#nonbinary warden

Real Wife Problems

Alistair/nb!Amell || ao3 link here

After escaping Fort Drakon and chatting with Anora, Rhiannon Amell realises they need to consider the future of Ferelden. It may not be their country, but it was Alistair's. If he wants the throne, then maybe they need to discuss what he is willing to do to be the King of Ferelden.

word count: 2610

rating: M (nudity, vague mentions of past sexual assault)

Featuring my genderfluid warden, Rhiannon Amell, an Avvar Spirit Healer! Jealousy, communicating through problems, and some sappy love.

N'wen Mahariel isn't an expressive person. They're often reserved with their thoughts, rarely speaking unless necessary. It's how they've always been, their guardians even bringing it up to the Keeper as a child. Children don't usually stare out into the forest or the sky just Watching. Always watching. The Keeper only said that N'wen had been blessed by the Creators with a keen eye and unwavering focus on their surroundings. What more could they ask for in a clan of hunters? What did it matter that they couldn't look you in the eye when you spoke to them, or constantly twisted anything like a rope or twig into rough braids?

Hunting for food is only the beginning. N'wen picks up tracking as easy as breathing. Even days-old trails becomed clear for them to read. It's like they see patterns invisible to even the most experienced hunters. When asked about it, N'wen frowns and, after a moment of thinking, says "It's not seeing what's in front of you as it is. It's seeing what it would be had our prey not gone this way."

Most people stopped asking.

Except, of course, for Tamlen.

"We stopped finding actual tracks ten minutes ago," he says as he follows N'wen downhill. At twelve, just a year younger than N'wen, Tamlen is still a scrawny thing with a pitchy, cracking voice. "The rain this morning probably washed everything away, what are you even following?"

N'wen doesn't glance back, watching instead the soggy earth beneath them. The incline of the hill had allowed water to rush down and form temporary rivulets in the mud. More mud than the usual rains brought. N'wen turns their head further east, where the hill steepened gradually until slopes became cliffs. The forest's numerous trees blocked their vision, but they nod to themself.

"I think there was a mudslide over that way," they say.

Tamlen pauses. "Wait, really? How can you tell?"

With a solemn expression, N'wen touches their nose and replies, "Smells different."

For a long moment, Tamlen considers. Then declares, "Halla-shit."

A small quirk of N'wen's lips is the only thing that gives them away. Tamlen laughs.

He stops laughing, however, when they find the mudslide. An entire column of the cliff had collapsed into the narrow valley below, forming a river of mud and clay and rock and burying everything in it's path.

Including, it seems, someone unfortunate enough to be in the valley at the time. A pair of legs stuck in odd angles out of a pile of debris.

"Is that--?" Tamlen gasps, a heavy sick forming in his stomach.

"Not ours," N'wen says, voice soft but firm.

Tamlen can't pull his eyes away. "How are you sure?"

N'wen considers, then points at the feet. "No one at home wore boots today."

The mud is so thickly caked on the person's feet that Tamlen can't even tell.

"Are they--?" Tamlen starts.

N'wen doesn't respond, simply picks their way down the sodden slope towards the body. Their bare toes sink lightly into the ground, careful not to shift anything too much.

Tamlen immediately follows, but not without concern. "There could be another mudslide."

They look towards the cliffs, scrutinizing it, as though reading it's broken face. It was eerie the way their eyes became both focused and distant at the same time. N'wen had tried describing it to him once. Something like, "Seeing everything at once, both as it is and as it was." It's sound tracking advice, used by the clans more skilled hunters, but N'wen seemed to be able to memorize every place they've been to down to the smallest detail. Tamlen imagines that they're comparing the image in their mind to what's before them.

So Tamlen is willing to believe them when they say, "There will be, but not for another few hours at least."

Still, he gives the cliffs a glance, peering for whatever N'wen saw. With a sigh he pads down after them.

N'wen scans the debris burying the unfortunate person. They circle around, poking at a few rocks and branches here and there. Tamlen watches them, figuring it best to let them do their work. He keeps an eye and an ear on the area around them, in case another part of the cliff decides to fall on top of them.

Or if someone comes looking for the nameless body.

N'wen's hand clutches at the edge of a rock positioned at a specific point under the rest of the debris, testing it. They gingerly step over the protruding feet to look more closely.

After a moment, they wave their hand at Tamlen, who quickly steps closer. N'wen pulls out a wooden training dagger and points to a few broken tree limbs about them. "Prop some of those up around here." They point in specific spots, each one looking no different from the last.

Tamlen wants to ask why for Creator's sake, but he's never been one to doubt N'wen when their brow has that certain tightness, their a certain rigid. They wouldn't be dissuaded from their task. So he follows their lead.

Once done, N'wen motions for him to step back. Then, they dig the edge of the wooden dagger between their chosen rock. It takes several long moments, and a few slips of N'wen's fingers, for them to dislodge the stone from under the pile of debris.

When it was almost completely loose, N'wen drops the dagger and pulls gently with their hands. It slides free, and they leap out of the way as all of the debris collapses and slides further down into the valley. The tree limbs block the largest rubble from covering the rest of the body.

