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Samahlen	By : BronxWench Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 1569 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age: Origins, and I make no money from this story.

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To Dust We Return

"I can't believe the Ashes worked so well," Leliana exulted. "Truly, the Maker loved Andraste, if her Ashes have such power."
They were gathered in the main hall of Redcliffe Castle, awaiting Arl Eamon who had made an astonishingly quick recovery after being sprinkled with the ashes they had retrieved. Eamon had asked for a few minutes alone with Teagan, but judging by the gleam in Eamon's eyes when he saw Alistair, Wraith was fairly sure he knew the topic of their conversation.
The likely topic was moodily glaring into the great fire, his green-gold eyes rendered molten. Alistair did not even turn when Wraith walked up beside him.
"He's going to do it, you know." Alistair's voice was flat. "He's going to try to put me on the throne."
Wraith moved closer, letting his taller lover wrap an arm around his shoulders. "Is it really that bad?"
"I don't want it. I never did." Alistair sighed. "It's more than just having the right bloodline. I don't know the first thing about ruling, and I don't want to know. Can you imagine anything worse than the fate of all Ferelden resting in my hands?"
"The fate of all Ferelden resting in Loghain's hands," Wraith replied somberly.
"He's right." Arl Eamon's rich voice made the lovers turn, equally startled. Teagan stood at his brother's shoulder, his face grim. "Teagan has apprised me of what has occurred since I fell ill, and it is madness to even think of leaving Loghain Mac Tir as regent."
"Then let Anora keep the throne," Alistair snapped. "She was my brother's queen, and she seems happy enough to rule. She was raised to be a queen. I was just a nameless bastard."
"The last of the Theirin blood runs in your veins," Eamon said calmly. "You have the strongest claim."
"I don't want it!" Alistair shouted. "What part of that is so incomprehensible?"
Wraith put a hand on Alistair's shoulder. "Then what's the alternative?"
"Why can't Eamon take the throne? His sister was my father's queen," Alistair said, his voice dropping. "Look, I'm sorry, but I just don't have it in me to rule. I'm no leader."
"The Landsmeet won't support Eamon," Teagan said. "Not with someone of the Theirin blood still alive."
"The Landsmeet?" Wraith asked.
"The Landsmeet is an annual meeting of all the nobles of Ferelden," Eamon explained. "In theory, the Landsmeet can force even the king to change course. The Bannorn, the collected Banns like Teagan, hold great power. Using them, we can force Loghain to step down, if we can reveal his treachery and subject him to the opprobrium of the Landsmeet."
"The Landsmeet isn't going to open its arms to a royal bastard, either," Alistair protested. "It's not like Maric tumbled some noblewoman. My mother was a servant here in Redcliffe Castle."
Wraith eyed Eamon speculatively. "And how do you sway the Landsmeet?"
"My brother is well regarded in the Landsmeet," Teagan replied. "And, aside from the Teryn of Highever, the Arl of Redcliffe is the most powerful noble in Ferelden."
"Keep in mind that Cailan did not summon my army to Ostagar," Eamon added. "I have the men to fight the Blight, and Loghain cannot hope to muster enough new troops and arm them fast enough to compete with my battle-hardened men."
"You're all acting like I have no say in this," Alistair interrupted, his eyes blazing. "How many times do I have to say no before it sinks in?"
"Can this discussion keep until the morning?" Wraith asked. "We're tired from the journey here, and we're sporting half-healed injuries from our quest."
They were shown to rooms in the guest wing of the castle, and when the servant tried to explain to Wraith that he had his own room, Wraith merely raised an eyebrow and closed the door of Alistair's room behind him. Alistair chuckled a little at the servant's expression, but quickly grew somber again.
"There's another good reason not to become king." Alistair began to strip off his armor methodically, barely looking up as another servant came in with buckets of hot water for the large stone bath near the fire. "Kings are expected to produce heirs, and that's not bloody likely for us, is it?" Alistair peeled off his gambeson, letting it drop to the floor as he turned to look at Wraith, his eyes dark.
"You do what you must," Wraith replied, and his heart felt like lead. He reached down to unbuckle his leather poleyns, and Alistair's hand lifted his chin.
"I'm not giving you up, Wraith."
Wraith's hands fell away from the poleyn, his fingers nerveless, and he let Alistair pull him upright, Alistair's mouth covering his in a desperate kiss, callused fingers scrabbling through his hair. Somehow, the remaining bits of armor were shed, and Wraith found himself tumbled onto the bed in an indecent hurry, a spit-slick cock buried to the balls in his ass as Wraith arched into the hungry thrusts of his lover. Wraith was no less hungry, straining to gain friction for his own aching cock against the hard planes of Alistair's belly.
It was hard and fierce and demanding, and yet Wraith felt his throat ache at Alistair's confession. For his part, the thought of having to give Alistair up was unbearably painful. Wraith forced that thought away, determined to build a store of memories that could last a lifetime, or at least as much of a lifetime as a Grey Warden had. Thirty years, give or take, and that was if he survived the archdemon.
Wraith's breath hitched, and he spilled on Alistair's belly with a groan. Alistair followed only a moment later, his seed not nearly as hot as the tears that wet Wraith's neck as Alistair clung to his lover.
"I'm not giving you up."
Alistair's words fell like a dirge, and all Wraith could do was hold him tightly, his own words lost in the taste of ashes.

Prompt word: Opprobrium
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