I am of the firm opinion that all F!Tabris deserve every single comfort in the world, so đ and/or 𼰠for Shaesa from the Comfort my Character ask game :D
đ- A shoulder to cry on
đĽ°- Post-nightmare cuddles
This one works for one of @isseya-apologist âs requests as well so Iâll tag you for this and write your other prompt!
Original Ask Game Post
-*-*-
A hesitant arm wrapped around her shoulder, pulling her in close to the bulk mass that was Alistairâs chest. He was warm, and gentle in spite of his size.
âIfâŚIf you need a shoulder,â he murmured quietly, his own eyes crusted with tears.
Shaesa nearly scoffed. Not at him, though he did look a bit pitiful. No. She scoffed at the situation. If anyone had told her a few weeks ago that sheâd be sitting out in the middle of the wilds, being comforted by some human boy who sheâd only known for two days, she would have assumed they had smoked some bad elfroot. If they had told her it was because the Blight in her veins forced her to have nightmares of songs and dragons perched at the head of armies, she would have taken them to a clinic.
And yet, here she was.
âIâd understand,â he added after a moment of her silence. âIt was bad for me at first too.â
Her eyes were dry, but for some reason, Alistairâs low, comforting voice in her ear made her eyes sting more than the fear from her dreams. Her mother used to hold her just like this when sheâd had nightmares as a child. She would speak in quiet tones and rub her back in slow circles until her breathing calmed.
The sudden reminder of loss hurt far more than any imagined terror could.
Unbidden, a single tear rolled down her cheek, and Shaesa pushed into Alistairâs shoulder for just a moment so that she could wipe it away. Blind to the reason why, his hands came up and held her into a loose embrace, simply holding her. It did not feel romantic, or even familiar. It was not the casual hug of a friend or the fierce squeeze of a concerned family member. This was simply two strangers who knew the same pain, comforting one another.
It hardly lasted more than a few seconds before Shaesa pulled away. Gods, what would her cousins think, if they saw her like this?
Shaesa offered a smile. âShame on you, for taking advantage of a woman in her time of need.â
Alistair laughed. âAh, yesâ no one is safe from my dastardly ways. Next, I think Iâll go find a small child to steal from.â
âIâd bet if you asked Morrigan, she would be happy to help,â Shaesa said, scrubbing at her eye to ensure there was no residual dampness.
âAnd probably cackle like a crazed hag all the while,â Alistair snorted derisively. âPerhaps I shouldnât after all. Maker forbid Iâm ever found to be in agreement with that swamp witch.â
âYour reputation would never recover.â
They both laughed, and Alistair pushed back to his feet. Turning, he looked back and extended a hand to Shaesa. âWould the lady like an escort back to her tent?â
Rolling her eyes, Shaesa slapped aside his hand and stood on her own. âI can find my own way back to my tent, thank you.â
Alistair hugged his hand to his chest with over exaggerated offense, as if burnt. âCurses! Another dastardly scheme, foiled! I must retreat to my secret lair before I die of shame.â His face stretched into a wide, laughing grin. He took a few steps backwards, towards his own tent, and dipped his head in a slight nod. âNight, Shae.â
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8 and 13 for the DA ship questions, for whoever comes to mind first! <3
yerrr thank you anon <333
8. What's one sweet gesture that they've done for one another on a daily basis?
Sera and Mahreen write notes and reminders to each other a lot! Both of them have their lil to do lists that sera completes with more teasing/flirty lil messages and Mahreen completes with like, how-tos, or trivia that Sera might find interesting (85838844th reminder that sera is curious when she wants to be and v smart!!). Vivienne's mom-like reminders she sends from Val Royaux get caught in the crossfire at times.
13. How do they comfort or reassure one another?
Alistair knows how much his light dorky jokes work on grounding Silvhen, either by making her laugh or groan. And with the years he perfects that for whenever she loses herself to some kind of vengeful moment or obsession to finding a cure for the Calling. Silvhen awkwardly does the same (her ability to make corny jokes is...not nearly as good), but also regularly just drags Alistair with her to Denerim to have some quality Tabris family time. She's extremely adamant on making Alistair feel like he belongs.
RATINGS & WARNINGS: Canon-typical violence; mention of suicidal ideation. Veilguard spoilers about the Blight if you squint.
