#morrigan's country estate

[nikethestatue]

The Agreement

Chapter 9

Warning: Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language

This is NiketheStatue smut. You've been warned.

Elain Archeron

It was Sunday, and Elain was still a virgin.

Azriel hadn’t made any drastic moves to deflower her either, so she existed in her present state, though in the past couple of days, her virginity became more of a nuisance rather than the desired state of being that she wanted to preserve.

Azriel had upped the ante slowly, but deliberately ever since they first kissed and he kept Elain in the state of perpetual arousal as well as expectation. She didn’t know when it would come. When he would pounce. Never mind that the idea of Azriel ‘pouncing’ was absurd, but she already knew him well enough, and was aware that he could be unpredictable, demanding and at times, rough. She’d be willing, but she didn’t put it past him to wrestle her on the floor, tear her dress and take her. Fuck her, as he liked to say. She didn’t dare utter that word yet. Azriel, in turn, was quite comfortable with it, throwing ‘fuck’ abundantly in their conversation. He really had terrible manners, at least when he was at home.

And home this was. 

Elain’s too. 

She’d learned to think of it as one, and she adored it. Not terribly surprising, as it was a veritable palace, but it was also compact enough that it didn’t feel impersonal. This wasn’t a grand estate out in the country, where she’d have to trudge through eighty-two rooms and cover miles of acreage before she even reached the kitchen. 

Their home was palatial, but also comfortable and designed for living, and not showing off. She loved all the modern touches that Azriel outfitted the house with–they were rare and she’d bet that no one else had most of these in their possession. Beyond electricity, running water, flushing toilets, the showers, he also had the kitchen modernised with a unique stove, and a variety of gadgets that made her crazy with excitement. There were handheld machines for whipping cream and egg whites, pans that were ideal for making sauces, all sorts of fancy rolling pins and baking forms that would make any bakery proud. There were presses and grinders, which made life infinitely easier for her and for Cerridwen. There was hot and cold water, and a stove that she didn’t need to crouch over–the way she needed to do it at home. 

In the past week she also learned a lot about the Duke of Velaris and many of his ideosynchronies. Some were charming and endearing, others were puzzling.

Even though per their agreement she wasn’t supposed to ‘fraternise’ with the help, she very much fraternised with both Nuala and Cerridwen. The ‘help’ that Azriel had referred to was apparently the many servants that lived and cared for his country pile–Rosehall. It had a staff of dozens, and the twins weren’t considered part of that staff. That led to resentment. The sisters didn’t care much, but Azriel kept them here, in London, and they never went to Rosehall without him.

Azriel collected daggers–ancient, rare daggest, which were kept in the attic, in a special room, behind glass. They ranged from Persian to ancient Greek ones, African, Japanese, Italian, Roman, Viking, Chinese, Indian and everything in between. His prized possession was a dagger from Arabia, which was called Truth-Teller. Legend had it that it always struck true. Nuala said that the dagger came from his mother’s side of the family, a gift to him when he came into adulthood. 

He owned exactly 30 suits. They were also all exactly the same–black. He always wore a white shirt, and possessed only two colours of ties–black and cobalt. 

He liked Irish whiskey and drank a measure every evening. 

He smoked six cigarettes a day. Two in the morning, two in the afternoon, and two at night. 

He liked white china, monogrammed with his initials–in black and cobalt, of course.

Otherwise, the house was void of personal artefacts. No portraits of ancestors, no wedding photographs, not one depiction of his lady Morrigan to be found anywhere. Nothing from his boyhood. Barely anything from Eton. One photograph depicted Azriel, and Cassian, and another man who resembled them. They were dressed warmly and the photo was taken somewhere in the snow, with them holding snowballs in their hands. How they got the photographer and his photographic camera over the snow piles, Elain had no idea. The photo was intimate and endearing–the men were smiling. 

Elain wanted to ask the twins about the state of Azriel’s marriage, before Morrigan’s accident, but she didn’t think that it was her place. Also, she didn’t think that the twins would betray his confidence if it was something personal. 

The house was unusually open–the twins explained that Azriel hated closed or narrow spaces. He liked sunshine. 

Nuala was braiding Elain’s hair when she told her ‘his lordship called you his sunshine’. It made Elain blush. And smile. Especially when Nuala said that that was his highest compliment. 

In the mornings, Elain was ordered to wear house dresses, no brassiere, and preferably be barefoot, though that was at ‘her own discretion’. And then, once she was ready, Azriel kissed her. He waited for her in the morning, in the hallway between their bedrooms, and she always emerged at exactly seven AM. There, he greeted her, taking note of the dress that she was wearing and how she had her hair done that morning. It was always the same–she approached him, allowing him the time to study her for a few moments, and then he immediately cupped her unbound breasts in his large palms, while she kissed his lips. He expected her to kiss him, and she…liked it. He began fondling her immediately–those warm, dry hands squeezing her breasts, as if telling them ‘good morning’ before one hand inevitably dropped to her waist, where he caressed her hips, then slid over her belly, before resting on her bottom and grabbing a handful. Elain kissed him. While his hands roamed over her body, she held his face between her hands and kissed him. But he always gave her his tongue and she sucked and licked on it. She loved it. 

“Good morning, sir,” she’d say at last, when he finally allowed her to come up for breath.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he usually winked at her and bit her lips. 

And then, he led her downstairs. By her nipple. 

He took a liking to pinching one of her nipples and then led her by it, which was both odd and incredibly arousing. It hurt her, because he squeezed tightly, but she followed him without protest as he tugged on her tit and guided her. 

Submission. That’s what he wanted. Complete willing sexual submission.

He hadn’t voiced it, but Elain quickly understood where his needs and desires lie. He was going to order her and dominate her, and she was to acquiesce and happily submit. And that was fine with her. Outside of their sexual experimentation, Azriel didn’t require anything of her. If she wanted to sit on her butt all day long, he wouldn’t have objected. What he cared about was when he told her to bend, she bent and when he told her to spread, she spread. And if she thanked him–even better. He liked that a lot.

She was to serve him at meals–not as a servant–but they took their meals together, and Azriel requested privacy. Therefore, Devlon was no longer attending at dinner. It was mostly because Elain was expected to climb into Azriel’s lap once they had their plates filled with food, and he fed her and himself. 

Yes, she was a grown woman, but she adored this strange ritual of theirs. Azriel loved it too, because he was free to kiss her and fondle her aggressively. After every dinner, she sported new marks on her neck and her shoulders, there to replace the fading ones. Her lips were swollen from his incessant kissing. Her nipples were puffy and aching having been pinched and rolled and squeezed all throughout the meal. 

When they were finally done eating, she’d kiss him sweetly and whisper ‘thank you for dinner, sir’. 

-

Nevertheless, it was Sunday and Elain was still a virgin.

She was still asleep when she sensed that the door opened and Azriel entered her bedroom. Once she granted him permission, he sometimes stopped by unannounced, but he didn’t make a habit out of it, and respected her privacy. After the first night that they had spent together, he didn’t encroach on her again. Even if Elain didn’t mind at all. Even if she wanted to be encroached upon.

She knew that he was barefoot when he padded across the wooden planks of the parquet floor, before his steps were muffled by the carpet. The bed dipped and Elain buried her face in her pillows, giggling. 

“Ahhh, you are laughing, you naughty girl. You are awake and you didn’t even come out to greet me!” he chided her gently, as he climbed over her and straddled her belly, before draping his heavy big body over her and squeezing her in his massive embrace.

She wiggled next to his chest, protesting feebly, “I was asleep! You just woke me up.”

“Uh-uh,” he grunted, dipping his face into her neck and inhaling deeply. 

“You smell good in your sleep,” he murmured with a deep satisfied growl. 

Elain hasn’t even opened her eyes yet, simply luxuriating in the feel of his weight, in his woodsy, cool scent, which she’d recognise anywhere, in the brush of his stubble against her cheek and her neck.

This was crazy. It had to be.

He couldn’t be cuddling her like this? He couldn’t be waiting for her to awake, so he could kiss and stroke her? He couldn’t be wanting her the way he seemed to hunger for her?

“Good morning, sir,” she breathed, her chest tight.

Happiness. That’s what she was feeling. Happiness, which she was experiencing for perhaps the first time in her life. 

Azriel made her happy.

“Good morning, beautiful girl.”

“You couldn’t even let me sleep in on Sunday?” she pouted.

“No,” he said firmly. “I needed your tongue in my mouth…It’s the strangest urge.”

“Can I at least relieve myself? Before I take your tongue in my mouth?”

He frowned, as if he was considering the request, then sighed dramatically and rolled off her.

“Two minutes!” he warned.

“Despot!” she threw at him, as she scrambled from under the blanket. That was met with a hearty laugh and earned her a slap on her bottom. 

She did everything in the allotted two minutes–relieved herself, splashed cold water on her face, cleaned her teeth and gave the thick mane of her hair an artful tousle, before pinning it at the nape of her neck. 

From her bedroom, she heard a countdown ‘three, two, one…’

She jumped out of the bathing room and rushed back to the bed, and into Azriel’s outstretched arms. He pushed her on her back and pressed his lips to hers.

The man could kiss. 

Anything from gentle, fluttering, soft kisses, to passionate, hungry, forceful ones and everything in between, Azriel always kissed like he was ready to devour her. It wasn’t just kisses, it was possession all the way to her soul.

But he also loved when she kissed him as well–in the past 3 days, she’d gained confidence and because he always encouraged her, she often came to him first and just kissed him. It was surreal–to have the opportunity to come to Duke of Velaris whenever she wanted to and pull him into a kiss, and feel him give in eagerly and readily. It was a strange sort of luxury, to feel so wanted and so accepted, and Elain took to it well. 

He pulled away for a moment, while he placed slow kisses on her face and neck, and she heard him whisper, “God, I want to fuck you.”

Swallowing, she answered, “then do it. I…I want it,” she admitted breathlessly.

She was panting, her breasts falling up and down heavily beneath his chest.

He looked at her, studying her expression, her face, her words with that penetrating gaze of his, as if he could see inside her head and determine whether she was being truthful.

“Is that so?” he asked at last.

She nodded.

It was true. She wasn’t trying to mollify him, or simply say what he wanted to hear. That wasn’t their relationship. Azriel demanded honesty and gave her voice complete consideration. If she said ‘no’ it meant ‘no’ and he didn’t push–whether it was a sexual matter, or something from their everyday life. Though curiously, they were usually in agreement about most things. There was harmony in their relationship which Elain simply cherished and found so very peaceful and pleasant.

“It is,” she repeated again. “I want it. I want you.”

Azriel smiled and lightly brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek.

“My sweet darling girl. You’ll get me.”

“Yes?”

“Maybe more than you expected or wanted.”

“I don't think so,” she argued. “Nothing is going to be ‘too much’. Not with you.”

“My pretty innocent girl,” he kissed her lightly on the lips. “I can absolutely assure you that it will be. Now, what are your plans for today?”

“I’ll be busy!” she said immediately.

‘Busy? On Sunday? Are you planning on going to church?”

“Are you?”

“Not much of a church goer I am not,” he chuckled.

“Neither am I. But I have a surprise, and I will be busy,”

“A surprise? For who? Me?”

“Who else?” she asked mysteriously.

“Ugh,” he grunted, “I was hoping to spend the day with you…It’s our anniversary, you know,” he laughed.

“I remember. One week. We’ll celebrate tonight.”

He rolled off her and asked, “dare I ask, will this surprise unavail you to me for the entire day?”

Elain kissed him, because she couldn't help herself and queried,

“Did you have something in mind, my lord?”

“I thought we could take a walk down to the palace,” he offered.

Elain’s eyes lit up with excitement and she immediately perked straight up.

“Surely?”

He smiled at her and her enthusiasm. 

“Of course, sweetheart. I promised you that I’d show it to you.”

She wrung her hands happily and he added, 

“It is wonderful to experience the world through your eyes. What I take for granted is so novel to you and it is so joyful,”

“But it’s the Queen’s palace, sir! It is exciting! And you’ve met her,”

“I have,” he confirmed. “Only briefly, a few times. Her Majesty keeps away from politics and from London.”

“Ahhh yes,” Elain said sadly. “She is still mourning her dear husband, sweet Prince Albert,”

“My father,” Azriel said, being uncharacteristically frank with her suddenly, “was good friends with Prince Edward,”

“Oh my,” Elain whispered, shocked. It sounded fantastical to her, for Azriel’s father to be friends with the Heir apparent and the Prince of Wales.

“Yes, indeed. My father was among the Prince’s retinue when he took a tour of the Orient. That is how my parents met.”

So Elain was correct–Azriel was only half English. She didn’t pry about the origins of his mother and why his father the Duke would marry a woman from a different culture and bring her here. Azriel did not offer any further information, other than that he was friends with the Queen’s grandsons, which again, made Elain’s head spin.

Azriel sat up abruptly and clapped his hands once.

“Now Miss Archeron, get your fine behind going. Hurry, so I can feed you breakfast and then we’ll be on our way.”

Something inside Elain expanded with happiness, heavy and leaking, like overripe fruit. Her heart beat wildly. She grabbed his hand suddenly and pressed it to her lips.

He looked at him with amusement, but didn’t comment. Elain had an insane urge to tell him that she loved him, but she didn’t want to come off as desperate and wild. Azriel liked order and control, and if she came at him with her heartfelt confessions, she wasn’t sure that he’d appreciate it. Perhaps later on. But not yet. 

Nuala was lacing Elain into the corset, when there was a brief knock on the door and Azriel stepped in. He always knocked, but rarely actually waited for a response, and it was the case now. Elain was being tucked into her old corset, which had her standing only in a pair of knickers, her stockings and the corset.

Azriel was all but dressed, his jacket swinging behind his back on his finger, and his waistcoat already buttoned, his tie making his look elegant and formal. 

“What the hell is that?” he muttered immediately, his brows knitted at the sight of the corset.

“Miss Elain can’t be parading around on the streets, near the Queen’s palace in a brassiere,” Nuala told him firmly.

“Well, I think that she can and should,” he argued. “I can’t bear to look at this abomination,”

“Sir, I must wear it,” Elain insisted, though she hated every second of wearing the restrictive garment, which made it hard to breathe, and dug into every bone and crevice of her body. Comparatively, her brassiere was a godsend.

Azriel considered it for a moment, and then said,

“Nuala, leave up, please. I would like to speak with Elain.”

Nuala curtsied and wordlessly left the room.

Azriel crossed the room and came to stand behind Elain, his hands laying on her bare shoulders. She sighed and instinctively bared her neck for him, so he could sink his teeth into her skin. Which he did. At once. He smoothed his hands over her sides, running them over the corset, and then rested them on her breasts, though she could hardly feel his touch.

“See why I hate it?” he asked, kissing her neck.

“I hate it too,” she agreed. The lack of sensation from his touch was…disturbing. She came to rely on it for the past few days like it was food.

He stepped back a bit and gathered the laces, as he began tugging on them and tying them. 

Sighing, he said, “We both know that you are mine. But I want to ask you about us being in public together,”

Elain didn’t know what to say. The question made her uncomfortable. A little angry. But mostly sad. It wasn’t surprising that he didn’t view her as someone to be in public with. Especially out there–near the palace, where they could encounter those who knew him. She was hired help. A nobody. And he was simply being courteous to her.

“We don’t have to,” she whispered at last. “I don’t want to make trouble for you, my lord,”

Perplexed, he turned her around and asked, “Pardon?”

She looked at her feet and murmured, “I understand, my lord. We don’t need to go. It’s alright. I am sure I can find my way there one day. You are a great lord of the land, and I am,”

“And you are my companion,” he said sternly and then lifted her face to his, holding her chin. “The only reason I asked you is because I want to protect your name and your reputation. I don’t want to besmirch your surname or your identity. If you are not ready, or don’t want to answer questions, it is your choice.”

“So you don’t want privacy?” she confirmed, her voice soft and hopeful.

“No,” he shook his head. “I am happy to be seen with you, Elain. But you are a maid of gentle breeding and I want to be mindful of that. Despite our arrangement, nothing’s changed about your background and your place in society.”

“Then I do not want privacy either!” she said immediately, relief flooding her.

He wasn’t embarrassed to be seen with her. 

She wasn’t just a whore for his tumbling. Maybe she meant something to him. And he did say that she was his. That she belonged to him.

“I want you to be sure,” Azriel implored seriously, holding her face in his hands. 

“I am sure, my lord,” she assured him. “I am. If you’d take a walk with me, I would only be so very happy.”

“Then so be it.”

-

Azriel was sitting back on the sofa, his long legs spread wide, his hands resting on his firm flat stomach and he had the look of any man who just had a nice meal, and who was generally satisfied with life.

Elain was attempting to hide her smirk as she observed his relaxed posture and his pleased expression. 

They had a fantastic day together.

They’d walked to the palace, which was just as impressive as Elain had thought, despite the fact that Azriel told her that the palace was seldom used for official functions and that the Queen preferred Windsor Castle. Elain didn’t care because Azriel took her beyond the wrought iron gates and she saw the changing of the royal guards, which was an incredible ceremony. 

