owlmoose | Dragon Age Kiss Battle: Go!

Victory.

He might have been king, her love. All their adventures could have come to a halt so he could wear a crown and have dominion over Ferelden, to become the kind of leader her was raised to be before a duty of blood ruled overrode his heritage. It had been in his grasp both before and after the Battle of Denerim, though he professed to never want power. Leliana knew that it could have been such, and thus gave thanks every day that their paths, however winding, had led someplace different.

This day was no exception, dawning bright and wide in a sky unfettered by buildings or clouds. The two of them were at the foot of a mountain in a land that she knew only from maps and songs. Well, it was three if they counted the dog, and somehow the dog never failed to make himself count.

Each day with him, this warden, this man, this lost Cousland scion was a victory to her. They have more than love, he is like the silence betwixt each beat of her heart, a role so crucial that she can't live without it. He is the hero in every ballad she pens, but also its melody and rhythm as she sketches her hands across her lute and gives voice to his song. Her feelings would lie and say that no one could love more, or harder or more passionately than they did, but the world was full of stories like theirs and she sang them to his ears as they fell asleep at night. She was just glad to continue hers for as long as she could.

But that matters not this morning, they are alive with the sun shining down on them, though he is not awake. She leans over to where he sleeps in their shared bedroll and kisses him softly. First on each closed eyelid, the softest part of his face apart from his lips, then on the tip of his oft-broken nose and finally onto his lips.

He catches her by surprise on her last kiss, returning it with the kind of ardor that belongs only to the early morning, driven by sleep and unfettered by self-consciousness or concern. She feels him smile against her mouth as she presses harder into his lips. His large hand catches in her short hair, pulling her closer until there is no more air between them and they come apart.

"Good morning." He says as she pulls away. His sleep roughened voice rumbles through him, and he only opens one eye a crack to look at her. "Any special reason for the warm wake up?" He asks. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

Leliana looks out at the horizon and sighs, but it is a sound of contentment rather than frustration. "It is a beautiful day, and we are together. Is that not reason enough?"

He covers her hand with his and smiles up at her, both eyes open now. "Still celebrating the small victories, are we?"

"Always." Leliana says softly, once and again, repeating it in her heart. "Always."

If I were to be so fortunate

Grumpy

Nathaniel never knew what to make of the mage when he was stomping around the Keep, arms alternately crossed or straight at his sides with hands balled into fists, muttering about Maker only knew what this time.

The man had so much pent up rage and obviously no constructive way to exercise it. Nathaniel watched him from the door in fascination.

"Stop staring at me," Anders growled.

"Stop stomping about like a bratty child," Nathaniel retorted.

"I am not," Anders replied, and he stopped moving suddenly as if realizing that he actually was guilty of what Nathaniel accused him of doing. "I'm just... mad, at the templars, for continuing to try to trap me with that phylactery ordeal." He was standing only two paces away from Nathaniel, and the agitation was plain on his features.

"Do something that makes you feel better," Nathaniel suggested. "Making tracks in the library won't help you, and stewing in your own anger will make it worse."

"There are very few things that make me feel better, Howe," Anders said.

"Well find one of them and do it," Nathaniel said.

The corner of Anders's lips quirked upward. "Are you sure you want to go down that road?"

Nathaniel shrugged and turned around to leave. "It's got to be better than--"

Anders's hand was on his shoulder, turning him; the mage was stronger than Nathaniel thought, and he was surprised--

--not as surprised as the next moment, when he found himself kissing Anders, of all the people, and Nathaniel was too dumbfounded to react properly.

"Are you still sure you want to go down that road?" Anders said when it was done.

Nathaniel, having had a moment to gather himself, raised his eyebrows as if thinking. "It's still better than you stomping around the library."

"I'll take that as encouragement."

Re: Anders/Nathaniel

owlmoose - 2014-02-09 07:14 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Anders/Nathaniel

kelcat - 2014-02-12 19:38 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Anders/Nathaniel

halberdier - 2014-02-14 22:23 (UTC) - Expand

The stars are brighter here

...so I somehow misread this as Merril/Isabela and drew that instead /o\

Re: Merril/Isabela G rated art (sorry!)

owlmoose - 2014-02-09 17:16 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Merril/Isabela G rated art (sorry!)

alias_sqbr - 2014-02-10 13:05 (UTC) - Expand

Always within reach.

"Another late night, Your Majesty?"

Anora looked up, surprised at the voice. "Your Grace?" she asked, blinking slowly. Rubbing her eyes, she tried to make sense of how far her candle had burned down on her desk, and was astonished to find it almost gone. "Usually it's your sister who comes in here to remind me to go to bed."

