A fragment of some Mahariel-at-Ostagar nonsense, for kakumei. This is an unedited first draft, and I have no recollection where this was going, but I liked the halla-dream bit enough to re-use it in another story.
Bad writing under the cut, to spare those with delicate constitutions and refined sensibilities. And I apologize for the pasted-from-Word formatting weirdness. :(
Makes me realize how much I stink at writing anything besides humans. :-(
The four of them were winding their way from the windmill down to the village when Alistair’s voice cut through the crisp evening air.
“Kallian!”
It was stern—more stern than she’d ever heard it. She turned her head so quickly that when her eyes met his, he looked sheepish.
“I’m sorry, it’s just…we have a lot to do. This is urgent! You can’t just keep staring up at the castle like that.”
Had she been? Actually, the past few minutes were a bit hazy. And no wonder. “But don’t you adore it?” she said with a grin. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever…”
“Yes, of course. But every time I look over at you, you have this faraway look on your face. We have to keep moving.”
“Oh.” This wasn’t like him at all. She must have been awfully distracted for him to behave this way. Still, couldn’t he give her a minute? “I’m sorry,” she said tightly.
Was she the only one who’d never seen someplace this wondrous? Everywhere she looked there were planes, angles, and colors she’d never imagined. There was the castle, high in the craggy, red stone cliffs; the towering, aromatic pines; the crystal-clear stream that leapt from one outcropping to the next before plummeting into the water wheel. There was the tranquility of the lake, with its gentle mist that hung low over the water, enveloping the buoys and shrouding ship and rowboat alike. Redcliffe looked and smelled so fresh and pure, so absolutely unlike home, that it didn’t feel real in the least.
“There you go again! What are you doing? Teagan and Murdoch are waiting!”
It was true, then. She was the only one. Of course he couldn’t empathize. He’d practically grown up here, probably had the run of the place, as long as he kept out of Isolde’s sight. He’d probably spent entire days exploring the castle and its surroundings. Meanwhile, in Denerim, she’d been playing in sodden alleys amongst sickly, unwanted kittens and bits of household trash. Her upper lip trembled against her will. “You couldn’t understand,” she said.
“Kall…oh, Maker, I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.” He reached for her shoulder, but she pulled away.
“Let’s talk later,” she said, looking pointedly past him at the archers practicing in front of the Chantry. “You’re right. The situation is quite serious. We should go.”
Even after that, she had to fight the urge to look up and back one last time. She could lose herself up there in so many ways. Maybe she’d pretend to be one of her Dalish ancestors, padding along on beds of brown pine needles, bow at the ready, eyes peeled for any hint of movement. Actually, if their efforts tonight were successful she would be up there wandering the castle herself tomorrow. And somehow she’d find a minute to steal away, to a remote tower window or the quiet edge of a precipice, and gaze down over it all.
Roots and keys…this reminds me of something
(via crowvenom)
For Normanee (Alistair/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.”
wtfanders sez…
Alistair/Female Warden of your choosing
“It’s always the last place you look”
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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. And lately, it seemed to happen at least once a week. She felt indignity begin to burn its way across her cheeks.
“Hold on a moment,” she said sheepishly. She began rummaging. Rummaging, as always, through packs large and small, looking for something she knew she couldn’t possibly have lost. And it always happened when they were in some place like this—some cave or abandoned temple that reeked of rodent droppings or rotting vegetation, or, on special days like today, putrid, days-old corpses crawling with flies.
No good. Andraste’s ass! 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.”
He turned to her, and she felt a moment of relief. He knew! His manner was calm, kind, understanding. “Think, Elissa,” he said. “We only picked it up a few minutes ago. What could you have done with it? Remember what you did. Try to retrace your steps…”
Her expression soured, and he immediately knew he’d said the wrong thing.
Her blue eyes bored into him. “If I remembered what I did with it, it wouldn’t be lost, now, would it?” she hissed through gritted teeth.
He found himself holding his breath. Why was she so beautiful when she was angry? He’d watched Teagan break a 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 to her neck and chest once she really got going…
He tried not to look. If she noticed, she’d grow even more vexed. But something glinted. 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. He leaned in, as if to whisper something in her ear, and she looked questioningly into his eyes. As his face grew near, she felt his thumb and index finger slip just under the edge of her leather breastplate.
“Hey, what are you—?” she demanded.
He pulled back and gave her a triumphant grin as he twirled the key before her eyes. Her face fell, and his firebrand turned sheepish once more.
This, too, had happened before.
He leaned in again, and she heard his cheeky smile against her ear. “When will you learn, my love? It’s always in the last place you look.”
