#post blight

Chapter thirteen of from the lowest slaves to the highest kings is up! An excerpt: There were those who would say that the Warden Commander’s current circumstances were her own doing. That if she hadn’t set such a poor example for the Wardens she led, she would not find herself as she was now, accompanying the Hawke siblings on a secret diplomatic mission to try to prevent Sebastian Vael from invading this mess of a city., who is incredibly talented and thorough and communicative an absolute o. Please enjoy!

The company Raina had been keeping over the last near-decade had taught her a number of florid, contextually appropriate words she might have chosen to share with those who said such things.

And truly, that she was even in this godsforsaken city made no sense. Certainly she had friends in Kirkwall, but she’d never shown this level of devotion to anything but her own hair, and her hair had a far better track record in its treatment of both mages and elves than did Kirkwall. For this week's posts, I'm featuring this gorgeous-ass portrait of Raina Surana and Cullen that pretty perfectly depicts an entire mood between these two! :D It's a commission from @ladylike-foxes, who is incredibly talented and thorough and communicative an absolute joy to work with! Please enjoy!

Prompt: I’m not doing that again Fandom: Dragon Age Origins Characters: Teagan, King Alistair Rating: G Connected to: The Wrong Warden

Alistair throws his crown at the couch, watching the simple gold peaks bounce against the cushions. “That was ridiculous,” he snarls, tugging at the metal clasps holding his fur cloak over his shoulders. “Can you believe that?”

Teagan, drunk and wavering, takes a deep breath and nods slowly. “Yes, Sire,” he says, attempting to sound agreeable but mostly sounding as if he’s about to be sick. “Ridiculous.”

“I’m sending Eamon away,” Alistair continues. He begins to pace, feeling like a caged lion the Orlesian envoy brought to Ferelden once. “Where can he go?”

Teagan shrugs, flopping into a chair before the fire. “The Storm Coast?” he chuckles. “Isolde will hate the weather.”

You have really stirred Casey’s muse up with these prompts!  Thank you again!

100 Prompts List

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“How do you feel about this one?”

Casey stares at the dagger in Papa’s hand.  Warily, she reaches out for it, but the minute it’s in her hand, she shakes her head and drops it.  “No.”

Alistair sighs and looks around the armory while scratching his head.  “You don’t want a sword and shield,” he glances down to see Casey shaking her head again, “and you don’t want a dagger.  I’m not sure what else …”

Tilting her head up at him, she smiles.  “I want a bow,” she says.

Alistair blinks.  Memories of the Blight return, of the few times he relied on the weapon to save his or his companions’ hides.  None of them ended particularly well.  “Well …”

“Mama says Father can teach me,” Casey insists.  

For the first time since coming in here, he sees her eyes sparkling with hope. Father.  Crouching down in front of her, he reaches a hand out to tuck dark hair behind one ear.  It’s getting longer now and stays put.  “Your Father, huh?”  She gasps, a soft sound filled with worry, and she starts to wring her hands together. Reaching out, he pulls her close so he can wrap his arm around her shoulders.  “You know,” he says quietly, conspiratorially, “you’re a very lucky young lady.”

Casey blinks, startled.  “I am?”

He nods.  “You get to have a Papa,” he gives her a wide, reassuring, cheesy grin, “and a Father.”  He sighs dramatically.  “One who, at least, is known for his expertise with the bow.”  Standing back up again, he settles his hand on he shoulder. “Have you asked him yet?”

Biting her lower lip, she nods.  “He said yes.”

“Right then.  Why don’t you go find him and your mother, and bring them both to our private armory.”

Her eyes widen, hopeful.  “Do you mean it?”

“Of course, I do!”  She starts running off, as fast as her young legs can carry her, as he laughs.  Once she is out of the door, he waves the guard over and informs him of the change of plan.

He arrives at what he affectionately calls the Warden’s Armory, because it’s where he’s kept some of the armor and weapons he still has from the Blight. Inside, he locates the proper weapons rack and examines the bows held there.  He knows little of the weapons themselves, except that he doesn’t like being on the receiving end, but it isn’t for him to choose.

The door opens, and he glances over to find Casey tugging expectantly on her mother’s hand as she enters the room.  Serafina is laughing, murmuring something to the man following in behind her. Alistair smiles when his wife looks over.  He isn’t sure why he decided to take Casey to the armory today, of all days.  After all, she is only just eleven, but something about the decision feels right.  He watches Serafina’s gaze shift to the weapon rack then back to him.  Her eyes widen in surprise, but she smiles and nods.  

Casey runs over to Alistair, her eyes locked onto the variety of bows nearby. Some are nearly as big as she is. “Which one?” she breathes.

“That,” Alistair replies as he meets the gaze of the man standing next to him, “is for your Father to decide.”  Winking at his wife, he adds in an undertone, “I have no skill with these things!”

Casey looks up at both men, her eyes flitting back and forth before settling on her father.  As he steps forward to examine the choices, Alistair moves over to Serafina’s side and slides an arm around her waist.  “She is so like you, I felt sure she would choose the daggers,” he whispers.