Fergus chuckled as he limped across the room. "She left for Amaranthine, remember? I promised her I'd make sure you didn't kill yourself with work."

"Well, for that matter, when are you going back to Highever? They need their Teyrn, after all." That limp was still a harsh reminder of what he'd gone through during the Blight, and yet another reason to hate Rendon Howe.

With a shrug, Fergus put himself into the chair his sister normally occupied at Anora's side. Reaching over to begin tidying up the papers on the desk, he said, "The Seneschal assures me that seeing Highever in its current state would be, in a word, heartbreaking. After what I've heard about Howe, I think I will trust his judgment. So you're stuck with me at least another year while they clean up Howe's mess. Most decisions can be made by me remotely, anyway, during the rebuilding."

"True. My father administered much of Gwaren's affairs from Denerim during my youth." She watched his hands, still a warrior's hands despite what had happened to him, and again wondered what they would feel like. Clearing her throat to clear her thoughts, she put her hand on his to halt his motion. "I need the paper on top. That one requires only my signature, and then I can call it a night."

"Of course, Your Majesty," he said, duly moving his hands out of the way.

Forcing herself to let go of his hand, she said, "Well, if you are going to be here for the foreseeable future, let us dispense with the formalities, shall we? Call me Anora. It has fewer syllables and works just as well."

"And you may call me Fergus." He threw a wink at her. "Like you used to. Or maybe you'd prefer to call me Turdus Fergus again?"

"I was four years old!" The words escaped before she could stop them, and she glared at him until she had to turn away or start laughing. "I think I can manage Fergus." Not looking at him, she signed the document and set her quill firmly next to the inkwell. "There. All done."

"Then you need to go to bed. Elissa said--"

"I can imagine what she said," Anora said crisply, rubbing absently at her writing hand. She was startled when Fergus reached over and grasped it between his own, carefully rubbing at the parts that hurt. "You--you don't need to do that, Fergus."

He shrugged. "Sore muscles need to be taken care of." Letting go, he smoothed his hand over his leg. "A lesson I've learned most keenly these last few months." Before a stricken Anora could apologize, he stood. "Now, seeing as you are indeed going to go to bed like you promised, I will take my leave of you." He held out his hand expectantly.

Without much thought, she put one of her hands in his outstretched ones. Certainly it wasn't an uncommon way for a noble to take his leave of the Queen. It wasn't until he'd turned her hand and bent over it, brushing it gently with his lips, that she even realized he'd meant something other than a firm handshake. And by then, her tongue was well and truly tied.

"Remember, Anora, if you need me, I'm always within reach." After a little squeeze, he let go of her hand and left, limping slowly out of the room.

Anora stared at the door through which he'd gone for several long, silent minutes, then sighed and shook her head. Not now, she told herself firmly. Ferelden's needs were many, and she was only one woman.

At least, that's what she told herself. And then she would remember his hands...

Re: Fergus/Anora

herebedragons - 2014-02-10 08:11 (UTC) - Expand

Talk your way out of this one.

Edited 2014-02-08 04:42 (UTC)

Keep it together, big girl.

"Are you really that worried about your wedding?" Isabela asked, raising her eyebrow.

Aveline was pacing in the back room of the Hanged Man. "Who knows what could go wrong?" she said, each step heavy on the wooden floor. "The Coterie could crash the party, or those street thugs that have been hanging about the Hightown steps. Donnic could decide he doesn't want me after all. Hawke could do something embarrassing. And how are you supposed to kiss when it's time?"

Isabela held her hands in front of her. "Take a deep breath and keep it together, big girl. No one would dare crash your wedding. I'm pretty sure every guard in the city is going to be there." She couldn't keep back a chuckle as she added, "And Hawke will certainly do something embarrassing."

Aveline covered her face with her hand.

"As for the kiss," Isabela said, "just do what feels right. As long as it's not this." She illustrated by leaping forward at Aveline and throwing her arms around the big woman's shoulders and opening her mouth widely as if she was going to devour her.

"Ugh, get off!" Aveline said, but she was laughing as she tried -- not very hard -- to push Isabela away. "I would never do such a thing."

"Just making sure," Isabela teased, kissing Aveline on the head. "Whatever you decide, I'm sure it'll be perfect."

"As long as Hawke doesn't ruin it," Aveline added.

"Whatever Hawke may do," Isabela replied, "I'm sure ruin isn't part of it."

Re: Isabela/Aveline

cumuluscastle - 2014-02-09 02:33 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Isabela/Aveline

owlmoose - 2014-02-09 07:13 (UTC) - Expand

Fierce fighting beasts are not afraid of lightning.