GIF via notabatman
Elissa strode through the door to the tower’s top floor, then stepped aside to let Alistair through. He came to a halt right beside her. She turned to find him surveying the chamber. A light dusting of snow covered everything in the room and filled its corners with sloping drifts. The monstrous corpse of the ogre, nothing but bone and sinew now, lay on its back, almost obstructing the signal hearth. Judging by the number of smaller piles of remains lying about, they’d managed to take out quite a few darkspawn as well before enemy arrows had pierced their armor.
He turned to look at her. “I just don’t understand you sometimes. Why are we up here, again? This place gives me the creeps.” He shuddered, then hugged his sides. “Besides, it’s freezing. I don’t want to keep Wynne and Leliana waiting.”
“Always the killjoy!” said Elissa. She gave him an affectionate smile, then stepped closer and put a hand on his cheek. “Don’t you want to celebrate a little, after our rout? Didn’t it feel good to give as good as you got, this time?”
“Is that why we’re up here? To celebrate?” He frowned and crossed his arms. “We still need to take Cailan down.”
“All right, all right.” She laughed and walked him back against the wall, just next to the door. “Just give me five minutes.”
He raised his palms to the sky. “For what? You’ve seen it now! Dead ogre. Place of our near-death. Can’t we just leave?”
She reached down and began undoing his cod flap.
“Oh, come on! What are you doing?”
Her blue eyes twinkled. “You asked me a question once. A very funny question. Do you remember?” She watched his perplexed expression as she worked at the laces of his splint mail. “I want to be able to answer ‘yes’ next time.” Her hand made its way inside, and then into his braies. He jumped at her touch. She knew her fingers must feel like ice against his thigh.
Suddenly, he looked sheepish. “Oh, you’re funny. You know, I think I do remember.” He took her face in his hands and pulled her into a brief but tender kiss. Then he let his hands fall to his sides, braced his shoulders against the wall, and locked his knees.
He closed his eyes and smirked. ”You win. Five minutes.”
Come in from the Rain (Merrill/Carver)
Here’s a little drabble for Merrill Fan Week. Despite her being a mage, I don’t have any trouble seeing them together, given that they’re both black sheep, to some extent.
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Fat, icy raindrops landed in Carver’s hair and trickled maddeningly down his scalp and the back of his neck. His shoulders hunched involuntarily. It had been raining for two days, and the whole of Kirkwall was shrouded in a cool, almost impenetrable gray mist that had snuffed out all but the most determined torches. As he skipped down the steps to the Alienage in his street clothes and oiled overcoat, he wondered why he hadn’t picked another night to pay this visit.
Normally he’d have cursed Marian’s request, for the simple fact it had come from Marian. Instead, he’d jumped at the chance to check in on Merrill. It was the perfect excuse to spend a couple of hours alone with her. He hadn’t missed his sister’s curious sidelong glance when he’d accepted the task without complaint.
On the brief walk from Gamlen’s, he found himself parsing every word he and Merrill had exchanged recently, every inquisitive glance they’d shared, trying to divine whether she truly took an interest in him or whether he’d simply imagined it all. How had mild interest turned to full-fledged mooning over the course of a fortnight? And how in Thedas could he feel this way about a blood mage?
To accompany this lovely thing by naiadestricolor…
Anders arched his body, from his stiff, cramping back all the way to his pointed toes, tensing his abdominal muscles, giving himself over to rising sensation, letting his eyelids flutter closed.
Maker’s balls. It was happening again. He had no time for this. No time! He groaned, reaching for a pillow, and covered his face with it.
The twelve-hour days at the clinic were killing him. It was a wonder he hadn’t already taken a dagger in the back during one of their forays, missed a snapped twig or turned just a tad too late or tripped over a single syllable of Mind Blast. That’s all it would take, sometimes, when Hawke brought Isabela and Fenris and left him to fend for himself to the rear. He’d have to have a talk with Hawke about it. It was far too dangerous now. He was coming much too close to slipping up.
But he couldn’t help it. He knew the long days and long nights couldn’t go on forever, but no matter how many times he told himself he would put Hawke out of his mind, he found himself here, in this state, fighting to stay awake so he could bring himself off one more time. Thoughts of that mouth on his, those lips kissing his neck and chest, that tongue licking him from his navel all the way down to his…
Ah, to the void with it. Another night of four hours’ sleep. But this was all he had. Dreams of Hawke were only things that were his, for him alone—the only things not done for other people.
He reached down and gave his cock a tenative, teasing stroke.
