Dragon Age Fanfic
Title: A Little Life In You
Characters: F!Char/Alistair
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,687
Prompt: Greg Laswell - This Woman's Work
Summary: As the Archdemon is defeated, Alistair must face his greatest fear...the death of his true love.
She laid a small distance away, but for that single moment, Alistair saw it as an entire world away. His heart seized, and before he could comprehend it, the space between them was melting into less and less. His instinct carrying him closer to her, faster than he had run ever before. The young Warden understood that he was tired; he had to be. The distance kept closing in, their small time flashing before his eyes.
He was in Ostagar, arguing with a mage. It was not that Alistair had a distaste mages, he had a distaste with the holy Mother requesting HIM to deliver the message. Watching the disgruntled mage mutter whatever it was he muttered, the man then moved out of view. His blue eyes moved onto a figure approaching him from the distance. She appeared hesitant, or was it urgent, or was a bit of a daze she had approached him in. Her eyes were-- her eyes, what color were her eyes?
Alistair's pace quickened, as did the coming storm. Rain fell over the gray stones. In this very moment, he could not remember what color her eyes were. All the times he gazed into them, the color was missing. Alistair could not remember if they were blue, or brown, or violet, or gray or, a mixture of so many colors, black as the night. Had her eyes glistened a reflection of the deepest ocean, an endless field of green, or the starry night.
Now the young man was in camp, near his tent. His hands ran over the brightest, reddest rose he had ever seen. Something he had picked in Lothering during his haze of mourning over Duncan and the other Grey Wardens. He smiled in remembrance of her words. Each conversation with her was small, but simple. Like her, they were filled with mirth, honesty, and just enough heart. It was a welcoming point in these dark times all of Ferelden was facing. His rough hands ran over one of the petals, surely this rose was a miracle to have remained so beautiful despite all of the ugliness in the world. He looked over to her, as she approached him after a long talk with Leliana. There was a smile on her face, a small trinket in her hand. It seemed familiar to him, even though the bulk of it was obscured by her hand.
The ex-templar's lungs were stiffening up from the excursion. The heavy plate metal that protected him from the battles was definitely no longer helping him. Tears stung his eyes, as her figure laid still. What seemed like a shrinking world between the two of them, was growing in distance again. Alistair refused to give up, he had to be there, by her side. His strained, sore voice cried out in the storm, a flash of lightening struck across the sky at the same time. His words drowned out by the sound, so much even Alistair was unaware of what he shouted.
The party was in Denerim, feeling as if all of his hopes and dreams were dashed. His half sister Goldanna hated him, and hated all the implications that came with them. For the first time in a long while, Alistair felt like everything he had was lost once more. She was not happy with him, she had warned him, in fact, that the world was not a happy ending fairytale. Her words stung, but they were right. He was not a child anymore, and everything in the world was the way it was for a reason. It hurt, it all hurt, even the woman he professed his love to no longer coddled his broken heart. Instead, she was helping him mend it into something stronger. Her voice, her touch could do that for Alistair, the bastard prince.
She was lay a few feet away from him, the rain washing away the blood which covered her body. Alistair slowed his pace, fearful to rush past her. His knees buckled in that instant, and he went down into a slide towards her. He could no longer discern the difference between the tears in his eyes, or the rain fell from above. Was this Andraste's gift to the people of Ferelden? To wash away the darkness of the darkspawn, to purge Denerim of the ugly, and leave only the beautiful left?
It was a celebration at the Dalish campsite. Their latest bond to the Dalish complete, now having the support of the ancient elves for the coming fight. She appeared at peace in the woods, the water rushing in the distance, the celebrations taking place at the campfire. Leliana and the Dalish bard were exchanging stories, some cordially, and some...not so much. He walked up to the other Grey Warden in the setting sun, his heart skipping a beat, his professions so much deeper now, he was ready to speak of them, just a small step. She turned to him, and looked up, there was a smile on her lips. He spoke for only a moment, and pulled her in close. Her touch, their embrace imprinted into his mind.
