Caterina & Illario, dysfunctional Dellamorte family dynamics, canon-compliant, post Zara confrontation, grief, drinking, references to abuse.
A minute flare of her nostrils. Oh, he'd had years to practice not getting under her skin; it was freeing to disregard all of it. She stood up, the tip of her cane striking the hard floor clear and loud, familiar. He didn't flinch. She'd trained it out of him — out of them both. He drank again.
"You should have killed me to secure the position," Caterina said, looking at him.
—
After Lucanis almost kills him, Illario has a conversation with Caterina.
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I'm writing a fic about DAI, and my inquisitor is Connor Trevelyan, a templar that falls in love with no one less than Dorian Pavus.
I've just finished this part, that occurs right after they start dating, and I couldn't not post it! <3
“Well, the scouts said there’s a rift on that direction. Watch out for the bears. “
Connor Trevelyan led his team upstream, and Dorian dragged himself to keep up.
“Ugh…does this rain ever stop???” The mage shivered, trying to warm himself with a fireball.
“Well, it’s called ‘The Storm Coast’ for a reason.” Varric stated sarcastically, chuckling at sight of the Tevinter, usually so pompous and haughty, now soaked and miserable.
Dorian exhaled, annoyed. “I am starting to run out of dry clothes.”
The Inquisitor turned to the mage with a scoff, his eyes wide in disbelief. “You??? Running out of clothes??? It would be like Varric running out of ideas.”
The Tevinter rolled his eyes “I never thought I would miss those horrid rags that you boldly call ‘bedrolls’ that much.” Then he trembled furiously, equally cold and disgusted.
“Well, that’s because you miss sleeping with the boss. You think we can’t hear you two?”
As The Iron Bull spoke, the couple stopped walking, and slowly looked at each other, shocked, their jaws dropped.
A subtle silence fell over the group.
Suddenly, with a snort, Connor laughed loudly, throwing his head back, not able to contain himself.
Dorian went speechless, a rare moment. He sensed his cheeks on fire, and kept his mouth open, not able to process any of that, until Varric startled him, pushing his arm with an elbow.
“What do you think of this, Sparkler: Templars and mages never ceased fire, and The Inquisitor and his Tevinter lover were no different. They consumed each other every night, their love as ardent as real flames!”
He gestured with his hands while he spoke, looking forward, as if he saw the scene before him. Bull couldn’t stop himself from laughing at everything.
The mage’s eyes widened even more with that phrase, and soon his brow furrowed, hands clenching in fists, furious with all that exposure.
“You hear me dwarf, if you-“ he started saying, but Connor interrupted him, hugging him from his side, still smiling. ”I love it. And I love you, too.”
Then, exploiting the fact Dorian had turned his face to him, the templar placed a brief kiss on his lips, before going back to finding the rift. “Now let’s fight some demons before anyone gets hurt.”
Varric snickered with the scene, and gave a significant look to Dorian before starting walking again.
The Bull passed through him with a suggestive smile, and the brief gesture he made with his fingers brought the mage’s flush to his ears.
Seeing the Tevinter hadn’t moved, Connor let his two other companions pass through him, and took the mage’s hand, pulling him. “C’mon, love. I don’t want you getting eaten so soon. Or frozen.”
“I can’t guarantee any of those in this wilderness.” Dorian quickly thought of an irritated answer, though the sight of their fingers intertwined made his heart race in his chest.
“Public demonstrations of love.” The thought reverberated through the mage’s mind; he couldn’t quite understand that concept.
Even though he still bore the exasperated expression, that new sensation warmed his heart.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 10/?
Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Alistair/Female Mahariel
Series: Part 3 of On the Warden-Commander Vie Mahariel
Summary:
Vie Mahariel is without her friends and family, and she is expected to fight in a war alongside humans. She has to gather an army, learn about the world of humans, play the game of politics, and most importantly, find her first love, Tamlen. But what of her shared destiny with fellow Grey Warden Alistair? And her deep bond with the assassin Zevran? Who exactly is Vie Mahariel in this larger, more chaotic world?