“When Her Majesty passes,” Azriel told her, pointing to the vast square in front of the palace, “I believe the plan is to erect a great monument in her honour in that spot.”

“Do you know what it will look like?” Elain inquired.

“Oh, I am sure it will be–massive,” he chuckled softly. “A grand monstrosity of marble and gold.”

“My lord, you shan’t talk so freely,” she warned him under her breath.

The crowds were sparse on a Sunday morning, with most people attending church. Azriel and Elain wandered around like two heathens, without a care in the world. Who was going to question the Duke of Velaris anyway?

Walking like this with the Duke of Velaris, her arm tucked into the crook of his elbow, Elain felt a proper lady. The corset, albeit bothersome, was the right decision. She wore a dark navy skirt and a cream shirtwaist with a large bow at her neck, and a light linen jacket of pale blue. Her hat was wide brimmed, decorated abundantly with flowers and a thick bow. She carried a small purse and felt elegant, and properly attired–at last. 

Ignoring her warning, Azriel told her, “you look lovely today, Elain.”

“I appreciate the compliment, sir,” she murmured with a smile.

“I am not even confident that it is a compliment,” he mused. “You are just lovely like the sun at dawn. I am simply stating a fact. Now,” he looked around, “i should be annoyed at the sight of all these young brawny bucks paying you entirely too much attention,”

And he wasn’t incorrect–Elain had noticed the interest of the young guards who were exchanging glances and looks with her, making her blush.

“But I can't find it in myself to care,” he continued calmly. “Because I know that you are mine.”

“I am, sir,” he smiled at him. “I am yours.”

-

“You enjoyed the surprise then, sir?” Elain laughed softly, watching Azriel relax on the sofa. He had forgone his jacket, removed his tie, and his shirt was unbuttoned on his chest, allowing Elain a view of his bronze skin and his muscular, inked flesh. 

“This was a mighty fine meal, Elain,” he nodded with pleasure. “Your Sunday roast is outstanding indeed.”

She tapped her fingers on her elbow, waiting for more. He knew that she was. She was expecting for him to say what she wanted him to admit.

She’d made a succulent roast beef for the two of them, baked Yorkshire puddings in the beef drippings, roasted potatoes with rosemary and garlic, as well as glazed carrots and turnips. And then…and then she served the most contentious offering of the day: mashed potatoes. Oh they were fine! Creamy and rich, velvety and thick. There was gravy too, thick lashings of it to pour over the potatoes.

“Do you wish me to admit that I was wrong?” he cocked his brow at her.

She shrugged innocently and said, “of course not, my lord. Though you did look like you enjoyed the mash very enthusiastically.”

“It’s good mash,” he allowed. 

“Uh-uh,”

Grinning, he added brazenly, “still doesn’t belong with Sunday lunch.”

She stomped her foot with indignation and he laughed out loud. 

“I shall never make it again!” she threatened.

“Come on now, beautiful. Be reasonable. Why would you punish me with not cooking your lovely mash?”

“Because I want you to love it!”

“I do love it. The dinner was fantastic. And the marmalade sponge was to die for. Not to mention the whiskey custard. It was everything I didn’t even know I wanted.”

“Is it true?” she eyed him suspiciously. 

“Honest to god.”

He extended his arm to her and beckoned her to him, his spread legs taunting and welcoming her because it was a known fact that she loved sitting in his lap. 

“Come give me a kiss,” he ordered her gently.

She was still pouting, and he smiled at her.

“My pretty girl, who makes the best mashed potatoes, needs to come to me and kiss me.”

Elain walked over to him, pretending reluctance, which clearly amused him.

“I want to squeeze those puffy tits of yours,” he muttered, eyeing her ravenously. For dinner, she wore a much more revealing gown of the same colours as her day outfit–cream, navy and light blue. But there were roses around the bust, her arms were bare, and the dress was loosely constructed, skimming her curves without hugging them tightly. 

The moment Elain approached, he cupped her bottom in his hands and squeezed, pulling her to stand between his legs. He pressed his face into her belly and Elain’s breath hitched, when he inhaled deeply. She knew that he loved the smell of her…well, sex. Sometimes, his eyes actually rolled back at the scent of her and she couldn’t deny him. She stroked his head, caressed the back of his neck, and threaded her fingers through his hair. 

‘Do you want to play cards?” he proposed, without removing his face from her stomach, and she could barely understand him.

“Yes! I think that I will beat you!” she boasted. 

“Oh, indeed? And what will the winner get?” he questioned, nestling his chin in her mound and looking up at her. She attempted to squirm away, but he held onto her bottom firmly and resolutely.

“Well what do you want?”

He tapped his chin on her pubic bone and said, ‘this’.

She ran her fingers over his cheek and murmured, “you could just take this.”

“I could,” he confirmed.

“I am going to go bathe and change, and then we can play cards. And I will definitely win.”

He laughed.

“Of course you will.”

She was finally able to disengage from his embrace, and he kissed the inside of her palm, before Elain left the dining room. 

-

In her bedroom, she removed her lovely dress, which was uncomplicated enough for her to complete the task herself, without anyone’s help. She dressed scandalously–and according to Azriel’s preferences. He didn’t even like her to wear a chemise atop her brassiere, and she wasn’t, right now. He forbade petticoats, garters, long drawers, or any other piece of clothing which he considered ‘unnecessary’ or ‘superfluous’. Elain’s wardrobe was full of lacy and satin brassieres, alarmingly tiny underwear, see-through negligee that was just feather-light things of gossamer, silk stockings from Paris, short silky chemises which were more appropriate for seduction, rather than daily wear. Everything that she possessed was delicate and expensive and unfailingly erotically charged. 

Pinning her hair up, so she wouldn't get it wet, she stepped into the shower and turned on the water. Even her soaps and shampoos were based on Azriel’s preference, and somehow he gauged that her preferred scent was always jasmine, and he had jasmine oils and soaps and honey-scented lotions mixed, prepared and shipped for her from Paris. 

Elain soaped her body up, her hands feeling the slightly rounder shape of her hips, her softer belly, her slightly larger breasts. Only a week, and she already gained weight, which pleased her. At least she no longer looked like a 12 year old boy. The weight gain was only barely bringing her shape into the proper womanly form, but she still enjoyed the feel of it. She ran her loofa over her arms and her stomach, thinking and hoping that her sisters were doing well, and that Nesta had received the ten pounds and obtained new lodgings for the three of them, and was feeding Feyre nutritious foods. Elain knew that next week, she’d need to send more money, so that Feyre could go to a physician and hopefully get the medicine that she needed. 

She closed her eyes and threw her head back, allowing the water to beat down her body. It was blissful.

Therefore, when the bathroom door suddenly flew open she let out a scream. She didn’t even have time to shield her body before Azriel strode into the bathroom, wearing only his shirt and trousers, and without pause, walked into the enclosure. Elain shrieked, but he was already on her, his eyes wild and hungry, his jaw tight. He didn’t even seem to notice the water that was pouring over him, saturating his shirt and trousers at once. The material stuck to his toned muscular form, emphasising all the contours of every brawny slab of sinew on his body. His arms bulged, his stomach was full of sculpted slabs. 

He was everything, everything that Elain ever wanted. The sight of him next to her, unhinged, uncontrolled was both terrifying and beautiful. 

“Let me see you,” he growled low.

Shivering despite the hot water, she stepped back, plastering her back to the tiled wall. 

“My beautiful girl,” he whispered, his eyes dark and needy, as he surveyed her naked body. Tiny droplets of water fell from her puckering nipples and he cupped her breast in his hand, drawing his thumb over the nipple. 

“Your pussy is smooth,” he noted, looking down, his gaze devouring the sight of her proudly pink, hairless sex. 

She’d heard this word before, but never ever would’ve uttered it. It was…Elain wasn’t sure. But it was strangely sensual to hear him call it that. For some odd reason, she liked it. 

“Spread,” he barely managed to order and her thighs parted for him, even though Elain thought that she might just die. Of embarrassment? Need? Want? Who knows. Her brains were like scrambled eggs in her head. She was standing naked in the shower with a fully dressed Azriel, spreading her legs for him. She guessed that they wouldn’t be playing cards tonight.

“You are gorgeous, lass,” Azriel breathed, as he drew the backs of his fingers over her belly, down to her bare mound, and then whispered, “wider…”

She took an awkward side step, opening her legs for him, exposing her plump, delicate folds, while he rested his hand on her waist, squeezing it firmly. Then his index finger slipped to her slit and he dipped inside. Elain shuddered so violently, that his hold on her strengthened, as if he was afraid that she’d faint right then and there. But she wasn’t in a fainting mood. No one’s (obviously) had touched her like that before, and this was heavenly. His finger only just glided between her lips, barely inside, but it kept touching and pushing on some incredibly sensitive part of her that made her jolt and whimper with pleasure every time his finger came in contact with it.

“What…oh…god…” she moaned, “what is this? What is this…”

He smiled at her and let go of her waist, as he began to unbutton his shirt one handed, his finger still inside of her, but this time, he pushed at that spot more intentionally.

“That, sweetheart, is the source of your pleasure,” he murmured with a smile. “You didn’t think that it would feel good…how’s that?”

“It’s incredible,” she panted, wanting more pressure, firmer, harder. She wanted him to rub it. Instinctively, she somehow knew that if he rubbed her, it would feel even better. 

She felt exposed and needy, and the only word that she could think of was ‘more’. 

He rid himself of his shirt, tossing it down on the wet floor, while barely taking his finger off of her, and then started on his trousers, unbuttoning them quickly and ably with one hand. Elain wanted to touch him, wanted to slide her hands over his muscles, his chest, wanted to trace her fingers over his black tattoos, but she seemed to have lost all function of her limbs. All she could feel was his finger, circling around and over the nub inside of her, making her dizzy.

“I want to watch you climax,” he murmured, stepping out of his sopping wet trousers, “want to hear how you sound when you come.”

“What?” she asked dumbly, not knowing what he was saying and not caring. Because…oh lord, there it was–his thick, enormous member. As his trousers came off, so did his undershorts, and there he was, in all his naked glory. His cock was thick, long, jutting out, standing at attention for her. It made her oddly proud, that she was the cause of his arousal. That he wanted her. He would–she was a naked woman in front of him, but there was something else beyond just simple biology. Azriel wanted her. Of that she was sure. But she had no idea how that massive cock of his would ever, ever fit inside of her. It was an impossibility. 

His arm snaked around her waist and he lifted her off the floor, the thumb of his other hand firmly rubbing her now. 

“Need you to come to loosen you up,” he whispered in her ear, and Elain didn’t know what he meant again, but that didn’t matter. He grabbed a towel from the hook, and threw it over them, while she clumsily attempted to dry them with trembling hands. 

Azriel tossed her on the bed, and climbed onto it next to her. 

At last, Elain reached out to touch him–his warm, damp skin, the firmness of his body next to her. He seemed so huge compared to her–everything about him was big and hard, and she felt like a slip of a girl, awkward and clueless. It was embarrassing. That she was so stupid when it came to these matters, but when and where would she have learned about sexuality? But she lost her train of thought because…

IT came.

A wave inside of her.

Cresting. Rising. Reaching.

What was this incredible, indescribable feeling inside of her? This intense tension? Everything in her womb was squeezing and pulsating and growing and she was hot and breathless and then…oh…then she creamed, because she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t. She screamed with pleasure the likes of which she never even imagined. Nothing in her life compared to this feeling. She was stunned. Weightness. Boneless. Pulsing and throbbing and panting. 

Azriel’s thumb pressed on that magical spot with brutal strength, teasing her continuously, while she convulsed and cried out, sobbing pathetically into his shoulder. It didn’t stop for a few long moments, until it finally did. 

All her spasming muscles began to relax and she fell back on the pillow, breathless and with dark spots floating in her eyes.

Above her, Azriel’s beautiful face was looming over her, a smile on his lips.

“Well, lass. Now I know what you look and sound like when you come.”

“Come where?” she questioned.

“Come into yourself. Your body. This is always for you, lassie. Your pleasure.”

His lips descended on hers and the kiss was rough. Elain wanted to thank him, but he wouldn’t let go of her, kissing her with wide, generous swipes of his tongue, his hand firmly squeezing her tit. He was hot next to her, his long member pressing into her thigh, burning into her. For some reason, she didn’t think that he’d be so hot. 

Elain kissed him back, not knowing what to do with her hands, which seemed to be everywhere at once–his hair, his neck, his arms, his back, his chest. She couldn’t stop touching him, while she sucked on his lips and his tongue with strange desperation, illogically afraid that somehow, for some reason, he’d pull away.

Sensing that, he whispered into her mouth, “I am here, beautiful. I am not going anywhere. I am going to take you over and over and over tonight.”

And she nodded eagerly, not ever knowing what she was agreeing to. Over and over. Yes. Yes, please.

He brushed her damp hair back and then flipped her over and heaved her on top of his body. Elain’s heart fluttered madly in her chest, because she wasn’t expecting to be on top, but she straddled his stomach clumsily, pressing her hands into the pillows by either side of his head. His hand cupped her bottom, and he grabbed it roughly, kneading her cheek, the tips of his fingers sliding into the crevice, making her feel strange…it was deliciously dirty, that he was touching her like his. 

His tongue swept over her nipple and it felt amazing. Elain loved it when he played with her breasts, but his mouth on her breast was something unexpected, wonderful. He held her tit to his mouth and then he sucked. He pulled the whole thing inside and he sucked. She buckled atop of him, shocked, but he only slapped her ass, ordering her to settle down without uttering one word. He sucked hard and sloppily, rubbing his tongue over her nipple, pulling more and more of her breast into his mouth, his teeth pressing lightly and keeping her in place. And those wicked fingers of his–slipping deeper into the crack of her butt, exploring, sliding, gliding. 

“My lord,” he moaned, her arms trembling as she supported her body on top of him. He slapped her bottom again, and it stung, but so good. She’d be happy forever if he could just suck her nipples, bite and milk her breasts with his mouth, and finger her between her butt cheeks. 

Who was she? 

“Please, my lord, please,” she grunted mindlessly, her hips gyrating over his stomach, as she felt her dripping onto him from her slit. 

“You like this, pretty girl?” he pulled away from her breast, and she moaned at the loss. 

“Yes, yes…please! Please, more,” she begged him. She was begging and she didn’t even care.

“Do you like my fingers in your pretty little bum?” he teased.

She nodded frantically. She did.

“Say it,” he urged. “Tell me what you want.”

“I can’t,” she cried out, all flushed and flustered. 

He shrugged and said,

“Suppose we’d have to stop then…”

“No! No,” she pleaded, “don’t stop. I want more.”

“More what?” he insisted.

“Suck me…suck my breasts. Touch my bottom.”

He pretended to think about it, and then said,

“Are you going to be my good lass?”

“Yes, of course,” she nodded, her eyes wide and pleading. She was shaking all over, tension and need sweeping over her body in waves.

“Take your lovely tit,” he instructed, “and feed me with it. And that will free my hands to play with your bum.”

Elain frantically squeezed her breast in her hand and offered it to him, though he made her actually feed it to him and put it in his mouth. She felt the slick, smooth head of his member between her parted thighs, and she lifted her bottom to him in silent invitation. 

“Good,” he approved. “Give me the other one too.”

She pushed her other breast into his mouth, and he began to suck both of her nipples at once. And below, his warm, heavy hands pulled her cheeks wide apart, exposing her to the cool air. 

How she yearned to be his good girl and please him. She wanted him to be happy with her, with what she offered and how she obeyed him. 

She held her breasts between his lips, her nipples raw and swollen from his insistent sucking and nipping. He bit her, not altogether gently, making her gasp and moan, as he pressed his fingertips around the tight, tiny hole of her bottom, exploring it roughly. 

Elain wasn’t sure how she knew, but she knew, so she asked softly, “Sir, will you take me in my bottom too?”

Azriel didn’t answer, busy with his sucking, before he finally pulled away. Elain’s nipples were aching like crazy, never having been handled so hard before, and they were swollen and wet from his saliva, resembling small cherries. He was pulling her cheeks so wide apart, it was a little painful, but she loved it. She loved all the aches, the unexpected mix of pleasure and pain.

“On your back, sweet lass,” he nodded curtly and she scrambled off of him, eager to do his bidding.

He looked her over, kneeling near her legs and smirked, smoothing his hands over her belly and her waist. 

“Beautiful,” he approved.

Elain didn’t think she was anything resembling beautiful. She was a mess of panting flesh, her breasts big and swollen, her slit wet and leaking, her hair wild, her breath irregular.

“Show me that virgin pussy,” he murmured softly, kissing her lips alongside his request. “Knees up, hold them, and spread wide.”

Elain swallowed a panicked breath, but he added, “I want to see everything.”

After a brief moment of indecision on her part, he pressed, “now, sunshine. Show me that pretty hole where we’ll put our baby.”

She licked her lips and then raised her legs and hooked her arms under her knees.

He pushed her knees even further apart, as far as she could hold them, and then he yanked her hips up and onto his lap.

