#look at alistair that bastard | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dr3c0mix · 1 year

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+* Masterlist *+

Some bonus stuff isnt listen here but you can find them by searching up the tags in their respective fics <3

For those interested in the ones with art, all of my art posts have the tag #opossumdoodles on them !

ADRIAN 🖤 YANDERE! BULLY X READER || PART 2 || PART 3 || Ftm Darling w/ Top Scars

BRANDON 🏈 JOCK X READER || PART 2 || PART 3 || w/ AMAB Student Council Reader

VALETH ⚔️ YANDERE! ORC X READER || PART 2

BO, SCREW, SODA, RIBS 💀 ZOMBIE HORDE X READER || w/ FtM Darling w/o Top Surgery || PART 2 || MtF Reader Looking for a Cure || zombo hcs + art || FtM Reader on Their Period || Abusive Family Finds Reader || Tending To Reader's Wounds || Soda Hates WIne || Zombo HCs || Child Reader || How do they feel about breeding?

WOLFIE 🍂 WEREWOLF X FTM READER

DORIK 🔥 DEMON X READER || PART 2

KALVA 🪶 HARPY X READER

JASPER 🥀 YANDERE! GOTH X READER || PART 2 || Opposite Reader

VICTOR, GARRICK, SILAS🌙 POLY! VAMPIRES X READER || PART 2

BARON ♠️ YANDERE! BODYGUARD X READER || Affectionate Reader || PART 2

CASPIAN 🌊 YANDERE! SIREN X READER || PART 2

HALLOW 🦋 YANDERE! CLOWN X READER

ASHVAN 🌾 YANDERE! MINOTAUR X READER

AXEL 🎸 YANDERE! ROCKSTAR X READER || Playing with Darling's Pussy || What other genres does he like?

ALISTAIR 👑 YANDERE! KING X READER

KAGIRI 🐉 YANDERE! GANG X READER

Multiple Yanderes:

When Their Darling Simps For A Fictional Character

Asking Them If They Can Squeeze Their Chest

I dont even know what to name this one

w/ Rowdy Darling

Disabled! Reader w/ Mobility Disability

Darling Gives Them Love Bites

Happy Birthday Darling!!

Easiest to Hardest Yans To Escape From

OC Eyes!!

AWESOME FANART!!

Dripped Out Jasper by @pyrce

Possumb by @nikasho

Ribs and Screw by @koifish67

Zombie Horde by @gaggedgraveyard

More Zomboys!! by @cursedsnail-slug

little bastard cooking by @nikasho?

Caspian by @ajadoodler

Soda by @treasured-e

Banjo by @smallcactus22 (fun fact, my dad has this one saved on his computer <3)

Hallow and Soda by @treasured-e

Realistic Banjo!! by @getmoxied

Axel Bear Hug!! by @theminotaurslover

Axel by @hungaara

Axel and Small Darling by @mellsfern

Axel in a Maid Dress by @mellsfern

Dorik and Jasper by @rachaeldafrog

Dorik by @sonderrealization

Alistair and Darling by @gachaclubideas

Valeth!! by @phoenix-nerd

Ribs, Screw, Soda, Bo and Dorik by @ezraa-kelz

Other:

Axel Playlist by @questioningstressing

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most-datable-datable-bracket · 3 months

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ROUND 3 MATCH 3

Edelgard propaganda:

“to summarize, she started a war but she was right. maybe her means weren't the best, but I'll always support my wife to tear down the church and end fodlan's reliance and discrimination on Crests”

"FODLANS MOST ELIGIBLE LESBIAN BACHLORETTE"

Alistair propaganda:

“this man is my first love and i was heartbroken when he lost </3 i believe in you baby”

“Alistair and the player are the last known surviving members in the country of an organization sworn to save the world from the recently reappeared apocalypse. You travel together to gather allies and he is very sweet and adorable if you choose to romance him. Depending on your choices he can become king and make the player his queen, or you can stay side by side in the organization. If you try to sacrifice yourself to save the world at the end, a romanced Alistair will take the killing blow in your stead if he’s by your side in the moment”

“He's the sweetest pun-iest man and it is so hard not to fall for his goofy charm, especially since he is the first companion you meet. He has a tragic backstory as a bastard child of royalty who was sent away to protect the heir. I always try to go in to date someone else when I restart the game and I always give in and pick Alistair.”

“I love his puns and sarcasm. He may be kinda dumb and like the epitome of boring white boy to some people, but i just love the humour he brings to the party.”

"alistair was literally forced to live in the stables growing up because the man who had stewardship of him remarried and she didn't like him; he's a bastard prince and tries to keep it secret but is almost identical to the king and you meet those two within 5 minutes of one another; he finds a rose in the middle of a battlefield and thinks how impossible it was to find something so beautiful in somewhere so terrible and it reminds him of finding you - so he saves it to give it to you; he's 20 and if you tell him to he will take the throne (even though it's always been his greatest fear - he'll do it if you're at his side); he doesnt know he's a half elf and its possible for him to live in the same castle as his mother later; he notices she looks at him strangely but he never finds out why; he's doomed to die young and so are you"

#edelgard von hresvelg #Fire Emblem #fire emblem: three houses #FE:3H #alistair theirin #alistair dragon age #Dragon Age #dragon age: origins #Round 3 #MDDC 2

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vigilskeep · 4 months

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okay so even if alistair is fiona’s boy why did goldanna think her mother’s baby was the king’s and was enough of a threat about it that they paid her off? why did alistair do some looking and find goldanna? like did maric just sleep around again or what. i can’t imagine the absurd long con to pretend to this random servant’s daughter that her brother was maric’s bastard so that alistair twenty years later would still think he wasn’t fiona’s

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aziraphales-library · 2 months

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Hello, librarians.

You are doing amazing work here, thank you :)

I'm looking for a fic I read a long time ago where Aziraphale is a writer and Crowley is hired as his bodyguard. I don't remember the details only that Aziraphale makes extremely sexual noises while eating and he makes everyone uncomfortable. At first Crowley thinks he isn't aware but he is, because he can be a bit of a bastard. I think the Them were part of Aziraphale's house staff and Pepper was in charge of the car (not sure about that part).

It was really cool but I didn't bookmarked it and I want to re read it.

Thank you again. Hope you have an amazing day

There aren't loads of bodyguard fics, so this has got to be...