He held her close him, and rocked her gently, his head shook in the opposite direction of his body. The tears stopped as the realization began to sink in. The second to arrive was Dog, who padded up, and licked his master's hand to clean away some of the blood. Alistair felt himself try to jerk her away from Dog. The king snarled, and Dog, for once, whimpered in return instead of a strong bark. This embrace, he would remember, it would be imprinted....
Camp was set, after solving the problems in Orzammar. Alistair found it foolish that of all the people they would look towards to help 'fix' a crown dispute, they would have the Grey Wardens do it. Was it the right choice? He was not sure. In the distance, he saw her playing with the pig...pet...thing, she had gotten Leliana. They were both laughing, everyone was content. The new dwarf, Ohgren, was sitting beside his own tent, drinking happily away. Zevran stared at the other Grey Warden just as much as Alistair did. Sten stared at the stars. Even Moriggan was staring towards the two Wardens. It was definitely creepy. There was a sadness in her eyes, one that Alistair had never normally seen. It was like there was something he didn't know about, but she did. But that was the purpose of a Witch of the Wilds. Know stuff, and never tell people about it. His eyes fell back to his love, catching her look at him as well. Wynne cleared her throat, having noticed the exchange. Alistair felt his face turn red, and his love approached. He saw her walk towards him, slowly, mesmerizing. His chest felt tight, his whole body jumped in excitement. He wanted her. No. He needed her, but wants turn into needs when you fall in love. He met her halfway, his hand moved up to caress her cheek. He was nervous, excited, scared, but now was the right time.
The embrace he had on his lover was tight. He was scared, he was hurting; this was not the right time. This was not hers to complete. He should have been there to defeat the dragon, not her. Not her, no, not HIS love. The one he confessed all too, the one that would stand by his side to rule all of Ferelden. He did not even care anymore about ruling, it was her idea. How could he do any of this without her. His head hung low. Dog sat beside the two, h is massive Mabari head tilted up to the darkened skies, a howl filling the scene. Alistair's breaths were shallow, his hands could not hold her any tighter. It was a lifetime for him, before Wynne and Oghren pulled Alistair from her. The space between them turning into miles. His whole body buckled in half, his hands holding his blonde head, ignoring the attempts of the dwarf to pull him farther away from Wynne, performing the many healing spells.
It was the night before the great battle. He had just been informed the truth of the Grey Wardens. Their ultimate sacrifice. There was a chance that... no. Alistair refused to think of it. He moved silently to his room, passing Morrigan with those same sad eyes he had seen before right after Orzammar. The witch beckoned over to his love, who took a glance at him for a moment before disappearing into the darkness with the other woman. He committed himself to the fine bed in his room, hoping that he would be graced at the very least, for a few moments by his lover. After a long while, she walked into the room. She appeared hesitant, or nervous, or... just the same way he had met her. Her soft eyes, that shone all the hope he wanted, needed. They began to speak of... of wild things, with witches and romance. Her eyes turned sad for a moment, "Do you trust me...?"
Alistair took deep breathes. The shaking became even more ferocious, as the adrenaline started to kick out. "I trust you..." he gasped out. He felt something, a very cold hand on the side of his face. It shocked him, as he rose his gaze, the edges of his lips quivering.
"Thank you..." the voice was strained, the quiver so severe to mark how tired the person was. His love tried to smile, and moved in closer to him. He reciprocated the gesture, and pulled her as close as his armor allowed.
Morrigan stood at a great distance. The sadness still in her eyes as she gazed upon the two lovers in their embrace. She wrapped her arms about herself, her golden eyes resting toward the ground for only a moment. It was the perfect time for her to take her leave. No one would notice it for now. With her head held high, she turned her back and headed down the tower keeping to the shadows.