He cupped and juggled her tits in his hands, pinching her nipples and then rolling them between his fingers, while she just lay there, spread out in front of him.

“Look at your delightful virgin pussy, sweetheart,” he smiled. “I am going to ride it until you forget how to walk.”

“Sir, please…” she murmured.

“Please, what, sweet pea?”

“Do you like me?” she asked shyly.

“I adore you, pretty girl,” he assured her. He twisted her nipples until she winced and then let go. 

“Your member is so large,” she said, biting her lower lip. “Will it…I mean, will it go inside? Will it fit?”

What Elain didn’t expect to happen, was for him to grab his thick shaft and slap it over her wet slit. 

She gasped in shock, because he did it again, whacking that girthy appendage of his over her open sex, jerking her upright. He slapped it again and again, landing between her lips with precision, the head of his cock hitting her sensitive nub every time, as she panted with pleasure. The sounds of him slapping her with his dick were squelchy and wet and obscene. 

“Take it,” he murmured warmly, but sternly.

Elain took it.

He rubbed it in her slit, gliding in her wetness, before smacking it over and over again.

“Do you like it, my sweetness? Do you like the thick cock?”

She nodded, almost in tears. Because she liked it. God help her, but she loved it.

“Show me how much you like it,” he encouraged her. ‘Show me how you like what your lord does to you?”

Elain didn’t know what he wanted exactly, but she was overwhelmed and wanted to express her gratitude somehow. So she rolled clumsily and pressed her lips to the tip of the member, kissing it gratefully.

“Thank you, sir,” she whispered, and then dipped lower and kissed the heavy sack of his balls. He stroked her head and said, “very good, my darling.”

His flesh, even the most intimate parts of him, tasted just fine. There was a salty sheen to it, a very pleasant musk that was all him, and he smelled delicious. Elain wasn’t put off by the act of putting her mouth on his most private of parts. It felt absolutely natural. He wouldn’t have needed to ask her, because she would’ve done it gladly on her own. 

“Everything feels amazing, sir,” she admitted. 

Azriel lifted her face to his and kissed her lips, stroking her jaw and her neck with his thumbs. 

“Take me, sir,” Elain begged, as she rained kisses upon his face and his mouth.

Azriel maintained an envious level of self-control, though his cock was huge and bobbing right at his navel. 

“Let me see you, sweetheart,” he urged her. “Let me see inside of you,” and he pushed her lightly back on the bed, where she frantically resumed her spread out position, clutching her legs under her knees. 

“It might hurt,” he warned, as he splayed his palm over her slit, and she muttered, ‘it’s alright…it doesn’t hurt…it doesn’t matter.”

He settled between her legs and leaned over her to kiss her again, before swiping his tongue over her swollen nipples and tweaking them with his fingers until she whimpered. 

“Why does it feel so good?” she cried out, shuddering and arching her back.

“Carnal fornication is feeling nice?” he teased, and she watched him in awe, as he gripped his long cock and gave it a couple of thorough swipes. It was incredibly erotic, watching him like this, naked, somewhat vulnerable, yet still completely in control. She watched him do the most natural, and masculine thing that she could imagine, and it looked so enticing to her. 

Azriel meanwhile dipped his fingers into her opening and pulled. He pulled hard. Elain choked back a loud moan, because he stretched her widely and ruthlessly, opening her up for his lewdly personal inspection, peering straight inside.

“You can do it, sweet girl,” he encouraged her gently. “Show me everything…”

She was trembling, feeling her hole pulled apart, the air around them cooling her insides. This was the most grotesquely inappropriate act that she could’ve imagined him doing, and yet, here she was, four of his fingertips inside of her, turning her inside out, and she allowed him to watch her, admire her, strip her of all her inhibitions. 

This wasn’t them just making a baby. 

This was Azriel Night possessing every part of her and her giving it to him. This was him moulding her into what he desired and giving it back to her tenfold.

He looked inside of her, gushing, “you are so pretty, sweetness. My pretty, lovely girl.”

“Do you like it, my lord?” she breathed.

“You have the most delicate, gorgeous virgin pussy,” he vowed, and then leaned over her opening and kissed it. Elain gasped and buckled against his mouth, but he pulled back and whispered,

“I can see your innocence, pretty girl.”

“You can?” she exclaimed.

He nodded.

“It’s lovely, like the rest of you. Perfectly intact for me. I am sorry in advance that I am going to destroy it with my dick.”

Elain gently stroked his hand, his fingers, which still tugged her hole apart, and said, “I want you to, sir. Please take it…It’s yours.”

“I know, Elain. All of you is mine,” he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her opening, lightly swiping his finger inside, but not penetrating her deeply. “I can see so deep inside of you, sweetheart. You are doing so well for me. But I am not going to put my fingers in you,”

“That's alright, sir,” she agreed.

“I want my cock to be the first thing you feel inside this pretty tight pussy.”

She nodded. 

Whatever he wanted, she would give. Whatever he needed, was on offer.

“Come on, on your hands and knees, gorgeous,” he ordered, finally letting go of her hole. “You need cock inside of you. Cock and my seed.”

Elain turned for him the way he wanted, arching her back for him and spreading her thighs in a most natural way. It was as if she was meant to be here, offering herself to him. It was shocking to her to see her reflection in the mirror on the wardrobe’s door. She caught a glimpse of herself and hardly recognised her own image staring back. She looked wanton. Willing. Needy. She couldn’t have thought that she’d ever look like this–so destroyed, so hungry, so subdued. But here she was, with her ass up in the air, her arms extended in front of her, presenting her sex to him, so he could destroy it. 

His knees parted hers easily and he slotted behind her, his hot, long shaft throbbing against her slit. 

“I’ll take you like this,” he said simply and she nodded. Perhaps it wasn’t what she was expected or imagined about her first time, but with Azriel towering behind her, her thighs dripping, everything tensing and clenching in her, she was perfectly happy with this position. 

“I will hurt you,” he explained simply. “It’s not what I want, but I will. You are tight and small, and your virginity is well-intact.”

“I know, my lord,” she murmured. “Please take me. I need you inside of me,” she pleaded. 

“Watch us,” he pointed to the mirror. “I want you to see you losing your virginity to me. It’s not something every girl gets to watch.”

He rubbed his cock in his hand a few times, and then rubbed the head in her wet slit. And then, Elain gasped, as she felt the thick, smooth head pop into her opening, stretching it immediately. Lord have mercy, it was only the head. He was so big. Heavy. Nine inches? Something like that by the looks of it. 

It hurt.

Elain screamed loudly, because he pushed in. Slowly, but he pushed. And pushed. And pushed. She felt herself tearing. Her position allowed him to slide in so deep that she lost her ability to breathe. It burned and stretched her, his shaft scorching hot inside of her. 

“That’s it,” he encouraged softly, gently. “That’s it.”

Her eyes welled up with tears, but she panted loudly, while he pressed her lower, making her arc her back even further, so she could take more of it. 

“My beautiful Elain. You are all mine,” he caressed her bottom, her waist, while his cock battered through her bluntly. “Your virginity is mine. Your pretty pussy is all mine too,”

“All yours,” she sobbed tenderly. “You are mine, Azriel. Mine.”

She’d never called him by his name. Not until now.

Not until she felt so full of him and he claimed her as his.

Azriel ran his hand from her neck down to her bottom and she watched the two of them in the mirror. He was so dark and powerful behind her, and she was pale and small, with her ass cheeks squeezed in his massive hands. He was smiling down at her, looking between their bodies, where they were joined. 

“Take it all, pretty girl,” he told her. “You are perfect. Everything I ever wanted.”

She adjusted her hips against him, and that allowed his cock to plunge all the way.

“There you go. That’s all the way in.”

It was incredibly painful, but Elain wouldn’t trade the experience for anything. The pain was perfect. The stretch was brutally perfect. The weight of him, the girth, the sensation of the pain that he was offering her, was mixed with perfect pleasure. 

“You are a dream,” he grunted hoarsely. “My perfect girl.”

Elain managed to find his hand on her butt cheek and threaded her fingers with his. 

“Ride me, my lord,” she urged him. “Take what belongs to you.”

Her face was a mask of pained joy, eyes hooded and dark, her lips open in a silent plea.

“I will go hard on you, sweetheart,” he promised darkly. “Hard, but slow. You will feel every inch of me. Will remember every move of my dick inside you.”

“Az,” her name came out garbled and personal. She shortened it. No one else in his life called him Az, but Cassian. “Use me…”

Azriel smiled and then pulled out of her completely, before sliding back in fully. And again. And again. Deep, long, slow thrusts. Elain was moaning loudly, unconcerned about anything. She didn’t care if anyone heard her. Azriel pushed her head down, all the way to the mattress and she pressed her cheek into the pillow. He lowered his head to kiss her parted lips, as she panted, with his cock fully enclosed inside of her. 

“It hurts,” she moaned into his lips.

“I know,” he nodded, and kissed her again. “Is your little pussy so sore?”

“So sore,” she nodded and pouted. He laughed and kissed her again, his hips pounding steadily against her soft, tender ass. “But it feels good,” she added. 

“I’ve never deflowered anyone before,” he confessed, “but your pussy is perfect. Every day, beautiful, I will ride it every day,”

She bounced compliantly between him and the bed, their flesh slapping wetly against each other, while he kept kissing her cheek, her hair, her eye, her mouth, meeting her tongue with his in a heady dance. She caressed his hands with hers, while he squeezed her hips, her buttocks, her thighs, probably leaving marks on her skin. 

“Please, Az,” she whispered, “ride me every day.”

“I will. I will never get enough.”

He was thrusting deep and heavy into her, but her passage was now well-stretched for him, and she took it eagerly. She was sore–she wasn’t lying–but it also felt indescribable. 

“Open your mouth, sweetheart,” he coaxed her. She did, looking up at him from the awkward angle where her head was pressed. “I am going to give you my fingers,” he explained. “And you will suck them. You will be sucking nice and deep, because once I fill you with seed, you will take me in your mouth,”

She nodded impatiently and muttered, “yes, yes, give them to me.”

He grinned down at her and pushed two fingers in her mouth, which she swallowed immediately. Behind her, he bent his knee to find better purchase, as he filled her pussy over and over with his thick cock, this thrust mercilessly deep and hard. She snaked her hand up his calf, squeezing his knee, and then up his thigh, holding him tightly to her.

“Good?” he asked.

Her mouth was filled with his fingers, but she nodded quickly. He was making her lose her mind, as she sputtered over his fingers, the steady pounding making her clench all around the shaft, it felt better than good. It felt better than she had words in her vocabulary to describe it. Azriel kissed her wet, slobbering mouth, without removing his penetrating fingers from it, and she loved it. Loved how he enjoyed every part of her. Loved how free he was. How accepting. 

He pulled out of her, looking into her hole and murmured proudly, 

“Oh, we stretched you good, pretty girl! It will be a while before you can take me easily and without pain, but you are doing so well.” He kneaded her ass cheeks roughly, as he pushed back in, his thrusts becoming harder and harder, as he drilled into her without pause. Elain was choking on his fingers, lapping at the scars, crying and crying out, tears pouring from her eyes. Her nails dug into his thigh, as she hooked her arm under his knee, holding on to him desperately.

The first climax that she’d experienced earlier was nothing compared to the avalanche of pleasure that was crushing through her right now. It was sweeping over her body, making her toes curl, making her wail and shake beneath him, as he fucked her through it. He fucked her. This gorgeous man of her dreams was everything she ever wanted, and he was here, inside of her, making her into a puddle of panting, slobbering goo. She was his. Wholly. Her passage milked him greedily, clutching at him, clenching, wanting more, taking whatever she needed from him. The pleasure was borderline torturous. 

“That’s my good girl,” he encouraged her. “My good Lainey. Give up your sweet pussy to me. Let me fill you up, sweetheart.”

She was nodding frantically and he finally withdrew his fingers from her mouth and slapped his lips to hers, kissing her savagely, while she felt him hot and throbbing inside of her. He tensed, his movements coming in erratically, until finally Elain felt him flood her with his seed. It was warm and wet and she buried her face in the pillow, smiling to herself. She made him spill his seed. She. Little Elain that no one ever paid attention to. She made the Duke of Velaris climax inside of her and fill her with his seed.

Everything was wet and aching and hurting when he fell on the bed behind her and brought her with him. He was still inside, his cock pulsing in her, as he wrapped her in his arms.

“Az,” she whispered, kissing his scarred forearm.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I am a woman now…”

He chuckled and kissed the back of her head.

“You are not a virgin anymore,” he stated. “But maybe not a woman yet.”

“Will you make me one?”

“Of course,” he pumped her a few times, making her moan. “I’ll make you my woman.”

“You feel so wonderful in me,” she admitted, while he kissed her neck, and bit her ear.

“What else did you like?” Azirel inquired, filling his palms with her breasts and fingering her nipples.

“I liked everything. Absolutely everything.”

“Even when I slapped your pussy with my cock?”

“Yes,” she turned to face him. “It was good. Everything was wonderful. Do you want to slap it again?” 

He chuckled.

“You are my eager little thing. Don’t worry, Ellie. I will. Your little slit will be slapped regularly, so you never forget who you belong to.”

“To you,” she breathed, kissing him rapturously. “Only to you.”

He nodded and cupped her between her legs possessively.

“Mine.”

“Yours.”

“Now, pretty girl,” he eyed her and the state of her. “Are you ready for more?”

“Please, Azriel. I am ready for more.”

#the agreement #elriel #elain archeron #azriel #azriel and elain #pro elriel #elain x azriel #elain #Elriel fanfiction #Elriel fanfic #my writing #my fanfic #acotar fanfiction #chapter 9 #victorian england #Victorian AU

[ofduskanddreams]

Otherworldly

For @ablogofsapphicpanic. The request: Emorie … is regency and vampires too much?? 👀 maybe Mor is a noblewoman who is uhhh… a little elusive, Emerie is a bit of an outcast who runs her father’s shop after his death despite people turning up their noses, she gets a request from the lady of the land to keep her shop open a little bit later than usual because she’s just so busy during the day.

Emorie ✦ Rated: G ✦ 1.1k words ✦ on AO3

Emerie stared at the letter open on her shop counter as if waiting for the unbelievable words inked on the page to shift into something more plausible.

She squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them again but there the letter remained, its elegantly penned message unchanging.

Why on earth was Lady Morrigan Veritas inquiring about a visit to her store?

Emerie was proud of her store, and the work she did as a seamstress, but she catered to the lower middle-class townsfolk. Morrigan Veritas was the lady of the county; her estate, Athelwood, was known throughout the country for playing host to the most extravagant balls and events.

Again, Emerie blinked down at the letter asking her to remain open late this coming Friday to accommodate a visit from Lady Morrigan. She’d written the letter herself, explaining that her daily obligations were immovable and requesting (with far more kindness than was necessary, if Emerie was being honest) if she would make an exception. 

Her snort of disbelief drew the attention of her lone customer, and Emerie blushed, composing herself before asking if they needed any assistance.

That night, in the apartment above the shop with moonlight spilling across her quilt, Emerie’s mind wandered back to the strange letter. She knew she needed to respond, but she was undecided about the answer she would give. 

In the morning, Emerie’s curiosity won out, and she dropped off an affirmative response at the post office before opening the store. She’d heard so many stories about the enigmatic Lady Morrigan, and Emerie could not resist the temptation to discover any of them were true.

✦ ✦ ✦

The three remaining days passed as they usually did for Emerie: tea and toast, open the shop, lunch, close the shop, dinner, read, and sleep. She often caught her thoughts on the verge of lamenting that this life was monotonous. When that happened, she cut the idea off immediately. Her life may be boring by many standards, but she had her independence, her store, and a roof over her head that was hers alone. It was far more than any woman, especially one without wealth or any relation to a man in power, could dare to hope for.

She was lucky to live as she did, Emerie reminded herself, straightening the bolts of cotton and calico behind her as she waited for Lady Morrigan to arrive. The sun was almost set now, the shop lit by puddles of orange pooling around the oil lamps positioned around the room and the woodstove on the back wall. Emerie blamed her anxiety about the impending visit on the monotony of her day-to-day. Because things were always predictable, the unknown felt far more cavernous than it might have.

It definitely had nothing to do with the rumors of Lady Morrigan’s exquisite beauty (“otherworldly” as the few townsfolk who had seen her called it,) her grace, or her position.

The bell above the shop door chimed, a breeze of evening air and something like citrus and cinnamon into the quiet shop. Emerie took a deep breath before turning around, smoothing down her perfectly smooth skirt as she did… and promptly lost her grip on the English language.

The door swung closed behind the most beautiful woman Emerie had ever seen. That was one story already confirmed. Silky tendrils of flaxen hair framed a delicately boned face—dark lashed framed rich brown eyes, porcelain skin, lips painted a subtle shade of red. She was tall and held herself with an air of dignity that would not have been out of place for a queen.

“Good evening,” Lady Morrigan said. Her voice was warm and carried an edge of raspy depth that made Emerie want to shudder. “My name is Morrigan Veritas. You must be Emerie.”