The Infernal Bodyguard by Santillatron (M)

Alistair Zira Fell is a popular author. Loved by everyone he meets. Well, almost everyone. Someone is trying to hurt him, and right now, he needs a bodyguard. Anthony J. Crowley is the best, although he doesn't work with celebrities. He has three rules. He never gets too close, never stays once the job is done, and Never Gets Involved. But this isn't a thriller. This, is a love story.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #human au #bodyguard crowley #writer aziraphale #mod d

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malvolios-yellow-stockings · 7 months

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I'm getting DA:O brainworms again, but there's something so delicious about unhardened Warden Alistair growing into an unrequited (but actually kind of requited) love for (Mage) Warden who romances Morrigan and leaves him behind. Like, there's this one person who's been trying to convince you of good in this world, telling you not to grow cold, this person who was your right hand man, or, moreso you were his. This boy basically, you stumbled upon, who experienced the real world for the first time with you by his side. A man you walked Ferelden up and down with. Someone you've entrusted your life to and spilt blood for and who has done the same for you. A friend who has indulged your fancies, who reluctantly did things for you, who helped you bury a king who hadn't treated him kindly. And you've never really had feelings for anyone before him, at least like this, and you don't know what they are. And then you see him mingle with the Witch of the Wilds. See how he looks at her, trying to be cocky to impress her. See her twist this man into making decisions you're sure he'd never agree to were she not there to whisper it to him. And when you turn to the rest of your companions, they mock you and warp your concern. You are ready to give your life for this man, if it means slaying the Archdemon and ending the Blight but he speaks of some Dark Ritual. And it makes your soul grow weary and scared. And then Morrigan disappears and you finally think to yourself - this was for the best. But your friend is inconsolable. He talks of her with a fog over his eyes and a wistfulness that tugs at your chest. You try to keep him close to you but can feel him slipping away as you lose most of your contact. Maybe it's for the best. You hear of his exploits while on your missions with the Wardens. You try to keep away from him because seeing him once again makes you remember how it once was. It makes you flinch to remember his attempt at making you a king to rule beside Anora. The cold calculation of it all, his action unrecognisable to you. How much even the thought of it hurt. Maybe he hadn't been your friend? Maybe he hadn't understood you after all. But you joke about it, try to make it funny in your head. He's surely like a brother to you. Who couldn't forgive their brethren? And then you hear of his disappearance. The worst thoughts present themselves to your Taint-bitten imagination. And then you realize what he was doing. Some or other mention it, a mirror of some kind, something elven, you think, (maybe he was finding his heritage?) And then you hear it whispered. Morrigan, Flemeth's daughter. Yes, that Flemeth, they say. And you've never felt more betrayed in your life. You never got to say goodbye to him. To throw a jab one last time. And you grow bitter, because isn't it grand to finally understand that everyone leaves you in the end. You were born a royal bastard but you were an expendable means to an end and you will always be. And you abort this love and twist yourself into a leader because you know how much Thedas needs you, people like you, even though the place itself and the people around you might not. You still think of him from time to time. What became of Morrigan and him, but you forget the sound of his voice and the way he brightened your days and made you believe in something better. What remains is a dull sense of betrayal and bitterness with the man who turned on his principles and left you behind. And, Maker, it makes you twist with guilt. Get over it, you think, he has chosen a dark path.

(Mind y'all -

- I refuse to believe that the whole of Ferelden doesn't know why the HoF disappeared (when he goes with Morrigan). I just refuse to buy into it.

- I'm writing this at 2 fucking am and so working at 5% brain battery and 2% coherence and I'm not caught up on DA lore - I'm currently playing Inquisition, about 50 hours in, and have just met with Alistair again, which is what pushed me to write this drabble anyways.

- His painful and palpably disappointed dialogue about the Warden walking a dark path and the way the party reacts to his concern over the Warden being with Morrigan in Origins always kind of make me feel a pinch of what if? Alistair repressed bisexual

- Surana is my fave Warden as is apparent

- I am fully aware I am UPPING THE ANGST and I say - I want more!)

#dragon age #dao #alistair theirin #alistair dragon age #warden #warden surana #warden amell #alistair x warden #“I AM SO SORRY FOR SUBJECTING YOU PEOPLE TO THIS”#dragon age origins

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rebelcharmings · 9 months

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Kitty: Look, this is too important. I'm going to that concert. I'm not afraid of a fucking polar bear!

Lizzie: Me either!

Alistair: Nor me.

Kitty: Bastard!

Maddie: I'll kill it with my own two hands if I have to.

Lizzie: Bring it on!

Bunny: OK, we seem to have gone down a weird road here, people. I think we've just got a bit confused. We don't actually have to fight a polar bear. And, if we did, I wouldn't really fancy our chances because, well, they're massive.

Maddie: But there's five of us so...

#continuing with my agenda of the five wonderlandians as the derry girls #ever after high #eah #eah incorrect quotes #incorrect eah #kitty cheshire #lizzie hearts #alistair wonderland #maddie hatter #bunny blanc #source: derry girls #eah derry girls

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void-f3lt · 1 month

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1st🐍Chap: A New Roommate Snake in a Panther’s Cage Now

.*•——————————————————————————•*.

Six months.

Six Fucking Months.

It has been six months—probably—since he’d last been back on Earth.

Him and Loki, his younger brother, were on a plane together to go see their Father and then the plane got intercepted/fucking abducted??? by actual fucking aliens, people knew that aliens existed but they usually didn’t fuck with humans, something happened during WW3 or some shit and a very thin peace treaty was passed around, and some new laws got added to the Geneva Convention along the line of just because they ain’t human doesn’t mean they have to be experimented on.

After failing to escape stupid space jail, yes he knew it is a trafficking ship but he didn’t care. Alistair had just waited for something. Anything other than a trip to The Gladiator Ring. Though after a while he waited for that too, even got excited when it was time. Yes he is a sadist, why do you ask? It’s fucking revenge. (he knows it’s not the bastards he’s fighting fault but it’s still therapeutic) He memorized how often the guards walked by. He painstakingly counted the seconds when he realized there was an actual schedule.

Two and a half hours of the Light Cycle and around every five hours of dark because they don’t have nocturnal Fuckers or timetable’s apparently, resulting in only two switch overs. Assuming he didn’t screw up his counting at any point. The alien wardens brought food and water. Their food smelled like this one time that he lost a muffin under his bed for about a year and it grew black mold, mixed with rat poison. So yeah, he obviously refused to eat it.

Normally he just takes out one of his granola bars and eats half of that. He’s down to twenty-four so far and he eats one every three Day cycles so he’ll last about (*Math Later*).

There was that one time when an alarm had gone off for some reason. That had been somewhat interesting and fucking hurt. His dragon roommate didn’t seem as bothered, behaving how Alistair probably would at a fire alarm back home. But to him? It was unbearable. It drove him to tears and he ultimately passed out. It hadn’t happened again, yet. He guessed it was either a false alarm or a breach somewhere else on the ship. That would also confirm that there were other floors with prisoners.

