[[ ... Song 1: Good Enough, Evanescence ..... ]] [[ 291 words ]]
Fem!Amell/Surana, leaving the Tower with Duncan.
The feel of the sunlight was warm. It caressed her skin, made her squint as she stared up into it, and yet, she loved it. The heat was something new, something she hadn't felt in years except from behind the thick glass windows of the tower. Her turquoise eyes roamed freely over the surface of the lake, toward the land that she could only just see on the far side. She heard a soft chuckle, and she flushed darkly as she looked back toward the man who had taken her. Her savior.
"Are you laughing at me?" she asked, knowing full well that he was. She was embarrassed, but part of her didn't care. He had done so much for her, and she knew that she owed him everything.
"Of course not," he said, and his expression was schooled, serious again. She pretended that she didn't notice the way his fingers were white knuckled around his cloak's edge, drawing it closer to him than was strictly necessary. It was a bit chilly, she allowed, and perhaps he didn't have the sheer excitement that was pouring through her. She felt alive, felt free. In that moment. she would have done anything for him. Anything at all.
His eyes met hers, and she felt a sudden chill, the slightest breath of foreboding creeping through her. It was invading then, and not even the excitement of being out of the tower could drive it back. She turned away, pointedly ignoring it. She was imagining things. That couldn't be something so close to... pity in his eyes. Why would he pity her? A powerful mage, capable of healing, capable of destruction.
Or perhaps that was what he pitied, she realized slowly. Her eyes fell closed.
[[ ... Song 2: My Own Prison, Creed ..... ]] [[ 182 words ]]
Alistair, ultimate sacrifice ending.
The moment stretched, waxing full under the eyes of the prince, the Warden, the lover. He stood, straight and tall, sword in hand, and stared down the beast. He was trembling, and he had no idea that it didn't show. He swung, bringing the sword down to crash again and again. There was no way out of this. There was no third option.
He would die for his kingdom, for her. He would die so that Ferelden could draw breath, so that she would know that he loved her, no matter what. She was on the other side of the battlefield, and he watched her, gracefully attacking at the same times he did. They were wearing the beast down. They would win this.
Swallowing, he saw the moment he could do it-- he saw the path his body would take, the angle to hold the sword at so that it would lay that dragon hide wide open, allowing it to spill blood and only the Maker knew what else. He shifted his grip on the sword, and he dove, sword held up.
[[ ... Song 3: My December, Linkin Park ..... ]] [[ 142 words ]]
Male, thinking on Leliana.
She was smooth, flawless as she danced around the darkspawn. Her red hair was that of an avenging angel, sent only by the Maker himself to defend the Wardens. Blades sank deep, and arrows were shot from across the fields, taking down creatures that no one else had spotted. She was incredible.
And in the camp, she was just as incredible, all laughing eyes and mischevious grins. Someone like that deserved far better than what he could give. She deserved to be cared for, to have someone who could understand the depths of her devotion to the Maker. Someone who could comfort her without blood on their hands.
So she was out of reach, carefully wrapped up and set on the highest shelf, where none of the darkness could touch her. She was safe. She was, in spite of her past, innocent.
[[ ... Song 4: Lying from You, Linkin Park ..... ]] [[ 129 words ]]
Fem!PC, thinking on Zevran.
It was the sex poetry. That was the night that she realized there was no way to escape him, no way to avoid the sexual chemistry that sparked between them. She couldn't ignore those caresses, the way his lips pressed over her pulse. She couldn't deny him anything.
He had only to look at her, to crook his finger, and she came to him, Darkspawn and betrayal and Blight all forgotten. He could make her forget everything, and it was drugging, addictive. It had to stop.
He was taking over her, and she couldn't let it happen. He was hers, not the other way around. She would not become his pet, his sexual toy to turn on whenever he so chose. She was the Warden; she was in control.
[[ ... Song 5: Weight of the World, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club ..... ]] [[ 192 words ]]
Anora, thinking on Alistair/fem!Elf PC.
The castle was quiet; distressingly so. She walked the corridors slowly, her hands trailing along the cold stone. She could hear the noise of them both in the library, soft giggles and gasps and it made her other hand clench into a tight fist, her jaw locking. She saw the look that the maid shot her, and she ignored it, her chin lifting defiantly.
She was being made a fool of, and yet she didn't care. She could hear her father's angry voice, his demanding that something do something, and she ignored it pointedly. She had agreed to this, had known what it would imply the moment she saw the looks the two of them had exchanged. She was Queen; he was her King. She neither held, nor wanted his heart however, knowing that it had been fully entrusted to that elf that so cheerfully welcomed every single foolish question that popped into his childish head.
She was glad for it. She didn't need another child to pick up after, another brat to fix messes for. Cailan had done that well enough, thank you very much. She was glad to simply serve.
[[ ... Song 6: 45, by Shinedown ..... ]] [[ 173 words ]]
Cousland, thinking on Dairren from the human noble origins.
