Please Don't Hurt Her In The Next Games

I keep drawing her in nice clothes even tho I think in some respects they would make her uncomfortable sometimes lmaoooo my musings do not reflect her actual fashion choices I’m sure

i think about this item description a lot

Zevran and his beautiful Antiva

Tabris

City Elf Week - Day 4

Please remember to tag @cityelfweek or use the tag #cityelfweek24 so your works can be reblogged! Today's optional prompt is customs and traditions - but anything that's focused on city elves is welcome, new and old!

WARDEN TABRIS. Hero of Fereldan. Grey warden. City elf. Two handed warrior. Romancer of a former Antivan Crow.

Tabris | Hawke | Inquisitor [WIP]

my warden & inquisitor for me 8-9 years ago

Last minute addition to tomorrow's theme, don't mind me...

Folklore and History!

City Elf Appreciation Week

~ 5th of August - 11th of August ~

Here are some optional prompts for next week! Please feel free to do whatever you like with them. Remember to tag @cityelfweek or use the tag #cityelfweek24!

Day 1 - Vhenadahl

- A pillar of many alienage communities. Firewood in others.

Day 2 - Folklore and History

- Show the folklore that city elves have created over time. Superstitions, stories, heroes, villains... anything!

Day 3 - Community

- Close-knit family, or claustrophobic little box?

Day 4 - Custom and Tradition

- Andrastian? Dalish? Somewhere in between, or something all new?

Day 5 - Alienage

- The only home many city elves ever know.

Day 6 - OC

- A day to celebrate original city elf characters!

Day 7 - Free Day

- All things city elf!

[original post][divider credit]

you ever think about a tabris that does the ultimate sacrifice

how their family and fellow elves fighting so fiercely to defend their home (just as they did when they passed through only mere hours before) see the retreating darkspawn and cheer so loudly surely their elven savior could hear them all the way at the top of fort drakkon

how shianni soris and cyrion all break away from the celebrations and shouts go retrieve tabris because there's no possible way a shem party could even come close to the one they'll have in the alienage (they can bring their friends too if they want, they did help tabris after all)

how joy so quickly turns to despair when they see those doors slowly creak open at the bottom with an unmoving tabris held in the arms of another, perhaps a friend, or a lover, with unrestrained tears flowing down their face (maybe with one witch absent, long gone before this even took place)

how shianni and soris cannot begin to believe that the savior, their savior, their cousin, is no longer with them, they were so alive before, and now they are not (their hero is something they will make the shems remember, they are gone so they could live)

how this is now the last time their father has to hold a funeral for his child, and only this time does he have a body to weep over (it's not any better than the first one)

do you ever just think

Happy Friday Aster!!! intrigued by ❛ i look at you and my heart breaks because all i see is loneliness. ❜ from the for the damaged prompts - for maybe Kallian Tabris & Duncan? 👀 OR Kallian Tabris / Anders unrequited? 👀👀👀

ohhhhh this one is so good, thank you for the prompt!! i might revisit this for kallian & duncan because it's such a good fit for them too, but unrequited kanders came first!

rated g. unreciprocated tabris/anders for @dadrunkwriting. 712 words. anders and the hero of ferelden talk. he thinks about how how they met, among other things.

* * * *

Anders had expected the Wardens to be just another prison; another guarded tower to escape. But Commander Tabris was anything but what he'd expected of the fearsome Hero of Ferelden.

Kallian. That was her name. She'd grumbled about how formal "Commander" was, but no one around the Keep quite knew how to talk to her. She'd saved the whole of Ferelden; how did you speak to someone like that? And on a personal level, she'd saved him too.

When the Warden barged in with two recruits in tow and saw Anders, surrounded by dead templars, he would have been lying if he'd said the fear of the Maker Himself hadn't coursed through him. But she kept him. Rescued him from the Circle, the only way she knew how.

"That's how I was recruited too, you know," she said to him one night as they warmed by the campfire, before lowering her voice dramatically. "Ferelden's Warden-Commander invoking the Right of Conscription to pull someone out of the jaws of the law... I hope you carry on the tradition."

He balked at her. "What?"

"What?" she gave him a small, tired smile before turning back to the fire. "I hope it's one of you, after me. You'd make a good Commander, I think."

"Maker, I'm not sure about that," he laughed self-consciously.

"I am," she said. Anders didn't think she realised how firm she sounded when she talked, how final her words sounded. She brooked no argument, ever. He wondered if the King dared disagree with her.

The King. He'd turned up at the Keep once, early on. Anders didn't know much about him save for him being Maric's bastard, and a Warden too. The Warden; or the other one anyway.

Warden-Commander Tabris and King Alistair had embraced that day, undoubtedly unsatisfying in all their armour. But they held each other anyway, their faces buried in the crook of their necks, the only exposed bit of skin they had.

"Are you the King's mistress?" he blurted out, inwardly cursing.

She snapped her attention to him, wide-eyed and abruptly scarlet. That was a yes, then.

"Why'd you ask that?" she squeaked. He shrugged, and she looked as though she was going to say more, talk to him, like a person. Anders was reminded of how young she was; younger than him.

But she turned away, still flustered and pretending not to be, prodding at the embers of the fire with a stick.

"You just..." He trailed off, trying to think of the best way to word it. Anders wasn't sure how to tell her that his chest tightened whenever he looked at her. He wasn't an idiot, he knew that whatever he felt for her wasn't quite what a subordinate should feel for his Commander. But she was confusing. Talking with her was difficult, yet her presence was a balm. She naturally commanded respect, but held nothing over them. She wanted to be their equal, he thought.

Kallian just looked so lonely.

"If you're not," he started again slowly, against his better judgement. "The next time we're in Amaranthine, maybe we could... go to The Crown and Lion. For a drink. Alone. If you wanted to."

Kallian looked at him again. She wasn't a difficult person to read at the best of times. She looked at him with surprise in the parting of her lips, sadness in the pull of her eyebrows... and something akin to distant longing in her eyes. He knew his answer.

"I-I'd like to, I just... I can't," she muttered, dropping her gaze again.

"Okay," he forced a smile. "Don't worry, I'll ask Oghren instead."

She laughed; thank the Maker. "Oghren?"

"Yes, he's much better company."

"Yeah?" she smirked, raising her eyebrows. He hummed in response.

"Yes," he nodded sagely. "Prettier too."

"Shut the fuck up," she chuckled, grinning.

Kallian was in charge. Not just as Warden-Commander, but as Arlessa, as Bann. But she'd gained the titles, and lost her friends. And despite it all, despite everything she'd done, and everything she was... Ferelden would never accept an elven queen.

Anders looked to the fire. Dying orange flames licked at white wood. None of it was fair. But if she was lonely, he supposed he had to be lonely with her.