Alistair

This is just my version though. Nothing official. I still like Alistair as a Grey Warden than a King.

"You should feel the rivers when the first thaw comes!" Sharrah calls back in answer — a cold that could drive even a bear back into its cave without sunlight. This was not nearly so cold, and one could easily find it more comfortable after a long day's march. Perhaps it was a touch chilly on first contact, but that was the joy of plunging in. A body grew accustomed to it much faster that way, and she almost relished the chill that sank in before it became comfortable.

She cannot help but to let her eyes rove over Alistair, taking in a form she had begun to become more familiar with over their time together, though usually decidedly obscured by garments. He wasn't bad on the eyes, truthfully. For a human.

Alistair looks to where she's wading back towards him in the current, hair stuck along her face and water-soaked clothes looking completely unbothered. He feels several things in the moment that he isn't going to investigate and instead wades himself shin deep into the water. He's going to get into this water if it's the last thing he does - he's an adult and a Grey Warden, after all, and he's faced worse things than some cold water. Plus he knows if Sharrah catches him chickening out then he'll never hear the end of it - either running away from her basically nude form or the freezing water or both.

god hears you better when you're on your knees.

don't pray for forgiveness, pray for usefulness.

we don't ask questions here, we receive answers.

if you're afraid, it means you're listening.

he chose you because you were empty.

faith isn't supposed to feel good.

pain is how devotion speaks back.

you don't need proof when you have purpose.

he watches us even when we sleep.

you were born broken so you could be remade.

doubt is a sin you confess with silence.

you don't belong to yourself anymore.

we gave that up at the door.

god doesn't love everyone.

if you leave, you take the curse with you.

you can't wash it off.

you feel guilty because you are guilty.

we save people.

you weren't chosen because you're special, it's because you'd submit.

he speaks through me now.

don't interrupt!

you don't need to understand, you need to comply.

the suffering means it's working.

you should be grateful he noticed you at all.

faith hurts before it heals.

sometimes it never heals.

god doesn't ask twice.

you volunteered the moment you stayed.

we don't use names here.

confession cleans the soul.

exposure cleans the body.

your fear smells like devotion.

if you scream, he listens harder.

you're shaking because you're close, don't pull away now.

we warned you about thinking for yourself.

obedience feels like relief once you stop resisting.

you don't miss your old life, you miss being ignorant.

he took your doubt as a kindness.

you should thank him.

the rules keep you safe from yourself.

you're not trapped, you're protected.

you don't get privacy with god

everything hidden rots.

bring it into the light.

the light burns first, then it purifies.

you can't leave until you're clean and you're not clean yet.

god loves a willing sacrifice.

don't cry, tears mean you still care about the wrong things.

you feel watched because you are.

he doesn't speak to everyone.

you don't need sleep.

you need prayer.

rest is for the faithless.

you'll thank us later, everyone does.

your body belongs to the congregation now.

we won't hurt you.

god doesn't make mistakes.

you were meant for this.

you don't hear him because you're not listening correctly.

you're safer when you don't move.

faith requires discipline, discipline requires pain.

pain requires trust, trust us.

you won't be the last.

god loves patterns, that's why we repeat ourselves.

if you question me, you question him.

you're shaking again.

we warned you about curiosity.

now look at you, open, raw, and ready.

don't cover yourself, shame is part of the process.

you don't need dignity where you're going.

you need obedience.

you're becoming holy and holiness leaves no room for ego.

you asked for meaning, this is the cost.

don't beg, he doesn't negotiate.

you can scream.

he won't stop, he never does.

you don't belong to the outside anymore.

you don't remember life before us, that's mercy.

you feel lighter because we took something essential.

faith isn't gentle, it's thorough.

you don't get to choose how you're saved.

salvation is invasive.

god prefers a broken will, it fits better in his hands.

you don't need your reflection anymore, mirrors are vanity.

you'll see him soon enough.

we don't bury bodies, we return vessels.

don't ask what comes back, you already know.

you're afraid because part of you still wants to live.

you'll be grateful when the wanting stops.

he's inside you now.

faith feels like drowning before it feels like floating.

you're not dying, you're being corrected.

don't say his name wrong.

you should have left when you had the chance, but you stayed.

you don't need forgiveness, you need erasure.

