sobs when he reads the words that he can’t tear his gaze from.

Dear Alistair,

It’s her.

Yours truly,

A decade after he last saw her last, Alistair breaks out into a grin. Leaning back in his chair, he looks at his rose once more.

It looks far brighter than it did yesterday.

Leliana: She was there, by their side. She watched them as they plunged the sword deep within the Archdemon’s neck, watched an ethereal light break free from the wound, and saw the last glimpse of her lover, alive.

Even in their last moments, they were beautiful.

The same could be said for them when they were gone.

They looked asleep, peaceful. No pain, no agony, no tears… no tears coming from the Warden, that was.

She fell to her knees by her lover’s side. Grasping at their shoulders, weakly pulling them up so that she could hold them close to her.

“My love, please.” She whispered, whimpering and begging the lifeless body of her lover to return.

But by then, it was far too late. Her Warden was gone.

Leliana did what she could to cope, she sang a gorgeous ballad for her lover, and she traveled a little. Eventually, she found herself the title of Sister Nightengvale, the “Left Hand of The Divine.”

She became colder as time went on, she sang less and barely laughed unless she was with those she truly trusted.

Her days were filled with work, constant work… but it was better that way, she thought. When she was busy, she didn’t think about the Hero of Ferelden, she never thought of what could’ve been. But sometimes, when all was quiet, she got a chance to think of them again, and she could almost hear their laughter and see them in the corner of her eye. But those moments were few and far between.

In fact, the last time she felt that way was when she was in The Temple of Sacred Ashes. Divine Justinia had asked Leliana to return to Haven before the actual meeting began to ensure the people were settled and no fights broke out before they arrived, and Leliana obeyed. She had passed by a servant who was decorating the hall with Andraste’s grace. Leliana stopped, turning to the flower pot the servant just set down, and she took a moment to smell the flowers.

The moment was interrupted when she reminded herself of Divine Justinia’s orders, but there was a short second where she could’ve sworn she saw someone other than the servants walking down the hallway, someone… familiar. But Leliana knew it was some trick of her mind, so she continued on her way.

Of course, as soon as she got to Haven, that was when she felt the blast.

She returned to her normal coping mechanism, focusing on everything else aside from her own grief. Or at least, she did until she saw the sole survivor of the conclave.

She refused to believe it was them at first, her Warden, her lover. It was just someone who looked eerily like them.

That’s what she told herself until they woke up and saw her.

“Leliana?” They choked out, and Leliana’s heart skipped a beat.

Perhaps it was a trick, but… maybe… maybe it really was them.

“Yes.” She responded, whispering ‘my love’ under her breath.

Morrigan: Morrigan was angry. Of course, she was angry. The love of her life just had to decide to sacrifice their own life… for what? Honor? Glory? She knew the only real answer was because they were a fool. A blundering, idiotic fool.

That’s what she told herself.

She disappeared like a thief in the night, not even bothering to turn back as she escaped from Redcliffe. She told herself she wouldn’t mourn the death of her foolish lover, she wouldn’t mourn that idiot. She was better than that. She didn’t need them. So she ran, ran away from her lover, her problems, and the fear of losing the one person she let herself be vulnerable with.

Morrigan found herself in a small village within the Frostbacks when she heard the news. She had bumped into a kindly alchemist who had offered her a place to stay for the night, as when she arrived, a terrible blizzard was about to begin. Before she met the Warden, she would’ve angrily refused, but… now with some better social skills, she accepted after some deliberation.

Morrigan merely huffed as she heard the news from the alchemist, holding a cup of tea they had so kindly made for her.

“‘Tis a tragic thing indeed.” She said simply. But that night, she sat in her bed, gazing out of a window that was dusted in snow. She looked down at her lap and tried not to blame herself.

“You… blundering idiot.” She whispered, holding her hands close to her chest. She knew that it was her lover’s choice that he died, but… maybe… she could’ve seen them one last time? Maybe she could’ve been there during the last fight.

She thought of their face, the pained expression they held when they begged her not to go. And Morrigan, for the first time in ages, wept quietly to herself.