Her mother had literally kicked her out and Morrigan was determined to let everyone know just how very cross she was about it. What did she care for their quest? The first night they made camp, she made sure to put up her tent as far away from theirs as physically possible. She had her own fire, kept to herself. But of course she watched. The two Wardens sat by their fire, warmed their hands against the chill of the Wilds, sheltered from the rain. How the Cousland woman could possible bear this feeble-minded grunt she called friend was entirely beyond Morrigan. But tastes differed, apparently. Perhaps she just enjoyed the obvious adoration the man held for her. Morrigan would not associate with them. She would take them to Lothering and then she would return to the Wilds, where she belonged. This was their battle, she did not want any part in it.

When she heard someone approach in the shadows, she took her staff and made it flare up with purple lightning.

“Who goes there?” she asked harshly. Out of the shadows stepped the slobbery, hairy creature the Cousland woman had brought with them. No, not Alistair. She assumed this hairy beast was significantly smarter than the man. It watched her attentively, head tilted to the side, curiously inspected the purple sparks she had created.

Morrigan put down the staff and rolled her eyes.

“What do you seek, flee-infested mutt?” she grumbled.

The dog did not seem irritated or insulted by her cold shoulder. Instead, it came closer, sat down right next to her and – with no invitation whatsoever – put its head on her lap. She gasped angrily but when she wanted to cast the creature away with lightning, it looked up at her with a pitiful whine. She hesitated, then sighed and reluctantly put a hand behind its ear.

“Well fine then. Just this once…” she mumbled. The dog barked happily as she began stroking its head. She watched the flames of her little bonfire, absentmindedly rubbing the dogs back. “You are not afraid of me then?”
The dog barked affirmatively. She could not help but smirk. “Why would you, fierce war hound, bred for battle, not afraid of a little lightning. You don’t believe their silly tales, do you? I’m not going to turn you into a toad am I? Alistair, maybe…” she said. “You know… I always wanted a pet dog. Flemeth wouldn’t have it. She did not approve of domesticating wild things. I just… did not wish to be alone anymore…”

The dog looked up, put a paw on her shoulder and before she could protest, he had liked her across the face. She screamed.

“Ugh! What was that supposed to be?!” she yelled upset.

“It means he likes you.”

Morrigan looked up at the Cousland woman who had approached them, unseen. The dog jumped off Morrigan’s lap to join its mistress, sat down by her feet. Cousland nodded to the fire. “You can join us, you know.”

“No thanks, I’ll pass.”

“I thought you did not want to be alone,” Cousland said.

“I am fine, I have no interest to join your merry gathering,” Morrigan insisted through gritted teeth, her eyes lit up by magic.

“Suit yourself,” Cousland said with a shrug and turned to leave. She noticed her faithful war hound stayed behind by the fire with the young witch and a smile crept to her lips. Morrigan would not be alone. Not if she had a say in it.

From that day until the bitter end, the brave mabari would guard Morrigan’s camp every night.

Re: Morrigan/Dog

herebedragons - 2014-02-10 20:39 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Morrigan/Dog

cumuluscastle - 2014-02-10 20:58 (UTC) - Expand

Let's steal the Queen of Antiva.

Edited 2014-02-08 05:10 (UTC)

"Is that an innuendo?" Isabela asked, laughing as she rolled onto her back in bed.

"Of course it is," Zevran replied. "We could not exactly steal her, it would technically be kidnapping."

"The benefits of doing such a thing are questionable as well," Isabela said. "I'd much rather do whatever it is your innuendo means."

Zevran was leaning over her then, his lips barely a breath away from hers. "Let me show you," he said, and then his lips were on hers and his fingers were inside of her again.

Re: Isabela/Zevran

cumuluscastle - 2014-02-09 02:35 (UTC) - Expand

Past, present, and future

Reflections in the eyes of beasts

"Forgive me if I sound a little jealous, Fenris. It is an unseemly trait in a man, but I cannot master myself in this one instance." Sebastian admitted to him over the fire, a sheepish grin on his face. Fenris didn't usually have more than a grunt for situations like this, and surely he wouldn't be so charitable if it had been Varric relaying the tale instead of himself, but in this case, he allowed himself a small, lopsided grin.

Not too many hours ago he'd been scouting the path ahead. He was a poor scout, his armor too heavy and his footfalls nowhere near the silent treads that Sebastian made. But they were nearly alone on this road to Starkhaven, and Sebastian was far past exhaustion, though he never complained. He would not, Fenris knew that, and had assigned this duty to himself so Sebastian would not take it on.