       “all right, all right,” mei holds up her hands. “fair enough. i know magic can be dangerous, and it almost definitely had something to do with what's going on here.” corpses don't just rise and begin attacking villagers on their own. somebody must have cast the magic to cause it—though of course, mei has never seen such magic herself. necromancy is not an encouraged area of study in the circle.

        she glances back down the hallway they came through, eyes lingering on a particular set of bars, though she can't see past them. “and for the record, we didn't trust the blood mage. we left him in his cell.” and while mei isn't entirely sure that was the right call, at least she knows if they kill all the creatures on their way in, none of them can get to jowan. nobody deserves to die in a dungeon like that.

        She's right. Of course she's right. They hadn't died last night, and the fact that they're standing here having this conversation is proof enough that they are certainly at least capable enough of handling whatever Redcliffe had thrown at them so far, the castle included. They can handle what was next, too.

        Not that Alistair has to love it. He doesn't love any part of this - the undead, the blood mage, the possibility of demons and possession. He doesn't even really love that they're headed directly for a dark staircase with zero to little information about what could be at the top of it.

        But Mei has this… certainty about her that helps to fill in where his confidence is lacking. It had been that way since Ostagar and he at least has no doubt in his mind that it could get them through this now. She always moves like she's already decided what was going on and she's made decision and judgements about it, and somewhere on their path he's learned that he is starting to believe in it too.

His expression is grim as he listens to Alistair's words, knowing he was right; as much as he didn't want to admit it.

"Okay- okay," he concedes, still struggling for air. "Just- just let me catch my breath."

It takes him a minute to get his own breathing steadied, before he gets back up to stand straight.

"Alright. I'm going to get us out of here. Both of us," he reiterates, making a gesture in the air. The familiar blue-green hue of magical energy trails after his fingertips, and Alistair can feel the force start to lift him from beneath his arms. "Just keep your eyes open. Talk to me. What's the funniest story you have from being a Warden?"

It's not exactly comfortable, feeling the force of the magic lift him, especially because it's considerably less gentle with him than Thilfonir had been. Alistair grunts with the effort but he doesn't want to discourage the mage and so he swallows it down as best as he can.

He considers for a moment just how terrible it would to let himself pass out and be done with it. Just let unconsciousness take him and let the consequences be damned - live or die, at least he'll no longer be aware of the pain or the impending doom of the dangers around them. It's even possible that the elf might abandon him then and get himself to safety.

But no, that's not what would happen, unfortunately. And he's been asked for a story to keep himself awake, and so Alistair sucks in a breath and tries to think of one. "What about the time all the Wardens were killed in a battle except for me and one other? Kidding - " he grunts - "Kidding. I… don't have a lot of funny stories. Being a Warden isn't exactly a walk in the park."

Amara glanced around at the dozen or more darkspawn corpses lying around them, grimacing slightly as she wiped black ichor from her forehead. She was almost positive some had gotten in her hair this time, despite her efforts to braid it and keep it out of the way. Gil certainly had managed to get it all in his fur. Having to fight her hound to get a bath was definitely not what she wanted to do in their next rare moment of free time. But if she wanted to avoid Morrigan complaining even more about the mabari it would have to be done.

Alistair's comment drew a laugh from her. She turned to her companion with a grin, sheathing her sword. "To be fair, I did say I sensed darkspawn about ten minutes before they showed up," she pointed out. "So if you considered that, I technically did see it coming. At least there weren't any emissaries in this lot. A few genlock are easy for us at this point, no?"

Alistair looked down at himself and scowled. Black ichor on his gauntlets and probably on his face given the wet warmth he felt there, plus there was definitely something under his pauldron that he knew was going to be deeply unpleasant to root out. He'd been doing this just long enough to know that it was going to be a very unpleasant process.

"Ten minutes," he pointed out, turning his attention to her, "Is not the same thing as seeing it coming." He leveled her with an unamused look. "Ten minutes is a warning. Seeing it coming implies some sort of preparedness, and I feel like I should note that nobody prepared me for the genlock that specifically went for my ankles." He gestured down at his greaves, which were decidedly dented but  thankfully not unfixable. "So point taken but not fully conceded."

He pursed his lips in a pout but then caught sight of Amara's mabari and the ichor which had basically given the poor dog a completely new coat. "Thought your mabari took it worse, I'm afraid. He's not going to be happy cleaning that off."

"I should hope so, because I wasn't acting," he retorts, still working through the buttons. Why did this damn thing have so many buttons?