Scrabbling to regain her hold on sanity, Emerie dipped into a hurried curtsey as embarrassment warmed her face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Morrigan. How may I be of assistance?”

The amused smirk of those reddened lips was not the response she’d been expecting, nor was the wide smile flashed in her direction as the lady said, “While there are many things you could help me with, I’m here because I would like to commission a gown.”

“A gown,” Emerie repeated. “From me.”

The lady looked at her with a knowing smile, “You’re very talented. I will admit that I’m an admirer of yours.”

“How?” Emerie blurted, quickly amending, “Forgive me, my lady. That was rude of me. I’m just curious how someone such as your esteemed self would be aware of my work.”

Lady Morrigan approached the section of silk bolts, running an elegant finger down the neat stack. “My lady’s maid frequents your shop,” she said. And a shock of energy went up Emerie’s spine as those eyes landed upon her again, now glowing like the embers of the hearth. 

Otherworldly.

“The quality of your work is unparalleled in the county,” the lady explained, then added, “and I will admit that hearing about a woman outright owning her business piqued my curiosity.”

“I’m honored, my lady.” Emerie wasn’t used to receiving any kind of praise for her work. Everything she made was serviceable but not necessarily beautiful. Usually, it was only the beautiful things that were considered worthy of praise. Beautiful things like the woman approaching her with gracefully long strides. 

A finger on her chin (surprisingly cold) tilted Emerie’s gaze up from where it had fallen to the floorboards. Her heart was racing, her body thrumming with desire. This was like every fantasy she’d ever had, and Emerie wondered if she was dreaming. 

Emerie met Lady Morrigan’s gaze, breath catching in her throat at their proximity. After a heartbeat of lightning-charged silence, the finger on her jaw withdrew. That connection broken, Emerie took a step back and found it easier to breathe. 

“Would you be willing to do it?” Lady Morrigan asked.

“Pardon?” Emerie was still reeling from that brief touch, from the lungful of light and tasteful perfume.

 Almost as if Emerie’s nervousness pleased her, the lady’s smile grew. “A gown. Would you be willing to make me one?”

In her mind’s eye scenes flashed of this stunning creature in her fitting room, the thick velvet drapes closing out the rest of the world so it was just Emerie and her, of the lady undressing to her shift and Emerie’s tape measure against thin white fabric. Her mouth dry, Emerie cleared her throat. “I would be honored to, my lady.”

✦ ✦ ✦

tagging: @damedechance @octobers-veryown @thelovelymadone @moonpatroclus @panicatthenightcourt @krem-does-stuff @foundress0fnothing @areyoudreaminof @talons-and-teeth

There's still time to submit drabble requests! Find the guidelines here :)

#emorie #emorie fic #emerie x mor #mor x emerie #emerie acotar #emerie of illyria #morrigan #morrigan acotar #pro morrigan #acotar fanfiction #acotar drabble #kate's celebratory drabbles series

[acourtofcouture]

An Insider’s Guide to the Night Court: Athelwood, Morrigan’s Country Estate, 2/?

#a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #a court of silver flames #athelwood #morrigan's country estate #an insider's guide to the night court #the night court #night court #the court of dreams #court of dreams #the court of nightmares #court of nightmares #the morrigan #morrigan #mor #acotar #prythian #sarah j maas #hewn city #the hewn city #velaris

[skeletonsgeorg]

Happy dadwc friday! For your tabris: “You wouldn’t be in this bad of shape if you just knew when to quit" from the whump prompts!

Thank you so much for this prompt!! This turned out to be very comforting, and I love how much these two love each other.

CW: vague description of injuries and the city elf origin

@dadrunkwriting

***********************~~~****************************

“You wouldn’t be in so bad a shape if you knew when to quit!”

Chao-Hui didn’t even bother looking up at Morrigan where she was standing over her bed; instead, she lay facing away from the woman she loved as a sister. She didn’t need the lecture.

“And what exactly was I supposed to do?” Chao-Hui croaked, her voice hoarse and reedy from how often and loudly she yelled orders and rallying cries only hours prior. “Let Ser Cauthrien take me in? Let myself and Alistair be subjected to torture in some dungeon? Let them do who knows what to Zevran?”

“Better that than having you be killed!” Morrigan snapped. “What if Wynne was not there, hm? This is the state you’re in after being tended to by one of the most experienced healers in the country, and Alistair and Zevran are in hardly better shape! You risked their lives for nothing, for getting yourself into further trouble by killing Loghain’s honor guard which had no connection to Howe’s actions-”

“Information we only knew after the fact-”

“You are lucky they are not storming the estate as I speak!”

“Let them come! I’ll kill them all!”

Morrigan reached down and forcibly rolled Chao-Hui over, eliciting a pained half-shriek half-snarl from her throat as her dark eyes finally met Morrigan’s own deep brown. “This! Tis exactly what I mean when I say you don’t know when to quit! Do you have any idea how important you are, Chao-Hui?! What if you had died? You are the only thing preventing Fereldan from falling to the Blight, for everyone else tis a fool throwing tantrums over childish games of power, and if-”

“You think I don’t know that?!” Chao-Hui barked, wincing in pain as her voice jostled her injuries. Hissing through her teeth, she cradled her magically refused ribs, her nerves still remembering the catastrophic damage she only barely survived. Her skin was covered in pock-marks where a horde of arrowheads skewered her. If not for a bath, she’d still be drenched in her own blood. “I made a calculated risk and it paid off-”

“And if it hadn’t?!”

“What use is there-?!”

“You are a fool! I clearly thought too highly of you if you would risk your life over pride!”

Morrigan’s voice cracked and rang off the walls, leaving only silence in the wake of its echoes.

Tears in her eyes, Morrigan began to storm towards the door-

“I made a promise,” Chao-Hui whispered.

Morrigan stopped with her hand on the handle.

“When I was taken by the Arl’s son and his men,” Chao-Hui continued, quietly, “I made a promise to myself that I would never be taken prisoner again.” Morrigan turned back to face her, and Chao-Hui gritted her teeth to sit up despite the pain. The women met each other’s gazes once more. “I would rather die… than to ever say… that I did not fight with my entire being… to never be at the mercy of anyone, ever, again.” She swallowed, thickly, and her gaze gentled. “Nor allow anyone whom I care for to be rendered as powerless as I felt that day.”

Morrigan’s expression trembled for a long moment… then fractured. Split. And crumbled.

“I suppose…” she began, quietly, softly, “tis the same about me and my mother. I would rather die than be under her hand again.”

“And I will always fight to ensure that you are never powerless to her,” Chao-Hui swore, her eyes glistening. “In exchange, all I ask… is for you to have faith in my abilities.”

Morrigan nodded, slightly. “I understand,” she said quietly. “I… apolo-”

“Don’t apologize, sister,” Chao-Hui said softly. “You owe me nothing. And I love you too.”

Morrigan bit her lip and nodded some more. “Yes. Well…” She wrung her hands, then let out a sharp breath. “Thank you… for being you. Sister.”

Chao-Hui offered her a tired smile, and with that, Morrigan slipped out the door.

#warden tabris #morrigan #da morrigan #da drunk writing circle #dao #dragon age #noel writes

[thecandywrites]

Blood For Gold

So. I was SO INSPIRED by @kriskukko​ ‘s regency era orc art, please forgive me for taking it and putting it into the photo montage that I do for all my stories but I wanted everyone to see your amazing art and really get a visual sense of the story I want to tell. For more amazing orc and other fantasy beings in GORGEOUS period clothing- @kriskukko​ is where to go. They’re amazing. 

I’m a HUGE fan of Jane Austin in general and now with historical period dramas like Death Comes to Pemberley and Bridgerton, they need a fantasy twist with orcs, elves, trolls and of course mouras which are my own precious creation. Also because this is a fantasy period piece, I’m fudging and blurring the lines of historical accuracy just a wee bit. Regency Era- 1811-1820 ish. First Industrial Revolution- 1760-1840 and railways becoming a key transportation tool around this time as well. So we’re going with all three at the same time. 

Trains, Industrial Revolution, Regency, Nobility, Intrigue, Murder Mystery, Damsel in Distress, Mail Order Bride, Only One Bed but with a twist as Only One Train Cabin, all the clichés. ALL OF THEM. Enjoy. And I really hope @kriskukko​ enjoys this because this was written specifically for them. And it’s written as a reader insert. Hope that’s ok. If that’s annoying @kriskukko​, I can change that. Technically this will be female reader insert. 

Blood For Gold

Part 1

You were happily sitting on the train, in a private first class cabin suite, dressed in your mourning clothes, relieved that others took the hint and left you alone so you could travel in peace, reading one of your latest acquisitions from one of the more upscale and prominent bookstores in Kent since you were traveling from Kent back to London Towne. Normally you would never dream of traveling alone, but you did just give away your latest paid companion in marriage the day before to a man who would love her for the rest of her life so you found yourself feeling bittersweet at the loss of her company, both sad to lose such a close friend yet happy she would be happy. She was your third paid companion just this past year to do so. But you were far from begrudged. But now you would have to start the process all over again and have to take out an advertisement in the papers for a new paid companion and start anew. 

Then your thoughts were interrupted by the knock on the door by a station master since the train had stopped on its way into London, stopping in the industrial district. 

“Yes?” You asked as he came into your suite.   

“Begging your pardon Countess, but there are two first class gentlemen looking for a private cabin on their journey home and it’s a full train today and we’ve filled up all the other cabins, would it be a horrible inconvenience for them to share this one with you? We’d like to extend these certificates of first class cabins on future trips to you if you’d be willing to share yours with them.” He offered generously, holding them out to you hopefully. 

“Who are the gentlemen?” You asked curiously as you looked from his offering back to him. 

“Duke Damsey Voyambi and Count Javyn Jabire.” He answered. You didn’t know them personally but you knew of them. Men of both nobility and industry and supposedly of considerable wealth in this country. Although you did hear rumors of both gentlemen of being romantically attached to various debutants so you’d have to be careful to not let any rumors spring up. The last thing you needed was another scandal on your hands. 

“But of course, I would be happy to share my cabin with them.” You readily agreed before you took the ride certificates into your black laced gloved hand and put them away into your purse as the station master then happily left and returned with the gentlemen a moment later, they were exquisitely dressed but did smell like their factories, they must have been just checking in on their businesses. 

“Countess Morrigan, this is Duke Voyambi and this is Count Jabire.” The station master introduced as you stood to greet them formally. Duke Voyambi was orcish and the count was clearly troll, but you were moura, so it made little difference what they were. 

Mouras- ever since the moura plague over a hundred and fifty years ago that wiped out the heavenly moura population, leaving only the royal moura and mountain moura to live on since their own moura heritage was “diluted” by other races enough genetically to withstand the plague and live on- were now all born with golden yellow eyes, golden blonde hair and their moura collars and cloaks, instead of being actual objects containing magic and power were now reduced to looking like they were painted on the skin with gold glittering ink. It’s what made mouras stand out even more than they used to. Gone were the days of the real moura gifts but the breed’s legacy lived on. But you were of course in your mourning attire, mostly all black and covered up, the only moura trait giving you away were your gold eyes and little golden freckles on your cheeks and nose, otherwise you looked mostly human. 

“Pleasured to make your acquaintance Countess Morrigan. How do you do?” They bowed as you curtsied in kind. 

“Please, won’t you sit down gentlemen?” You invited as you gestured to the other bench before all three of you sat down again. 

“Thank you so much for having us Countess Morrigan, we’re much obliged.” Count Jabire thanked you earnestly. 

“Pleasure is all mine your graces, a journey is always more enjoyable when spent with amiable company.” You answered pleasantly. 

“So why are you travelling alone Young Countess?” Duke Voyambi asked curiously. 

“I believe you have me confused with the Young Countess Jane Morrigan, I am her late grandmother in law Audravienne Saharrazat Morrigan from Dorierra, I was married to the late Old Count Edward Morrigan.” You gently corrected, your r’s rolling while your moura accent flourished and furled with the pronunciation of your name, which both of them couldn’t help but raise their eyebrows at that revelation as they realized you were that Countess Morrigan. 

You were the reason every young man threw themselves into business if only to make enough money to afford a moura bride as beautiful and wonderful as you. To hear of the late Count Edward Morrigan’s death had many marking their calendars to mark when your mourning period would be over so they could pursue you themselves. Especially since after the death you weren’t immediately whisked away back to the moura stables of Dorierra but stayed in the country and it seemed to be in this moment that both actually took note of your mourning attire and seemed to connect the dots so to speak. 

“Oh, I do beg your pardon, again, so sorry for your loss, I believe the last time we were in the same room was actually your wedding to the Count only two years ago, forgive us for not recognizing you.” Count Jabire offered. 

“It’s alright, I did not recognize you either, that day was a bit of a blur for me and all the faces ran together having met so many people that day.” You admitted. 

Your wedding to the Count was attended by all of high society in this country, even the entire royal family attended, all of which you barely remembered because of the circumstances of your marrying the Count. It was all a blur for you and most of the first year of being married to him, you’d much prefer to forget and the circumstances of his passing had you feeling relieved you had only been married to him for a year. Much longer and it would have finished you for good. But you had settled into widowhood much easier than you had anticipated and it afforded for you to finally enjoy life again. Now that he was dead, you had a very charming and pleasant life, and one you would be loathed to lose. 

“Oh it’s perfectly alright, practically the whole country came for your wedding, it would be impossible for you to remember all of them, especially when all of them were practically strangers to you that day. And especially since you rarely come out into society since.” Duke Voyambi reasoned and all you could do was smile politely but it didn’t reach your eyes. 

Edward had been a widower, he was human and had married a human wife in his youth and used his family’s small and modest fortune and invested it into industry and investments, all of which paid off handsomely so that the Morrigans were one of the wealthiest nobles in all of England, if not most of Europe. Then Beatrice, Edward’s wife died, and in his old age, and now fully established wealth, Edward decided it was time for him to “buy” a moura bride, a tradition most kings partook in going back for a millennia since the moura stables were established specifically for that purpose. The moura estate of Doriera functioned like a racing horse stable. All brides were put on display and bought and sold or rented to the highest bidder, because since the plague, mouras were becoming even more rare and sought after and were the first to embrace the mail order bride system. Edward wanted a moura bride who was young and vibrant and entertaining to keep him company in his old age and give his last years a measure of happiness and pleasure. He had paid a fortune to the moura stable in Doriera for you since you had a pedigree that rivaled most ruling kings and gifts galore, not to mention were an outstanding beauty in your own right and Edward got what he paid for because you delivered on all accounts. 

Edward had been incredibly sweet, kind, thoughtful and generous as a husband when you first married him and treated you like the gem you were and in the beginning, you found much to appreciate and have affection for as he helped you to adjust to living in England, away from the moura stables and indulged you endlessly because he could afford to. He made sure you had a very generous allowance paid out weekly, wore splendid gowns and practically dripping in jewels at all times. You were his delight in his old age and he even had the good sense that it was all down in writing and was taken care of by his steward.

However six months into the marriage, he started to go completely senile, mistaking you for Beatrice and then getting so angry when you weren’t her and especially once the sun set every day, he became a different man, he grew incoherent, irritable and angry and even violent but then in the morning and during the day, he would come back to his senses and himself and would apologize and do everything he could to make amends and even hired special assistants to keep himself from hurting you further but even that only lasted a few months, the last three months of his life was spent having all sense leaving him and he became completely senile and deranged no matter the time of day and that’s when the abuses started happening, in his senility, he dismissed his helpers and Richard, his eldest son and heir, who was looking to save money, agreed with their dismissal, no matter your pleadings or theirs and even his steward plead with him but Richard and his family turned a blind eye to it since they viewed you as his paid caregiver and basically dumped him on you and left you all alone to deal with him and shut you and him up and away from society so they would not and could not see it for themselves while forbidding you from contacting the stables or anyone else about it to “preserve the family honor”. 

Then the “incident” happened and Edward unexpectedly passed. And it came as a relief to everyone else in the Morrigan family. Richard then fully inherited the estate and very quickly shipped you and all of your things off to live in London Towne as soon as you could be packed- to live in an exquisite and surprisingly luxurious townhouse in the fashionable side of town that was big enough to suit you just fine because you couldn’t return to the moura stables because ‘you were broken beyond repair’ by Edward’s and Richard’s treatment as judged by the stable masters who were beyond enraged at your treatment and thankfully Edward had written it into his will and specified the kind of living you would receive upon his death so that the rest of your life, until you chose to remarry someone of your choosing, would be in comfort and luxury and even accounted for inflation and unless Richard wanted to lose everything, he would be honoring his father’s wishes and pay out what you were definitely owed and had earned by enduring it, under the threat of the truth being discovered and him losing everything, including the family honor and estate and business to you, which the stable masters were more than ready and able to hire the best international lawyers who would make sure to hold the new Count Richard Morrigan to the very letter of the contract his father signed when he “bought” you from the stables which clearly stated, should you be damaged in any way, you would inherit all of Edward’s estate to “recoop” the damages inflicted on you personally which all moura contracts superseded all others in all courts worldwide. 