He tried to find a way out, looking for loose bars and checking out the locks but he genuinely couldn’t figure those the fuck out(he really should have been taking notes whenever Father went on one of his engineering rant) and when he first tried to he could barely get a grip on the bars due to the stupid electric force field science fiction bullshit. Yes earth, and human settlements almost everywhere, has similar tech but he’s still gonna call sci-fi bullshit ‘cause it is.

Eventually, his captors figured out he wouldn’t eat the rat poison, and they brought something else. A lot of something else, actually. He avoided what didn’t smell or taste right, hoping for the best of the things he did eat. Raw, yellow meat? Questionable. Some kind of pink and orange slugs? Absolutely not. The plant lookin’ things that were probably fruit were fine. He liked the almost carrot. And they had jerky. The rest he gave to his dragon roommate as a peace offering.

At one point, some of the wardens came in, like they usually do, only this time they tried to take the alien dragon. When the dragon started struggling, Ailstair decided that helping them might earn him some kind of favor with it. (Definitely not because he grew attached to them and feared for their safety) So he attacked the guard that had tried to keep him back.

And bit the Bastard arm off.

Aliens are… really fucking squishy. Their taser baton things didn’t really phase him, but it killed a Guard whenever he snatched it and used it against them. As it fell, its arm tore off. Inside of his mouth. It was disgusting. It tasted disgusting. He knew the fuckers were fragile, he once just lightly stepped on one that he knocked to the floor—didn’t even jump on the fucker— and snapped its rips but still, That was a lot.

They didn’t open the cell door anymore after that. Food and water were delivered through the little slit under the door, pushed by sticks. He tried to grab the sticks but they pulled back as soon as he started to approach. It was starting to piss him off. Maybe next time he’ll take more than an arm.

Currently he’s just sitting in said cage with his dragonborn frien-Roommate staring at the ceiling after his newest escape attempt. Seriously, these fucker’s are so dumb. Thinking that watching him from all angles will make it any harder for him to escape. News flash, it won't stop him from trying as he’s tried four times by now, and almost succeeded 2 & 1/2 of those times(the half is cause he killed a fucker then took a hit to the bottom of his spine which kinda scared him and his dragon).

He trying his very best to ignore all the chatter around him. Just because he can technically make them shut up doesn't mean he wants to let them know he can understand them. He normally takes the thin but still metal food trays, that they give him everyday, bend and snap and sharpen into shanks during when he’s bored but he ran out. He’s pretty sure they either can’t figure out what he’s doing or know what he’s doing and are to surprised to realize it’s a threat and try and take them away. And if they try and do that they’d have to pry them out of his cold, dead hands.

Alistair is getting real off track with his thought process tonight but what else is he supposed to do? It’s in the middle of the Night and nothing ever hap- oh wait, never mind something’s happening maybe they’re probably just gonna take him to The Gladiator Ring I swear to god if I have to fight another IRL nomu from MHA, I will go for the crowd next time. But he can hear a Fucker carrying something… no someone? large?? alien, with the way they're yelling at another Fucker.

“You are such a hujari axten! Just lift the hujari thing for once you DRIDE!!!” Fucker One said. “Look, I told you with the other one. I. Can’t. Touch. It.” Fucker Two responded with exasperation. “The dride is three times lighter than you would think, but still hujari huge and heavy and one the most violent and capable of this species we’ve taken alive!!” Fucker One yelled.

“Oh well I’m oh so sorry, that only me and you are walking around doing quiores right now. If only we could take one of the other guards that are on patrol just to lift this thing to a cell, when it is obviously easy for you to lift… you are just krefftin lazy and want to go back to sleep, well guess what ya’ blasted axten SO DO I BUT SOMEONE HAS TO BE WITH YOU JUST IN CASE SOMETHING KREFFTIN HAPPENS YOU AXTEN’VERN!!”

Alistair was kinda shocked that they were just casually arguing while dragging someone to a cell where they will either be killed, experimented on, or put into The Gladiator Ring, or even just to sell the poor souls to the highest bidder. He wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t uncommon to see other aliens that just sell others cause, y’know, Money. Alistair is preeetty sure Father is either a cannibal or just sells human organs.. or both.

As he glares at the cage door with a new found hate. He doesn't mind the others in the cell block because they're in their own cages but he absolutely hates sharing his personal space. (Loki and his dragon are entirely different stories thank you very fucking much) While most of the other poor souls are asleep or close to, he must stay awake, his paranoia demands it what if they put.. whatever/whoever the hell, in his cage.

He waits as the arguing gets closer and closer, louder and louder, more annoying by the second because the other Fucker should just help the other other Fucker because it will get the work done faster.

He’s very glad that he is already used to very low light levels he and Loki both hate having the light on in their rooms, everyone (including themselves) are very confused by how well Loki’s eyesight actually is. His eyesight is also a whole ‘nother miracle and a half ‘cause both his mother and Father have reading glasses. After what felt like way too long they finally make it in the cell block. And stop right in front of his cell, Lovely. Alistair glares at them, bringing in another poor soul into this shit-hole, how many have they done this too.

(Oh my gawd, why do I caaarreeerrhhr)

Alistair just watches as they open his cage, if this was a good time he would use his new knifes to stab these dumbasses in their dick-equivalent so he could escape. IF it was a good time but Alistair still doesn't know where Loki is being held and his dragon roommate is both seven fuckin’ feet tall and asleep curled into a ball a couple feet away from the wall in front of him, doing something like that now would also be a death sentence cause off how many Fuckers he maimed.

It seemed they finally stopped yelling at each other, probably trying to restrict the information they might let slip in front of him. Both of them looked at each other for a second, having some seyelent conversation.

And then in quick succession, Fucker one turns off the electricity, opens the cage, as Fucker two throws the body bag as hard as they can, and when he says as hard as they can, this is a being getting tossed so hard they hit the back of the cell.

He hopes that didn't electrify whatever or whoever was in the bag. Then as soon as whatever is in the bag left the guards arms, the cage closes and the electricity gets turned back on. Poor bastard might be dead with a hit against the bars like that. The back bars were still electrified so that just added moredamage. Alistair wanted to keep glaring at the guards as they walked away but he couldn’t, this Stupidly lowng bitch in a bag(might be a snake or ferret.. why was That the second option)may not be dead. He flicks his glare back and forth between the Fucks and bag but ultimately picks the bag.

Alistair slowly makes his way over to the bag and hears some chuckling from the Fuckers at the door. He doesn't care about them right now, he needs to make sure what ever is in the bag is 1) dead or not 2) if it’s sentient, prey or predator so he can either make it afraid of him or take his chances with the bars 3) if sentient and not hurt to bad, can they be useful.

