#cousland x alistair
King Alistair gets the reunion he’s been waiting for.
Alistair glared at the missive from the Orlesian court before setting it in the growing pile meant for the Inquisition. He’d had more than enough of the ‘hospitality’ from the court during their last talks: at least the masks burned nicely.
With a groan, he smacked his head onto the desk. Facing a horde of darkspawn would’ve been preferable to this endless stack of messages and treaties and boring dinner parties. He buried his head into his arms; his dreams would bring her closer to him again—if only for a moment.
Drifting between dreams and reality, his eye twitched when someone knocked on the door. The sounds of running feet and shouted orders were keeping him from her.
“Go away!”
He glowered when he heard the click of the door opening. Didn’t the whole point of being ‘King’ mean that he got to tell people what to do?
“I said,” he snarled, head lifting from the desk, “to go awa—”
He blinked then rubbed his eyes and looked again.
Her hair hung several inches lower, a new scar marked the left side of her jaw, but it was her: his warden. His wife. She wore a scout’s uniform; her boots were caked in mud and her hair was scrunched and wet from rain.
Her smile nearly stopped his heart.
My Tumblr will probably turn into a Dragon Age appreciation blog and I don’t care
