#m!tabris

Fish Chowder

*Revised

Zevran x Tabris (T)

Read on AO3

~

“This will break him.”

Zevran was waiting in their suite, a concerned look on his face. Of course he already knew what Darrian had decided. He’d spoken of it to no one, spent the day gathering information, smiling at nobles who would have kicked him into the mud not six months ago, lied his face off, and Zevran knew. It was the only decision, really. No other options worked.

Darrian sighed, pulling at the buckles of his chest plate. “He will rise to the occasion.”

“Will he?”

The plate clanged as it hit the stone floor. “Fuck, Zevran, my decisions cannot always reflect the wellbeing of Alistair.”

Zevran picked up his chest plate, brushing it off with feigned indifference. “It is his future.” He hung it over the armor rack with a pointed look.

His and everyone else’s. Darrian sighed. “He’ll be safer here than as a Warden. Warm bed, good food, as much as he likes whenever he likes. Cushy, really. Better than what most get in life.” He knew he was only trying to convince himself, because it wasn’t what Zevran meant at all, and it wasn’t even working. Darrian wasn’t convinced. “It’s the fucking Blight, and I need someone on the throne I can trust.”

Zevran hopped on their bed and leveled him with a skeptical stare. “I understand Anora has indicated a willingness to support you. Maybe even to support him.”

Yes, he’d spoken to her at length. She was willing to marry Alistair as long as it kept her head on her shoulders and crown on her head. But Darrian had seen what good her rule did for the country. Grew up in the alienage just down the road from Her Royal Majesty and Her Majesty’s court. If the rumors were true and she was the power behind the throne, Darrian was less than impressed.

“Anora is either evil or incompetent.”

“That seems a little simplistic. She’s a politician. She can be both simultaneously.”

Darrian was in no mood. “Her father was selling my family from the alienage right under her perfect little nose. Either she allowed this to happen, didn’t know about it, or couldn’t stop it. Evil incompetence as you say.” He scoffed. Like he’d let someone like that influence Alistair. Like he would throw away a chance to make it better. “Either she allowed the attack on Highever, or she couldn’t stop it. Either she allowed Vaughan to—” He took a breath. What would that asshole say if he knew where Darrian was now? His foul actions set him on the path that had him choosing the new monarch of Ferelden.

Still, it was no reason to shout at Zevran. He wasn’t angry at him. Darrian swallowed. “So either she made the choice to let it happen and she’s just as wicked as her father, or she was too incompetent to stop any of it, and she’s no better than Alistair in that regard.”

Zevran nodded, and at least here he seemed to agree. But he wasn’t done advocating for Alistair. “And the army? The Freemen of Ferelden are picky about their leaders. Who is to say they will follow him?”

“You think anyone who has seen Alistair on the battlefield will find him lacking? He doesn’t need those armies when has mine.” Darrian waved a hand in the air. “Anyway, Anora’s own army helped put her under house arrest. They don’t answer to her, but to Loghain, and he’ll die for his crimes regardless. And she is on even footing with Alistair, and I am certain Alistair would never sell my father to a magister.”  

“You have thought about this thoroughly,” Zevran hedged. He patted the empty spot on the bed next to him, and Darrian kicked off his boots before climbing up. “You are right, of course. Or at least, I am convinced. But I cannot help but think of Alistair. After all this time together, I know this is not what he wants.”

The Birthday

So here is a bittersweet little thing I wrote because Dragon Age won’t leave me alone this week.

NB: It is the year after the Kirkwall rebellion.  Anders and Briar Hawke are hiding out in Amaranthine, and Dae Tabris has, of course, put Anders to work, as if nothing at all amiss has occurred. Not having played either of those games in many years, I’m sure I’ve borked Anders’ voice.  Also, do not ask me about the early timeline; I think we all just do our best trying to reconcile Awakenings and DA2.

“We’re stopping here a moment.”  Daeroavain Tabris, Warden-Commander of Ferelden, Hero of the Fifth Blight, and Arl of Amaranthine, pushed into the small shop just off the main square.  