So that left Richard to pay for your silence and discretion on the matter, effectively doubling what his father had already set out in your material living agreement which you had the good sense to get down in writing and have the stable masters cosign it so that it accompanied the contract Edward signed which you kept a copy of in your possession and the stable masters also kept the original copy of and had it witnessed by the highest judges in the land, in private of course. Which for the price of your peace- and complete independent freedom from the Morrigan’s, you agreed to it since you could not return to the moura stables yourself. 

So you made peace with your circumstances and counted yourself fortunate to have the moura stables still backing you despite technically no longer being a part of them even though you knew that if this particular country were to ever become unsafe by either revolution or war, you were still welcome back to the stables under those conditions to simply preserve your bloodline, but little other circumstance garnered your return to them. 

Besides, you got to have the very same staff that served you at the Morrigan Estate named Broadcove follow you to your new townhouse- Mirador and they were ever so happy to follow you there because you were a good and fair mistress to them and took care of them exceedingly well and they made at least twice the money they would make at any other house and they were loyal to you to a fault. Even the steward followed you to Mirador because he knew his master had done you wrong. 

“How are you getting home to Broadcove?” Count Jabire asked curiously. 

“Oh since the Late Count Edward Morrigan passed and the New Count Richard Morrigan and his family has taken ownership of Broadcove, they thought it best I mourn in peace at a house of my own, so I have since moved to Mirador since the late Count’s passing.” You informed them. 

“Oh how kind and thoughtful of them.” Count Jabire noted and you fought not to snort a derisive laugh at that. It was never ‘thoughtful’ on their part. It was always just a business to them. 

“Yes, it’s been most helpful to me. It’s incredibly convenient to be in town and so close to so many amusements and diversions, it has helped me with my grief a great deal, especially since the living afforded to me by the late Count is generous enough for me to afford a paid companion so that I don’t get too lonely. My latest one was married only yesterday, Lady Bellum to Sir DeVaunce, you may have seen the announcement in the paper perhaps?” You readily agreed.

“Oh yes, yes of course.” Duke Voyambi readily agreed while Count Jabire nodded in agreement.  

“But now it seems I will have to take out another advertisement for another, since it’s obviously a little unseemly for a lady such as myself to travel alone, especially in this country.” You allowed as they nodded and gave each other a meaningful look. 

The rest of the ride was spent in pleasant conversation as all three of you got to become better acquainted. 

Duke Voyambi owned a soap company, making not just soap to wash the body, but laundry supplies as well which explained his own scent on his clothes smelled like he worked as a laundress. But he also employed a union of orcish workers. One of the few captains of industry that was for the union instead of against it, which you greatly respected because you could tell he was passionate about the betterment of orcs in general, from livelihood and wages, to education and living and working conditions and was incredibly safety conscious. 

Count Jabire on the other hand- he owned one of the many flour mills, using the river rushing through the feet of the bridge to run the giant wheels to make flour of various kinds. And it was why he smelled like a bakery and why the two of them together smelled- if anything- interesting. But they were clearly friends, and close ones at that and in conversation, they clearly played very well off each other and it was entertaining for you to sit and listen to them. You were almost saddened when your stop came and all three of you had to disembark. 

But at the same time, you were relieved to see Malcom, one of your manservants there to help you with your things and there with a carriage to take you home. 

“Till we see each other again gentlemen, may you both get home safely.” You offered the Duke and Count, curtseying again as they bowed and tipped their hats to you before you left to return to Mirador. 

“You have visitors waiting on you my Lady.” Malcolm informed you as he helped you into your carriage. 

“Who?” You asked. 

“Count and Countess Morrigan.” He answered before you groaned and made a whiney whimpering sound which brought a grin to Malcom’s face. 

“Why?” You asked. 

“Don’t know, but they came bearing gifts my Lady.” He answered. 

“Great, well, I suppose we shouldn’t keep them waiting any longer than they have to.” You urged him as he finished loading your things up and the driver drove the carriage home as you steeled yourself for whatever would find you once you came home. 

“Countess,” Richard and his wife Agnes greeted you as all three of you curtsied to each other respectfully. 

“Count, Countess.” You returned respectfully. 

“We trust your ride home from Kent was pleasant as always.” Richard urged with forced pleasantness. 

“It was,” you confirmed. 

“So what do I owe the pleasure of your presence your Graces?” You asked curiously. 

“Well since your mourning ends in a fortnight, we came to invite you to everything that will be happening shortly after, and since you will be out of mourning and even half mourning in a fortnight, you will need new clothes to stay with the fashions, we must get you out into society as soon as possible. Surely you long to see it and we brought all the invitations that we should all go to as a family.” Agnes insisted as cheerfully as she could muster as she presented you with a stack of invitations and you wanted to laugh scornfully in her face for her audacity. But decorum would not permit you to do so- so you simply smiled politely as you took them from her. 

“Of course.” You agreed as you started looking through them.  

“Well we must get you to the designer houses as soon as may be for they may need time to finish your gowns in time for all of these events. Take the next couple of days to rest and recoup from your journey from Kent, so on Wednesday perhaps, we should go, in the meantime, the stables have sent gifts to celebrate the event, and your servants have taken the trunks to your quarters for your inspection and we must inform you that you now have a dowry, should you chose to get remarried of fifty thousand pounds.” Agnes suggested. You were being paid thirty thousand pounds for your silence a year, since Edward afforded you fifteen thousand but Richard doubled it for your silance and discretion, but the Morrigan’s estate and business earned them hundreds of thousands of pounds a year which they were using to build an even bigger estate in the country along with a new townhouse in London that was going to rival any other as well, the new country estate was going to rival the Palace of Windsor or even Buckingham Palace. Which is how Edward could afford to give the stables two hundred a fifty thousand pounds to buy you outright from the stables but Edward, when he had not been senile insisted that you were worth every penny. But still, they always viewed you as a gold leech and they were obviously keen to get rid of you and have you ‘latch on’ to someone else. 

“Yes, Wednesday would be a good day for that, thank you.” You agreed, in a desperate attempt to get them out of your house so you wouldn’t have to put on this pretence any longer than you had to.

Mourning here lasted a year and a day for widows, the first six months were spent in deep or full mourning, where the widow would wear nothing but black, and the last six months were in half mourning where a little bit of subdued color was introduced back into the wardrobe, which seemed almost alien to you since mouras liked to dress in the brightest and most vibrant colors possible.

But you knew the sooner they could get you remarried after the mourning period- the better for them because they would no longer have to pay for your living arrangements and pay for your allowances. They were going to dump a fortune into getting your market ready and dump you on the first willing suitor who showed interest and they would try to induce you to remarry but you were determined that only the deepest and purist and most genuine love would ever induce you into matrimony now. 

If they only knew who you shared a train ride with- they would be going to the gentlemen directly to try to broker a deal behind your back as you wondered exactly what tricks they had up their sleeves to try to pawn you off. 

But you had tricks of your own. You just needed a little help...

#Blood For Gold #a story inspired by #@kriskukko #their regency and industrial revolution art #orcs #orc period drama #bridgerton #but orc and fantasy being style #it's going to be so fun!

[azarland]

ok possibly Super wild considering they don’t share a purpose & their ends are for hella different reasons but.     so i’ve been listening to the jesus christ superstar ost like, a Lot, these past few days, alw put smth in those songs i swear, which, ig is appropriate considering the holidays, but one of the songs i keep getting like, Oof about is gethsemane & just.     some of the lyrics kept making me think about azriel, but very specifically in the verse where azriel Doesn’t have the talk with riordan at eamon’s estate about the archdemon, so he encourages alistair to kill loghain which, because azriel refuses to have anything to do with morrigan’s dark ritual, means one of the wardens must die.     azriel was never going to let his sister die, & alistair’s become as another sibling to him, so he is the one who lands the final blow to the archdemon.     the lyrics in question are  :

“i only want to say   /   if there is a way   /   take this cup away from me   /   for i don’t want to taste its poison   /   feel it burn me   /   i have changed”   —   the way azriel never wanted power, he never wanted responsibility, he only entertained the thought of becoming a gray warden when it was on his terms, when it wasn’t the only choice, when it wasn’t his father’s dying promise.     the way he never would have drank from neither the joining’s cup nor the reaver ritual’s cup if he had any other choice, how drinking the darkspawn & dragon blood changed him in every single sense there is.     the way he never wanted to be one of the only people that could save his country, insisting that alistair was the gray warden among them, just wanting to find his brother & kill howe & go home.

“i’m not as sure, as when we started   /   then, i was inspired   /   now, i’m sad & tired   /   listen, surely i’ve exceeded expectations”   —   the way before the siege azriel was unflappable, he could aford a musing daydream about the glory of joining the great gray wardens, how even after the siege he had something to hold on to  :     his rage for rendon howe.     the way that rage was azriel’s fuel for so long, how when howe lay dead in his own dungeons azriel felt fulfilled but so, so empty.     he had long since accepted that howe was not his primary goal, but it had been the driving force behind his actions all this time, & now with the landsmeet he’s just so exhausted.     he wants to properly mourn his family now that the designer of their deaths has been killed but there’s still an archdemon to deal with.     he gathered the army ferelden needed, he got the queen back in charge proper, he killed howe, & now one of the wardens has to die to end the blight.     azriel immediately determines that he won’t let lorna or alistair die, but he doesn’t want to die either.

“alright, i’ll die!!   /   just watch me die!!   /   see how i die!!   /   then i was inspired   /   now, i’m sad & tired   /   after all, i’ve tried for three years, seems like ninety   /   why then am i scared to finish what i started   /   what you started, i didn’t start it”   —   he doesn’t want to die either, but when he sees riordan’s corpse, he knows he has no choice but to.     it’s too much for the universe to ask of him, to ask & give him no choice.     he’s scared of finishing the journey he began so seemingly long ago, no, the journey that duncan set him on, that bryce set him on, that howe set him on, that the maker set him on.

“kill me   /   take me, now!!   /   before i change my mind”   —   azriel walking a bit faster through fort drakon than the other places because he needs to get to the top, he needs to kill the archdemon before he loses his nerve, before he stutters & either his sister or alistair take his pause for a window of opportunity for martyrdom.     but azriel was always the one without a destination, the one without responsibility, the one who did as much as his late young nephew, his death wouldn’t be martyrdom, it would be a casualty.     there’s always casualties in war.     he’s convinced himself of that, now the maker need only take him before he can change his mind about that.

#[cut off scream with reverb] #ok now i sleep i just needed to get this out of my system & it's too OU G H to keep in drafts till tmrrw #▐█ ▌ ◇ — ( study. ) #▐█ ▌ ◇ — ( codex. ) #▐█ ▌ ◇ — ( your sleep paralysis demon. ) #long post //

[princessofmerchants]

Thoughts on A Court of Frost and Starlight, Chapter 24: Morrigan — Mor’s Future (speculation and a crack-ship?)

(I’m recording my thoughts on each chapter of ACOFAS ahead of ACOSF. This is my third time reading ACOFAS. The rest can be found here.)

Author’s Note: I have not read any of ACOSF as of this posting, so please keep comments, reblogs, and replies 🛑 spoiler free 🛑 (including references and reactions to what is in the first 3-6 chapters of the book).

This chapter gives us a glimpse of Mor’s private life, including an estate outside of Velaris she says no one in the Inner Circle knows about. She also rides horses that came with the estate when she bought it hundreds of years ago. And the important plot points that seem like they are setting up for future novels are that there is a shadowy presence in the woods on her estate watching her (Bryaxis? Koschei?), and that she comes to the decision to take Rhys’s offer to represent the Night Court in the Fae territories on the continent.

On this reread, there is one major thing that occurred to me, like a lightning bolt, that had never occurred to me before. I wonder if there might be a romantic ship in the future between Mor and Vassa? 

Ok, let me explain my thinking. When I reread ACOWAR in these weeks leading up to the ACOSF release, I noticed so many things about Vassa in her brief appearance as a human at the end of that novel. One thing I noted, but kept to myself, was a quality to her friendship with Lucien. They have a lot of warmth between them, but there was something about it that just struck me deeply as platonic, although it’s hard to put my finger on why. 

But that led me to wonder if part of Vassa’s history might include a romantic preference for females, which could have contributed to her poor relationship with her own father (who likely expected Vassa to heel and sire an heir to their kingdom...sound familiar?), something she alludes to when speaking to Feyre and Nesta at the end of ACOWAR. It was just a thought, not rooted in much, more of a possibility about Vassa, but I filed it away and didn’t give it much more thought.

Cut to chapter 24 of ACOFAS, and we have Morrigan secretly loving to ride and keep horses, and she says she is drawn to the untamed, wild things of the world. Vassa is certainly that, even more so with the Firebird curse she is contending with. Vassa is queen of the mortal country of Scythia, which, it is mentioned in passing, is a territory of horses and horse-riders.

I fully admit, this idea is a stretch (some might call it a crack-ship). I don’t fully believe (yet) this is in the future for Mor and Vassa, but I am noting the seeds for it that I have observed so far, in the event this winds up being a real thing we see in a future novel. 

Mor being a lover and rider of horses just feels so random otherwise, and this would be an interesting way to set up for her story to be told, perhaps alongside that of others in the same novel. For instance, if Elucien is endgame for SJM, which we do not know yet, then this is a very interesting way to develop a web of relationships through a complicated plot we haven’t even thought of yet (but which I fully expect to include Koschei, and draw on both The Firebird and Swan Lake stories), where a whole group of our faves get to experience romance and adventure.

Crack-ship, ahoy! 

#acofas #a court of frost and starlight #chapter by chapter commentary #acosf #a court of silver flames #morrigan #bryaxis #koschei #queen vassa #mor x vassa #vassa x mor #vorrigan #acowar #a court of wings and ruin #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #elucien #the firebird #swan lake #acotar 5 #crack ship

[visionmarred-archive]

For characters meme: Leliana, Anora and Alistair.

thank you again, Karolina! :D

Leliana

How I feel about this character

Adore her with all of my heart. She’s a good woman who actively tries to be such, and she recognizes when she says something stupid and apologizes for it. Also has one of the sweetest romances in the game? I just love her so much.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

Me

The Warden! Of my own that romance her, Benyssa Brosca and Vanyla Cousland both do. I also like the idea of Leliana/Morrigan quite a bit.

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Leliana and pretty much every other companion (except Oghren), but special mention to Shale, Morrigan, and Wynne. Her dialogues with Wynne may not be terribly entertaining, but gosh if they aren’t sweet.

My unpopular opinion about this character

I’m just not sure about popular and unpopular opinions in general, I guess. Softened Leliana is better than hardened Leliana.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

I haven’t played Inquisition yet since I’m marvelously lazy, so I’m not sure I have any opinions there yet?  I’m actually pretty content with all that we see of her in Origins. That letter she’s supposed to send to the romanced Warden in Awakening actually showing up without mods to fix it would be pretty super, though.

Anora

How I feel about this character

WIFE. I know she’s not perfect and I still adore her anyway. Tough as nails queen who’s straight-forward, loves her country and her father, and isn’t ashamed to say “Yes, I’m the rightful queen, I’m the right choice for this country. I was the one ruling for the past five years, you should support me and not your friend.” I love her so much.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

The Warden! I’ve got my own Atreyan Cousland paired with her... though ngl, I might make a different Cousland instead. Anora/Erlina could be cute, too.

My non-romantic OTP for this character

This is my own bias peeking through but pretty much all my Wardens come to like her at least a little, so definitely Anora and the Warden. Again, Anora and Erlina. Anora and Loghain! Anora and smiling when Eamon doesn’t get his way.

My unpopular opinion about this character

She doesn’t betray you and I’m incredibly tired of the fans (of a certain character, but... see below) who insist that she does. On both occasions of “betrayal”, I argue that the Warden is the one who shoots first - like escaping from Howe’s estate, and she gives you up to Cauthrien... except she only does that if you say “Hey, this is Anora” when she specifically asks you not to. Or at the Landsmeet, which she does only if you A) don’t talk to her B) Say you’re going to kill her father and/or usurp her! In which case, why should she support you? Seriously? Because you’re the player character and she should know that you’re all-powerful and divine?

Anora “betrayed” me my first playthrough and I fell in love with her. 100/10. And the fans who say that she deserved to get covered in her father’s blood personally owe me $100.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

Mentions of her existence as queen in world states where she rules alongside Alistair? Also a cameo in DA2 would’ve been lovely. Please just give me more of queen wife.

Alistair

(this one... isn’t gonna be super positive, so it’s going under a cut since I know I’ve got fans of his following me ^^;)

How I feel about this character

That one... changes from day to day. On my best days, yeah! He’s nice. He’s a goofy kid trying his best and I appreciate it. A lot of the time? Mostly just indifference. On my more irritated days? I’m tired of his existence and I’m really, really tired of BioWare and the fandom cramming him down my throat.

Let the record show that on his own, I think that Alistair is a fundamentally good character and person, and while he’s not my favorite, I do like him. But he was never really my favorite even when I first started playing the game back in 2009, and over a decade of everybody pushing him as the One True Love/Best Friend/Brother for the Warden, while also demonizing every woman associated with him (ANORA, Morrigan, Goldanna), it’s just... it’s left a bad taste in my mouth and now I’m just really tired of seeing him everywhere. I guess it’s more that I’m really tired of fandom Alistair, but canon Alistair’s alright?