The highwaymen fell upon him in an instant, and though he could cut his way through a great many men, the darkness and unfamiliarity of the terrain served to their advantage. They were mounted, and shot him from a distance he could not hope to match, not even with the length and ferocity of his Blade of Mercy.

But then one after another, they began to fall. Not to his blade alone - he'd fought in a group for too long to not know the signs of backup arriving at just the right time. He didn't know who it could be, there were none of the arrows that would indicate Sebastian's arrival, but yet his enemies kept falling, to his blade and to someone else.

It was only when she danced up behind a man he was fighting head on, that he saw his rescuer. Warden Blue was the first thing that registered in his mind, then the daggers that flashed and shone as she ducked and jumped away, heading off a fleeing target.

Were it not for the blue, and the glimpse of her Dalish face, he would have sworn it was Hawke. They moved the same - too similarly to be coincidence - but where Hawke was human and pale as moonlight, this elven woman was dark in complexion and hair with vallaslin across her face. She even laughed as she fought, but he thought it must be a trait shared by many rogues, since he'd heard Varric and Sebastian's grim laughter chiming against the eerie, mirthless giggles of Hawke in battle.

When she came back, he didn't hear her, but felt her presence. He was stripping the attackers of their valuables, and set some aside for her. Fenris was seething at his own ineptitude, that attack nearly killing him before he could even call for help. He wanted to thank her, but the words were stuck like bitter phlegm in the back of his throat.

When their eyes met for the second time, it was forgotten, and everything extraneous was set aside. It would be too romantic to say he felt he knew her, but yet he did. Warrior recognized another, the wolf within flaring at the sight of one of its own, but somehow altered. His fury was reflected in her eyes, and he saw the beast that lurked under her skin. She was like him, half-wild but hiding, restrained by armor and people and things when she was made to fight, and be the only one left standing at the end.

Her kiss wasn't unexpected, but the passion in it was. Fenris was unused to this, Isabela's kisses had never lacked skill but the attraction between them was nothing like this feral heat that made this unknown warden push at his lips with her tongue, then bite his lower lip when he parted them to let her in. It seemed to go on forever, hands in hair and on the back of his neck, pulling him closer, reminding him of what it was like to run free with the Fog Warriors on Seheron. She tasted of blood and wind, of the forest and something deep and old and dark that reminded him of the idol Bartrand so foolishly took from the Deep Roads.

And then it was over. Their breath came in pants that seemed to echo in the stillness of the night, and his mouth felt bruised and lonely. She was standing back, demurely fixing her armor and smiling at him.

"The last man I kissed became King of Ferelden. I hope you fare better than that, friend." She said.

She held up her hand in a sort of farewell and sprinted off after scooping up her side of the spoils. He watched the spot where she disappeared into the horizon until he came back to his senses, chiding himself for being sentimental.

When he was done, he led the horses back to Sebastian and their meager campsite. When he described the woman, Sebastian inhaled sharply and said, "The Hero of Ferelden", confirming his guess at her identity.

"Ah, that explains much." Fenris mused, more to himself than Sebastian

"What's that?" Sebastian asked.

"Her fighting style was a great deal like Isabela's." Fenris said. "It seems that story was true."

Re: A Chance Meeting - Rated T

ossobuco - 2014-02-09 19:29 (UTC) - Expand

Re: A Chance Meeting - Rated T

missema - 2014-02-09 21:01 (UTC) - Expand

No, that's not what I was looking for.

“Firewood, Zevran. I asked you to help me get firewood.” Alistair glances down at the elf currently pressed up against him, rubbing against his hips. “Not... this kind of wood.”

Zevran laughs. “My dear Warden, you should know by now that you must be very specific with me.”

“Andraste save me,” Alistair says, trying to sound exasperated, though he can’t hide the grin that spreads across his face. “Do you have to treat everything as innuendo?”

“When it comes to you, yes.” Zevran wiggles his hips more. Lithe as he may be, he’s strong, and his arms around Alistair are enough to keep the warrior in place. Not that Alistair is trying to free himself from Zevran’s hold. And the impressive... wood... that’s pressing against him is enough assurance that Alistair isn’t terribly upset by Zevran’s misinterpretation.

“I’ll tell you what,” he says, grinning impishly. “One kiss and I shall do whatever you command of me.” It’s difficult to tell whether he is speaking of collection of firewood or of... other things.

It’s difficult not to be endeared by Zevran’s boldness. Alistair leans down, attempting a somewhat chaste kiss--they are after all within sight of the camp--though Zevran doesn’t let him get away it, instead forcing his tongue between Alistair’s lips and flicking briefly against Alistair’s own tongue. Tantalizing, promising.