A few weeks had passed before the roads were travel-ready again, but by then, the alchemist had advised Morrigan to be extra careful.

“Why would you say that?” She scoffed.

“Because you’re not traveling alone anymore.” They spoke, gesturing to Morrigan’s stomach.

Morrigan gave the Alchemist a quick thanks before leaving to travel on her own, now unsure of what she was to do.

Months passed and Morrigan found herself unable to deny the nature of her own body. She was pregnant, and of course, she knew who the father was.

It was in Orlais that she gave birth, alone, of course, she’d rather die than bring some snobby midwife near her or her baby.

Yet as she held her newborn son, she began to tear up, they looked… normal… not like a demon or a beast. She knew he wouldn’t, but it didn��t change the fact that he was still… perfect.

Morrigan cared for her child, even getting a position in Empress Celene’s court while she raised her son on her own. Finding him inheriting a few traits of her lover.

Morrigan never had time for another man, as she was far too busy taking care of a growing one. And even if she wasn’t, there was a part of her, an immature, hopeless romantic part of her, that still grieved her love. And that part of her wasn’t leaving anytime soon, even ten years after their death.

So one could only imagine her surprise when she was in a salon, listening to a few nobles gossiping about the newly founded Inquisition.

“You must’ve heard, Madame.” One noble grinned, giggling with her friend. Morrigan plastered on a fake smile and responded.

“Whatever are you talking about? The disaster of the Divine Conclave?” Morrigan spoke, in the corner of her eyes, watching Kieran play in the garden.

“Oh, non! Not that! It is the person they have named the Herald!” Another noble chimed in.

“Oh yes! I’ve heard many rumors that Andraste blessed the soul of The Hero of Ferelden! They say he walked out of The Fade!” The noble spoke.

Morrigan’s smile fell, and she felt her hands begin to shake, “Really?” She asked.

“Oh yes! Even the Left Hand of The Divine has claimed it is them! I am so surprised you haven’t heard!”

“But is that even possible?”

“Perhaps it is…” The nobles continued to chatter, and Morrigan found herself shakily standing up, claiming she needed to excuse herself for a moment.

Morrigan walked out to the garden, unable to breathe. She looked around, wondering what sort of god would play such an evil trick on her.

“Mother?” She heard, turning to look down at her son, who tugged gently on her dress, “Are you alright?” He asked.

“Me?” She said breathily, before bending down and wrapping her son in a hug, “Oh, yes… yes, I am… my precious boy.” She cooed, petting his head.

She refused to believe they returned, it was impossible. And even if it was, she had far too much to focus on, her son is far too important for such idiotic daydreams of her lover. This… Herald… was nothing more than a man who looked just like her lover. That was all.

So Morrigan would ignore any letters sent by Leliana, and ignore the colorful gossip that fluttered from the loose lips of nobles.

Of course, she stuck to that idealogy… until The Winter Palace.

She had her entrance all planned out, she would say something clever, something wise. Maybe even throw in an insult toward the Inquisitor over their appearance. And it would all end in her giving the Inquisitor the key she got from the Tevninter agent.

At least, until she locked eyes with him.

It was almost from a dream, how he maneuvered to the base of the stairs she had been making her grand entrance down. He stretched out his hand, and Morrigan found herself taking it, watching him bring his lips to her knuckles.

“I have heard much of you, Madame.” He spoke lowly, “But to finally be in your presence after ten long years… it is more than I could ever hope for.”

Morrigan was about to refute, be angry, and claim this Inquisitor was nothing more than an imposter, and impersonator.

“I sent so many letters, but I knew you wouldn’t read them. I knew you were far too angry with me.” He said, and Morrigan made her way down the rest of the stairs, “Please,” He nearly begged, “Dance with me.”

Morrigan knew that the pair dancing would lead to rumors, to talking. Perhaps the court would think even less of The Inquisitor.

But Morrigan no longer cared, the look The Inquisitor gave her, the feel of his hands, and his voice.

He was no fade demon, no imposter, he was the man she loved all those years ago. And the man she loved still.