He’s getting closer to the bag when he finally notices it’s moving a little bit. He tries to get a little closer again but stops at the sound it made. It sounded like a growl from a demonic lion that is half reformed from being blended in a blender about to claw its way out of hell, might be from the pain, might be because it’s stuck in a bag, or it’s sensing him and telling him to back up.

Whatever it is (probably) can’t see him so, it shouldn’t end up as badly, he’ll just be even more careful. Dragon(who woke up when they heard the loud crash and clang, apparently) whispered at him to “Do not go and open that fucking bag.” He’s so glad he actually know common so he doesn’t have to guess what the curse words are. Ignoring his concerned frRoommate and moving as slowly as he can, Alistair gets right beside the cursed creature in the bag. It’s moving a bit more and making more, demonic clearing throat noises, but he has deducted that it must just be waking up, surprised that it’s hurt, and/or pissed.

He stares at whatever this thing is, pocketknife in hand ‘cause those shanks are not thick nor sharp enough(yet) to cut through the bag. He runs different ways he could get killed doing this in his head and decides that whatever it is, it would be more upset if it was still stuck in a bag, better to make sure he’s the one to get it out. Alistair was about to raise his pocketknife to cut through the bag but jumped back as the bag started thrashing back.

Absolutely not, safety first! He thought as he backtracked to his claimed corner, Dragon looking him like ‘I told you so’ and looking at the bag like it was going to eat them, the thing would probably kill him the moment it saw him going by the fact that it sounds like The Horrors and is like fifteen feet longso. Alistair eyes zero in on the bag and is amazed by how much it’s thrashing around in that thing. But it stopped thrashing almost as fast as started and he thinks he can see little impression of cat/maybe dog ears.

It’s quite around them besides the huffing breaths, growls and the untranslated probable curse words he can hear from the bag. Everyone is just staring at them now.

Alistair watches to see what it might do, does it have claws or something to cut the ba- Why is it gripping where the knot is? They usually don’t do that! Others in the past, either claw their way out or someone else cuts through the bag, either way no one goes for the knot.

He watches as the top of the bag that is tied off gets pulled into itself a bit. It’s confusing trying to figure out what this thing is doing. Does it think it can somehow bring the knot into the inside of the bag and untie it or? If it somehow, by a sheer miracle, gets it fully through the bag…. What will it do now?

Alistair watched in silence, honesty amazed, horror as the now untied knot got tossed out and then the bag opened up. “Finally,” was said followed by more probable very creative insults directed at the Fuckers given their faces. He waits slowly breathing in the forgotten breaths for when it will leave the bag, he hasn’t known any sentient race that can do that.

His eyes track the….

Hand?

I mean it’s furry and has built in claws, but still, HAND???

Slowly exiting the bag first, It has long almost metallic black claws and the hand looks to be short charcoal black but dense fur, from wrist to a little below the elbow the fur seams to be compacted down. (And a little glittery as he reflects on later) The other hand reaches around a little as the opening of the bag opens to let themself through better. The guards at the door froze in fear as the creature’s eyes stared down into their souls, then it pounced.

#humans are space australians #magic #writing #i don’t know what i’m doing #humans are weird #humans are space oddities #humans are deathworlders #earth is space australia #space religion #space gods #Gods #Second pass/draft #Lex Siderum Canon #Lex Siderum

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couslande · 1 year

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and I really do wish the game let you confront alistairs flaws without demeaning him as childish and immature, because that’s not his problem, it’s his refusal to take responsibility which could be looked at in a very interesting lens when you take into account his status as marics bastard and how, from what we can gather, his existence was a threat to cailan so him refusing to put himself in positions of authority could have stemmed from trying to make himself unthreatening in that regard. like there’s so much to work with with his character that just gets flattened when he’s dismissed as being childish

#text

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historia-vitae-magistras · 1 year

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lol Alistair and Rhys out swinging swords at ghosts and looking like a couple of nutters to the untrained eye. Do you still have the fic or maybe it was an ask about chonklet deluxe being held by a horrifying wraith and screaming like the damned?

A little bit! And it was initially an ask. This fic is brand spanking new because I forgot how cool of an idea that shitpost actually was if I took it seriously. Please be warned that this fic is gory and involves child endangerment, a bastardization of mythological creatures and just general violence. Also here on ao3.

Rural Lancashire, 1590

Dusk draped heavily over the world as the last light of day darkened into a thick grey. Arthur had ducked out the door to catch the midwife as she crossed his property on foot. If he was quick, he could often walk her as far as the edge of the village and consult her on whatever it was Alfred had done now. Teething, his first words, the seizures that had gripped him last spring, croup, the rare occasion Alfred was ever colicky. She was a steely woman with hair to match and indulged him at least, giving the best advice she had after decades of bringing children into the world. He'd hardly paid attention to the labours of women, and children so often died that there was rarely time to pay them any heed as they went from the cradle to the casket so quickly.

He had turned back to make his usual beeline for the house, pushing past and between the square hedges and sprawling kitchen garden. Some of the stronger-smelling herbs must have been finally in season; there was a reek Arthur couldn't quite identify. He had hardly cleared the fence when he heard Alfred's usual cry, demanding attention. The baby was a social thing, as personable as Rhys or Brighid and twice as bold about his want of company. He didn't like waking alone, wrapped up cozy in the cradle or otherwise.

Another sound, shrill and high. This one sent a spike of anxiety through Arthur's spine. He paused for the shortest moment. Then he was moving. That was not the cry of a baby who was lonely or wanted to be picked up. That was a terrified howl from his boy. He shot into the house, through the atrium, up the stairs, and into the nursery. Heaving, he flung open the heavy oak door. The smell was there again. The figure of a woman stood in relief against the low fire, Alfred cradled in her arms and screaming. For a stupid, foolish moment, he hoped it was the scullery girl he had told to mind the baby should he begin crying. But the smell. He took a step forward. At a new angle, he could see rotten eyes staring at his son, a cheek missing to decay and teeth gleaming through the gap.

"Baby." Came the garbled sound from long-dead vocal cords.

"You do not belong in this realm," Arthur said, cooly gesturing for her to hand him the child. His guts churned, bile in his throat. The revenants were often as confused as they were disgusting, pulling themselves out of whatever corner they had died and remained undiscovered. "Give me the child."

The Revenant turned to him. "Mine."

"You do not belong in this realm," Arthur said again, gesturing to Alfred again. He was losing patience with fear, the ceaseless screaming from Alfred turning into a hopeless, frightened sob. She tilted her head, and it fell limply to her shoulder, tendons snapping on the other side. She lifted one hand to push it back onto her neck, and he saw her hand for a moment in the light. Her fingers were torn freshly away. Oh, good Christ, this one had crawled out of her grave as they sometimes did when there was an infant's ceaseless crying above them. But Alfred had never stepped foot in the churchyard, and it was nearly a mile and a half away in the village.