There are probably typos, and grammar mistakes abound! wahoo! :D
Characters: F!Char/Alistair
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,687
Prompt: Greg Laswell - This Woman's Work
Summary: As the Archdemon is defeated, Alistair must face his greatest fear...the death of his true love.
She laid a small distance away, but for that single moment, Alistair saw it as an entire world away. His heart seized, and before he could comprehend it, the space between them was melting into less and less. His instinct carrying him closer to her, faster than he had run ever before. The young Warden understood that he was tired; he had to be. The distance kept closing in, their small time flashing before his eyes.
He was in Ostagar, arguing with a mage. It was not that Alistair had a distaste mages, he had a distaste with the holy Mother requesting HIM to deliver the message. Watching the disgruntled mage mutter whatever it was he muttered, the man then moved out of view. His blue eyes moved onto a figure approaching him from the distance. She appeared hesitant, or was it urgent, or was a bit of a daze she had approached him in. Her eyes were-- her eyes, what color were her eyes?
Alistair's pace quickened, as did the coming storm. Rain fell over the gray stones. In this very moment, he could not remember what color her eyes were. All the times he gazed into them, the color was missing. Alistair could not remember if they were blue, or brown, or violet, or gray or, a mixture of so many colors, black as the night. Had her eyes glistened a reflection of the deepest ocean, an endless field of green, or the starry night.
Now the young man was in camp, near his tent. His hands ran over the brightest, reddest rose he had ever seen. Something he had picked in Lothering during his haze of mourning over Duncan and the other Grey Wardens. He smiled in remembrance of her words. Each conversation with her was small, but simple. Like her, they were filled with mirth, honesty, and just enough heart. It was a welcoming point in these dark times all of Ferelden was facing. His rough hands ran over one of the petals, surely this rose was a miracle to have remained so beautiful despite all of the ugliness in the world. He looked over to her, as she approached him after a long talk with Leliana. There was a smile on her face, a small trinket in her hand. It seemed familiar to him, even though the bulk of it was obscured by her hand.
The ex-templar's lungs were stiffening up from the excursion. The heavy plate metal that protected him from the battles was definitely no longer helping him. Tears stung his eyes, as her figure laid still. What seemed like a shrinking world between the two of them, was growing in distance again. Alistair refused to give up, he had to be there, by her side. His strained, sore voice cried out in the storm, a flash of lightening struck across the sky at the same time. His words drowned out by the sound, so much even Alistair was unaware of what he shouted.
The party was in Denerim, feeling as if all of his hopes and dreams were dashed. His half sister Goldanna hated him, and hated all the implications that came with them. For the first time in a long while, Alistair felt like everything he had was lost once more. She was not happy with him, she had warned him, in fact, that the world was not a happy ending fairytale. Her words stung, but they were right. He was not a child anymore, and everything in the world was the way it was for a reason. It hurt, it all hurt, even the woman he professed his love to no longer coddled his broken heart. Instead, she was helping him mend it into something stronger. Her voice, her touch could do that for Alistair, the bastard prince.
She was lay a few feet away from him, the rain washing away the blood which covered her body. Alistair slowed his pace, fearful to rush past her. His knees buckled in that instant, and he went down into a slide towards her. He could no longer discern the difference between the tears in his eyes, or the rain fell from above. Was this Andraste's gift to the people of Ferelden? To wash away the darkness of the darkspawn, to purge Denerim of the ugly, and leave only the beautiful left?
It was a celebration at the Dalish campsite. Their latest bond to the Dalish complete, now having the support of the ancient elves for the coming fight. She appeared at peace in the woods, the water rushing in the distance, the celebrations taking place at the campfire. Leliana and the Dalish bard were exchanging stories, some cordially, and some...not so much. He walked up to the other Grey Warden in the setting sun, his heart skipping a beat, his professions so much deeper now, he was ready to speak of them, just a small step. She turned to him, and looked up, there was a smile on her lips. He spoke for only a moment, and pulled her in close. Her touch, their embrace imprinted into his mind.