Alistair has finally found his place in the world, only for the world to crumble under his feet. As the Blight encroaches, he is forced to come to terms with who he is, and, ready or not, he must choose who he will become.
Zevran Arainai of the Antivan Crows expects nothing and takes whatever the day gives him. When he thought he'd get nothing more from life, his mark unexpectedly offers him the world.
Leliana chose a peaceful path, yet the world is wild and dangerous and beautiful. It is this world that her vision leads her to. A road of adventure, friendship, righteousness, and blood.
Morrigan has known the dark side of life since she was a girl, but only now will she know freedom. What will she do with it? And what is she willing to do to keep it?
Mahariel halved her pace, for it wasn’t a giant bird that was trapped within steel bars, but a giant man whose eyes watched her.
Mahariel held his gaze as she approached and found herself tilting her head all the way back just to look at the man’s stony face. And here she thought Alistair was huge.
“You aren’t one of my captors,” the man in the cage rasped, throat constricting as he swallowed. Or tried to. “I have nothing to say that would amuse you, elf. Leave me in peace.”
...By the Creators, the man had violet eyes, only three or four shades lighter than her own. And his ears! They ended in sharp points, shorter and less pronounced than Mahariel’s. His hair, which was braided into six tight rows, was white, a harsh contrast to the dark brown of his skin. Not human, not elvhen, certainly not a dwarf; then, Qunari? But no horns. Mahariel stared at the man just as he stared at her—silent and neutral. From the stains and faded cream of his tunic, not to mention the sour tinge of sweat and urine, the man spent more than two days in that cage.
Slowly, Mahariel unstrung the waterskin from her belt and squeezed it between two bars. “What are you?”
The man eyed the offered drink, but he remained unmoving. “A prisoner—”
how leliana knows morrigan on either side of ten years.
Leliana/Morrigan commission for @batpositivity! 1500 words of metaphors and introspection.
commission info | ao3 page
She’s grown softer with age, it seems; the loose strands of her hair curl gently across her cheek, and the curve of her jaw is not so sharp and angular. She’s lovely and quiet, the fires of her eyes settled to warm embers, her cloak draped over her form as though to shelter her.
“It’s been a while,” Leliana says as she approaches, stepping lightly around the corner.
She turns, arches her brows. “Indeed,” she says coolly, but not unkindly. “’Tis an illustrious position you have found yourself in, Sister.”
Leliana smiles faintly at that and shakes her head. “I could say the same to you,” she points out.
Morrigan’s laugh still sounds like autumn leaves scattering in the wind and the winds of sparrows taking flight. “And fate somehow finds us yet again at the center of events that shall change the world,” she observes. For a moment, she’s quiet, and then adds, “I wonder - is this what my mother intended?”
“I thought her intentions were quite different,” Leliana says. “Did she not intend to take your place?”
“And my name, perhaps,” Morrigan muses, “at least for a time. To put herself in this position - Court Sorceress, Arcane Advisor - everything I’ve achieved might have been hers instead.”
She doesn’t look at Leliana as she says it, but across the garden, eyes fixed on the child sitting on the stones, a book open in their lap, tossing seeds to the birds in the bushes.
“No,” Leliana tells her, and lays a hand on her arm. “Not everything.”
She is young and slight framed when they first meet, bones like a bird’s, eyes like a knife. She wears a cloak of feathers around her shoulders like armor and her voice is full of thorns.
Leliana knows her from the first moment.
She sees herself in Morrigan’s wary gaze, her drawn-in shoulders. She recognizes the face of a frightened girl lost in an unfamiliar world without guidance or help. She was like that, too, once. It is not a look that can be forgotten.
But the timing is wrong; she’s a few years too soon then and Morrigan’s heart is a bruised and battered thing not ready to love nor to be loved. She lashes out with sharp teeth and a bitter tongue, pushing away the frightening unknown and keeping everyone around them at arm’s length.
Leliana pities her, but she understands. She knows this, too - knows the way a lost and frightened creature bares its teeth and raises its claws against approach. She does not press. Better to keep her distance; if she cannot be the one who takes Morrigan’s hand and helps her to her feet again, she will meet another, some other time, when she’s ready.