Zevran: When Zevran awoke from the blast that threw everyone back several meters, his first instinct was to sprint toward his lover. Before he even knelt by their side, he knew they were gone. That didn’t stop him from crying out his lover’s name, as if it would rouse them from the endless sleep of death.

He held them in his arms, mourning and lamenting the death of his love. He screamed until his throat was raw, clinging onto them with all the strength he had. It was the other companions of the Warden to convince him to leave his lover’s side, and even then, he still cried. He was there for their funeral, but only for a while. He could only subject himself to such cruel torture for only so long.

The next months passed by in a blur, he worked for the throne before The Crows found him once more. After that, he traveled. Not willingly, of course, but he traveled.

He traveled to Antiva, Nevarra, Kirkwall, and eventually, back to Antiva. He was dutiful in escaping Crow after Crow, and while he was at it, he bedded plenty of willing men and women.

Yet, on some nights, when he was alone, he was sure no Crows were nearby. He would gaze up into the sky and would think of his lover. His thoughts would drift from simple things like their laugh or the little facial expressions they made to other things… like their first meeting… and the last time they kissed. He often wonders what he would be doing if they were still alive. Those moments are the ones he cherishes the most, as they distract him from the eventual sorrow that comes soon after when he thinks of how much he truly misses his warden.

This cycle of pain, killing, sleeping around and repeating went along for almost a decade. But no matter how many times he distanced himself from that agonizing feeling of loss and loneliness, whether by a blade or by a bosom, Zevran still mourned his lover.

He had just finished a job when he heard about the conclave and the mysterious person that dropped from the fade.

Zevran was so busy flirting with some busty woman that he nearly ignored the words from the barmaid.

“Oh, I’ve heard it’s the Hero of Ferelden.” She said, passing down a pint of ale for a group of men.

Zevran, completely forgetting about the woman he was trying to bang, quickly pulled aside the barmaid, his curiosity peaked.

“Oh, yeah.” She shrugged, “Said it was like they came back to life… kind of impossible, though… right?”

“Impossible… yes.” Zevran nodded, before quickly leaving the bar.

Zevran knew the chances were slim, he knew that it was impossible, but he couldn’t help himself from hoping.

Sending letters to Leliana would be too time-consuming, he figured. So he decided to just travel to Haven himself.

However, by the time he got to Ferelden, the Inquisition was already located in Skyhold.

That, of course, didn’t deter him, as he began to march alongside the many pilgrims that traveled to Skyhold themselves.

He was far chipper than he had ever been in the last ten years, happily chatting with just about anyone. And eventually, he made it to Skyhold. He was still there under the guise of being another pilgrim, but it didn’t take long for an agent to report the suspicious man to Leliana.

Zevran, after a long talk, was told of The Inquisitor’s current whereabouts, and even got confirmation that The Inquisitor was, in fact, his warden.

Zevran decided he couldn’t wait any longer and traveled to the Hitherlands, where he finally caught them. In the middle of a battle, no less.

They had a new group of friends, but as Zevran watched from afar, he drank in the familiar sight of his lover.

The shape of their face, their eyes, and the way they held their weapon. Zevran had already gotten his confirmation, but this was what sealed the deal.

He almost forgot that his lover was in the middle of a fight before he joined in, the group quickly ending the life of whatever creature had attempted to kill The Warden-Inquisitor.

“I must thank you.” They said to Zevran, and Zevran felt a chill run up his spine. Maker, how he missed their voice.

“I don’t know if I caught your name, stranger.” The continued, stepping closer to Zevran before he took off his hood.

“I hoped you wouldn’t, but ten years is a long time to be without you. I understand.” He smiled, feeling a heavy feeling of dread weighing on his shoulders.

Had they forgotten him?

Did they no longer love him?

Wait, were they getting closer to him?

Zevran’s thoughts were interrupted by the lips of his lover on his own. He felt a little sorry for their companions, who were probably confused out of their minds, but Zevran decided to pay them no attention.

As the pair broke away, Zevran’s gaze softened and he held the face of his lover gently.