He held her close him, and rocked her gently, his head shook in the opposite direction of his body. The tears stopped as the realization began to sink in. The second to arrive was Dog, who padded up, and licked his master's hand to clean away some of the blood. Alistair felt himself try to jerk her away from Dog. The king snarled, and Dog, for once, whimpered in return instead of a strong bark. This embrace, he would remember, it would be imprinted....
Camp was set, after solving the problems in Orzammar. Alistair found it foolish that of all the people they would look towards to help 'fix' a crown dispute, they would have the Grey Wardens do it. Was it the right choice? He was not sure. In the distance, he saw her playing with the pig...pet...thing, she had gotten Leliana. They were both laughing, everyone was content. The new dwarf, Ohgren, was sitting beside his own tent, drinking happily away. Zevran stared at the other Grey Warden just as much as Alistair did. Sten stared at the stars. Even Moriggan was staring towards the two Wardens. It was definitely creepy. There was a sadness in her eyes, one that Alistair had never normally seen. It was like there was something he didn't know about, but she did. But that was the purpose of a Witch of the Wilds. Know stuff, and never tell people about it. His eyes fell back to his love, catching her look at him as well. Wynne cleared her throat, having noticed the exchange. Alistair felt his face turn red, and his love approached. He saw her walk towards him, slowly, mesmerizing. His chest felt tight, his whole body jumped in excitement. He wanted her. No. He needed her, but wants turn into needs when you fall in love. He met her halfway, his hand moved up to caress her cheek. He was nervous, excited, scared, but now was the right time.
The embrace he had on his lover was tight. He was scared, he was hurting; this was not the right time. This was not hers to complete. He should have been there to defeat the dragon, not her. Not her, no, not HIS love. The one he confessed all too, the one that would stand by his side to rule all of Ferelden. He did not even care anymore about ruling, it was her idea. How could he do any of this without her. His head hung low. Dog sat beside the two, h is massive Mabari head tilted up to the darkened skies, a howl filling the scene. Alistair's breaths were shallow, his hands could not hold her any tighter. It was a lifetime for him, before Wynne and Oghren pulled Alistair from her. The space between them turning into miles. His whole body buckled in half, his hands holding his blonde head, ignoring the attempts of the dwarf to pull him farther away from Wynne, performing the many healing spells.
It was the night before the great battle. He had just been informed the truth of the Grey Wardens. Their ultimate sacrifice. There was a chance that... no. Alistair refused to think of it. He moved silently to his room, passing Morrigan with those same sad eyes he had seen before right after Orzammar. The witch beckoned over to his love, who took a glance at him for a moment before disappearing into the darkness with the other woman. He committed himself to the fine bed in his room, hoping that he would be graced at the very least, for a few moments by his lover. After a long while, she walked into the room. She appeared hesitant, or nervous, or... just the same way he had met her. Her soft eyes, that shone all the hope he wanted, needed. They began to speak of... of wild things, with witches and romance. Her eyes turned sad for a moment, "Do you trust me...?"
Alistair took deep breathes. The shaking became even more ferocious, as the adrenaline started to kick out. "I trust you..." he gasped out. He felt something, a very cold hand on the side of his face. It shocked him, as he rose his gaze, the edges of his lips quivering.
"Thank you..." the voice was strained, the quiver so severe to mark how tired the person was. His love tried to smile, and moved in closer to him. He reciprocated the gesture, and pulled her as close as his armor allowed.
Morrigan stood at a great distance. The sadness still in her eyes as she gazed upon the two lovers in their embrace. She wrapped her arms about herself, her golden eyes resting toward the ground for only a moment. It was the perfect time for her to take her leave. No one would notice it for now. With her head held high, she turned her back and headed down the tower keeping to the shadows.
There are probably typos, and grammar mistakes abound! wahoo! :D