“How is your lover?” Morrigan asks, sitting beside her on the garden wall. “The mage?”
Leliana wraps her arms around herself and sighs, looking away. “I do not write her as often as I should,” she murmurs. “She commands the Wardens in Ferelden, in the Hero’s absence, and when Justinia came to me for aid, I…I could not refuse her. It has been some time since I’ve seen Irianna.”
“Mm,” Morrigan says, and Leliana glances over to see her gazing again at the child. “Mahariel…last saw them when they were only an infant,” she says. “Still too young to walk or speak. Certainly too young to remember.” Her shoulders slump slightly with weariness. “I’ve not spoken to them since.”
“What’s their name?” Leliana asks gently.
“Kieran.” A flicker of a smile crosses Morrigan’s tired face. “They have grown into a fine child, have they not?”
“They seem a proper little scholar,” Leliana agrees. “They must take after you.”
She looks away and shakes her head, but she’s still smiling faintly.
“It feels as if it’s been a lifetime,” Leliana adds softly.
“I suppose it has,” Morrigan says, gazing at the child in the garden, “for some.”
That’s true, she thinks, and sighs softly, following Morrigan’s gaze. They fought one war as allies, and now they’ve met again to fight another - and in the space between, lives have ended and begun, and children have grown up. Time marches on and leaves in its wake vast oceans of empty space that even now seem to stretch on forever between the two of them, a distance far too great to cross even standing face to face again.
Years ago in the dim twilight shrouding the camp she approaches Morrigan and sits beside her, away from the others, at the edge of the trees. The last faint ribbons of sunlight glisten red and gold in her dark hair and set her eyes on fire when she turns her head.
“I brought you something to eat,” Leliana murmurs, offering the bowl of stew with both hands.
“I am not hungry,” Morrigan replies, her voice hollow; her eyes skirt away and gaze into the distance.
“You ought to eat it even so,” Leliana says, but she sets the bowl aside as she sits down beside the witch, following her gaze to the deep violet shadows among the wood.
The breeze whispers words she doesn’t know among the leaves and the light slants through the branches, casting Morrigan’s sharp features in rosy light that makes her look almost at peace.
“Are you alright?” Leliana asks softly, and reaches for her hand.
She flinches and draws away, brows drawing together. “I know not what you mean,” she replies after a moment.
“Learning what your mother planned cannot have been easy,” Leliana says. “Yet - she was your only family, yes? That, too, is difficult.”
“Nothing in life is easy,” Morrigan replies.
A long moment passes; the silence stretches like the shadows of the trees over their heads.
“What will you do now?” Leliana asks.
She hunches her shoulders, drawing her arms around herself. “I do not know,” she confesses softly, turning her face away. “I… have never known true freedom. I know not what to do with it.”
“Yes,” Leliana says, “I understand.”
She offers her hand again, and Morrigan glances at her, slender fingers curling into her palm, but does not pull back. Gentle, Leliana reaches out to touch her hand, which opens like a flower to the sunlight, lets Leliana’s fingers come to rest in her palm.
Despite everything, for one brief moment full of golden light, it seems as if everything might fall into place. It doesn’t, not yet - but for a moment their hearts almost touch, despite the war, despite the walls, despite everything in the way.
Leliana leans in to press a kiss to her lips, and she pulls away, draws back her hand. The light slips below the horizon and leaves her face in pale blue shadow.
“Leave me be,” she commands, turned cold and hard as stone.
“Leave me,” Morrigan repeats, and her voice trembles and breaks, her eyes fierce and bright.
Leliana bows her head and returns to the camp in silence, but she spares a glance over her shoulder for the young woman sitting alone among the trees, no more than a fragile silhouette from her tent.
She remembers it now, an echo coming back across the years to haunt her, and something blooms warm in her chest as the sun begins to set upon the walls of the fortress.
“You’ve changed a great deal since I knew you,” she says softly.