As she travels West in the company of Sten, Saira Tabris is contacted by a strange boy, reaching out to her in strange dreams. His eyes remind her much too much of what she's lostâand the death that was taken from her. On the brink of great change, they talk.
The boy came to her, as sudden and uncomfortable, as crystal-clear and painful, as any other stab wound. But he had no knife; carried no blood. Yet, he shimmeredâMaker, how he shimmered. In the crooked land of her whispering dreams, the boy was never still: from foot to talon, arm to wing, resting in the corner of her eye on a cat's padded paws or sitting with his child's feet dangling too close to the fire. He found her no matter where she slept, curled up against the comfort of Sten's warmth.
The Fade welcomed him, even if the Taint's music sang unbidden under the myceliar fabric of her mind. The boy's presence filled the holes the Darkspawn blood had carved in her over that long decade since she'd Joined.
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Pairing:Â Rowena Tabris x Alistair Theirin - focus is on Alistair and their daughter
Word Count:Â 1541
Synopsis:Â Alistair stands ready for the most important mission of his life
Prompt:Â Day Fourteen: Regency from the Veilbound challenge by @/nympthi and @/citadrells on Twitter
Warnings: the prompt really got away from me with this one, no actual regency takes place, nor is it regency themed⌠my brain went 'royalty' and this is what fell out
Crossposted:Â Here on AO3
Alistair took a deep breath, straightening his armour for the tenth time since heâd gotten dressed less than an hour ago. It was a purely decorative set that would never see combat, commissioned specifically for today, Ferelden silverite inlaid with the Mabari crest of the Theirin family and griffon wings to depict the heraldry of the Wardens, a deep blue tabard underneath to offset the gleaming silver. At his hip, as always sat Starfang, though his favoured shield, the one that had once been Duncanâs, was stashed safely away in his chambers; there would be no need for battle today.
He checked the parcel tucked under his arm, then finally raised his hand and knocked on the door in front of him, hearing a soft call from within telling him to enter. He opened it and the first sight he was met with was that of his darling wife.
Tabrisâ outfit complemented his; a suit of a matching blue, an ornamental silverite breastplate with matching crests decorating it. Her dark hair had a few streaks of grey, her sharp eyes framed with deep set laughter lines, but even after nearly thirty years of marriage he was still struck with how beautiful she was, the signs of age on her face only serving to increase his affection. There was a version of their lives where a cure was never found, and they would both have surrendered to the Calling by now.
And yet, they were still here, able to grow old together.
âIs it time?â she asked.
He nodded, âTheyâll be expecting us in a few minutes.â
It was then that the other figure in the room turned around; the young woman whose hair Tabris had been tidying when he entered. Adaia Tabris-Theirin was a perfect mix of her parents. She had inherited Alistairâs eyes, her motherâs dark hair and both of their infectiously good-hearted natures. She rose from her dressing table to greet her father, standing taller than her elven mother, though she had never reached Alistairâs height.
It was the only way the twenty-year-old was going to remain his little girl, he thought with a tinge of nostalgic sadness in his chest.
Tabris gave her daughterâs hand one last squeeze then headed for the door, âIâll go and find Duncan,â she said, âIâll see you both in there.â
She closed the door behind herself, leaving father and daughter alone.
âSo,â she said, meeting his eyes, âWhat do you think?â
She gestured to the long white dress she was wearing. He knew little of fabrics or the work of dressmaking, but there was no doubting that this was the finest wedding dress anyone could have asked for, and each part of it highlighted an aspect of Adaia. Orlesian silk shoes sent from Divine Victoria herself, Ferelden lacework depicting her familyâs heraldry, a belt of the finest Antivan leather to hold her decorative rapier; a gift from the leader of the Crows, a silverite hair clasp holding her dark locks off of her neck in the shape of a rose; given to her by her mother who had worn it on her wedding day.
He couldnât help the tears that welled up in his eyes, âYou look beautiful, Addie.â
She stepped up close to take his face in her hands, âOh Papa, donât cry, this is a happy day.â
He sniffed back his tears, âIâm just proud of you, thatâs all, and believe me youâre going to hear your old man blubbering a lot more before today is done⌠Before we go in there, I actually have a gift for you.â
âYou didnât have to get me anything,â she said.