"Rhys!" Arthur screamed, praying to god his brother was in the house and not out in the lambing pens.

The woman transferred Alfred almost tenderly to one arm and lunged at him, hand outstretched and her rotting jaw open. It couldn't close and Arthur couldn't hit her; Alfred was a heavy child and would fall to the floor as a leaden weight, and his soft little body would smash. Arthur was cold. Alfred was still crying.

"Give me my fucking son." He lunged, snatching at her arm. A layer of grey slime came away, and he retched even as he got fingers wrapped into the swaddling nearest Alfred's feet. He was suddenly wrestling a corpse, each of them struggling to get their hands on the blanket. One of Alfred's arms had slipped free, and he flailed, a fresh rolling scream emitting from his tiny scarlet face. Arthur had never seen him so flushed. He tried to shove her away and kick at the rotting creature, but more of something wet disintegrated from her legs. His hand was suddenly slick with gore and a piece of her fell to the floor with a putrid plop, unseen under the half-rotten chemise she had been buried in. She almost looked to grin at him and pulled Alfred closer.

"Let go!" He commanded, trying to get a purchase, but his hands were too slippery. He lunged after her as she retreated towards the door. "Let him go!"

Then a sword was through her belly. Something degassed like fetid blacksmith's bellows. Arthur's senses nearly abandoned him at the smell, but his hands closed around Alfred and tugged him to his chest, and he shot back against the wall, as far from the thing as he could get.

"I know. I'm sorry." He gasped, a clean hand cradling Alfred's head. "I'm so sorry."

The creature groaned and collapsed to the floor on its knees, struggling as its guts dissolved around the blade. Rhys stood behind her, still in his lambing clothes and boots, mother's leaf-bladed sword in his hands. He lifted it, and her head fell from her shoulders. The rotting eyes followed Arthur across the room. He watched as Rhys found one of the seams of her skull with the tip, plunged the sword in, twisted like he was splitting a log, and this time, she lay still, dismembered.

"Are you all right?" Rhys said, stepping over the body to look at him. He approached close enough to pull the blanket away to look at Alfred. Arthur tried to meet his brother's eyes. "Arthur?"

He couldn't. He could only close his eyes, hold Alfred tighter and collapse down the wall. Alfred pressed as tight as he dared against his sternum, and Arthur tried to breathe. Alfred's crying had softened, terror fading to a heartbreaking relief, and Arthur kissed his head. To close. Too fucking close.

"He's fine," Rhys said; his voice was much softer this time. "You're both fine, I promise."

#hws england #hws wales #hws america #my writing || cacoethes scribendi

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ammoniteflesh · 4 months

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WIP Wednesday

Thank you to @theluckywizard for the tag! I am slowly making my way back into writing TPoAB, so I am very grateful for the opportunity to share a bit.

No context for this, because it's spoilery. >:] All I shall say is: very slight CW for suicidality-adjacent stuff.

No-pressure tagging: @breadedsinner @vigilskept @rosella-writes @anneapocalypse @villainanders and @breninarthur!

“Join us, brothers and sisters,” Alistair says. The words feel thick in his throat. “Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant.”

“Don’t.” Anger flashes in Ghila’s eyes. “Whatever you’re doing, don’t you dare.”

He swallows, takes a careful breath. He feels that if he doesn’t maintain control, something terrible could happen. Something terrible already is.

“You’ve never heard these words.”

Ghila stares back at him blankly.

“You never heard these words,” Alistair repeats, “but I think you need to. We said them at your Joining. You weren’t awake to hear them, back then, but now you are. And you can do what you want, afterwards, but. But I’m going to say these words.”

Another breath. Keep going. You have to keep going, even when people leave and all you want to do is cry and scream and rage.

“Join us, sister. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish…”

The words get stuck. He can feel their eyes on him, Morrigan’s and Ghila’s and the stranger’s.

Bastard. Knife-ear. Rabbit-blood. He cannot remember a time without other people’s eyes.

He goes on because there is no other choice.

“A-and should you perish. Know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day, we shall join you.”

There is a pause, a breath that seems to come from all of them. There is a shift in the background noise - a single skipped note in the song. Somewhere out in the darkness, Alistair knows he has been heard.

Ghila is looking expectant. Does she think there should be more?

“It’s a sacrifice,” he says, “yes. But it’s, it’s more than that. It’s all of us, together, in the dark. You’re not alone. You’re not alone in this.”

Maker, or Creators, or anyone - don’t leave me, Ghila. Don’t leave me in the dark.

#speak faust #faust writes #tpoab #da #tag games

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jacklyn-flynn · 11 months

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At Alistair's wedding, everyone in the palace eats the good stuff.

“Majesty, that’s simply too much food!” Alistair’s distressed head chef was trying desperately, for the third time, to explain how carefully he’d calculated the amount of food needed to feed everyone on the guest list. He waved the piece of parchment with each food item and serving size. Circled at the top, in large script, was the number of nobles on the guest list who were expected to attend his wedding.

“Listen to what I’m telling you, it’s not enough food for everyone! I’m not just talking about the ones attending the wedding who have never had an empty stomach. I want to feed everyone,” he said, drawing out the last word with an emphasizing gesture.

“And I assure you, your highness, that the staff meal will be made as it always is. We’re discussing the food for the wedding.” The poor man was starting to sweat.

“I am too! Okay, let’s start over, Tomas.” Alistair took a deep, calming breath and gestured for the chef to do the same. Unsure, but wanting to keep his job, he took two more deep breaths with the king though he found them significantly less soothing.

“The wedding food-the filet mignon, the roast duck, the shrimp, the salad, even the fancy Orlesian rolls-all of it will be served to everyone in the castle. The guards, the maids, the stable hands, even the poor bastards who empty the chamber pots. Everyone,” he emphasized again. The chef opened his mouth, but Alistair threw up his hand. “Uht! Nope. Listen to me. Everyone gets fresh, hot meals. Not scraps, not food that’s less seasoned or lower quality than anyone else’s. We’ll put tables and buffets in some of the meeting rooms and send carts with plates around to people who can’t leave their posts.”

“Majesty, I don’t think you understand-” Tomas began again.

“I do, but I don’t care. I understand exactly where they are. I understand what a hellish day it’s going to be for everyone. There’s so much work to do and so many people to look after and I’m going to look after the people looking after all those people. There are four kitchens in this Maker-damned place. I’ll hire you all the cooks, sauciers, garde manger and pastry chefs your need and then some. Everyone eats the same, Tomas. Got it?”

Tomas’s shoulders slumped and he sighed. “Yes, your highness.”