“Now will you help me get the firewood?” Alistair asks, finally able to extract himself from Zevran’s hold.

“As you wish, Alistair,” Zevran answers, caressing Alistair’s name. “Though I fully intend to help you obtain a different kind of wood later...”

Alistair rolls his eyes as he follows Zevran into the ~~woods~~ forest. He hopes Surana won’t assign him watch tonight.

Edited (more appropriate rating) 2014-02-12 20:24 (UTC)

Re: Alistair/Zevran T

halberdier - 2014-02-13 10:44 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Alistair/Zevran T

imadra_blue - 2014-02-13 11:04 (UTC) - Expand

What's your problem?

(Exiled!Alistair preferred.)

There are queens, and then there are Queens.

Last kiss.

Reunion.

"You're here!" Merrill turned around, eyes sparkling, and all but threw herself at Bethany as she stepped out of the courtyard and into the foyer of her brother's mansion. Almost bowled over by an unexpected armful of elf, Bethany took a moment to assure her balance, then looked down at Merrill with a smile.

"Indeed I am," she said.

Merrill bounced up on her toes and grinned. "Hawke told us you were coming, because the attacks from the Carta and all, but I wasn't sure I really believed him. You're a Grey Warden, after all, and no one comes back from the Grey Wardens. Well, no one but Anders, but he keeping telling us that he's a special case, and..." Her words trailed off, and she settled back on the soles of her feet, her smile softening. "But it doesn't matter. Here you are, and I'm so very glad to see you."

"I'm glad to see you, too." Bethany tightened her hands on Merrill's arms, and then she bent down to kiss her, a light but firm brush against her lips. Four years ago she wouldn't have dared, but her time away, and the light in Merrill's eyes, made her bolder. As did the way Merrill melted into her embrace and kissed her back.

Re: "Bolder", Bethany/Merrill, PG

lea_hazel - 2014-02-10 15:15 (UTC) - Expand

Dreams.

The Warden's dreams are harsh and bitter, filled with the screeching of darkspawn so close that her ears ring as she jolts awake--and nearly clashes foreheads with the large Qunari sitting next to her bedroll.

"Huzzuhwhubuh?" she mumbles. Sten almost, almost smiles at that.

"Your sleep was...troubled. I came to wake you before you did yourself harm."

"Just a dream, thankfully. Just a Warden's dream." She screws her eyes shut, then opens them wide. "No more sleep for me tonight, I think. Who's on watch next?"

"I am rested enough to take my post. But you...you look as if you would pitch face-first onto your enemy's swords."

"Aw, don't I do that already?"

That does make him crack a smile. "Sometimes I wonder." The Warden wraps her blanket around her shoulders, and he assists, bringing the edges together with a firm tug. His fingertips are deliciously warm where they brush against her neck. They look at each other, eyes soft in the flickering firelight.

"Come closer," she says softly, and leans in to peck him on one cheek, then the other. For a brief moment, the Warden rests his head against his shoulder, then straightens her back, drawing a sharp, deep breath. "Thank you, Sten. Sweet dreams for later."

"Qunari do not dream," he mutters as he leaves their leader to rest once more. But the soft touch of her lips does leave him wondering what he might see in his sleep just yet.

Re: Warden/Sten

lea_hazel - 2014-02-13 17:08 (UTC) - Expand

Drunk sex.

The blood that binds us

I know you.

The first time he saw Marian Hawke in the Gallows, it felt like being struck by lightning. At first he was almost certain it was her. The same, raven hair, the same sharp jawline, cheekbones, lips. The same steel blue eyes.

Seeing the woman made him remember, so painfully, what he had lost. No, not lost, he never truly had her. That had been clear the day he saw her in the tower for the last time, when she had been with the future King of Ferelden. She had been his then, truly and entirely, and he had been so angry at her for it. After all these promises they had shared before she had left the Tower with the Wardens. How she had promised that he would always be first in her heart. But oh, just because he had been her first love did not mean he would be her last.

It was a small comfort, to think that he had been the first she had ever shared a kiss with. A stolen kiss he remembered all too well. Even now he could perfectly recollect the taste of her lips. He remembered the day like it was just yesterday and all the cruel, terrible things that had transpired afterwards had never happened.

He remembered all the times he had watched her study in the tower, remembered the way she would brush her black hair behind her ears, the way she would frown when she struggled with understanding a spell. The way she would smile at him, careful, hidden, when others were around, openly when it was just the two of them.

