So hell has frozen over.
After a year and a half, I’ve posted a new chapter for First Comes Love. I’m going to commit to finishing this before I write anything else. Sorry for the ridiculous delay.
The Regrets of a Neglectful Protector (Alistair/F!Tabris)
(Kink!meme fill, without the Warden!fail, posted to AO3. I.e., here be smut.)
Alistair is hardly pleased to find that Anora has returned to Eamon’s estate without her rescuer.
Words: 4349
Rated: M
The Introduction (Alistair/F!Tabris)
“You seem especially irritable today,” Alistair said to Kallian as he cast a suspicious glance at the bowl in front of him. “Maker! Nug stew. Do they actually expect me to eat this?”
The others had already made for bed, but Alistair had been hungry again and she’d agreed to keep him company at Tapster’s. She could use a pint anyway. Or three. All of these grandiose, self-important, classist, sexist little men…she’d just about had it with dwarves, and she’d only been in Orzammar for three days. “Irritable?” she asked, and took a drink of her beer. “Why would I be irritable? Surely, I have no right to be irrit—”
“Maybe you’re just hungry,” he said. “When’s the last time you ate?” He brought the spoon to his nose, sniffed, made a face, and squeezed his eyes shut. “Mrrf. Down the hatch…”
I remember you… (drabble for Tabris week)
Scrub, scrub, scrub, scrub, rinse. Scrub, scrub, scrub, scrub, rinse.
Kallian was at the well, doing the afternoon washing. It was her least favorite chore, being out here in the middle of things, having to make small talk to those who passed by. Some days she wished for anything to break the monotony. In the Alienage, all the bad and interesting things happened at night: thefts, quarrels, fistfights, even the occasional murder. Nothing happened on lazy summer days like this. Anyone with any sense was inside resting or fanning themselves.
Just then, a shout tore through the warm afternoon air. “Faster, you big slab of meat!”
Paul Simonon’s Smashed Bass (From London Calling)
Sorry, who did you used to be?
(via sanguinehornyfist)
Source: love-buzz-baby
The Mentor (Alistair/OFC), Ch. 1
“Twentysomething Moira Murphy finds herself responsible for a bizarre and life-altering task.”
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I’ve started an Alistair AU. It can only end a mess. But hey, it’ll be an adventure. ;-)
It’s Always the Last Place You Look
The key, the key…the Maker-damned key! Her mother always said she’d forget her head if it wasn’t screwed on. How she hated looking the fool in front of everyone. Lately, it seemed to happen at least once a week. Indignity begin to burn its way across her cheeks.
“Hold on a minute,” she said sheepishly, as she began rummaging. Rummaging, as always, through packs large and small, looking for something she couldn’t possibly have lost. It always happened when they were in some place like this—some cave or abandoned temple that reeked of rodent droppings and rotting vegetation or, on special days like today, putrid, days-old corpses crawling with flies.
No good. Andraste’s ass! They’d start their carping any minute. She could practically hear their feet tapping.
“Perhaps you dropped it?” Zevran suggested. “You are always in such a hurry, my dear. You have too much on your mind. If you learned to relax, to slow down, this might not happen so often. I can—”
Alistair took a step toward the elf. “Leave her alone, Zev.”
Alistair turned to her, and she felt a moment of relief. His manner was calm, kind, understanding. He must know where it was!
“Think, Elissa,” he said. “We only picked it up a few minutes ago. What could you have done with it? Try to retrace your steps…”
She fixed him with an icy glare and noted the satisfying look of apprehension on his face. “If I remembered what I did with it, it wouldn’t be lost, now, would it?”
Alistair found himself holding his breath. Why was she so beautiful when she was angry? He’d watched Teagan break a magnificent colt once. The skittishness, the haughty glare, the flaring nostrils…of course the animal hadn’t had Elissa’s delicate flush, the one that spread from her cheeks to her neck and chest once she really got going…
He tried not to look. If she noticed, she’d yell at him even louder. But something glinted there. Metal. A bit of dark metal, once cold, now warm and forgotten against flawless, freckled, ivory skin.