“I’m not kidding, Tomas. I’ll be taking my, and my future wife’s plate, from one of those carts or one of those staff rooms and you’ll never know which, when or where, so they had better be good enough to serve the king and queen. It may not be what’s proper, but it is what’s right. It’s my wedding day, dammit. I’ve been dreaming about this since I was a little girl. Make my dreams come true, Tomas.”

#headcanon du jour #hdj #dragon age #dao #dragon age origins #alistair theirin #king alistair #when you're here you're family?#i used to have tomas's job and it is roughhhhh

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barbex · 8 months

Note

For dadwc, may I request, Zevran/Alistair: Violet bruised eyes. (From the sensory prompts list.)

Thank you for the prompt for tonight's @dadrunkwriting. I needed more of this pairing in my life today.

---

His sword is too heavy. It draws on his arms, pulling him down. Alistair stares at the demon, an archdemon, whatever that means, coming closer and he just can't lift his sword anymore.

The prophecy said that a warden had to die to kill an archdemon, so it seems this will be his part in this sorry bit of history. The bastard son of a king, who didn't even step up to lead the wardens through the Blight. At least he died in battle with an archdemon, doing one honourable thing in his life.

Someone roughly pushes him out of the way of whatever appendix is coming to claw at him. "My dear Warden, no time to wait around here." Zevran smiles at him but the smile can't hide the worry in his violet bruised eyes. "Come, to the back."

He wants to say that he is just too tired, and really, a warden is meant to die here, but Zevran holds his hand in an iron grip, dragging him along behind him like one of those wooden ducks on a string that bob their heads when pulled. He laughs, bobbing his head. Zevran frowns at him, pulling him behind cover, some part of the strange architecture here.

Alistair giggles, bobbing his head again. "I'm a duck," he says.

"Very well," Zevran says, uncorking a potion bottle and rising up on his tiptoes to hold it to his mouth. "A dehydrated and injured duckling, I would say. Drink this, my love."

Alistair dutifully swallows. Like a curtain drawn back, his mind clears, and the painful throbbing at his side stops. He looks at Zevran, now truly seeing the worry in his eyes. "Maker, I was so out of it." He brushes his thumb over the bruises under Zevran's eyes. "What happened?"

Zevran takes his hands. "Let us worry about this later, love. How about you lift me up on the back of thing and then we finish this once and for all?"

"Yes." Alistair tightens the buckles on his armor and peeks around the edge of their cover. "I'll throw you as high as I can." A sudden thought has him looking back at Zevran. "You called me love."

Zevran rolls his eyes. "I will call you duckling if don't come back to me, healthy and whole."

Alistair smiles, feeling like he could take on every darkspawn in Ferelden. "I promise."

#dadrunkwriting #zevistair #Zevran x Alistair #dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #my writing

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most-datable-datable-bracket · 9 months

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ROUND 3 MATCH 10

Alistair propaganda:

“I love his puns and sarcasm. He may be kinda dumb and like the epitome of boring white boy to some people, but i just love the humour he brings to the party.”

Shinjiro propaganda:

"shinjiro is leaps and bounds ahead of any of the other persona romance options. sorry NOT sorry literally jerk with a heart of gold taken to the nth degree his romance is BEAUTIFUL it's TRAGIC it's ultimately DOOMED BY THE NARRATIVE. literally a guilt-ridden man who despite his death wish reluctantly opens his heart to the MC and it's so touching and despite his struggles he still finds beauty and kindness in love and the small things. he's a great cook he's a lover of animals he is one of the only romance options that gives a shit about how the MC is doing. he TAKES a bullet for a kid but is saved literally by the PC romance/power of love in an ironic twist of fate that depends on the player liking his romance SO MUCH that you keep trying to hang out with him AFTER COMPLETING THE ROMANCE LINK.... he wakes up from a COMA at the end of the game because he feels the MC about to fade from this plane of existence (doomed romance alert) just so they can spend a few last moments together. Fucked up. his romance accomplishes more in his one month of gameplay time than any other options have in their whole runtime."

#alistair dragon age #dragon age #dragon age: origins #shinjiro aragaki #persona #persona 3 #round 3 #most datable datable character