All the people I ship romantically with this character

Kiiiind of the Warden? But I mean, years of seeing him has kind of staled me on the ship, I admit. Of my own, Nadine Tabris romances him, but it doesn’t exactly work out well. I’m biased and I know it, I’m sorry to all his fans.

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Alistair and Zevran! Their banter is the best. Alistair and Wynne is adorable too and I can’t get enough of it. Alistair and the dog lol. Alistair and realizing that Eamon was a horrible “father figure” to him and that he really deserves a lot better. 

My unpopular opinion about this character

He’s not a great choice of king for Ferelden and he should stay with the Wardens. He doesn’t want to be king, and history has proven that being a good person doesn’t equate a good ruler. He’s never going to be solo king in any of my world saves, it’s just not happening.And not strictly about Alistair himself, but... I get why Goldanna isn’t super warm and welcoming when they first meet, and I’m really tired of fans demonizing her without trying to understand her point of view on the matter.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

Honestly, I just want a little less of the guy. That’s all I’m asking for. BioWare loves using him because of how popular he is and I’m just tired of it.

#Sierra's Asks #DA stuff #reverienne #I'm sorry again about the Alistair part Karolina. I'm sorry. #tag dump #Alistair critical

[jewellsfrommaruss]

sts!!!! are there any things your ocs regret doing or not doing? things they blame themselves for unfairly?

OOOHHOHOHOO @crystallized-ink Not going through the whole family, I’m just gonna focus on the ones this most applies to!

Morrigan - Blame is the name of the game! Stalker suddenly upping severity in behavior leading to tragedy? Her Fault. Sister fell ill with an aggressive illness her country’s doctors weren’t ready to handle? Her Fault. Daughter born blind? She should have seen it coming, how dare she do this to her child!

Norwood - He is the family’s estate manager and Morrigan’s adopted nephew. Often this means he does the dirty work Morrigan doesn’t have time for. Like getting rid of her newborn infant for her when he absolutely knew how to get her to change her mind.

#morrigan #norwood #listen in older versions of the story #norwood's cowardice resulted in a lot more harm #so if i ever seem overly mean to him #thats why #headbanger-deluxe

[gingerbreton]

Every even number of the Inquisitor Asks!

Thank you so much for asking!  I’ve had to have a good think about this, as I’m only part way into her playthrough and i’ve kept some decisions i made prior to any extra knowledge around WEWH.  It’s massive so i will hide some of it under the cut. 

 1, 4, 6 & 34 answered here

7, 8 & 12 answered here

Freya Trevelyan 

(you might think she’s worried because Redcliffe, but no… she’s always this stressed)

2.  How did they decorate and structure Skyhold?  

Freya concentrated on helping and healing when deciding on the uses of various areas of Skyhold, creating a centre for healing and a herb garden with which to supply it, and a tower for the mages obviously.   Décor-wise, she chops and changes, occasionally bringing in bit from the Free Marches to remind her of home, or sometimes enjoying startling visiting nobles with Avvar decorations adorning the hall.  

10.  Who did they support as Divine candidate?

Leliana.  She approved of the changes that Leliana wanted to bring in, making the Chantry a more inclusive institution as well finally granting the freedom to the mages that she had hoped for for her little sister while she was alive.  

14.  Who is their favourite and most trusted advisor?

She does love Josie and enjoys spending time with her, but tends to lean towards Leliana’s methods when she feels they can get away with doing their business privately, especially with her own background in smuggling.   Also, as someone who was inspired to escape her old life by tales coming across the Waking Sea of the fifth Blight, having Leliana there has her in awe.  It’s all she can do to not constantly question her about everything that happened and about the Hero of Ferelden.  After her involvement with stopping the Blight, Freya finds herself trusting Leliana even when her plans might seem controversial.

16.  How do they react to the corruption of the Wardens?  Why?

She is devastated! (get ready for a lore drop)  

Freya was 19 when the Fifth Blight happened, freshly returned from boarding school with nothing to look forward to in the world but an arranged marriage to try and recoup some of the massive financial losses her aunt and uncle (her guardians after her parents died) had incurred with what should have been her estate once she came of age.  With her little sister having been whisked off to the circle while she was in school, Freya had resigned herself to an unhappy future.  But then stories started coming out of Ferelden of a group of people including three Wardens, led by a young woman who wasn’t much older than herself, who stopped the Blight and in doing so changed everything about what their futures might have held.  It wasn’t the idea of being a hero, or ending up a queen really that appealed to Freya, (she’d never been taught to fight – such a thing wasn’t a young lady’s place after all) but the idea of freedom and travelling, and especially of being able to change your fate.  Not being stuck with your lot in life.  That small group of people, especially the Hero of Ferelden, were her inspiration for escaping her family and the future they’d have thrust upon her.

So, yeah.  She tries to think of excuses at first for what the Wardens have done until there are no more excuses to be made.  She can’t understand the desperation they must be feeling with the Calling, and especially after getting her memories back in the Fade, she finds it difficult to forgive.

18.  Do they enjoy Wicked Grace, or don’t they?

She does, and her generally stoic/concerned expression makes her rather hard to read, so you’d think she should be pretty good at it… except she’s really not.  Varric is trying to teach her.  Unlike Cullen, she knows when to quit, so there haven’t been any incidents of losing her clothes.

20.  Do they trust Morrigan?

She doesn’t see any reason to trust her any less than other advisor, especially given her involvement with stopping the Fifth Blight, although Leliana’s comments on her do cause some concern.

22.  What is her biggest regret?

Leaving Stroud in the Fade, because she did it out of anger without considering that she would be responsible for his death.   She had just had her memories restored of the conclave, and with it had realised that she had managed to find her sister there and they had been on their way to get her away from the Ostwick Circle.  Watching her sister die at her side had left her broken and enraged, and since Stroud was the closest Warden, he took the brunt of her anger.   The moment she closed that final rift at Adamant, it really hit her, what she had done.  Ever since, she can’t help wondering if they could have just fought and all escaped, whether she had caused a needless loss of life.  

24.  How did they react when they found out about Blackwall/Thom Rainer?

She was heartbroken. She has a habit for blaming herself for most things, so she felt like such an idiot – suddenly his reactions to certain questions and discussions about his past with other companions made sense.  She felt like she should have seen it and not been blinded by her initial Warden hero-worship.  She was struggling with the shock, confusion and betrayal - completely ready to yell at him - but then she saw him in the cell and it broke her heart all over again. Seeing him resigned to his fate, accepting the death he felt he deserved, despite the good things he’d done since his crimes, made her reassess things.  After all, she had escaped her old life and remade herself, so why should she blame someone else for doing the same, even if the circumstances were different.  

26.  What makes them trust someone?  

She watches how they interact with other people, especially people she cares about, questions them on how they view the world.  She may come across as reserved or a little stand off-ish but it’s not actually that hard to earn her trust - she really does want to trust people – and that trust can be earnt very quickly if she can see genuine caring in someone, because it’s a quality that was lacking a lot around her growing up.  

28.  Did they disband the Inquisition or maintain it?

Freya disbanded it. She’d done what she set out to do, the breach was closed, and finally all the fallout from Corypheus’s plans had been settled.  She probably only kept it going as long as they did after the defeat because so many people she cared about were so invested in it, for example Josie had poured so much of herself into building it into the institution it was by Trespasser, that she feels genuinely guilty thinking about ending that, even though she is still stressed to high heaven with it all and desperately wants it to be over.   In the end, she hated the idea that they were starting to cause more trouble than they were fixing (despite everything that happens with Solas and the Qunari during Trespasser) and that was the final straw.  Plus, someone had promised her a normal life with a house and a dog – except he’ll be the one making the eggs! She’s also expecting during Trespasser, and having come so close to dying, she is more than ready to step away and let someone else deal with Thedas’s problems.

30.  How did they judge prisoners?  

Where possible, she tried to put them to use, or at least make them make amends for what they had done. The only exception being Erimond, who she would have killed at Adamant if she’d managed to get her hands on him then.

32.  Who did they leave in the Fade, and why?

She left Stroud (and massively felt massively guilty after they escaped).  Freya was still reeling from watching her sister die when her memories were restored, that she lashed out and sacrificed Stroud without a second thought, purely out of anger.  

36.  What was the most difficult choice that they had to make?  

She really struggled with choosing a ruler for Orlais, feeling like she was never given all the facts or a straight answer to anything (exactly how I felt, having played without knowing anything about the Masked Empire!  WTF).  In the end she maintained the status quo, for a combination of reasons; the vision of the future at Redcliffe had scared her, and she feared that doing anything that removed Celene from power might result in that future.  Plus, Gaspard put her on edge.  She had heard enough stories about Orlesian chevaliers – ones that made her extremely thankful for growing up at the far end of the Free Marches - that her natural instincts towards him were that of distrust bordering on disgust.   She completed missed the boat on any kind of reconciliation with Briala (she can be a bit oblivious when she is panicking).  

Anyway, it’s one of her decisions that she thinks back on a lot while watching Orlais suspiciously from a distance, always wondering if she did the right thing, or whether it would have been better for Thedas as a whole to let the Orlesian empire collapse in on itself…

38.  Emotionally, what was their reaction at Sahrina Quarry?  

Visceral horror. Remembering the future at Redcliffe is one of the things that keeps her up at night, and actually seeing what had happened to Fiona being realised in front of her is absolutely horrifying. She can’t help but wonder if she’d acted quicker, come to the Emprise sooner… or just been better at this whole thing, whether she’d have been able to actually save people.   She had hoped that they would have been able to stop that vision of the future from ever being realised, so a huge sense of failure was another takeaway.  

40.  Do they get Cullen to start taking lyrium again?  Why or why not?

She offers him what help they have available to aid him in stopping, although she feels going cold turkey might not have been the most sensible way to stop.  But ultimately, it’s his body and his life, so she lets him lead the decision to actually stop taking lyrium.  

42.  How do they view Tevinter?  

She doesn’t follow Chantry doctrine on such matters – as in, she doesn’t hold her views because the Chantry says so.  She learnt enough about the country’s history, or at least the way it is portrayed to the rest of Thedas, during her education to strongly disagree with pretty much all of their policies, especially (for want of a better word) human rights.  She can’t wrap her head around the fact that Dorian, an otherwise intelligent and compassionate person, doesn’t seem to understand that are no good reasons for slavery and that are no circumstances in which it is better than having freedom (f*ck you bioware for thinking this is an acceptable ‘problematic’ characteristic to write into him because it is so ooc for someone who sees all the other issues with their society).   The only thing she does wish, is that her sister had the personal freedoms that mages do in Tevinter, to be able to live her life as a person, not just an abomination in waiting.  

44.  How do they think their race plays into being Inquisitor?

Being human, and technically ‘noble’ to boot, makes pretty much all aspects of political dealings with the inquisition significantly easier.  Even with her keeping a distance from the bureaucracy, it makes it easier for her advisors to portray an idealised version of her to a heavily biased world (so long as they stay clear from the topic of her atheism).  Orlais is the largest demonstration of this, because having a human herald (and female, fitting within the Chantry’s matriarchal structure) fits comfortably into the Orlesian nobility’s view of the world, not leading their prejudiced view to be challenged.   Freya is aware of the privilege this gives her, and will take what opportunities she sees to try and change the system, such as backing Leliana for Divine and making the world aware of Ameridan being a Dalish mage (she dropped the ball with Briala though, missing the opportunity to give her more power, and not knowing the recent history of what happened in the Masked Empire) although she probably doesn’t do everything she could do, not purposefully but likely through ignorance and missed opportunity.  

46.  Which companion/advisor makes them think twice about their choices, if any?

She does wonder if she should use more of Josie’s diplomatic options, seeing her occasionally uncomfortable with her answers or decisions does make Freya question whether she’s making her decisions for the best or because it’s the easiest way.  But because of her own background, she leans towards Leliana’s methods where they can get away with it – it’s what she understands best and therefore what she feels most confident about.

48.  What do they think about the Hero of Ferelden?

This might have been covered a little above…

Freya had developed an idealised view of the Wardens because of the events of the Fifth Blight, and a lot of that centred around stories of the Hero of Ferelden and how she had not only saved Ferelden but had changed her lot in life.  To be honest, she’s a little bit of a fan girl for Ysabelle Theirin (nee Dryden) but the events of Adamant completely jaded her view of the Wardens, and although she kept them on with the Inquisition, the whole topic left her with a bitter after taste.  

I’m thinking she runs into Izzy and her companions (Aedan, Anders and Nate) out towards the Hissing Wastes or the Deep Roads maybe, while they are looking for the cure, and this does a huge amount for restoring her faith in the Wardens.  These were the faceless organisation who had been corrupted, this was a small group of individuals doing amazing things.  Getting some personal combat tuition (Freya isn’t a natural at this fighting lark) from the Hero of Ferelden goes a long way to reinstating her former levels of admiration.  

I feel a one shot or two coming on

50.  Are they proud of what they accomplished?  

In the end, she is. Even if it’s basically pride at just making it through the whole thing alive without having a full-on breakdown or inadvertently destroying the world.  She is very ready for it to be a past accomplishment and for life to become a bit more normal!

#asks #freya trevelyan #inquisitor trevelyan #dragon age #dai #my oc #long post

[eeveevie]

a forehead press scene for Evelyn/Alistair maybe?

squint, and you’ll see me reference some old prompts I’ve written for these two, for consistency’s sake 

Alistair x Evelyn Cousland

535 words | Ao3

Dawn.

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when Arl Eamon’smen began to march towards Denerim. Alistair watched from his spot along thebattlements of the castle, knowing any moment he was to depart as well. Many,including Eamon, had wished for him to stay behind—it would be safer for the future King of Ferelden to avoid the Darkspawn.But Alistair wouldn’t retreat so easily. He was a Grey Warden first, and wouldbe until the Archdemon was defeated. There was also his devotion to Evelyn. Hewasn’t about to abandon her now.

As if his mind had beckoned her, he heard quiet footstepsapproaching, knowing by the pace thatit was Evelyn. She approached, and he could sense her nerves. The previous dayshad been nothing but tumultuous for their relationship. At the Landsmeet shehad appointed him King, and offered to become Queen to help rebuild thewar-torn country. It wasn’t exactly the way he’d envisioned becoming herhusband. He had proposed—properly—thatevening at Eamon’s estate. Even though the chances of her saying no by that point were slim, Alistair wasstill grateful she agreed. Not a day later they were on their way back toRedcliffe, where they were greeted with destruction. The Darkspawn horde hadattacked, and was heading back towards the capital. Riordan only soured themood further, indicating that one of them was to die when the Archdemon fell.

Except, Morriganhad plans.

Alistair decided not to dwell on the memory for very long,swallowing down the bad taste that had developed in his mouth. He had promisedEvelyn that it wouldn’t change anything between them—he too wanted nothing morethan to survive, to have the future with her that they both deserved.

“Alistair?” Her voice was soft.

He turned his full attention to her then, eyes dancingacross her form. She was dressed in her Warden regalia, the silver of the armorglistening under the morning sun. It would be a sign of inspiration to thetroops—a sign of hope. He took hergloved hand in his, tightening his grip as much as his gauntlets would allow.They stood there silently for a moment, the two looking on as more and moresoldiers made their way out of the ruined village.

“Their lives depend on us,” Evelyn stated. “I hope…” shetrailed. Alistair took her other hand as well, turning her towards him. Hereyes slowly raised to meet his and he recognized the fear that lingered in herexpression. He couldn’t blame her—he was just as terrified. Still, he wouldn’tflame the anxiety she was feeling.

“We can do this,” he encouraged. He tilted his head down,gently resting his forehead against hers. The blue of her eyes intensified, butshe didn’t break the gaze. “You cando this.”

Evelyn’s lips twitched up in a small, thankful smile. It wasbrief, but it was enough. Alistair moved one arm to wrap around her shoulders. Sheclosed her eyes, nuzzling her head against his as she stepped closer into hisembrace. Then, the most chaste of kisses to the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you, Alistair,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #alistair theirin #alistair x cousland #alistair x evelyn #evelyn cousland #otp: say no more #a crab writes #fanfic #iarinthel #potato answer

[acourtofcouture]

An Insider’s Guide to the Night Court: Athelwood, Morrigan’s Country Estate, 1/?