He tugged her aside and shielded her from view. Then he leaned in, as if to whisper something in her ear.
Elissa looked questioningly into his eyes. As Alistair’s face grew near, she felt his thumb and index finger slip just under the edge of her leather breastplate.
“Hey! What are you—?”
He drew back and gave her a triumphant grin as he twirled the key before her eyes.
This, too, had happened before. She silently willed herself not to punch him or stomp on his toe.
He leaned in again, and she felt his cheeky smile against her ear. “When will you learn, my love? It’s always in the last place you look.”
For Normanee (Alistair/F!Tabris)
Ages ago, Normanee asked for some “Tabris fluff.” Here you go :)
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Kallian pushed Zevran’s hands away and flung her daggers to the ground. “I’m just no good at this!”
She couldn’t fight it anymore. She knew she was pouting. Growing up she’d always been a good kid, never one to cry or complain or flounce about when she didn’t get her way. But this was frustrating. And dangerous. Why couldn’t she get the hang of this? Why did everything have to be such a struggle?
“Nothing’s going right, Zev.” She muttered half under her breath. “Vaughn ruined my life. If I hadn’t already killed him, I’d want to kill him all over again.”
“Patience, my dear.” Zevran draped an arm around her shoulders and walked her slowly toward the campfire. “When you fight, you must strike like a snake, yes. But for now…take things a bit more slowly. Accuracy, then speed! It will come.”
“But I need speed now.” She shrugged him off and rubbed gingerly at her thigh. Three days ago an ogre had slammed his foot into her, and she’d been sporting a purple-and-green bruise the size of a watermelon ever since. “If I don’t learn soon, I’ll not only be useless against the Blight, you guys will have to bury me roadside on your way to Orzammar.”
“I will be honest. You were not born to this,” the elf said. “But all is not lost. Focus on your traps, your bombs. Practice each day with your bow. Be sure your arrows are always poisoned. Not everyone is made for fighting at close range. And not everyone must be.”
He was trying to make her feel better, but instead of thanking him, she wanted to punch him. What a gutless wonder she was. Whiny, irrational, unfair…
She brought her downcast eyes up to meet his. “Thanks, Zevran. I’m sorry. I try to keep my anger under control, I really do. I just…reached my limit today.”
“It happens to all of us, sometimes.” He gave her a warm grin. “Let us continue tomorrow. Perhaps with a good meal in your belly, and a full night’s sleep…” He paused and glanced at Alistair, who was chatting on the other side of the fire with Leliana. “…or not…you will be a new woman tomorrow, yes?”
She sighed. “I hope so.”
Zevran frowned at her from beneath a blond, furrowed brow.
“Yes! All right.”
***
“What’s wrong, Kal? You’re knotted up like a shipmaster’s rope.”
She lay face down on her bedroll, shirtless, with Alistair straddling her back. Strong hands kneaded her shoulders. Knuckles pressed gently into her aching muscles, up and down the sides of her spine. Wonderful. Luckily, the bulk of him rested on his own knees and heels. Maker, was he heavy.
“You heard me out there.” Her last words escaped in a rush as he massaged the air right out of her. She could hardly talk, but his fingers were doing such marvelous things, there was no way she was going to ask him to get off her for something as trifling as breath. “I’m slow. I’m not catching on. I’m…putting myself and everyone around me in danger, and it’s…ah, right there!…really starting to get to me.”
“See? That’s why you need a big strong man to watch out for you.” That tone was in his voice, teasing, flirtatious. She was powerless against it. Except when she was very, very annoyed.
“Yeah, well, one of these days, big strong man won’t be there. Frozen, flaming, out cold — let’s face it, you’re hardly indestructible. And that’s when something bad’s going to happen. Because I’m no good at what I do.”
“You’re going to be fine!” he said. “You just need more practice.” One hand made a detour into her auburn hair and began to gently massage her scalp. “So some people aren’t born killers. Is that anything to be ashamed of?”