It isn't yet uncovered, but N'wen's cleverness had removed the heaviest debris with the least energy. Tamlen didn't have time to be amazed before they were diving back towards the body and digging at the loosened earth with their dagger.

Tamlen glances at the sun. They need to be back at camp before it sets, and it's already begun it's descent to the horizon. The valley in particular would darken more quickly.

He pulls out his own training dagger and gets to work helping them.

It takes at least half an hour, but the two manage to finally uncover the whole body. Mangled, bloodied, broken. The mud caked on their skin and clothes cover any gashes or flesh wounds, but arms aren't supposed to bend like that. Neither are necks. The skull looks misshapen, their nose crushed and their jaw hanging loose.

N'wen reaches towards the head. Their fingers tenderly wipe mud from around the ears first. Round, but coming to a soft point.

"I don't know any half-elves," Tamlen offered, unsure why he needed to say that but saying it anyway.

N'wen doesn't respond, their fingers moving to where the eyes would be. Tamlen thinks about stopping them, but fears if he opens his mouth he'd vomit. The thick grains of rock and clay fall away from a pair of half open eyes.

As Tamlen considers turning to find a good place to toss his lunch back up, N'wen finally presses their hand over the corpse's eyes to close them.

Their face is impassive, relenting nothing. But Tamlen sees how they hang their head for a moment and knows that they're mourning. A stranger, most likely. But a stranger that had been alive just hours ago.

"Do you think anyone's gonna be looking for them?" Tamlen asks.

N'wen raises their head a little, looking deeper into the valley. They're quiet, contemplating their breath and how easily it can be taken away.

"Does it matter?" they murmur after a time. "The dead don't care what happens after they die."

Tamlen sighs and finds a rock dry enough to sit on. "It would matter to the people they left behind." He picks up his wooden dagger again and starts flipping it. His chest feels heavy. "If I went missing suddenly, even I died, I think... I'd want someone to find me. Just so no one's left guessing." One flip misses his fingers and catches roughly on his knuckles. He winces. "I don't think I could handle not knowing, if it was any of the clan. My mother. You. So yeah, I think it matters a little, you know?"

Tamlen looks up to see that N'wen, without him noticing, had moved to stand in front of him. They had that pinch in their brow. Their short, curly hair dusted with dried mud hung around their dark face. Their eyes, a warm gold, looked directly into his. So rare was such that he finds himself surprised at how intense their stare could be.

"I would look for you," N'wen tells him. Their soft voice even quieter now.

Tamlen let's himself hold their gaze for as long as possible. Then, he smiles, a sad thing though it is, and says, "I know you would. I'd look for you too."

They eventually make their way back to camp, only able to forage for whatever berries and mushrooms the forest offered since they'd missed their chance to properly hunt. Tamlen tells the Keeper of the body and describes where he and N'wen had dragged it; namely, out of the immediate danger of the valley. A part of him thinks most of the clan would have left the corpse where it was, but he and N'wen had wordlessly agreed otherwise.

The Keeper's eyes soften with sympathy, and she has a small party organized to retrieve the corpse. It wouldn't receive a Dalish burial, she tells them, but they would give it the respect the dead deserved.

N'wen doesn't speak of it again, but Tamlen remembers their promise as years pass. Every time they part ways, however briefly, he accepts the possibility of never seeing each other again, because sometimes it happens. Sometimes you're unlucky enough to be in the wrong valley at the wrong time. But knowing that no matter what, he and N'wen would always look for each other, eased the worst of his fears.

When they share their first tentative kisses, they seal the final anchor in each other's hearts. Tethered together to their promise. Hot breath and fluttering pulses prove their life. N'wen always finds him first, always sees when he needs them.

Reserved as they were, Tamlen sees the emotions the rest of the clan stopped looking for. The need to keep him safe. Their nervousness when they first tugged at his collar to press their lips to his. The quiet laughs they give when he makes stupid jokes. Their unwavering loyalty to those they loved.

He cares little about what his mother or clanmates might believe. N'wen likely feels love stronger than anyone, Tamlen included. He thinks that's what pushes them to become a scout, to ensure their clan's safety by using their talent to spot dangers before they occurred.

Knowing that he's earned the friendship and affection of the best tracker in Fereledan gives him confidence each time he left camp. It's written in his heart now, their promise, and he holds it close.

Even as the taint chokes his breath and poisons his blood, as he stumbles blindly from the cavern where his best friend lay unconscious. They'll survive, they were always the stronger one. His body moves beyond his own control and he weeps, he weeps knowing N'wen will never stop looking for him. He weeps, because they will find something worse than a corpse.

He weeps even more from the relief, the certainty that N'wen will be the last thing he sees.

Time becomes meaningless as an instinct not his own draws him to other ghouls and darkspawn. Sometimes he follows them. Sometimes they follow him. The sickly song in his head grows stronger each moment until it's all he can hear.

He holds on by a thread. A thought. He'd clutched viciously at it when the song of the Old God tears everything else away and strips him of his being. His own name fades under it's horrible voice. But not this.

N'wen will find him. Or he will find N'wen. And they will know.