âItâs your wedding day,â he reminded her, âOf course I was going to give you something.â
He held out the linen-wrapped parcel heâd been carrying, nodding encouragingly as she took it from his grasp, frowning at the weight of it. She unwrapped it to reveal a longsword.
She pulled it from its sheathe to examine it and gasped as she felt the pure magic emanating from the blade, the runes lighting up at her touch. Her eyes moved over its design, and she felt the air get knocked out of her as she finally realised what she was holding.
âThis is Maricâs blade. I recognise it from the portraitsâŚâ she finally looked at her father again, âI heard it was lost at Ostagar. Expeditions have been sent to find it, and it was never recovered.â
âIt was lost, until your mother and I found it,â he told her, âWe returned to Ostagar, and cleared out the âspawn. We laid Cailanâs body to rest, and we managed to get into the royal arms chest. We tried to give it to Anora along with Cailanâs armour, but she insisted I keep the sword; said it was a family heirloom. I never used it during the Blight for fear of anyone seeing it and assuming I was vying for the throne. So I kept it safe, and then even when it was all over, it didnât feel right using it, and I had Starfang at that point,â his hand rested on the hilt of his sword, âI never had a plan for it, was never sure Iâd have children of my own to hand it on to. But then we had you and your brother.â
âBut what about Duncan?â she asked, âHeâs the eldest.â
âIâve promised Starfang to Duncan,â he said, âBut this is yours. The Theirin name never meant much to me, I didnât even intend to keep it when your mother and I married, but she said I should; said my past was important. If itâs helped in any way to get you here, to marrying the love of your life, then it was all worth it⌠And I know you have your magic, but itâll give me some peace of mind to know youâve always got a decent blade at your side.â
She set the blade aside for a moment to wrap her arms around him in a tight hug, âThank you⌠for everything.â
He gave a watery laugh as he embraced her, pressing a kiss to the top of her dark hair, âCâmon, we should get in there before I cry too much and ruin your dress.â
He helped her secure the scabbard to her side in place of the ornamental ceremonial rapier sheâd been given, thinking of how he had first showed her how to do this as a girl, securing a wooden toy sword to her hip so she could keep up with her brother as they played in the courtyard of Vigilâs Keep.
He offered her the crook of his arm and she took it, holding tight to him as he led her from the bedchamber, through grand hallways, until they finally reached two large wooden doors.
âYou ready?â he asked quietly, âBecause if youâre not, Iâll have you out of here in a second.â
âPapa!â she laughed in protest.
âI mean it, Addie. I will always have your back.â
She smiled widely at him, âI know.â
Music began to play on the other side of the doors and on cue, he led her into the throne room of Fereldenâs royal palace.
The room was crowded, more people than had been there for the celebration after the Fifth Blight, the balconies and eaves draped with white roses, at Adaiaâs request. All eyes were on her, and she heard whispers rippling through the crowd as they began to spot the blade she carried. Alistair felt her tighten her grip around his arm, but she kept her eyes forward and pace steady, head held high.
At the end of the aisle awaited her groom, the young golden-haired Prince of Ferelden, Gareth Mac Tir, heir to the throne after his mother Queen Anora.
Adaia knew that there were many at court that saw her as a crown chaser, but the truth was far simpler. She loved Gareth, with all of her heart. They had met as children when formal occasions had called her parents to court, and as she had found her own reasons to return to Denerim as an adult, they had fallen for each other. It was a controversial match, for a known half elven mage to be the chosen bride of their future king, sure to bring trouble, but neither of them had relented, determined to wed.
Gareth stepped down from the dais to take Adaiaâs hand from Alistairâs grasp. Â
He blinked a few times, his vision swimming with tears as he thought of Loghainâs final words, spoken almost in this very spot, as he could see all of the years wiped away, his darling daughter a young child again, laughing and smiling as though they were rough-housing in their living quarters at Vigilâs Keep, Duncan quickly joining their game, Tabris in an armchair beside them, a grey muzzled Fen curled up in front of the fire.
He took her hand, giving it a tight squeeze before placing it into her soon-to-be husbandâs, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he clasped a hand to Garethâs shoulder; a reminder to look after this most precious of gifts.
Daughters remain six years old with pigtails and skinned knees, forever.
