King-Maric

Loghain Mac Tir and Rebel Prince Maric Theirin

Haha yea i finally post this… been sitting on it because i was pretty unsatisfied with the composition, but since i’m officially crippling myself by getting a new game while working on another piece, i think it’d be some time before i get round to painting this so here you go! The Stolen Throne gave me so much feels, I…. i really wish to see more art of these two circulating, so if you reblog this, it’d be awesome if you add links to more art of King Maric and Loghain!!! I’ll be ever so grateful * u *

The Lady Cousland (Prince!Alistair x Cousland AU)

Just for eeveevie I’m gonna post it now :3 I’m thinking of turning it into a multi-chapter fic. So what if Alistair was Maric’s true born son, recognised as a Prince of Ferelden. What would happen if the Lady Cousland was considered to be a suitor for Prince Cailan??

Alistair Theirin stares morosely out the carriage window, his chin resting on his clenched fist as he sways back and forth, glaring at the countryside before him as they’re pulled along. His eyes narrow further at his brother’s continued chattering, trying to ignore the high whining tone of his voice.

Cailan had insisted that they take the carriage to Highever, complaining that spending so long in a saddle was not only bad for his posture, but hurt his precious ‘royal behind.’ Alistair couldn’t help but snigger at the image of him hunched in pain, rubbing his behind as he stumbled up the steps of Highever.

Their father had gotten to ride properly, like a real King – Like he should have been, but here he was stuck like a damsel in a gilded carriage. His inner groaning and whining is cut off when their carriage pulls to a sudden stop, sending Cailan flying with a slight scream.

“ELISSA!” Comes an exasperated yell of a woman, followed by a deep rumbling laugh. Alistair’s own laugh at his brother’s plight stops short when the thundering of hooves echoes through the courtyard.

He watches, completely entranced as a massive black charger comes racing past, but it isn’t the stallion that has him so captured, as beautiful as the beast is, it’s the woman riding it. She’s riding like a man, completely swathed in rundown leathers with a bow strung to her back, but its not only that that has him surprised.

He watches as she races past, her loud whooping laugh blasting through his ears like sweet music, her dark blue eyes flashing as she darts around the carriage, hanging tight to the reigns as she does. Her hair’s unbound in long, unruly curls that reminded him of the sky at dawn, flames that licked at her waist with each movement.

Alistair’s’ snapped out of his daze by Cailan huffing and pulling himself into the seat next to Alistair, leaning over him to get a good look at the girl. Alistair can tell by the slightly disapproving look on his face that the girl hadn’t had the same effect on Cailan as it had on him.

The carriage begins moving again, and they pull into the courtyard of Highever castle. Alistair trips over himself as he flings himself out of the carriage, breathing a sigh of relief when he can finally stretch his legs and stand more than ten paces away from his brother. His father hides his smile badly behind his hand, chuckling as Alistair rights himself, wobbling slightly before standing still, blushing slightly as he looks towards the two men and one woman standing on the stairs before them.

They all bow, before Maric laughs and he and the older man hug tightly, slapping each other’s backs like old friends. So that’s the Teyrn, he muses, watching the man pulls back, his salt and pepper hair hanging low over his eyes, which sparkle a deep blue as Maric gestures behind him, towards his two sons.

The Teyrn turns to them with a wide smile. “Maker!” He cries with a deep laugh, striding over to where he and Cailan stand side by side. “Last time I saw you two you were small boys, they’ve grown into fine young men Maric.” Alistair feels himself trying not to grin under the praise, but Cailan preens, a wide grin settling onto his features as he clasps the hand of the Teyrn.

Alistair’s next, shaking his hand tightly with a nod, watching the man’s deep blue eyes look him over seriously, feeling the back of his neck prickle under the Teyrn’s scrutinising gaze. The Teyrn steps back with a nod, and Alistair feels like he’s passed some kind of silent test, the thought unnerves him slightly.

“May I present my wife, the Teyrina Eleanor and my son, Fergus.” Alistair looks up to a lovely woman dressed in velveteen, who curtsies with all the grace of a well-practiced noblewoman, smiling at her son as he bows.

“We thank you very much for your hospitality Teyrina; we are hoping that this visit is, fruitful.” Alistair’s father smiles as the Teyrina grins happily, no doubt after his father had alluded to the possible union of Cailan to their youngest – The Lady Cousland

They turn to lead them inside, Alistair marveling at the history behind the place, he’d heard the stories of Highever, about the Cousland’s and their family history, it almost seemed too good to be true.

He zones out, eyes scanning the centuries old weapons that line the walls of the great hall. He’s snapped back to the conversation when the Teyrina’s voice booms through the hall.

“Elissa!” Alistair turns his head to see the same woman from before, her hair swinging as she stops short, wide blue eyes turned to the Teyrina, one foot still placed in front of her, back curled slightly as she leans around the door, her slightly upturned nose smudged with dirt.