“I know you. You’re Cullen, right? The new Templar?” she had said when they first talked. It was just his third week in the tower and already he felt like he betrayed every oath he had sworn simply because his every thought involved this mage’s smile, her eyes, now her voice. He had stumbled over his own words in her presence, made a fool of himself. And then, one night when he was patrolling, he found her still studying in the library. Candlelight dancing on her lovely features. When she noticed him, she smiled.

“What are you hiding over there for? I don’t bite,” she had said with the sweetest laugh. He came closer, they talked. He told her about his childhood, she seemed to enjoy listening to him. And when he asked her about her childhood, her smile turned sad. She had grown up in the tower. Apparently her gift had been discovered when she had been barely five years old. Her family, the noble House Amell of Kirkwall, dreaded the social stigma of having a mage child, so they ushered her away in the dead of night. She had never known anything but the tower, had never seen the outside world. The mages quarters did not even have accessible windows, he wondered when she had last seen the moon, the sun, last felt the wind on her face.

So, he did something incredibly foolish and risky. He secretly took her to the upper floors of the tower, the Templar quarters, their mess hall, and opened one of the large windows for her. It was a winter night, the moon full, and a cold breeze was blowing snow in through the window. She gasped, cheered in disbelief, then laughed like a child during their first Wintersend celebrations. He watched snowflakes sparkle in her dark hair, the cold air painting a blush on her cheeks. And then she had turned towards him with the brightest, most beautiful smile.

“Thank you,” she had said. He quietly nodded. A moment, they stayed like this before he felt her hands on his arms, a light, feathered touch, too reluctant to hold fast. He turned towards her, found her lean closer. They both hesitated then and he slowly brought a hand to her face, brushed through her hair once, like he had wanted to all this time. She got to the tips of her toes and brushed her lips over his, ever so lightly. Against the snowy scenery, she set him on fire that night, with nothing more than this innocent touch of lips, she claimed his heart forever.

And then he had lost her, forever.

Only to meet her spitting image, years later, in Kirkwall. He had only heard rumours of the ‘Hawke’ here and there, rumours that involved her sister, mostly, rumours of the family trying to reclaim the lost Amell property. He had not seen the woman before, but seeing her now, there was no doubt. A ghost from his past, come to haunt him, to remind him of all the things that had gone wrong, and all the things that could have been.

I know you, he wanted to tell her, but never found the heart to do so. Because did he really?

Shenanigans

SHENANIGANS

From February 8, 2014

Okay, a bit of explanation: those are a pair of bloomers Isabella is waving around that she has painted a skull and crossbones on - please note the initials embroidered on them and the irate Aveline in the corner.

Edited 2014-02-08 19:02 (UTC)

Re: Fenris/f!Hawke/Isabela

alias_sqbr - 2014-02-08 20:47 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Fenris/f!Hawke/Isabela

cumuluscastle - 2014-02-09 02:43 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Fenris/f!Hawke/Isabela

owlmoose - 2014-02-09 07:11 (UTC) - Expand

About the weather

"So, have you ever...?"

"What? Have you ever licked a lamppost in Winter?" He was so proud of himself for deflecting her question. Alistair just hadn't quite expected to distract her so... well.

"What's Winter?" Brosca asked, scrunching her face up in that way she had, when she wasn't sure if she should know about something.

"Oh, of course! Orzammar doesn't have seasons, does it?" Alistair said loudly, eternally grateful that his companion had decided to stop pursuing the question of his Chantry upbringing and whether or not he'd... licked any lampposts.

"Seasons? Oh, seasons! I know about those. Duncan told me about them. Which one is Winter, again? The wet one or the cold one?" Natia tilted her head and raised her brows expectantly.

"Um, well, it's probably, usually both cold and wet, and not pleasant at all," Alistair said in a garbled rush.

"It's not Winter now, is it?" Natia asked, looking at the ominous bank of dark clouds gathering overhead, remembering many hard marches through muddy, rainy territories.

"No, not for another few months," Alistair replied. "Although that could be a wintry storm, if it turns as cold as I think it will."

"We can share a bedroll if it gets cold," Natia said dismissively. "Why would anyone lick a lamppost in Winter?"

Alistair groaned slightly, and gave her a pained, pleading look, that begged her not to continue her line of enquiry. Clearly, he needed to work on his pleading puppy-dog-eyes, because she just looked at him again. Looking at him that way, as if she was expecting an answer.

"It's a frequent dare among the trainees in the cold weather - you do know what dares are, I take it?"

"You've never been dared 'til a Duster dares you," Natia grinned. "Now, I double-damn-dare you to answer my original question."

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Fine," he heaved a sigh of long suffering. "To answer your original question... No. I haven't. I - the Chantry raised me to be a gentleman, especially around a beautiful woman, such as yourself. That's not... a bad thing, is it?"