“As have you,” Morrigan replies, angling her head, her eyes shining softly. A breeze winds through the cracks and around the corners of the great stone walls to toy with the loose strands of her hair.
Leliana smiles faintly at her and glances down. Their hands rest on the edge of the wall just inches apart. Her heart flutters in her chest.
Across the great empty space of ten years, she reaches out and takes Morrigan’s hand, slips her fingers into her palm which turns upwards towards her. Morrigan’s fingers curl around hers and stay that way.
The timing is wrong when they first meet; Leliana is too eager and Morrigan still too frightened, and they do not yet speak each other’s languages. There is too much lost in translation, and sparks scatter and burn them both when they touch.
But the heart, she thinks, is a growing, changing thing; like a seed it hides in darkness, wrapped tight in its shell. In the cold it sleeps, but warmth, water, sunlight make it stir, and with time it grows, it stretches towards the sun and like a flower slowly unfurls itself.
She reaches up to trace Morrigan’s cheek with her fingers and asks, softly, “May I?”
Morrigan’s eyes widen, but her face is soft. A long moment passes, and the sun gilds the edges of her face, the curl of her hair. “If you wish,” she says at last, and closes her eyes.
Leliana leans in to kiss her and feels her lips part, and her heart opens up to flood her breast with light and song as Morrigan kisses her back.
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Pining, duelling, murder, arranged marriage, slight canon divergence, set at the end of the Veilguard timeline. Caterina and Viago both make substantial appearances.
"A Crow never abandons a contract," Illario said by rote, his shoulders slumping slightly.
Caterina nodded, the first sign of approval she’d shown. "There is no disputing it." A warning, or even a final nail in Illario’s coffin. In a flash, Andrea saw it all — the wedding, another ring for Illario to wear, him coming in happier, holding their hand at high society parties Andrea would never be invited to—
"I contest it."
Every Crow in the hall stopped pretending to not be eavesdropping and went silent at once. The loudest sound was Andrea’s own heartbeat, pulsing through their fingertips and their face and their throat, suddenly tight and painful. Caterina looked at them again, disbelief and outrage clear on her face, but they weren't looking at her — Illario had turned around, eyes wide, mouth uselessly open.
thank u jules for letting me borrow andrea, and also creating them in the first place, and thank u vesh for beta reading this!
Lucanis/Rook, Nonbinary Rook, Grinding, Masturbation, Playfux Sex, Non-Penetrative Sex, Oral Sex, Nipple Play, Clothed sex (somewhat; one naked one clothed), Thighs, Mention of Spite, Teasing, PWP
Summary:
"Oh, don't let me interrupt you," Daea said overly casually, shuffling to sit over Lucanis' thigh. "It's clearly riveting."
His eyes darkened, a new tension in his body that Daea felt between their legs, and he smiled. "Alright." He set one hand over Daea's knee, and holding the book in the other he turned his face to it, playing the game. His cheekbones and the tip of his ears were flushed, and Daea had to restrain themself from kissing them.
Instead, they set their knees further apart, so that the friction between the sensitive skin of their inner thighs and the fabric of Lucanis' pants was shiver-light, and lowered themself against his leg.
rook/lucanis and background oc/bellara with @dellamortethelesser's nadasa thorne (who is his canon rook). angst, torture (within the bounds of what's been seen in dragon age games), depiction of wounds, whump, hurt/comfort, tender wound care, ensemble cast
Daea started shivering and crossed their arms, moving closer to Lucanis. "Did you see what it showed me?"
Emmrich looked stricken. Lucanis started unbuttoning his vest.
"We did," he replied without looking at them.
"You must know, these were just visions," Emmrich said gently. "Figments taken from our deepest nightmares. None of it is real, or will be."
Daea swallowed again, trying to soothe their aching throat. It still tasted horrible. "I know. It's obvious, now that I'm not in it." Lucanis placed his vest over their back, still warm from his body, and Daea accepted it gratefully. They caught his hand as he retreated, keeping him close — warm, alive. "How do we get rid of it?"
torment nexus fic finally out <3 pls do heed the tags. it technically has chapters, but i used them to experiment with form; this is a one shot.
