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Too Many Mornings [Inquisition!Warden Alistair x Warden f!Amell Slightly NSFW]

Thing written on my phone between 4 and 6am - turned out to actually be pretty damn good and gave the feels.

It’s a long one, so I’ve read more’d it.

She arrived at Skyhold at the deepest, darkest part of the night. The soldiers on guard stood barely awake and huddled around a small fire at the main gates as she made her approach, leading her faithful, tired mount across the bridge.

The sound of its hooves alerted the group of men and women from their cold incensed stupor. Several grappled and groped for their weapons with clumsy, numb fingers. They stood tense, eyeing her mistrustfully, her cloaked face and the staff on her back. One, a man in his twilight years, and slight hunched was less eager to fight, though his hand rested on the hilt of his blade.

A silent warning that she understood well enough.

She came to a halt before them, several feet between herself and the small group of guards.

She smiled from beneath her cloak, despite her tiredness and the bite of the cold digging into her bones. She pushed the hood back a little so those before her could see the contours of her face slightly illuminated by their small fire. Her eyes flashed and shone green and orange in the glow of the flames and she addressed them levelly.

“I understand the Grey Warden Alistair is here.” She explained to them politely. She left her staff fastened to her back, an indication that she was no threat to them and wanted them to know that.

“Aye,” replied the older man. “He’s recovering from the injuries he sustained in the Fade. A few more days and he said he’ll start off for Weissupt.”

She nodded, “were his injuries grave?” She asked him, masking the concern in her voice. Leliana had written to her and told her only that he had been injured and that the pure magic of the Fade which lingered within him and on his skin, prevented healing magic from having an effect. Apparently their Arcanist was looking into reasons why.

For the weeks she had travelled to Skyhold she had been wracked with concern. The lack of information had been irritating and Leliana’s further vague details unhelpful at quelling her worry.

The man opened his mouth to respond, but paused before he uttered another word.

His eyes narrowed, and she could see defined wrinkles around them and creasing his forehead. He stared at her shrewdly, his mouth twisting into a gnarled, wary expression “Who’re you to be asking after the Warden?” His question was fair, and she made a mental note to commend this man to the Inquisitor for his caution.

“My name is Isha Amell-Theirin.” She told him, “I’m his wife, and a fellow Grey Warden.”

“Amell?” A younger woman spoke up from behind the other guard. She was fair haired and slight, her hands showing the signs of years of bow use. An elf, but not Dalish, she had no vallaslin. “I know that name. Aren’t you’-”

“Yes.” Isha interjected, lowering her voice, and raising one hand, palm open in an attempt to calm any excitement. “Please, don’t make a fuss. I’ve been travelling for some time, I understand the hour is late and that you have no real reason or proof to believe I am who I say, but I implore you to take me at my word.”

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AreA51/"HER.NameMeans:'BeAUtifulFLOwer'" > #200of256*

Somewhere
in certain dreams
The beam’s so connected.
As if reflecting off edges;

Surfacing
a dimension, including and of lead…

Almost convincing
Of full blasts -
Yet not ever, but definite
and stretching pass.

Contorting pace, rated even
as stated
skates…

Hovering craft. When I’m abducted
Infused. Inducted
and assumed.

So many places

like grooves
to fester -
Spoiling true.
“Have”, halved.

2&4Ms.Bennison

"2806932"

A man, 58
slid across
the greasy, hoary and cracked, concrete floor;
still more
like a ‘ground’.
Pushing against the broom he held, and pressing down
passes my sitting there, lied on my stomach
across top bunk 68.

We are inmates…
Just evading a gentlemanly negate
As I wonder, underneath debate,
“Why - I’d wait, in realizing a place of
confiscating the ranks.”

Answering myself,
“well, he can likely gain
better pride
in sweeping his side of the dorm.
Besides, my choosing, assuming the chore
what’s more
A sense fulfilled
from cleaning our, floor -
or should I say, 'slate’(?)”.

He’d already contested, earlier
how much he’d rather face another case
than to be stationed amongst elderly.
Apparently,
according to an exchange sooner today, such an enough would make
his approximate 48th!

Following,
coming from an opposite way -
A fewer feet, further down the same lane
came,
Another brother (of significantly younger age)

Looking at 27!
Charged with the disgrace
of deciding 3 lives to take.
Walking by the man, and steppin’
over his dusty, crusty broom -

He reminds me of the Atlanta Brave’s mascot logo.
But we are in California.
Los Angeles County Mens Central Jail to be exact
Where these 'grounds’ are divided between Woods, Blacks
and Cholos

By the math
he manages to a mat
Adjacent to numerous. When who but this affiliate sits
Seeing, from behind the glare of glasses, my watching him
Look while noticing ME counting in my head.

His is the one

directly next to the second’s bed.
It’s said
the guy, if he fights, just might
Beat the wrap punishable by death.

I’ll be out, after a good run_

Before then