Morristair is stupid. They hate each other. Alistair and Morrigan are physically repulsed by each other. I imagine them together and it doesn’t work.
I don’t hate any one who ships them- hell, I encourage you to send me your opinion about the ship! But I hate it. I hate it as much as I hate that my baby can’t marry Alistair.
how ‘bout you don’t tag your boring ass hate lmao
For some time, a rumor has circulated in the Gallows that Knight-Captain Cullen once fell in love with a young mage from the Circle of Ferelden. The mage was recruited into the Grey Wardens and went on to become the Hero of Ferelden. This rumor seems to cause Cullen pain, though no one knows if it is the pain of lost, unrequited love, or if Cullen is shamed by having had feelings for a mage, of all things.
Knight-Commander Meredith maintains that the rumor is untrue and punishes anyone caught repeating it.
He hears her laughter, but Cullen doesn’t have the luxury of turning from his task. Held out as far as his arms can extend is his son, Gavin, screaming until his face goes purple. The toddler wriggles like a worm on a hook as Cullen attempts to get him to sit in his bath water, tiny hands with disproportionate strength grabbing fistfuls of Cullen’s curls and tearing.
“Enough,” he grits between clenched teeth as he feels his hairline recede. Tacking on a, “Please,” because it’s important to treat delicate situations with respect. Especially when the opponent has the tactical advantage.
She laughs again, and it’s almost pleasant enough to counteract the pain of his scalp, “I think you missed your calling.”
Mage Warden walking freely (for the first time, no Templars are following) around the camp at Ostagar, gawking at soldiers as they prepare for battle, wandering around in awe at the open sky, soaking in the sights of men praying, getting drunk, sharpening their swords, the sounds of battle horns and dogs barking, and smells of sweat and dirt and life. Walking around freely, talking with strangers and doing as the Warden pleases. This is what it’s like to be normal. This is what it’s like to be free.
alistair, who, raised at redcliffe until he was ten years old, rarely received a hug more than once a year, and got more attention from the dogs he slept with than the man who took him under his wing, or the servants he worked for.
alistair, who, at the chantry, learned that touch is a wicked thing, who received a pinch on the ear for trying to hold a revered sister’s hand in a moment of uncertainty, who was lectured on temptations and the mastering of them.
alistair, who was so accustomed to the barking of dogs and the distant hum of a busy castle, doing anything to break the stifling silence of the chantry (talking, humming, screaming-) and being punished for doing so.
alistair, who, for the first few months, had to learn not to cry himself to sleep at night in his small cot in the chantry, because there were no warm snuffling bodies to lull him to sleep.
alistair, surprised and shocked by: the comforting squeeze of duncan’s hand on his shoulder (touch is a wicked thing), the jovial slap on the back from a fellow grey warden (touch is a wicked thing).
alistair, who meets the warden and falls in love, who holds their hand whenever he can, who believes even the smallest of touches are significant.
friendly reminder that Jowan was so upset and penitent about the actions he committed at Redcliffe that he willingly accepted going back to the Circle if that was the Warden’s wish, knowing it meant either being made Tranquil or execution. ✿◕‿◕✿
sometimes I think about what DAO would have been like if Jowan had been a permanent companion
“someone knocked over the urn…I’ve no idea who”
“I know how this sounds, but the abominations really were not my doing”
“you have to admit though, no ordinary mage could have burned down the brecilian forest with an accidental spell”
“you say I ‘buried orzammar under a mountain of rubble,’ I mean of course it sounds bad when you put it like that. I would say I…made some renovations”
