#a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #athelwood #morrigan's country estate #country estate #morrigan #the morrigan #the night court #night court #the court of nightmares #the hewn city #the court of dreams #court of dreams #the inner circle #velaris #the city of starlight #the illyrian countryside #the illyrian steppes #illyrian #illyria #acotar #prythian #sarah j maas

[chatoyisou]

post media hcs . ( 1 / ? )

haku gains the bathhouse after yubaba retires , & they manage it begrudgingly . however , they don ’ t really have much to do other than it , & ... the customers really seem to like it . can ’ t risk angering them .

sidenote : preferred pronouns are they / them , he / him .

astrid takes care of dragons in their free time . they are wayyy more comfortable with them then with people , & !! seeing their favorite dragons are always a plus . favorite dragons include : stormfly , toothless ... that ’ s about it .

sidenote : preferred pronouns are they / them , she / her , but doesn ’ t really mind either . doesn ’ t really care , really . you could call them by either & they wouldn ’ t make a fuss .

pitch has not died after the end of rotg , but remains in his sprawling labyrinth to recuperate . slow process , but because he ’ s not bound by belief , it ’ s not as big of a problem for him compared to the guardians .

have i mentioned this before ? i don ’ t think so , but pitch ’ s labryinth takes heavy inspiration from rick riordan ’ s take on the original greek myth of the labryinth .

morrigan sort of wanders the country after the second titan war . she attracts monsters more then she likes , as a daughter of hades , but traveling is still nice . the only time she ever sets foot near the camps is to help chb with the third titan war .

eventually , by trials of apollo , or what is the foreseeable ending of it , she swings by to contemplate being an instructor . it ’ s either that or camp jupiter , & forgive her if she prefers former .

when annabeth finishes remodeling olympus , she goes on to gain scholarships in new york + remodel other gods personal abodes . she digs it .

the second titan war hurt a lot of kids for years & years . it still hurts a lot of them to remember what they lost ; friends , lovers , etc . annabeth becomes terrified of abandonment after nearly losing thalia / percy / her siblings / losing luke . nari finds it hard to pick up the energy to paint or sing after losing michael / the others . morrigan travels to take her mind off of those that died , that were caused by her , by her choice of allegiance .  morrigan & annabeth experience phantom pain from the wounds they received from the war .

not too much of a serious hc for rping , more for fanfic writing / what not , but ethan meant a lot to her . the two of them were exceptionally close as luke ’ s right hands , possibly delving into romantic levels . he died before anything could be talked about & that seriously hurt her .

flicker comes from a rich family but , with the ways of the little nightmares ’ world , the estate was attacked & she was thrown into the life of a street urchin at a young age . the only reason she survived was out of the kindness of older kids , who thought it extremely shameful to leave a baby uncared for , at the very least .

post - maw , she ’ s searching for them & her family while running her gossip mill .

#☽ and for years; what have you become? / haku hcs. #♞ divine beauty & god's strength! / astrid hcs. #☾ age old suffering clad in shadows / pitch hcs. #☞ to be everything & nothing; to be what you must / morrigan hcs. #☞ i promise you i'll never be invisible again / annabeth hcs. #✵ hidden behind flora; what secrets do you hold? / nari hcs. #blurry don't look #☾ there is a way out; i'm determined to find it! / flicker hcs. #long post//

[vulptilla]

My actual oc page has been under construction since forever, so I promised to make some kind of an introduction post for my canon trio.

Long story short, meet my precious all-mage panel. From left to right, there is a disaster bisexual blood mage Faenel Amell, another disaster bisexual blood mage Katla Hawke & the most purest cinnamon roll Iliana Trevelyan, a former Tranquil who has done nothing wrong in her entire life. Behind the links you will find their own specific tags cluttered with art, screenshots, memes and various other stuff about them. 

Katla and Iliana even have their own faux Wiki pages, commissioned from the most awesome @tk-duveraun​. <3

Their “short” bios can be found under the cut. 

(Oh, and now when I remember, this is probably the best time to mention that I’m also up for all kinds of rp and other oc interaction stuff, too.)

Faenel is a former Circle mage who never particularly enjoyed his life in the tower, but he didn’t hate it either, at least not enough to attempt escape. He was always interested in studying blood magic (purely academically, of course), but nevertheless he was surprised to learn that Jowan, his best friend and occasional lover, had dabbled in it. He knew he should have known better, but still agreed to help He knew he should have known better, but still agreed to help Jowan and Lily with their plan—and as we know, everything went downhill from there.

Under different circumstances he even may have not agreed with being recruited for the Grey Wardens, but in his rather hopeless situation he didn’t even consider refusing Duncan. In retrospect, getting away not only from the tower but also from the Knight-Commander’s wrath was the second best thing that had ever happened to him.

The best was meeting Morrigan. He became fascinated with her intelligence, sharp wit and overall unique way of thinking, but unfortunately he was such a selfish prick back then. When Morrigan asked him to slay Flemeth, he agreed to do it, but when Flemeth offered him a way out of it, he took it and lied Morrigan about it. He didn’t expect it would matter, not until he agreed to perform Morrigan’s ritual with her. He didn’t care anything else than surviving the upcoming battle, and he was mighty fine with knowing that Morrigan would leave afterwards. 

After the battle Morrigan was indeed gone and Faenel was the celebrated Hero of Ferelden. He spent a couple of months in Denerim court as a honor guest of newly crowned King Alistair and Queen Anora. For a short period of time he truly enjoyed all those luxuries and privileges he had, but soon he realised that everything tasted like ashes. He felt empty inside and didn’t really like the person he had become during his time in the court. His past deeds and aloofness haunted him, and after carefully planning everything, he left the capital to begin his search for Morrigan. He had realised that he actually wanted to be part of his unborn child’s life. 

He found Morrigan and they spent a couple of years together with the baby Kieran, until he finally told the truth about Flemeth. Morrigan wasn’t *that* angry with him (basically meaning that she didn’t murder him at the spot), acknowledging that she might have done the same, but it didn’t change the fact that Flemeth being alive was a threat to Kieran. They agreed that Faenel should leave to find her and finish the job. 

His search for Flemeth lasted for years, taking him to foreign countries and uncharted lands, but it all was in vain. He patiently followed her tracks for years only to find out that she had already left way before his arrival—but he never gave up. He wanted to do this one thing right in his life.

After a few years of unsuccesful searching the Mage-Templar conflict forced him to turn back and travel to Skyhold. He didn’t expect to find his family there, and he most definitely didn’t expect to hear that Morrigan had drunk from the Well of Sorrows and thus become bound to Mythal—or in other words, Flemeth.

— — —

Katla was never part of the Circle, due to her parents’ efforts to keep her hidden from templars, but she grew to fear and loathe the Order and its’ ways nevertheless. She grew up praying every day for safe return of her father who used to take various mercenary jobs to keep his family fed.

By the time the Blight forced her family to flee Lothering she had assumed the role of the protector of her family. She blamed herself for Bethany’s death. She swore that she would not let anything bad happen to Carver. She wanted to keep him close, but she also wanted to protect him from harm, and her trying to have control over her brother’s life only drove him more apart. She didn’t take him with her to the Deep Roads expedition only to learn that he had joined the Templar Order during her absence. They fought over it, and in result Katla refused to speak to him anymore, feeling betrayed by her own brother. She later realised that she was wrong about it, but they were never able to fix their relationship during her time in Kirkwall.

She never wanted to resort to blood magic, but it simply seemed to be the only choice for a mage who wanted to survive in Kirkwall. She despised herself for it, but she saw no other way to protect her loved ones from harm. 

Soon after meeting Anders she became infatuated with him. They basically made the rest of their friends mad with their constant flirting, but they both happened to have too much on their plates, thus they never took the next step in their relationship. They stayed close friends, and after a few years of loneliness Katla ended up with the templar Thrask. Their relationship was highly inconvenient and they never able to be together openly since it would have given too much leverage to Knight-Commander Meredith who was known to be preying on any opportunity to knock Katla — the Champion of Kirkwall and a fierce defender of mage rights—off her pedestal and drag her into the Gallows.  

After Thrask’s unexpected death she became more desperate that she had ever been before. She had always used alcohol to cope with her past failures, but now she didn’t even want to leave her estate anymore. Anders was there for her, comforting her and keeping her from any further self-harming than she had already done to herself. They grew closer, but agreed to not bring any kind of romantic aspect into it, feeling that they would be only taking advantage on each other. 

After defeating Meredith they escaped the city together and were never seen again, not until Varric contacted Katla and invited her to Skyhold. 

— — —

As the eldest child of two, Iliana was raised to become the heir of her noble family, but instead she was sent to the Circle as soon as her magic manifested. It was a big surprise—and disappointment—to her parents, but they never abandoned their firstborn child. Lord Trevelyan’s money ensured that she was kept safe from harm in the Circle, and she occasionally got to meet with her family. She adjusted to her new life quite well, although she was somewhat afraid of her own powers and never enjoyed her mandatory spellcasting lessons as much as she did enjoy studying magical theory in solitude in the quiet library. She was particularly interested in spirits and the Fade. 

She was in her teens when she began to have terrifying nightmares. She told her mentor about her nighttime struggles and the mentor—who was genuinely concerned of her wellbeing but also a firm believer of traditional ways—suggested that she should undergo the Rite of Tranquility. She was afraid of her upcoming Harrowing and ended up agreeing with her mentor. 

When the Mage-Templar conflict broke out, most of the Tranquil mages were left to the wolves, but Iliana’s mentor took care of her. They both attended the Conclave, and in result Iliana was cured of her Tranquility by being touched of the Spirit of Justinia. She was brought to Haven to be questioned. No one seemed to care of her highly unstable state of mind, not until she met with Cole, who was the first to truly understand and be able to help her with her struggles.

After some time she realised that she realised that she had fallen in love with Josephine. Her advisor was always gentle and kind and never aggressive or coarse. She felt comfortable in Josephine’s company, which couldn’t have been said of her other advisors. Cullen’s background made her extremely uncomforable, and she also found Leliana intimidating (until she found out their shared fascination with nugs).

As the Inquisitor Iliana did her best to restore peace and help her fellow mages whenever she could. After learning the truth about the Rite of Tranquility and the Seekers of Truth, she became devoted to fight for Tranquil rights. 

Iliana ended up preserving the Inquisition as a peacekeeping organization under Divine Victoria (namely, Leliana). 

#dragon age #the oc introduction post #my oc: faenel amell #my oc: katla hawke #my oc: iliana trevelyan

[tokutenshi]

Lineage - part 2 -

@alistairappreciationweek​ day 3: Hurt and Healing - Angst and Fluff (but this is pretty much all angst.....)

Alistair turned away from the bright shaft of morning light hitting his face through the crack in the curtains, extending an arm out to grasp at the figure beside him so he might fight off the day a moment longer. His hand found only cold, flat bedding and the lack of his partner or any evidence of her presence at all had him groaning in familiar disappointment. He had dreamed of her return again, of her slipping into the room after it fell dark to join him in bed, and of the absolute joy he found in her arms.

She never spoke, never kissed him, and Alistair began to worry that the reason he dreamed of such a carnal, physical reunion was because he could no longer remember what she sounded or tasted like. A voice in the back of his mind – that was sounding more and more like Eamon with each repetition of the dream – whispered that his body simply craved the sensations he was denying it by staying faithful to his wife. Alistair shook off the notion each time it tried to worm its way into his thoughts, because he had fallen in love with Kaedence long before they became physically intimate. It was her character, her strong will and determination, her sense of duty and sense of humor that drew her to him and those were the things he truly missed.

Alistair had this particular dream about once a month recently and as much as he enjoyed them in his sleep, the emptiness he felt the following morning crushed his spirits and soured him for the entire day. It reminded him too much of when Kaedence left on her quest without discussing it. Alistair supposed he should have realized something was going on from how she doted on him and touched him everywhere the night before she left, but he was too elated to have his wife in the present with him to think any more of it. When he rolled over in the morning to hold her naked body against his own and  was met with nothing but a crisp note on the sheets written in her hand, he felt like the fool Morrigan always suspected him to be.

To have a night of warmth and passion followed by a morning of cold and shame was certainly something he never wanted to repeat, but seemed to be doomed to do so until Kaedence really, truly, returned.

Teagan followed the servant through the familiar halls of his brother's Denerim estate, despite not needing any guidance as he had visited on many occasions, even before Eamon left the arling of Redcliffe in his hands and moved to the capital full-time. It was no surprise when his baggage was waiting for him in the guest chambers, knowing full well that while the elf lead him at a leisurely pace to the room, others had hurried through the tighter servant passageways to deposit the items.

“Thank you, Tavin,” Teagan said with a slight nod of his head. “Please inform my brother that I will be with him shortly for a proper greeting.”

The elf furrowed his brow slightly, but kept the confusion from his voice. “My Lord is not home, at present. I can inform the Lady Isolde, if you like.”

Teagan nodded again, excusing the other man and moving through the sitting area into the bed chamber to freshen up from the journey. He barely registered the door clicking closed behind him as the invitation ran through his mind. It was certainly from Eamon, though not written in his hand. That was nothing new or strange, as the brothers have dictated many letters in the past. Still, the scrawling script had looked rather familiar.

He'd only just changed from his traveling clothes when the door swung open with no warning. Teagan turned sharply to the disruption, fingers frozen over his shirt mid-fastening. The moment he saw the intruder through the second doorway, he calmed, but grew more confused. “Isolde?”

The woman closed the main door and paced over the area rug, eager to say what was on her mind, but having enough sense and decorum to wait for Teagan to join her in the more common space. He rushed through the final closures on his shirt and ignored the doublet for the time being, knowing that while he was not dressed properly enough for a formal audience, he was covered sufficiently to talk with his sister-in-law.

“Teagan,” Isolde began the moment he stepped into the sitting area, Orlesian accent deepened by the obvious worry in her voice and on her face.

“Has something happened?”

She brought her manicured fingers to her lips and looked away briefly. “I fear there may be, but I am uncertain. I've suspected for sometime, but...”

Teagan sat on one of the couches, motioning for Isolde to do the same in hopes it would calm her, but she continued to pace. “Does this have something to do with Eamon?”

Isolde froze at the name and the fingers that had been so tentatively perched on the edge of her mouth flew up to her eyes to shield the sight of her forming tears. “I fear he has taken a mistress and will soon leave me,” she gasped out around a muted sob.

“What?!” Teagan jumped to his feet, unable to sit still after hearing such a claim. “Eamon loves you, stood by you when it would have been so easy to shun you. Isolde, what has given you such ludicrous thoughts?”

She shook her head, still trying to do her best to keep her quiet tears secret. After a few deep breaths, she answered. “He brought on some new staff last year – something he never handles – and there was a woman among them that he would take along with the usual servants when he'd be spending the night away from home. She's pretty enough, I suppose.”

Teagan calmed, but kept his sigh of relief to himself. “That hardly sounds like an affair.”

“That is why I was not concerned until a few months ago.” Isolde turned her back completely to her guest, wiping her eyes discreetly before continuing. “She became heavier and I caught the other servants whispering that she was with child. Before I could confront the woman or look into the matter, Eamon had whisked her off to help prepare the winter estate – I did not even know we had a winter estate!”

Those were indeed troubling notions, but Teagan was not convinced of his brother's infidelity. Eamon courted and married an Orlesian woman while the nation was still routing out the empire's agents from their lands. Eamon fell to the brink of death because of Isolde's secrets and mistakes – something that would have given him every right to abolish the marriage – but he stayed committed to Isolde. Teagan would be the first to admit the woman could be abrasive and that many men would lack the patience to deal with her moods, but his brother never complained.

“Even if this maid is with child and Eamon has taken her into hiding, that does not mean it is his,” Teagan said as calmly as he could. “There are any number of reasons why he would assist a young, single mother – highest on the list being that he is a kind and caring man.” He paused to let his words sink in, hoping they would ease Isolde's concerns. “It would not be the first bastard child he tried to help, either.”

She gave a halfhearted chuckle as she turned to face her guest, doubt still evident on her reddened face. “I've only been able to give him two children, Teagan, and we lost both.”

“Rowan is doing well in the Circle,” he countered softly. “I visited her myself just last month.”

Isolde finally dropped to the couch, exhausted and still obviously troubled. “Magic is too strong in my line and I can not give him a child he can rear to adulthood.” She closed her eyes to shut out the world. “Eamon has given up on me.”

–

Alistair tried to stretch out the stiffness in his back as the final meeting on the roster ended and the chamber began to empty. The work day was actually far shorter than usual and he was looking forward to a long, hot bath to relax his muscles. When people told him being king would be difficult, they never mentioned how big a problem sitting would be.

“If we could have a moment of your time?” Teagan's voice sounded from the doorway, causing Alistair to twist in his seat to see who we entailed.

“My time is rarely my time anymore,” the king chuckled and waved them in. “But for both of my sort-of-uncles to be wanting to speak with me off the books, this is either very good or very bad.”

Teagan offered a strained smile before turning to the pages collecting the piles of notes and books from the meeting. “Why don't you come back for those later.”

The pages looked to their king for his orders and Alistair dismissed them with a half shrug and nod to the door. Once alone, he rose to his feet and leaned back against the table. “So, bad then.”

“Very,” Teagan muttered, casting a tired and disappointed look at his brother.

Eamon would not meet either of their eyes, letting the tension build in the room as he tried to formulate the best way to begin. He had a plan originally, but Teagan's interference made that impossible now. “Alistair, you are aware of how vital it is that Ferelden has an heir of Theirin blood.”

The king straightened, expression tightening as he regarded the older men. “Don't tell me he's dragged you into this, too?”