Natia Brosca snorted at him, with an amused look in her eye. "I'm not beautiful. You want beautiful, I'll introduce you to Rica. She even knows how to play the lap harp."

"Why does a lap harp make her beautiful?" Alistair muttered.

"Shut up," she grumbled fondly, rolling her eyes, "and no it's no bad thing. In Dust Town, virginity could get you a whole sovereign, from the right patron. I ... I have a sovereign, here..."

"Wait, you sold your virginity?" Alistair gasped, horrified.

"Well, I wasn't exactly using it, and it got us a month's food and mosswine for Ma," Natia replied, defensively.

Alistair suddenly realised that he'd made a blunder. "Um. I wasn't criticising you, I promise," he said softly, serious for once. "Never you. I just... I can't imagine having to ... do that just to put food on the table. And I'm sorry that you had to."

Natia shrugged, teeth bared in a parody of a smile. "Rica had it worse, and liked it better. Once Bherat got word that I was as likely to bite his clients as suck them, he put me with Leske, knocking heads and taking names. It ... worked out, in the end. I've never..." Natia trailed off, tugging the end of her nugtail braid nervously.

"You've never... what?" Alistair asked.

"Kissed anyone," she finished, eyes trained on the dirt beneath her feet.

"I... once," Alistair murmured. "But I didn't really like it, at the time."

"Why not?"

"Because she wasn't you? I'm honestly not sure otherwise," Alistair confessed wryly.

She looked up at him, surprise writ clearly on her features. They inched closer together, fingertips grazing, breath coming quicker, when the distant storm cloud interrupted their precious moment. They were pelted with a deluge of sleety rain.

Natia squeaked in surprise and jumped into Alistair's arms, burrowing to hide her face against his splintmail shirt, and gripping his gambeson in the gap under his arms, making ticklish Alistair giggle in the most undignified manner.

An icy blast of wind sent him scurrying - running in a dignified manly way - for his tent. Natia squeezed him tightly about his neck, and he felt her breath puffing against his throat. He sank down onto the open bedroll, silently thanking Wynne for making it ready while the Wardens spoke together. Natia had calmed somewhat, but still hadn't loosened her grip around his neck.

"That's normal in Ferelden? It felt cold and sharp, and nasty," she grumbled.

Alistair chuckled, and ran his thumb along the nape of her neck, above the collar of her leather armour. "Yes, it is normal. But we Fereldans don't much care for it, either. Nobody likes being both cold and wet. And most don't care for one or the other, either."

"Oh, good," Natia mumbled, fiddling with the buckles of his splintmail shirt. "Bad enough you surfacers are sun-addled and sky-touched, without adding cold-addled or rain-touched to the list."

"Stop that," Alistair chided her, blushing to the tips of his ears when he realised what she was doing, and actually taking her hands and holding both in one of his when she kept unbuckling. "And I'm only a little sun-addled. It's been a very poor Summer so far."

The sleet that had chased them into the tent was loudly proving him right, beating noisily against the oiled canvas.

"Take. It. Off. And I never said you were sun-addled, just you surfacers in general. You on the other hand, you're completely sky-touched," Natia replied, smiling fondly.

Alistair laughed outright at that, and dropped a kiss to her forehead. Followed immediately by a kiss to the bridge of her nose, ach of her cheeks, and the tip of her nose. She looked up at him, for once in their time together seeming uncertain. Alistair trailed his thumb along her brand, following with his mouth when she turned her head to hide it from him.

"Is that... kissing?"

"Mm-hm, although most people usually press their mouths together, too," Alistair said, amused that in this, at least, he was the knowledgeable one.

"Then let's try that. And after that, can we take our armour off? I don't think I'd be able to sleep with all that clank digging into me," Natia grinned.

Alistair grinned back, and it was the most natural thing in the world to share each other's breath, and lick one another's lips, and finally, finally touch their lips together.

*-*-*

Re: Alistair/f!Brosca "What's Winter?"

owlmoose - 2014-02-12 17:57 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Alistair/f!Brosca "What's Winter?"

halberdier - 2014-02-12 18:31 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Alistair/f!Brosca "What's Winter?"

owlmoose - 2014-02-12 18:36 (UTC) - Expand

Truth (No DA:I spoilers please!)

Our little secret.

Bethany stumbled around Darktown, trying (and failing) to find the lantern that Hawke never had any trouble locating. She didn't find the lantern, but she did walk smack into someone as her eyes were on the walls to one side, and not the path before her.

"Ooof! Bethany?"