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lady-myrcella · 2 months

Text

Hello everyone! I’ve been a lurker of the Dragon Age fandom for years now and I've decided that perhaps I should try and give back. Here is a quick fic I wrote about my Surana and Alistair after the Connor quest.

~~~~~

After a day of rest at Redcliffe Castle at the behest of Bann Teagan, Neria and her party set off for Denerim.

The rest was a welcome lull after the events of the prior days: the siege of Redcliffe by walking corpses, Lady Isolde sacrificing her life for that of her sons, her childhood friend Jowan collaborating with Teyrn Loghain and poisoning Arl Eamon, and, of course, the revelation that Alistair was the bastard son of King Maric.

It was all taking a toll on her and she needed time to be alone with her thoughts.

While her team recuperated at the castle in their own unique ways, Neria couldn't help but sense a restless energy emanating from Alistair. Despite allowing herself a moment of solitude for the first time since the Battle of Ostagar, she felt his restlessness tugging at her consciousness during their fleeting interactions, and it vexed her. One day of rest would hardly endanger their mission to save Arl Eamon. His condition remained stable, and their party required a well-deserved break.

The feelings did not cease even now as they traveled. She felt Alistair’s eyes on the back of her head as they walked. She felt his intensity up until they set up camp for the night.

----

After the evening meal was finished, and the camp duties divided up and completed, the party conversed around the campfire for a brief moment before splitting off for the evening.

Morrigan secluded herself by her fire, busying herself with the brewing of health potions to replenish their dwindling supplies. Sten, his countenance solemn and brooding as ever, honed his sword. Alistair sat a short distance away by his tent, deliberately faced away from the warmth of the fire, allowing the flickering light to illuminate the pages of a tome that absorbed his attention. Leliana remained close to Neria, her fingers softly plucking at the strings of her lute. Neria noticed that Leliana had reconsidered Morrigan's earlier suggestion of composing a ballad to immortalize the events that had transpired in Redcliffe.

As Neria sat by the campfire, a chill wind swept through the camp, causing her cloak to flutter and tug at her frame. Kane, her Mabari, nestled his head by her feet offering some comfort. She obliged him with a gentle scratch behind his ears.

Her thoughts swirled with the memories of Redcliffe. She felt deep sadness over what she allowed to be done to Lady Isolde but there was little choice. The blood magic ritual was a terrible but available alternative to killing an innocent child.

Interestingly, what was distracting her the most was Alistair's revelation of his true heritage. Alistair and her had become comfortably close since Ostagar, maybe too close. She relied on his company and playful banter to get her through the difficulties of their travels. He was quickly becoming Neria’s confidant and dearest friend, perhaps the only true friend she has ever known. The bond they built battling alongside each other strengthened with each passing day. Yet, she couldn't help but feel a sinking feeling in her gut that Alistair's blood would tear them apart.

And now he was displeased with her, though she could not figure out why. Since setting up camp Alistair’s mood turned introspective. He barely looked at her while they ate supper and immediately retired to sit by himself as soon as he had the chance.

Neria understood now that her initial suspicion was not correct. It was not their delayed departure in search of the Urn of Sacred Ashes that had upset him. Perhaps, she thought, it was her own reaction upon learning of his secret parentage that had caused this shift in mood. She didn't react kindly to this important piece of information being concealed to her, especially since Loghain most likely knew of it himself, but she didn't blame him after he explained his reasoning and accepted his apology.

His current dismissal of her made her feel invisible for the first time since her early days in the Circle.

Leliana began to hum a soft tune that took her out of her thoughts. Neria realized she needed to be alone and clear her mind. She stood and eyed a dirty log at the edge of camp to sit on. Kane whined, reading her mind. What an intelligent dog.

“It's alright Kane, you can stay warm here.”

A grumble of pity followed and Kane thumped his large head back onto the ground near the fire.

Neria wandered off. It certainly was cold sitting so far away from the campfire.

She thought, not for the first time, to make her own fire away from the others like Morrigan. And again she thought against it.

'A leader is someone who has the capacity and the will to rally people to a common purpose, and the ability to inspire confidence,' was something First Enchanter Irving once told her, 'a person who gains the trust and loyalty of their followers by working alongside them.'

Making such a public display of sitting off in a corner like Morrigan, away from her companions would not inspire confidence or loyalty. She needed to be present to hold her little group together. She wished the Circle trained her better for something like this. The Circle had taught her little about the intricacies of interpersonal skills, save for First Enchanter Irving's wise quips and by observing the covert social games he played to ensure that Kinloch Hold ran smoothly.

Irving was another sore spot in her chest. She couldn't deny it any longer—Irving had orchestrated her recruitment into the Grey Wardens, knowing full well that she would assist Jowan in his escape. The Templars didn't want any more mages outside of the Circle, and this was a way to pressure them into allowing one more to help stop the Blight.

Neria put her cloak’s hood up and closed her eyelids, focusing on an invisible spot between her eyes and began a meditation practice that had been instilled into her by one of her teachers in the Circle. It was taught for moments precisely like these—as a respite from the torment of incessant thinking, which only brought forth pain and uncertainty. She could not afford to slip into a state of mind detrimental to her stopping the Blight.

Just as she began to lose herself in the depths of her inner stillness, a voice startled her out of her concentration.

“I want to talk about what happened. At Redcliffe.”

Neria looked up, straining her eyes in the dimly lit night to discern Alistair's features in the darkness.

“What's on your mind, Alistair?”

"You allowed Lady Isolde to sacrifice herself? Through blood magic?!" Alistair snapped. His voice trembled, disbelief seeping through every syllable. "How in the Maker's name could you possibly make such a decision?!"

Neria sat in stunned silence at Alistair's outburst. She had never seen him so furious, had never seen such anger in his eyes. A storm of emotions swelled in her chest and washed over her in waves—shock, fear, sorrow, and finally anger. Did he truly believe her to be heartless? Had he really spent the past two days nursing this conviction, believing that she just callously chose to sacrifice Isolde? Could he not comprehend the immense pressure she had been under, considering all they had been through?

Unable to remain silent, her pride surged forth. "And what alternatives did we have?" she retorted, her voice laced with annoyance. "Should we have condemned an innocent child to death instead? Is that what you propose?"

"We could have sought aid from the Circle of Magi! We should have exhausted every other option before resorting to blood magic —that much is clear!"

"We’re Grey Wardens, Alistair! It’s our duty to use any means necessary to stop the Blight, even if it involves blood magic. Leaving Redcliffe and going to the Circle would have jeopardized the lives of every citizen of Redcliffe. You know that!”

In the tense silence that followed, Alistair's expression wavered. His voice lowered as he continued. "This is the Arl's wife we're discussing," he noted, the words hanging in the cold night air. "What do you think he'll say when we revive him? I simply can't comprehend how you could make that decision... I... I owe the Arl more than this."

Neria’s chest tightened as Alistair's words echoed through her head. She glanced at the campfire in the distance, its embers casting fleeting flickers of light into the dark sky. She internally berated herself. With Alistair’s last remark, she understood now— the reason behind Alistair’s strange behavior since Redcliffe, his outburst. She recalled fragments of tales Alistair had shared about his childhood, his relationship with Arl Eamon.

Alistair was abandoned by Eamon at a Chantry for Templar education at the age of ten. He lashed out at Eamon back then, refusing to speak with him during the Arl's infrequent visits. Eventually, Eamon had stopped coming altogether.

It was clear that Alistair still harbored guilt and shame over his outburst towards Eamon when he was a child. Alistair, the lonely boy told all his life he was an inconvenience, still criticized himself over his natural and justified response to being sent away.

Their return to Redcliffe had not merely resurfaced his old wounds; with Isolde's death, it had made them bleed anew.

The fight went out of Neria as quickly as it came. She could forget her pride if only towards a man so amiable as Alistair. Drawing in a deep breath, she readied herself to respond. Her mind raced to figure out what to say.