“I have traveled so far just to see you… I… You don’t understand how much I’ve missed you.” He spoke, pressing his forehead against his lover’s.

Ten years was a long time, especially without them.

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theswampsith · 1 year

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So he said, "Would it be all right If we just sat and talked for a little while If in exchange for your time I give you this smile?"

Elwyn and Alistair get to live their days blissfully unaware of and far away from politics and royalty. Inquisition? I hardly know her! Outside world DNI.

I have spent almost 9 hours on this piece and I will not be going back to fix shit, we are live laugh loving our way onto another WIP 😤

#dragon age #dragon age origins #alistair x mahariel #alistair #mahariel #elwyn mahariel #my art #2023 #OC art #please god dont bully me #she's the sun obvs

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greypetrel · 2 months

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Siúil a rúin

Last codex prompt from @shivunin! Thank you so much for all these hon!

Tis the prompt list

8. something written about one of your OC’s regrets - Alyra

Alyra,

Please don't come here to slap me on the back of my neck for what I'm about to tell you. But I'm tired of discussing this, and this behaviour of yours needs to stop. If Morrigan won't tell you, I will.

I'm not Tamlen, I'm not Merrill. I'm not dying if you take your eyes away from me for five minutes. Even if I do: it's not your responsibility, it's not on you, nobody would blame you, me least of all, you aren't leaving me in a place I don't want to be.

Yes, I never wanted this crown and yes, for a moment I hated you for forcing it upon me. It's been ten years, we patched it up and I hope I grew up a little. Enough to stop whining upon it. It's gone how it's gone, and if we're talking about blame and forcing the other upon roles they didn't want, I did the same to you after Ostagar. I was the senior Warden, I shouldn't have left you in charge. I put you in a difficult position first, without giving you a choice. We're even.

Beside, I look handsome with the crown on my head. You like it too, I saw you.

What I mean is: Go. Take your things and go after the Cure. I'm going to be fine, Ferelden is not going to sink without you, and you kinda offend me if you imply I could do such a shitty work. My poor heart is in shambles. The worst it's happening is that I'll order every meal to be cheese. Do not worry about me and go. If there's one person that can accomplish this crazy mission, that's you. And I am more involved in the Circle environment than you: I can deal with this war.

I did ask a lot of you too. I'm not asking you to renounce to this. And not only because it will benefit me as well.

Go, my love. Don't let me stop you again. I'll keep Teagan on pins and needles with crazy requests on your account. I will stare at him without blinking just to not let him lose the habit of sweating in councils.

And I promise that if I find any magic mirror, I will just wink at my reflection and leave it alone without touching it.

Too soon?

I do love you. Run here before leaving, so I can tell you goodbye properly. Alistair.

#oc codex prompts #alistair x mahariel #dragon age origins #warden mahariel #alyra mahariel #writing petrel

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rosella-writes · 2 years

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Hello there! For DWC, might I suggest "There’s an art to life’s distractions" for Zevran/Mahariel/Alistair? (sfw and nsfw equally welcome!)

Thank you!! This one went in a more heartfelt direction than I expected, but still fun (and kinda angsty). Mention of the Calling. For @dadrunkwriting