"Anders? Oh, wonderful! I was just looking for you," Bethany smiled brightly, more relieved than she was willing to admit that she'd found him and not some... predator.

Anders blinked at her effusive reaction. "Any particular reason why?"

Bethany hesitated to reply. "Um, well..."

"Or did you just seek the pleasure of my company?" Anders suggested dryly.

"The thing is... I need your advice, Anders."

"My advice? Is Hawke not willing to offer you some words of wisdom?" Anders asked, brows arching in surprise.

"Can we talk somewhere... privately? Please?" Bethany begged.

Anders sighed. "Oh, all right. You're better at the puppy-dog eyes than your sibling, you know."

They made their way to Anders' clinic (Bethany was appalled to see how very far from it she had been - and heading even further from it when she'd bumped into the healer) and sat side-by-side on a cot.

"I'd offer you something to drink, but your sibling would murder me for plying you with wine, and the water here needs to be boiled to be considered less-than-hazardous," Anders joked.

"That's alright," Bethany murmured shyly.

"Care to tell me what the big secret is?"

"Promise you'll never tell, first."

"Who would I tell?" Anders asked, eyes wide in innocence. Bethany just looked at him. "Alright, alright, I swear. Nobody will ever learn of this conversation from me."

"Thank you. I ... don't quite know how to say this... Where to start," Bethany confessed, laughing nervously.

Anders picked up her hand and squeezed her fingers lightly. "Try starting at the start, and carry on from there," he suggested.

"All right, short version," Bethany murmured. She took a deep breath, and began. "There's this guy I like, and I don't know how to find out if he likes me, too. Which is where you come in."

Anders dropped her hand like it burned, and stood abruptly, striding across the floor. "How do I come in?"

"Well..." Bethany stood up, twisting and wringing her hands, as she followed the mage across the clinic. "I - You are not the first person I've asked for advice on this, you see. And if... your advice tallies with Isabella's, Varric's and Aveline's, then I'll know what to do."

"I ... see," Anders said doubtfully. "And what did they suggest you do?"

"That I kiss him and see where things go from there. What do you think?" Bethany asked quietly.

Anders huffed in amusement. "Isabella and Varric I can see recommending that, but Aveline?"

"She said that's how she knew Wesley - her late husband - was the right one for her," Bethany replied.

Anders turned around, starting slightly when he noticed how close Bethany was. "I somehow doubt this would be advice Hawke would give - or approve of."

Bethany snorted. "My name is Hawke, too, you know. So should I?"

"So it is. Wait, should you what?"

"Kiss you."

"ME?"

Bethany stood on her tiptoes, and gripped Anders' Tevinter robes by their feathery pauldrons. She smiled slightly and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to his lips.

"You," she said.

Anders stood, blinking like a deer in a hunter's sights. Briefly, Bethany wondered if he was conferring with his spirit. His arms came up to grip her elbows, and pull her even closer against him. His gaze dropped to her lips, and he licked his own in anticipation. Ever so slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers, mirroring her kiss with one that was anything but chaste.

He drew back after a moment, breathing hard. He looked at her, eyes utterly serious. "Hawke must never learn of this. I quite like being alive, with all my bits attached."

Bethany leaned up and nuzzled his face. She smiled against his lips. "Agreed. This will be our little secret."

Re: Anders/Bethany

ryry - 2014-02-17 13:48 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Anders/Bethany

halberdier - 2014-02-17 14:48 (UTC) - Expand

These are a few of my favorite things.

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Leliana/Warden

Sunrise - T

Leliana/Teagan

Anders/Nathaniel

Re: Anders/Nathaniel

Bethany/Isabela

Merril/Isabela G rated art (sorry!)

Fergus/Anora

Re: Fergus/Anora

Isabela/Varric

Isabela/Aveline

Re: Isabela/Aveline

Morrigan/Dog

Re: Morrigan/Dog

Isabela/Zevran

Re: Isabela/Zevran

Leliana/Mahariel

Mahariel/Fenris

A Chance Meeting - Rated T

Alistair/Zevran

Re: Alistair/Zevran T

Alistair/Fenris

Morrigan/Anora

Bethany/Merrill

Bethany/Merrill

"Bolder", Bethany/Merrill, PG

Warden/Sten

Re: Warden/Sten

Morrigan/Leliana

Mahariel/Merrill

Amell/Cullen

Personal Ghosts (Amell/Cullen)

Fenris/f!Hawke/Isabela

Re: Fenris/f!Hawke/Isabela

Alistair/dwarf Warden

Re: Alistair/f!Brosca "What's Winter?"

Leliana/Cassandra

Anders/Bethany

Re: Anders/Bethany

Bethany/Alistair