"Alistair, I... I had no choice in becoming a Grey Warden," Neria began delicately, "To be fair, it was either joining the Wardens or facing the consequences the Templars had in store for me after aiding in Jowan's escape. I will forever be grateful that Duncan was there and willing to conscript me, saving me from my mistakes. I may never understand what he saw in me, but... I will forever be grateful."

I sound so foolish, Neria thought. She sensed Alistair's confusion, his uncertainty at her sudden change in tone and direction. She averted her gaze, noticing her fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her cloak. She interlaced her hands in her lap and continued, her eyes fixed upon the ground.

“What I mean to say is that I did not choose to be a Grey Warden, but I will do my best. I did not want to make the decision on whether to sacrifice Isolde, but at that moment, I saw no other viable option."

Memories of Redcliffe clawed their way back into Neria's consciousness: the looming stone walls of the castle’s audience chamber, blood coursing from flesh to stone, absorbed by an ornately woven carpet. She could feel her emotions tightening her throat as she continued.

"Lady Isolde's sacrifice weighs heavily upon my heart, and I understand your anger regarding my decision, I do. Yet, in that moment, you have to understand, I had to weigh the lives of an entire village against the life of a single woman."

As she paused, Neria felt tears welling at the corners of her eyes. Embarrassed, she brushed them away, hoping they went unnoticed. She knew Alistair was looking at her now, truly looking at her. He was smart enough to see through her words, to understand that she was not only trying to convince him but also herself.

"It's difficult to accept, I know, but as Grey Wardens, we will forever be confronted with impossible decisions—decisions which I now am coming to understand define our order. That is the burden we must bear it seems."

By the time she looked up again, Alistair's anger had faded away, giving way to a weariness mirroring her own. He sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat.

"I understand, Neria. It's just... witnessing Isolde willingly offer herself in that ritual, and knowing our part in it…"

Alistair looked at her, his eyes searching.

"Maybe you’re right. Maybe it's just that, I find myself looking for a clear path, a definitive right and wrong. But the world isn't that simple, is it?” he admitted. "Still… I don't want to lose myself amidst all of this. I refuse to become like Loghain or, well, anyone who willingly resorts to blood magic."

A brief pause lingered as Alistair studied Neria. His tone softened, and a faint trace of a self-deprecating smile played on his lips.

"Perhaps I shouldn't be so quick to question your decisions," he conceded. "It's easy to judge when you're not the one making the choices... and I've let you bear that burden alone, haven't I? I apologize for pestering you about it. You did what you had to do. Let's put this conversation to rest before I make a bigger fool of myself and put my foot in my mouth even more."

With those words, Alistair bowed and murmured a quick goodnight before walking toward the crackling flames of the campfire, leaving Neria to the company of her thoughts. The wind, a gentle whisper, swirled around her, and teased the edges of her cloak.

-----

As dusk fell on the following day and the customary chaos of establishing camp subsided, in the quiet between travel and sleep, Alistair extended to Neria a single rose.

“Do you know what this is?”

#alistair theirin #alistair dragon age #dragon age surana #warden surana #dao #dragon age origins #dragon age fanfiction #alistair x warden #alistair x surana #alistair x female warden #dragon age alistair

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hes-a-rat-whisperer · 1 year

Note

The queen was trembling, unconsciously hiding herself, as she stared at the bound struggling man being presented to her. How could her husband do this?! Why would he ever find such a cruel thing appropriate?! Matilda had known her husband wasn’t a kind man, he was sadistic, selfish and self serving. Their wedding night, and the thankfully few and far between ones that followed, had made that abundantly clear to her. She was also certain that he was well aware that she herself was not, so to do this? This had to be some kind of trick, it HAD to.

How could he possibly expect this amount of cruelty from anyone…?

“Well?” The queen did her best to hide her flinching at the demanding note in husband’s voice, and looked over at him with a gentle smile.

“What do you think of your new pet, my queen?” He asked with a pride that made Matilda want to puke, while grabbing the other man by the back of his head and throwing him at her feet.

“I-I—“ The queen swallowed hard, her smile trembling.

“I-I love it.” She Lied perfectly.

Alistair, the fallen king, had a lot of things to say about the queen and her bastardation of a husband, but as he fell to her feet, he found himself unable to speak, let alone move.

the deep slashes all over his body, the purple bruises and the painfully swollen injuries..he was at the end of his strengh. all he could do was to lie there and ring for air, with every breath tearing torturously through his shattered lungs..

there was a ringing in his ear, but he could still hear some parts of their discussion.

´pet´? was that his fate? being the pet of this woman?

he tried to lift his head to look up at her, but he could barely make out her face.

talking was out of the question. all he managed to do was scowl at her. even when crawling his way through death´s door, the fallen king would not give his captors the satisfaction of him begging for mercy.

#thequeenslover!au #Alistair was beaten to one inch of his health #he´s at 1hp pretty much #poor Alistair ;_;

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marythegizka · 10 months

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WIP Whenever! Tagged by @mxanigel (thank you 😊)

Tagging (if you want to share your writing, of course) : @illusivesoul, @mxkelsifer, @deedeemactir, @dairine-bonnet, @lady-carys

(This fic doesn't have a title yet, it's currently labelled "baby_alistair_draft_fic"... very imaginative, I know (no) )

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So… I have a son." "Yes, so I keep telling you." "What? Oh, no, it's not like that." "Ah." "Couldn't you be a little more helpful?" "That depends on where you're going with this." Maric realised he was wringing his hands and willed himself to stop. "It's not Cailan." He didn't give himself time to observe Loghain's reaction before opening the door to his study. He gestured towards the crib lying next to the desk and didn't turn back until he was standing above it. Loghain's eyebrows shot up, and his mouth opened, closed, and opened again. Maric breathed a sigh of relief. "So, yes. Now you know. Arl Aemon has accepted to take him in." This time, Loghain began pacing. "Aemon. Rowan's brother." It sounded bad when you put it like that. "Maric, can I ask you something? How in the world did you think convincing your dead wife's brother to raise your bastard ch…" "Hey. He's my son." "Yes, and unless you've spent these past three years hiding him, I'll assume his mother is not Rowan. That makes him a bastard. You may not like the word but the definition stands." Maric frowned. "There's no need for harsh words." "No, but people will use them. Particularly Aemon's people." "Where are you going with this?" Loghain sighed. "I'm saying Arl Aemon is being far too generous for his own good. And the child's. I know I wouldn't do it." "Yes, you would. He's very much like Cailan." He smiled at the child, who giggled and extended his hands. Maric picked him up. "You actually like Cailan." "Cailan is not living proof of your inability to keep your breeches up." It was Maric's turn to gape. The rebuke was entirely unfair. "You said it yourself. Rowan is dead. I thought you didn't like me wallowing. Well, here he is. The result of 'not wallowing'. His name is Alistair, since you didn't ask." Loghain scowled. "Alistair Theirin, is it? Surely, you know better than to inflict such a burden on the child. Or Guerrin? Maker, you know what I think of that." Maric sighed. "No. Just Alistair. I promised his mother." This seemed to pacify Loghain, to an extent. "And, what do you expect from me, exactly?" Maric opened the door, ushering a smiling Duncan in. "Your Majesty. Teyrn Loghain." "Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like this." Maric ignored the grumbling. Instead, he said: "Will you please accompany them to Redcliffe?" As if in agreement, the infant reached out a hand towards Loghain and laughed. His friend looked like he might choke. "I'm going to regret this." "Bah. By the end of your journey there you'll wish you could keep him." "No, I certainly will not." Alistair gurgled, and Maric began rocking the child. "Shhh. Uncle Loghain is very grumpy. It's not you, dear. Happens all the time." Loghain scoffed. "Uncle?" Maric handed him the child. "Uncle." Alistair smiled, kicking his feet. "Hmph." "You can 'hmph' all you like, you know I'm right."

#maric theirin #alistair theirin #loghain mac tir #have to make him grumpy here #dragon age #wip whenever #my fics #thanks for the tag #long post

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