“But I’m not a born anything!” She could feel the pout coming back. The anger, the resentment, the feeling that nothing was fair, bubbled to the surface. She missed her friends, her family, her neighbors. She missed Shianni most of all. She hated the way she’d had to leave her cousin, broken in body and spirit. That fucking Vaughn…
“Well. I’d beg to differ about that.” He reached up to play with the tendrils at the nape of her neck.
“You would, huh? So just what am I good at?”
Silence. See? He had no answer. He chuckled but said nothing, and resumed massaging her shoulders.
“Look, you started this. What am I good at?”
He paused again. Then that tone came back into his voice. “Kal. You know.”
It was a struggle to roll over, but she finally managed it. She glared at him and pulled the sheet up to her chin. “That’s all you can think of? You make it sound like I grew up doing that. Or had a lot of practice. I didn’t. And I don’t know if I’m ‘good at it.’ Neither do you! Just who do you have to compare me to?”
Before she knew what was happening, he’d grabbed her wrists with both hands and forced them over her head. “Kal. I don’t need anyone to compare you to. Just trust me.” He said it with a laugh, but there was a glint in his eye. He was rarely like this, unless he’d just come out of a fight or had too much to drink. He was supposed to be comforting her. Instead, he was coming on to her. And when he did it this way, even after all this time, sometimes she still felt a rush of panic. It was hard to forget. Physically, they were so much alike.
Should she be embarrassed? Turned on? Pointless to wonder, as they were both happening at once.
“So what if I am?” She stuck her chin out at him. “Should I ask Leliana to help me become a bard? Maybe that’s how I’d work best. I heard what you said to her once. It would even work on a man like you…”
She knew immediately she’d gone too far. He sat back on his heels and looked away, and his arms fell to his sides. “Look, what do you want from me? You have a bad day, I give you a back rub. You say you aren’t good at anything, I give you a compliment. Granted, maybe it wasn’t the best thing to say…” He reached down and stroked her cheek. “You’re smart. That’s all you need. Zevran’s right. Use your mind, not your body. It’s more your style.”
Maybe they knew what they were talking about. Maybe she should stop judging herself on a skill she didn’t possess, and leave the backstabs to Zevran. But she didn’t like not being up close, not being able to see what was going on. It made her worry.
“All right. Know what? I’ll try it. Can’t hurt, right?” She put her arms behind her head and gazed up at him. Even when she was being grumpy, he was so kind, so gentle. And always so handsome. Especially for a shem. “I’m using my mind right now. Can you tell what I’m doing?”
Silently, she answered her own question, urging him to hear it. Undressing you in my mind, you big lug.
“Making that face?” Smiling, he pinned her again, one-handed this time, and traced his index finger across her collarbone. “Better stay away from bookmakers. I’ve got a pretty good idea.”
I don’t know how I missed seeing this until now (maybe it was before I came back?) I’m going to conjure up my headcanon Kallian Tabris later and show it to her. She’d like it as much as I do. <3
There she was again. The fisherman’s girl. Maker, if there was one reward for having to weed the Chantry garden every day — she was it.
He stopped digging for a moment and sat back on his heels, then raised a dusty hand against the sunlight glinting off the water.
She was standing in their beaten rowboat, peering down into the murk, as she always did on their way home, no matter how many times her father told her not to. Her wavy hair, even redder than Alistair’s, fell forward, revealing thin shoulders through her plain linen dress.
“Papa, where are all the turtles? Are they all right?” she said. “I don’t see any today.”
Alistair smiled and added “turtles” to his list. Blackbirds, cattail, milkweed…turtles.
“Maybe they were tired,” her father said, and pulled his hat lower over his eyes. “Tired and hot. Just like us.”
The boat was slipping away quickly now; the man’s grubby, sweat-stained tunic made up most of the view. But still she searched fervently, looking over one side, the other, then back again, until her father grabbed her arm and made her take her seat.
Oh, this is lovely, tg! Thank you, both for the drabble, and our related discussion. :D
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