when it’s a legitimate possibility that the developers at bioware are making a dragon age spin off instead of working on the sequel to the heavily cliffhanger’d dai when they fridged mass effect after cliffhangering andromeda 

Lynne Cousland for marnaeileen

marnaeileen and I decided to do a little “limited color scheme exchange” and she asked me to draw her Lynne Cousland … and because this idea just stuck with me, I had to draw it. And well… I hope Marna will like the starry-dress I gave her… the blue colors just told me to do something like this ^^“

And I used this reference - it  more or less just inspired this picture yesterday evening already. 

The armor Alistair often wore nowadays was large and cumbersome. Eamon had given him a grand set of heavy plate, pure white steel - rumored to have been a favorite of the Arl’s predecessor. Sure - Alistair loved flashy armor that were as good as they could get - but handling the weight of it was like dragging around a litter of overgrown mabari on his back everyday.

The weight, however, was nothing compared to the King’s corpse on his shoulder, as Alistair hauled it to his funeral pyre.

They had found him erected like a sacrifice, darkspawn arrows pinning his rotting limbs against a pair of bestial, ornamental fangs crossed together in the middle of the bridge. It took four of them to lower the structure, carefully so that the frame was angled onto its front with Cailan dangling from the top. It was Alistair who was made responsible for catching him. Alistair had to wait with his arms extended forward - in case the arrows could no longer bear the brunt of Cailan’s weight and the former king came toppling down towards the floor.

Cailan’s golden hair brushed against the nape of Alistair’s neck, smearing blood against his skin like a fine paint brush. The putrid smell of decay and death permeated from Cailan’s pale, jaundiced skin, and Alistair was confident that he would have to expend through their party’s entire soap supply in an attempt to get off what had rubbed onto himself. What bothered Alistair the most at that particular point was that holding Cailan felt awkward - the bones in the King’s abdomen were twisted and made his lower half flail about like a marionette’s, but that was beyond the point - because that was the only time Alistair had ever held anyone like this of his kin.

Lynne must have noticed the horrid grimace on his face, because she was staring at him with somber, quiet interest while the others safely moved the frame the rest of the way down.

“The King and I were close, you see,” Alistair had said, explaining the strange image of him then, with Cailan in his arms, that must have been in Lynne’s eyes.