Relationship: King Alistair x Rhiannon Mahariel x Zevran Arainai

Words: 920

Rating: T

~~~

"You worry too much, mi amor," Zevran told him, plucking at the placket of his vest with skilful hands.

A short laugh bubbled up from Alistair's throat. "Worry this and worry that. Used to be told I didn't do that enough, but now it's like the damn things multiply."

"Then let's help you forget," Rhiannon whispered in his ear, "before we leave tomorrow morning. There's an art to this, you know."

"Ah yes," Zevran chuckled. "An art to life's distractions. Such pretty pictures we will paint."

Alistair almost let them. He knew the guard rotation, knew the unlikelihood of anyone coming down this particular hallway into this particular office with its neglected books, and it would've been so easy to let them guide him back against the desk and strip him of his uppity royal garb. He closed his eyes and half imagined what this would have been like if they'd had the sense to do this before — just the three of them in the field, in a tent, on the ground. Such luxury when compared to the mantles they each wore now.

He regretfully caught at their hands — Zevran's, pulled from within his vest, and Rhiannon's, plucked from the waistband of his breeches. He clutched them between his palms and kissed their fingertips.

"Vhenan," Rhiannon said, her voice low and concerned, "what's wrong?"

He glanced up at her, at them. Rhiannon's brown eyes were large and warm in her bronzed face, and her expression twisted her tattoos into new shapes. He noticed a new grey hair or two at her temples, and felt a stab of regret.

He looked at Zevran and took him in. All coyness and impish teasing had fallen away from his face, leaving only a strange nakedness. His amber eyes stared steadily into his own — years ago he would have glanced away with a flirtatious quip and a smile, but not now. Alistair raised a hand to cup his face, keeping their hands clutched in the other.

"You're leaving tomorrow," he said. "I don't want to spend all our time hiding away."

Rhiannon almost looked hurt, but she raised their clasped hands to her own mouth and kissed the tangle of thumbs. "If you like. I will just... well. I'll miss you."

"I'm still here, aren't I?" he chuckled, offering her a clumsy wink. "We can go on to my rooms in the guest wing. I have those! Amazing what you get when you ask for it in this place."

Zevran leaned into his hand with a hum. "Then let's go. We could just hold one another and gaze into each other's eyes, if you like. Mine are exceptionally dreamy, of course."

"Of course," Alistair chuckled drily. "But mainly I... oh this is a bugger. Never thought my little old life could get quite so tangled. But I know you have your reasons not to tell me where you're going. I just worry. About you. About you both."

"I worry about you," Rhiannon confessed into his palm, eyes fixed on his skin. "I hate leaving you. Hate knowing you're here in a place you hate, doing things you don't like. Hate that I put you here."

"Hey, hey." He lifted her chin with his fingertip, forcing her to look up at his face. "I took it for myself, you know."

"Because I conscripted Loghain."

"Yes," he said, sudden steel sharpening his tone. "And we don't have to talk about that now. What's done is done."

"And," Zevran interrupted with a smooth step forward, nosing under Alistair's ear, "we are inextricably linked,. For better or worse, my good king. Which is why" — he shot Rhiannon a pointed look from underneath Alistair's chin — "we will tell you the truth."

Alistair looked back into Rhiannon's eyes with an exaggerated bend of his brow. "Is it a fun secret, you're keeping? Maybe something shocking, or better yet, something embarrassing? Spill."

She didn't laugh. Instead, she stared at Alistair for a moment, then back to Zevran with a helpless expression on her face.

"The Deep Roads," she finally said, as if the words would choke her.

Alistair felt as if she'd dunked him in cold water. He couldn't move for a moment, frozen fast, then clutched her hand so tightly he thought he might break it.

"Can't," he choked. "No, I've been a Warden longer, I'd hear it —"

Zevran shook his head and cupped Alistair's cheeks, forcing him to look at him. "There is no Calling, not yet, tesoro. But there might be soon. You cannot blame us for searching for the answer to fending it off, yes?"

He looked between them, feeling his focus narrowing almost to nothing. "Zev, how could you —"

Zevran shook him, only slightly. "Caro, I go with her. I will never leave her side, I swear it. I may be no warden, but I will not lose her. Can you blame me for wishing for some way to keep you both alive?"

Alistair was at a loss — Rhiannon wordlessly pressed close to both of them, and he gathered them up in his arms. Zevran kissed the edge of his jaw.

"I cannot lose you both, my Wardens," Zevran said thickly. "I came to you intending to die, and I will not allow you to leave this world before me. What a cruel joke that would be."

Neither of them could answer him. They merely stood, breathing in the scent of one another, until their heartbeats slowed and the tears threatening to fall faded away.

#dadwc #rhiannon mahariel #zevran arainai #alistair theirin #alistair x mahariel #alistair x zevran #zevran x mahariel #alistair x mahariel x zevran #my writing #dragon age origins

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