“I swear I had no part in this scheme,” Teagan insisted vehemently, his obvious disapproval of whatever had occurred making Alistair more than a little apprehensive. “We came here as soon as I found out what he'd done.”

“That's rather foreboding,” Alistair mumbled, returning his focus to the elder brother. “And just what is it that you've done?”

“I had only the best interest of the country in mind,” Eamon prefaced calmly, pressing forward before Teagan could interject with his own opinion. “Since you would not budge, I was forced to take matters into my own hands.”

A strange twisting began to churn in Alistair's gut, the apprehension building with each passing second. “What does that mean?”

Eamon took a steadying breath, but remained unashamed. “I arranged for you to sire a child.”

“What?!” Alistair shook his head, trying to unscramble the sudden tangle of emotions and questions racing through him and focus his thoughts enough to form a sentence. It took several minuets to do so, but neither brother interrupted. “I told you I wouldn't take a concubine, and you found one anyways? Oh, the woman came all this way, so it would be rude to turn her down. Might as well go through with it.” He scoffed at the ridiculous plan. “Maker's Blood, Eamon, what made you think I would ever agree to that? When I said I wouldn't betray Kaedence, it wasn't because I was too lazy!”

He was met with silence again and the twisting in his stomach began to push towards nausea as he realized there was something he was missing.

“The child is already born, Alistair,” Teagan quietly explained, forcing the conversation along.

That gave the king a momentary sense of relief. Eamon had found a babe he believed could be passed as Alistair's own. The man had known him since before he could walk and surely this random child resembled the king enough to fool the public.

But Eamon was not one for subterfuge and he had always been adamant that the heir to the throne needed to have the blood of Calenhad running through its veins. It was impossible for Eamon to know about the dark ritual with Morrigan or how to find the witch, but for Alistair to have sired another child who was already in the world was just impossible. He hadn't even come close to being with anyone besides his wife since the horrid experience before the march to Denerim that ultimately saved their lives. It was only ever Kaedence, even in his-

His dreams.

The once recurring dreams that he hadn't had for many months.

The dreams where Kaedence never spoke and he always awoke naked in a pristinely made bed.

“They weren't dreams,” Alistair mumbled to himself, the reality and gravity slowly sinking in. The fake reunion only came on nights when Eamon stayed at the castle and took supper with him, sharing a wine that the older man brought himself and – now that Alistair thought back to it – never actually drank.

Alistair felt betrayed, used, and manipulated. He felt disgusted with himself. Most of all, he felt a murderous rage.

He pounced on Eamon with a roar, knocking the older man all the way to the stone floor and knocking over a chair in the process. His knuckles plowed repeatedly into the wrinkled face, causing tears in the flesh and bleeding in the layers beneath as the king wailed on his advisor. Alistair didn't care about the ruckus he was making or the gossip that would spring forth from the obvious beating Eamon was taking, all he could process was anger. Anger at Eamon, anger at himself, anger at the taint and the blasted Grey Wardens who doomed every person they recruited to the same fate.

“Alistair, please! Restrain yourself!” Teagan came up behind him, hooking his arms under the king's own in hopes of pulling him off the older man. “Eamon has done something terrible, but you're going to kill him!”

“Sounds like a plan,” Alistair grunted, struggling to get his fists flying again. “Treason against his king – an execution by my own hand is in order!”

“You aren't in the proper frame of mind to pass that sort of judgment,” Teagan tried to say in a calming tone, only to be undermined by the strain in his voice. “He should be punished, but you have to take every factor into consideration.”

“What else is there to think about?” Alistair snapped, though his struggling died down. “Eamon betrayed my trust, drugged me, whored me out, and claims to have done it for the good of the Ferelden. Where is the merit in those actions?”

Teagan did not answer right away, knowing that there was no real defense. “His methods were flawed, but you must consider their result. You have a child now, Alistair, and its fate lies in your hands just as much as Eamon's does.” Teagan felt the fight leave his captive and slowly released his hold.

The three of them remained on the floor, Eamon's pained breathing the only sound passing between them for a long stretch of time. Finally, Alistair spoke in a very quiet voice. “Which is it?”

It took a moment for Teagan to understand the question. “A boy, Alistair. It's a boy.” Alistair pushed himself to his feet, trying to process the answer and its implications as he slowly made his way to the door. “Wait,” Teagan called after him, “what is to become of Eamon?”

A heavy, tired sigh was the initial response, Alistair having run the gambit of emotions and feeling more drained than he thought possible. “I'm not sure,” he mumbled. “For now, just lock him up somewhere out of my sight.”

#day 3 #dragon age #dragon age fanfic #dragon age fanfiction #alistair therin #king alistair #angst #eamon did a bad thing #teagan is the voice of reason #hey look #isolde is in here #i swear i dont watch soap operas #tw: noncon #nongraphic

[laurelsofhighever]

To Be King

After the events at Howe’s estate and Fort Drakon, the decision about who will rule Ferelden is more important than ever. For Alistair, however, the only concern is for the woman he loves, wounded in taking vengeance for her family...

Originally posted as part of Alistair Appreciation week, but deadlines are my nemesis, so here ya go

Read on AO3

Finally, Wynne stepped out into the corridor, a letter clumsily sealed in blue wax clutched in her hands. She shut the door behind her. Alistair, who for the past half an hour has been wearing a groove in the floorboards, looked up expectantly.

“Can I see her?” he asked.

Wynne fixed him with her best matronly glare. “She’s still recovering, Alistair. She needs rest.”

“I wasn’t thinking – I wasn’t going to –” he spluttered, colouring at the implication. His shoulders slumped, voice cracking. “I just… I have to know she’s alright.”

The teasing lilt of the old mage’s smile softened as she moved towards him, reaching to lay a reassuring hand on his arm.

“She will be,” she said. “She was lucky we found her when we did, and she is lucky she’s strong, and a Grey Warden to boot. Although,” she mused, “maybe it would be best if you stayed with her for a little while. If anyone can keep her from doing something reckless, it’s you.”

Alistair snorted. His steadying influence hadn’t been worth much when she decided to storm Howe’s estate without either him or Cuno at her side. He should have known what would happen when she exchanged her own blade for the heirloom sword she had carried with her since the blazing ruin of Castle Cousland. And yet he had let her go. And he had nearly lost her.

“She’ll be happy to see you,” Wynne said, to bring him out of his reverie.

He glanced at the door. When he turned back to thank Wynne for her help, she was already halfway down the hallway, and the words faded on his tongue. Instead, he let his held breath out in a sigh and straightened his shoulders, nervous for a reason that slipped his understanding. When he’d found her in the dungeon of Fort Drakon, she had looked so small, pressed as tightly as possible against the dank stone wall, sheened with feverish sweat and pale as a fish’s belly. For a moment, seeing the deep wound in her side that seeped blood into her improvised bandage, he had feared the worst. But her eyes had blazed, and she had staggered up to follow and fight her way out of the nightmare, and had only collapsed again three streets away from the front gate, infection and blood loss having finally spent the last of her Warden strength.

The metal of the door handle felt cool under his fingers, the wood sharp against his knuckles as he knocked.

“Come in.”

Rosslyn leaned against the frame of the large bay window that overlooked the arl’s kitchen garden. The late afternoon sun painted her face with golden light, concealing the pallor that still clung to her skin, though it did little to hide the bruise-dark circles under her eyes. She smiled when she saw it was him come to see her, a tired thing that vanished in a sigh as she turned back to watch the servants gather ingredients for the evening meal.

“You should be in bed,” he said.

It earned him a smirk. “I’m fine. I have one of the best healers in Thedas tending to me, after all.”

“Are you cold?” he asked. “Can I get you anything?”

“Alistair, there’s no need to fuss,” she replied easily. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t miss the way her teeth gritted as she shifted her weight between her feet. He picked up a blanket from the end of the bed and cautiously made his way over to her side.

“I want to fuss,” he said. “When everyone came back from Howe’s estate and you weren’t with them – when I heard they’d taken you to – to that place, and I couldn’t do anything to stop them –”

Rosslyn quieted him with a brush of fingertips across his cheek. “You came charging in to rescue me like the hero in an old story.” She smiled. “I won’t forget it.”

“Let me fuss,” he insisted, closing the last of the space between them.

At Rosslyn’s nod, he draped the blanket over her shoulders, gently tucking it against the back of her neck and under her arms to make sure every draught was chased away. The movement brought him close enough to smell a hint of elfroot and fresh linen, and on her breath the homeliness of the chicken broth the cook had made to help her recover. She leaned into him, nudging into the crook of his neck, and when he was finished arranging the blanket it felt good to add the extra layer of his arms, though he was careful to avoid putting pressure on her injury.

“Satisfied?” she asked, in a voice that was a hum against his skin.

“Almost.”

He pecked her on the forehead and then, before she could react, he bent his legs and scooped his arm under her knees. She yelped and clung to his shirt, eyes so wide with shock he had to stifle a grin.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“You’re lucky I’m injured, and that nobody was here to see that,” she shot back, pouting.

He chuckled. “Of course. Maker forbid anyone discover that even the indomitable Rosslyn Cousland can be caught unawares. Where to, my lady – bed, or divan?”

“Divan, please,” she answered with consideration. “I’m sick of being in bed.”

“Oh how I despair to hear that, my love.” The grin he aimed at her made her toes curl. “Although, Wynne did give me a Look as she was leaving, and it’s always better not to incur her wrath.”

“Is earning her wrath not worth what you might get in return?” she asked sweetly.

“Stop it, you. You’re meant to be recovering.” Carefully, he settled them both into the plush cushions of the divan, close enough to the fire that there was little need for the blanket, still snug around her shoulders. “How’s this?”

“Good,” she decided. Gingerly, she snuggled closer. “You’re very warm.”

“Ha! I knew I had my uses – I’m so glad I can add ‘human brazier’ to the list.”

“Mmm…”

They fell quiet. Alistair’s hand traced light circles on Rosslyn’s back. She curled across his lap, while her fingers brushed patterns over his knuckles and his chin rested on her hair. Safe. Alive. The sounds of the market drifted up to them, birdsong and barking dogs and a dwarven merchant toting the value of his goods. But the crackle of the fire was louder, their shared heartbeats more beguiling, and before long they dozed against each other, content to have this brief peace at the eye of the storm.

Alistair’s voice scratched the silence when he spoke again. “On the subject of looks, I’m guessing someone told Anora I was planning to steal her throne. She has a nasty glare.”

Rosslyn sighed. “She came to see me earlier, before Wynne arrived.”

“Oh?” Beneath her fingers, his tightened into a fist. “What did she want?”

“She wants me to support her in the Landsmeet.”

The silence in the room chilled like one of Morrigan’s ice spells.

“What did you say to her?” he asked eventually.

“That a decision affecting the future of a whole country can’t be made lightly, especially when distracted by the pain of a recent injury gained in the service of others.”

“That’s my girl.” His grin faltered. “What will you say to her?”

She buried closer into his neck, feeling for the comfort of a steady pulse. “You won’t like it.”

Whether the leaden tone in her voice was the result of sorrow or mere fatigue was difficult to tell, but either way Alistair found it intolerable. Shifting slightly so she was better cushioned against his chest, he brushed a loose lock of hair away from her face, following the line of her cheekbone so he could lift her chin with the tender edge of his thumb.

“Oh, you never know, I’m full of surprises,” he said, but Rosslyn’s face was still grey as a snow-cloud, the muscles around her eyes tight with pain, and his airy tone was swallowed by a tight, choking rage. “She left you for dead. You rescued her from that place and she handed you over and used the distraction to save herself, just like her father did to Cailan, and now she’s asking for your help? I wouldn’t be surprised if she planned the whole thing from the beginning.”

“It seems she wants to get out from under Loghain’s thumb,” Rosslyn mumbled.

“But he’s the only reason she’s still in power in the first place. His army has kept her on the throne!”

She traced her finger along the seam of his shirt and sighed. “Things have changed since Cailan’s death. The tide is turning against Loghain because before, the nobility only had his word for what happened. Now we appear, and stories of the Blight continue to spread, and the tales paint Cailan as a hero martyred for his country rather than a fool who wanted to go adventuring. Anora’s shrewd enough to know this, and to know her best chance to stay in power is to have us fight her corner.”

“That’s all she wants, isn’t it,” he replied, disgusted. “To sit on her throne and order people about. Never mind about the elves, or the commoners, or anyone who gets in her way. People are just tools to her, aren’t they?”

Rosslyn pulled back again to look at him, searching his face with eyes like the winter sea on a still day. “You’ve been thinking about this a lot, haven’t you?” she breathed.

He swallowed. “Yes. It’s not just what she let happen to you, it’s all of it. The alienage – the elves weren’t surprised by what happened to them. They were hurt, and angry, but not surprised. If Anora becomes queen none of that will change, and monsters like Vaughan and Howe will be allowed to do whatever they want, as long as they don’t cause a fuss among the nobility. What’s the point of saving Ferelden from the Blight if things don’t get better?” he demanded, aware his voice had risen, but not caring at all.

“And what’s the alternative?” Rosslyn asked, in a voice that told him she already knew the answer. She waited for him, patient, her hands wrapped around his as he struggled to put in order all the expectations of lineage that he had been wrestling with since he was old enough to understand them, thoughts he had never voiced aloud, even to the woman who had held his heart almost since their first meeting.

“When I was little, I used to dream of being a prince,” he told her now. “Mostly when I was scrubbing pots in the scullery, because if I was a prince, I wouldn’t have to do it anymore. Then when it never brought me anything buy misery, I resented it. The Wardens were different – we were all equal, so it didn’t matter who I was, so long as I could fight. And then…” He sighed. “After all this, all the suffering we’ve seen, knowing I could help? I… It wouldn’t be right.  You taught me – mmph!”

Her fingers slid along his jaw as she kissed him, chapped lips slanted against his, pressing so close her nose dipped against his cheek, and when she broke the embrace, she barely pulled away at all.

“I love you,” she said, and he could feel the shape of the words against his mouth.

He chuckled. “I love you, too. So what do we do now? Maric might have been my father but that doesn’t mean the Landsmeet will listen to me over Anora. I’m still a commoner.”

“You do have one thing she doesn’t.”

“Hm?”

“Me.” She kissed him again, briefly. “I’m a Cousland. What happened to my family happened so that Loghain wouldn’t have anyone to rival his schemes, but now…” Her voice trailed into a hard edge, her mind drawn back to the dungeon where her quest for vengeance had finally quenched itself in blood. She had yet to speak about it to anyone, so all he could do was hold her closer.

“Highever is mine now. Its armies, or what remains of them, are mine. I’ve sent for them to fulfil the pledge my father made to help stop the Blight – that’s what’s in the letter Wynne had when she left. And aside from that,” she added, “my family were well-liked. The Landsmeet will want justice for them.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, imagining what it might cost to stand in front of strangers and wield such personal loss as a weapon.

“I think I do,” she answered. “To lay them to rest. I don’t want them to have died for nothing.” Once more, she reached up and cradled his chin with her fingers, brushing the pad of her thumb over the corner of his mouth. “Are you sure this is what you want? To be king?”

He kissed it. “Will you be with me?”

A nod.

“Then I know I can do this. I want to.”

He smiled as he leaned down, the first brush of his lips undemanding, until she drew him deeper with a brief flicker of her tongue. The hand splayed across her back inched up to weave knots into the silk of her hair, in just the way that made her cant her head back to grant him a better angle. Jolts of heat travelled the length of his spine, shivering out to the tips of his fingers.

“Have I told you I’m really, really glad you’re not dead?” he checked, when he finally mustered the willpower to break away.

She rested her forehead against his. “You have… but I could stand to hear it again. Or,” she added, trailing her fingertips up his arm, “you could show me, if you like.”

“Rosslyn –”

“It’s alright – I’m tougher than I look.”

He couldn’t help laughing at that. “Dear lady, I’ve seen you take down an ogre without breaking a sweat. I know how tough you are.” Temptation sided with the play of her hands over his skin and the warmth blooming in his belly, crumbling away his resolve. “You’re sure?”

She pushed closer into his lap, capturing his lips again. “The worse part of that place was thinking I would never see you again,” she breathed. “That I’d never get to touch you, or hear you say my name. I want the shadows gone.”

“If it hurts…”

“We can stop,” she agreed. “But I want you. Please.”

The crack in her voice undid him. He recognised it for the same desperation that had driven him half to madness watching her leave, then spurred him on through the bowels of Fort Drakon to bring her home. Suddenly it wasn’t enough just to sit with her, passing the day and talking about matters of state that should never have concerned him; he needed her skin under his tongue, needed to burn the chills from her body and wrap her tightly in the promise of never letting it happen again.

“Then your desire is my command, my love,” he purred, scooping her up again. This time she made no protest about the indignity of being carried, only worked her hands at the laces of his shirt, laying the collar aside to reach the tendons of his neck.

He lay her on the bed and slipped under the covers beside her, and they didn’t emerge for hours.

#alistair theirin #alistair x warden #alistair x cousland #cousland #dragon age: origins #king alistair #dragon age #my writing #rosslyn cousland