Warden Anders trailed after him, lowering his hood as the door shut and cut off the steaming cold. Weak winter light filtered through the windows where the snow accumulation softened its edges.  “A toy shop?”

“It’s Wintermarch,” he said, as if that explained it.  He picked up a wooden soldier and scrutinized it, before setting it down and reaching for a bag of marbles.  

Anders glanced around the wares, awkward, and wishing they’d just get on with their errand, which was meeting with the city watch about some odd cattle killings they thought could be darkspawn.  “You have a nephew, or something?”

“Or something.” Distracted.  “You were a kid when they took you to the tower, right?”

“What?”  He blinked.  “Yes.  I was twelve.”

“Fuck.  I thought you were younger.  When did you know you were a mage?”

“That’s blunt.”

The look Dae gave him was pure exasperation.  “Two months underground, no baths and eating shit I don’t want to think about too hard, looking for that damn dwarf, and this is what you balk at?”

AO3 Link

Zevran and Daolin have an odd relationship. These documents were collected to try to understand what exactly they were doing after the Fifth Blight and the destruction of Amaranthine.

Words: 3431, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of the Daolin Tabris: The Family You Don't Choose

Fandoms: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Zevran Arainai, Male Tabris, Male Warden, Anders Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Warden, Zevran Arainai/Tabris, Zevran Arainai/Male Warden, Zevran Arainai/Male Tabris Additional Tags: this is a bunch of like letters or just documentation following my warden post-blight, and post amaranthine, idk how long it's going to be, Dialogue Drabble, talking about the Taint

[Overheard conversation between the Hero of Ferelden, Daolin Tabris, and Antivan Crow Master, Zevran Arainai, Skyhold Keep, 9:41 Dragon]

“Zev you just don’t understand okay?!? It’s different!” “Are you hoping that death will finally take you away from me?” “Zevran please I didn’t mean it like that, I just-” “Then how did you mean it, hmm? Because hearing one’s lover say ‘my life should not matter’ is not something that they desire hearing,”

S A V I O R

Some nights are worse than others, pulling up old fears and mixing them with new ones. But they have each other, and that’s enough. 

Fandom: Dragon Age

Rating: T, but somewhere between T and M

Pairing: M!Tabris x Alistair

Word Count: 4323

How had he ever managed to look Mr. Tabris in the eye without stuttering when he was shiny black shade-free?

The office offered its usual clicks and taps and beeps when the elevator spat Alistair onto his floor. He glared at its clunky shutting doors before slinging his raincoat over his shoulder and stomping as quietly he could to his cubicle.

A building full of programmers, engineers, security specialists, industrial designers, and bosses of each of those departments, and no one could make the main elevator run even a tad smoother.

Not that Alistair had filed a work request, himself. One of these days, though…

“Alistair,” a warm voice greeted him. Alistair, for his credit, did not jump back into attention, but he did startle a few dripping raindrops off his coat.

“Duncan,” Alistair smiled back. It was a lot easier to call his boss by his first name than it was to call Mr. Tabris. At the thought of his unlikely bar companion—once and once only—he managed to keep his features schooled and eyes on the man. Well, the man’s beard, at least.

“We missed you at the party last week,” Duncan noted with genuine sadness, rubbing the salt-and-pepper beard on his chin.

It really was an impressive beard. Alistair would grow one himself if he could manage just a little more of a chinstrap, but he knew he’d never look complete without an earring of his own. Only Duncan could pull off a beard and an earring and a careful ponytail effortlessly.

“Well, duty calls,” Alistair laughed, hoping that answered all. Maker, he couldn’t remember what his excuses had been. Better not to get tripped up in forgotten lies. “You know how it is.”

Duncan nodded somberly. “You’ve got a good work-life balance going on, Alistair,” he agreed. “A hard-working employee to us, and a fantastic father to your son.”

Alistair’s smile twitched. Shit. Had that been his excuse? Kieran went to his mother’s every weekend. Every. Single. Weekend.

From this moment on, Alistair could never mention his son, his son’s schedule, or his own hobbies while in the office.