And he does find them. After endless nights battling the urge to snarl and howl and tear throats out with his teeth. He finds them with strangers, and he sees the moment their golden eyes recognize his under his marred, rotting skin.

"Tamlen," N'wen chokes out.

He lets his name settle in his mind once more. He sinks into their hold, relishing their warmth even as the song urged him to sink his teeth in their flesh. They hold a dagger, a metal one instead of wood, steady above his chest despite their quivering mouth.

"I looked for you," N'wen whispers.

Tamlen closes his eyes. The dagger points downward behind his collarbone, the most direct way to his heart. His voice is barely a croak.

They had known that flirting with Zevran was dangerous. He was bound to make a serious offer eventually, one they couldn't laugh off.

They had flirted with him anyway, eagerly and often. 

He was fun and easy to talk to. 

Zevran even used their pronouns with absolute consistency. He called them "attractive" and "my warden" in place of anything else. 

Still, they also knew that Zevran was … sexually inclined. A gorgeous bisexual disaster. He talked about his seductions all the time. And they were not.

Morrigan frowned as she studied the Warden, the elf looking back at her blankly, the word WITCH stark on a pale forehead.

 “I don’t like women,” Morrigan told the Warden. The Warden frowned, eyes flashing.

 “I’m not a woman.” Morrigan blinked and studied the Warden more. Sarah Surana wore baggy clothing and had delighted in learning shapeshifting- even discovering a way to alter her large bosom. Her chest had vanished and...

 “Are you a man born into the wrong body?” Morrigan asked, knowing of these men from her mother. Her mother had told them they were still men, and Morrigan had to agree. If they said they were a man they were a man.

Chapters: 6/30 Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age (Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Warden Characters: Zevran Arainai, Warden (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Modern Thedas, Food, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Music, Radio Host Warden, Chef Zevran, Nonbinary Character, Bisexual Character, Hand Jobs, Asexuality Spectrum, Food Porn Summary:

When a lonely midnight radio host (MC) and a devastatingly handsome chef (Zevran) meet at the local LGBTQ center, sparks fly.

Featuring loads of food, music, and silly pining!

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Warden Additional Tags: POV Zevran Arainai, Nonbinary Warden - Freeform, canon compliant suicidal ideation

It's just before the Landsmeet, and Zevran wants to be worthy of a relationship with his warden. The team is at camp, so he decides to ask them for advice.

Something is wrong in Ferelden. We lost Rhiannon to their templars. When they came back a few years later, they were broken. The others cannot see it. Fragile lines along their spirit. The gods want to help, want to reach in and fill the cracks. Rhiannon is not ready. Embrae and Tyalo are fighting over them. I know they will be ready when the time comes. But first, they must rest and remember that they are back with family. -Notes from Seer Hedda

˚∘⊰⋆ about ⋆⊱∘˚

other names: Rhiannon Mountain-Heart

age: 27 (after Awakening)

pronouns: they/them

class: mage (arcane warrior, spirit healer, then battlemage)

beliefs: Avvar gods

strengths: practical, powerful, dedicated

weaknesses: stingy, tactless, outsider

family: Revka and Elior Amell (parents), Nessa, Eirian, Fausten, Grant, Seren (siblings)

Nessa was the first to go to the Circle. Rhiannon tried their best to hold their family together as their parents grieved. Then their magic manifested, and they were packed away to Kinloch Hold, to keep them separate from Nessa. Letters saved from their cousins in Lothering helped them find out that their family was in tatters: Fausten and Seren also ended up in Circles and their name was worthless. No matter: they had a new family in the Storm Bear Hold. They were the people who mattered now.

˚∘⊰⋆ thoughts on companions ⋆⊱∘˚

romance: Alistair, until he makes the final sacrifice. Falls in love with Zevran.

best friends: Velanna, Anders, Alistair

close: Morrigan, Zevran, Sigrun

associates: Oghren, Shale, Nathaniel Howe

dislike: Sten, Leliana, Wynne

˚∘⊰⋆ after the blight⋆⊱∘˚

Jowan: "He was stupid to break the oaths of the Circle. He was not strong enough. But to condemn him to a life free of joys is something I could not do."

Lily: "She punished herself for the mistakes of another. I will never understand why followers of Andraste love punishment so."

Anders: "Hedda would have loved him. Tyalo, on the other hand despised him. I was unsurprised to hear he escaped us. He was running from more than the Circle. The Grey Wardens were lucky to have him."

Nathaniel: "I cannot judge him for a crime he did not commit. He was less intense when Anders was around."

Finn: "Florian was skittish. A good head on his shoulders, but he was weak and couldn't fend for himself."

Hawke: "Even if they no longer bear the Amell name, it is good to know that someone is still out there making tales worth telling with our mark on it."

Bethany: "She helped me connect with Seren. For that I am grateful."

Carver: "One of our finest wardens. He earned the respect of his peers quickly. Velanna seems to really like him."

Cullen: "It seems strange to me that people who can barely fight off spirit possession are expected to watch over those of us who can commune with the gods. That he rejected that life seems a good omen."

˚∘⊰⋆ related works⋆⊱∘˚