Serafina chuckles.  “She has some of her father in her,” she reminds him gently.

Title: Pairing: Drysi Amell x LoghainRating: TWord Count: 631Warnings/Tags: Warden Amell, Loghain Mac Tir, They might be a bit tipsyCC: @dadrunkwriting

I really wanted an excuse to write this pairing, they don’t last long but Loghain was the best thing for Drysi after the Blight. I hope you enjoy this!

Wind and Snow rattled the shutters of the barren cottage, as her icy eyes tried to watch for figures in the snow. They were in the heart of Avaar territory, and they knew the weather on the mountain better then she or her companion did. Drysi shivered pulling her shoulders tight. The horses, had a permanent warming glyph to make it through the storm. But that meant no fire, and only warming runes and furs in here.“Drysi” Turning away from the shutters she met with warm silver eyes, watching her companion drink maker knew what it was.

“What is it Loghain?” she fought to keep the cold out of her voice, pulling the bare fur around her tighter in a vain attempt to ward off the shiver that still came.

“Come away from the windows, nothing is going to try and move in this storm.” He paused seeming to listen. “I’ll wager we have another day of this.” She gave a weak smile. What was the saying? Ferelden bred hard men and harder women who could feel the storms.

Loghain…he was well safe. She wasn’t even sure if that was the word. Despite everything, he pushed her to improve herself and to develop the arcane warrior tradition she had found. It was helping, keeping the emptiness at bay, and he brought a warmth and understanding. He hadn’t judged her for her actions at Fort Drakon.

Worrying the edge of the furs, her mind raced, they had already laid together and decided anything that happened on this trip and presumably on the way back to Ferelden stayed between the two of them. With a huff of frustration at her mind, she meandered over to the bedrolls. First came her boots, the heavy grimoire, her staff sling. Piece by piece until she was just in a heavy tunic and breeches.

It was simple just laying up against him while their armor sat on two of the warming runes and the rest were in the bedrolls. He wrapped his arms around her. No words about how hard it was when this should be easy, no judgment. She tugged the blankets up and he just chuckled and she could hear his grin. Setting the bottle of alcohol in front of her. He brought his feet up pressing them to her back.“AHHH! Maker take your arse! Loghain Mac Tir!” She snarled trying to wiggle away from him. “You Ferelden dog loving salt licking shit! Quit Touching me!” she demanded trying not to join him in his laughing.

“Problem Commander?” He teased as she eventually managed to turn around and face him. His eyes were beautiful dancing with almost a boyish mischief. She huffed trying her best to glare at him. It was little things like this, that had her forgetting why everything hurt.

“Why in Andraste’s holy fire are your feet so cold!” she tried to growl but it was more a squeak, she wasn’t mad just cold, and wanting to laugh with him as he pulled his feet away, and brought her closer.

“Apologises, they have always been rather cold.” he sounded like he wanted to shrug. She wasn’t sure but she just burrowed close while he continued to drink. “Want some?” She peeked up to see him offering the bottle.

Prompt: But if you cannot see it, is it really there? Fandom: Dragon Age Origins, Post Blight Pairing: Zevran x Tabris TW: Blood, fatal injuries

Tabris and the woman make their way back down to the warehouse. “Before you ask,” she says as they climb the stairs. “I am Lucrezia.”

“Tabris,” she says, wanting to hurry the placid woman along. “He’s been stabbed in the belly, please hurry, he’s dying.”

Lucrezia shrugs. “If he dies, I will simply fix it,” she says vaguely.

A new work by yours truly! Two chapters up so far, but I’ll be updating frequently.

Summary:  It's been ten years since Evette walked away from Alistair's life, and they've both tried to move on. So when Evette receives an invitation to Skyhold for Satinalia, she and her companion jump at the chance to see her old friend Leliana once again. What she doesn't expect is the meddling matchmaking that seems to be happening when she arrives.

Note: This is the conclusion to my series Cold Hands, Warm Heart, about Evette Amell and her tumultuous relationship with Alistair Theirin. 

Two riders crest the hill and pause, looking at the towering hulk of Skyhold. With a full moon and a sky full of stars making the snow and ice sparkle, it looks like something out of a children’s tale.

“So that’s Skyhold,” Connor says softly as if speaking too loud would break something.

“So it is,” his companion agrees. “Come along, Pup, the Nightingale will be waiting.”

“Not it’s late, let’s get you out of the cold?” he laughs, putting his heels to his horse. “Just come along Pup. What a harsh taskmistress. I should quit.”

“Would you rather I called you something else?” There’s teasing in the tone, and he grins. “Dog, perhaps? You’re a man grown now. And maybe Jacob needs an apprentice?”

Prompt: This. This makes it all worth it Fandom: Dragon Age Origins Characters: Connor Guerrin, Evette Amell Rating: G Connected to: Cold Hands, Warm Heart Read More Fictober

Evette looks out over the lake, her heart light. Below her office balcony she can hear children at play on the green, shouting and laughter that was never allowed when the tower had been known as Kinloch Hold.

Now it was the Ferelden School of Magic, created and supported by the King of Ferelden and utterly ignored by the Chantry.