"Oh it has nothing to do with the coat. I happen to love this coat, thank you very much," he grouses. "It's just so... stuffy, in there, in every sense. The Orlesians are worse, but at least their ridiculous masks make it less obvious that they've already decided they hate you."

"Isn't that the default for Orlesians?" he asks without even thinking that he's saying it, but it doesn't stop him from continuing. "I thought that was the whole point of the masks in the first place." But that's not really helping the situation, and Alistair continues to try to help Thilfonir with the mess that he was the one making.

"I do apologize about the coat, then" he offers, genuinely abashed that he'd read part of the situation wrong. Or maybe had just projecting his own discomfort. "But it did at least get you out of the room. I know that even Fereldan nobles can get to be a bit much at times. Especially since they're more open about their disdain."

She tried not to look him in the eye, instead keeping her own gaze downcast. Eventually, she did make herself look up and meet his eye. Was it really that simple for him? Was her being back really enough to make it all better? Serra wasn't sure. She didn't think it was enough. She could have — should have — done more.

For him. For Duncan.

Serra closed her eyes, savouring the press of his lips against her head and the way his fingers ran through her hair. Maker, she had missed him so much. Just having him hold her was starting to soothe away the rougher edges of the grief and despair that had overwhelmed her. They still sat heavy in her chest but Alistair's words made it feel less like she was drowning and being pulled further under by their weight.

And there was Fiona, like he said. It felt childish to hope now after so much disappointment, but it flickered alive again. Maybe. It was the last thread she had but maybe it was something.

And if it wasn't, she would do her best to make up for everything. She would treasure every moment she got to spend with the two most important people in her whole world. It would be enough. She'd missed so much but she would at least get to claw back something.

"I love you." Serra's voice was a quiet murmur against his skin.

"I love you," he murmured against her, quiet and earnest and heavy between them. "I love you, and you're here, and I have missed you so much - both of us have. You have no idea what it means to us that you're back now." Even if their time was limited and they never found a solution, they had this time left at the very least.

He thought about everything that she had missed and that had passed. Duncan asking after her and about her, the terrible discovery of the nature of his body and how it handled the taint, the entire situation with Corypheus so far. He thought about all the ways they'd had to adapt to her absence - dealing with learning that he would outlive his son and his wife, not knowing if she would be returning, having to answer question after question about the Queen and her roles. It had been a long and difficult road, but it was at least over now. He had her to help him cope with everything, had her to be warm and present when he needed it most.

"Is that so?" He quite liked it there as well, stuck under his fellow Grey Warden, breath hitched in his throat as those lips where so unfairly close to his own. Alistair wasn't playing fair, and this was definitely inappropriate for training, but they crossed a line a long time ago. Or maybe not so long, but time had been strange since his choice between the Circle or the Grey Wardens. It felt like it was yesterday and also several months ago since they started kissing, it was fresh and exciting, and yet it felt so strangely like home.

This kiss was different though, the grip once more tightened. He couldn't help it as his knee came up by Alistair's side, so unfairly aroused by the situation. "Maybe I am alright by being here," on the cold ground, the air still somewhat crisp, the sun up but the ground hadn't gotten much sun.

He wiggled out of the grip on his staff hand, burying fingers in blond hair, and he grinned up at him, "maybe I'm enjoying this far more than I should," but it only worked because it was Alistair, and Dorian sighed, giving him a gentle kiss back, not without a strain to his throat from being the one leaning in.

He kissed him again, this time slower and more deliberate with his hand still at the brunet's throat and the other bracing against the ground next to his head. He closed the rest of the distance to ease the strain of Dorian's neck, unwilling to let it get in the way of him tasting the other man.

The adrenaline that he built up from sparring was beginning to turn into something else entirely, and he was becoming incredibly aware of the body underneath his as they brushed and pressed against each other through the kiss. Despite how slow it was, Alistair pulled back breathing hard.

"Far more than you should," he repeated, his voice low and amused as he looked down at Dorian. "Which suits me just fine. You could simply stay there instead."

And let me have my wicked way with you, he didn't say with it. His thumb gently stroked at the mage's pulse point instead.

@inevitableking asked:

❝ do you know where we're going or are we just trying to get lost now? ❞

"Seen more of Thedas, yes," he answered readily, holding up a hand to halt any more commentary. "But successfully navigated it? That's a whole different matter entirely." Alistair pursed his lips in thought, considering what their options may be in the decidedly much more difficult forest.