The apple she holds is still to her mouth, and she quickly finishes her bite, looking down to her feet. Alistair sees the Mabari war hound, his eyes going wide with glee at seeing the hound there, whining up at her with his tail between his legs, the two of them were so obviously bonded, the Teyrina seemed to be yelling at the both of them when she crooked a finger, beckoning the girl closer.

He hears ‘Elissa’ groan, her head falling back as she stands, cautiously making her way into the grand hall with her hands tucked behind her back, the Mabari trudging in after her, both of them dragging their feet.

“Your majesty, I must apologise for my daughter’s appearance.” The Teyrina sighs, reaching out to try to scrub Elissa’s nose free of dirt. Alistair hides his bark of laughter with a coughing fit, covering his mouth and turning away slightly.

Oh Maker preserve him! This wild thing before them was Lady Cousland! Makers breath Cailan would never be able to keep up, he doubted very much that the lady herself wanted to be tamed. He saw it in the way she rode, she was wild, stubborn, not one that would easily bow to a lesser man.

The Lady Elissa had to be earned, and he knew his brother would be hard fought to do so.

His father has the same reaction as him, laughing boisterously with his hand across his mouth. “Oh Eleanor, it’s quite alright, she’s a spirited one then – just like her father!” Alistair smiles as Elissa’s shocked eyes snap up to meet the King’s her mouth parting just slightly.

He feels his stomach clench as he truly lets himself rove over her features, behind the wild hair and dirt covered cheeks, she was truly a sight to behold. Her features were soft, her lips plump and stained red, most likely from the nervous habit she seemed to have, biting down on them every so often, and her nose was almost regal, save for the child like turn of it at the end.

Her eyes, Maker, her eyes.

They were a deep sapphire blue, endless pools that drew him in with each breath, luring him closer as she turned her eyes to him, her pupils dilating, hiding the small ring of gold that lined the inside of her iris.

Cailan didn’t deserve her that was for sure.

‘And you do, you idiotic git?’ His mind snaps back. He realizes with a sigh that he was right; neither of them could ever hope to hold a woman like that.

“Pup, why don’t you go clean up? We’ll meet you for dinner later on.” The Teyrn says. Alistair doesn’t hear her reply, jumping when a nose bumps his knee. He looks down with a wide grin to see her Mabari prodding at his leather breeches.

He instantly kneels down, laughing as the hound laps at his cheek, chuffing happily as Alistair scratches behind his ears, cooing to him under his breath. The Mabari perks at a sharp whistle, instantly pulling back from him with a soft whine and one last bump of his nose, before turning back to his mistress.

Alistair meets her eyes slowly, looking up to see something shrouding the deep blue, he can only just make out the sparkle of curiosity hovering there, hidden in the right corner. She lets her eyes rove over him, and he feels himself tense at her eyes, then relaxing as a knowing smile curves at the outer corners of her lips.

She turns, bidding them goodbye and stepping out the door, only looking over her shoulder to send him a slow, lazy wink.

Andraste’s ass, he was a goner already.

So Ferelden folk songs would probably be: 

  • The Orlesians killed my parents and my dog and now I’m sad.
  • Twenty five reasons King Maric is better than the Orlesians.
  • Oh I long for the days of Calenhad.
  • Flemeth stole all my elfroot. 

Yavana, the Beast of theTellari swamps | Dragon Age: The Silent Grove

ok this is actually my very first digital “painting”, it feels so different from traditional art and it took me awhile to decide to post it since I am not 100% satisfied but I quite like it as first result.

I think literally EVERYONE who has ever played the Dragon Age games agrees that the worst retcon in the series was the “reveal”/blatant retcon that Fiona was Alistair’s mother. Like, for one thing. Goldanna. How is her existence explained if Fiona is Alistair’s mother? For another thing it’s connected to the retcon that children born to an elf and a human are 100% human. And yes, that IS a retcon—should we just pretend that Feynriel (who was clearly neither fully-elf nor fully-human) never existed? Like…it’s BLATANTLY obvious that whoever decided on that “big reveal” didn’t actually play the Dragon Age games, because there’s content in the games that actively contradicts Fiona + Maric = Alistair. I’m generally pretty forgiving of retcons but seriously? No. If you’re going to write “expanded universe” stuff and sell it as canon, make sure you actually fucking know the canon. 

Like I can see a writer reading brief synopses of Fiona and Alistair’s characters and thinking “Fiona + Maric = Alistiar? The former Grey Warden births a Grey Warden? The mage births a templar? Yeah, totally! Let’s do it!” because NOBODY who’s actually played the games would EVER come up with that shit. It actively contradicts the canon surrounding Alistair and is just such an obvious retcon it’s…no. Headcanon NOT accepted. Try again.

Confession: There was a comment a while back that said how King Maric might have cheated on Rowan because he slept with the Grey Warden/mage/elf right after she died. After reading both the Stolen Throne and The Calling I have to disagree. He was so devastated after Rowan’s death that he held up in his chambers for months and he met Fiona (the elf) in The Calling, which took place 2 years after Rowan died.