I should have opened the door. There was no reason to allow Dairren to do it, no reason to let him take the chance. He looked at me, the sweetest smile on his face, and even though he wore nothing more than his smallclothes, he had eased the door open just enough to look out. They had killed him for it.
Granted, they had killed everyone at that point, but the one that sticks out the most is Dairren. He was such a kind man, skilled enough with the sword that he could have defended himself, had he a weapon in hand. As it was, they simply shot an arrow into his chest, and he lay there, dying in his own blood, choking and coughing and suffering, all while my hound and I did our best to clear the room. At one point, his hand managed to wrap around my ankle, and I felt a pain in my chest. By the time it was all done and over, he was dead.
[[ ... Song 7: Build the Moon, by Charlotte Sometimes ..... ]] [[ 248 words ]]
Isolde, while the Wardens are on the way to the Circle to fetch help for Connor.
It was all wrong. Tears choked off her throat, kept her from breathing, from thinking. She could hear her son screaming, hear the damnable blood mage yelling, ordering the child to cease, to settle. The demon would come then, cursing and promising, enticing and insulting all in the same breath. Alistair and the others had fled, leaving Jowan and an elderly mage to care for her son, to keep him safe.
She drew a shuddering breath, and another round of screams started. The guards were all as pale as she, and not a one of them looked at her. Teagan had ceased speaking to her the moment the Wardens announced that they were leaving for the Circle. They did not want to kill her boy, her life, but they would if they thought it was necessary. They had told Teagan to do it if the demon broke free before they returned.
Cold Teagan had left her side then, fetched Eamon's blade. He would strike the boy down with his father's own sword. Another wave of wracking sobs, and she was collapsing on the floor, her hands tightly clenched and pounding on the floor, trying to find something to blame at the sheer unfairness of it all. She had NEVER asked for this. She wanted a family, a home since she knew that her blood would alienate her from the only home she ever knew.
And now, she was losing it. She could feel it slipping from her fingers.
[[ ... Song 8: Heartless, by the Fray ..... ]] [[ 223 words ]]
Morrigan, offering the fem!PC her dark ritual.
She had given her no choice, and Morrigan was screaming, yelling, calling her a damned fool. And still she had stood there, tears streaming down her face; her fists clenched at her side. Finally, when the apostate had run out of things to throw, obscenities to scream, she had collapsed, and the Warden had come to her, wrapped her arms around her shoulders.
She had whispered soft things, things that Morrigan knew couldn't be true; the world didn't work that way. It wasn't about truth and honor and justice. No one really thought that way. Everyone was out for themselves, and yet.. and yet, here they were. She had offered the only thing she could, knowing that anyone would have jumped at the chance, would have hauled Alistair in the room in a moment, forcing him to do something he would despise if it meant they could live.
Except her. She had simply stood there, a sad smile on her face, thanking Morrigan for the offer--like a party favor-- but no, she had a bloody duty, and there was nothing that could be done to change it. Kneeling on the floor, her tears wracking her body, the Warden had held her, and when Morrigan could finally look up, really see the other woman--
A breath, a whisper, then silence as their lips met.
[[ ... Song 9: Hallelujah, by Imogen Heap ..... ]] [[ 129 words ]]
Alistair, right after killing the Archdemon, Cousland Queen ending.
Everything was over. The blood was pooling, thick and thicker beneath their feet; Morrigan was clutching at her stomach, her mouth open in a silent scream as the beast died, as it passed right through her. And yet, all he could look at was her, standing so tall, blood still dripping off of her blades, hitting the ground in almost slow-motion.
The wind was pushing her hair back, and she was looking at him, her eyes dark, unreadable. She had put him on the throne; she had declared herself his queen. And Maker help him, he had done nothing to stop her, nothing to argue with or refuse her. How could he? She had saved him; she had taken his oath of loyalty. And now, he owed her everything.
[[ ... Song 10: Slow Dancing in a Burning Room, by John Mayer ..... ]] [[ 215 words ]]
Alistair/Anora, post Blight.
There was nothing there; never was, never could be. And yet, they were both trapped, wed together without anything binding between them. They had fought-- everyone did-- and yet, this time it was different. There was nothing for them to join against, no outside force to drive them together. All they had were endless days, together, handling politicians and commoners alike as diffidently as they could.
He was cheered by the people, loved and hailed as a hero. He would reach for her, and she would flinch. Everyone saw it; they saw the soft expression in his eyes, the way he would sigh and turn back to the crowd.
She was hailed by the nobles, a confident and wonderful queen, even if there were no children. There could be no children so long as she fled from him, excusing herself to her private chambers, finding reasons to avoid him. And there was no way out of this; no way around it. No matter how many olive branches he held out, there was nothing that could be done.
He murdered her father, splashed them both with his blood, and then offered her the most boyish smile she'd ever seen. It would never be enough. He was king of Ferelden, but he was no husband of hers.