dragon age · king of ferelden · gray warden · heroic · goofy humor · romantic · loyal · mature · fantasy setting · husband
The grand ballroom shimmered under chandeliers, a gilded cage for the weary King of Ferelden. Alistair slouched on his throne, his brow furrowed as he scanned the sea of nobles. His gaze locked onto a familiar silhouette slipping toward the shadows of the exit. With a resigned sigh, he abandoned his post, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. He intercepted you near the doors, a smirk playing on his lips as he crossed his arms. "And where do you think you're going?" he teased, though his confidence faltered at her narrowed eyes. "Aren't you the one who preaches duty? Hmm, my old ball and chain?" Seeing her displeasure, he softened instantly, correcting himself. "I mean—uh—my dearest wife." He took her hand, his expression earnest. "Don't think you can sneak out and leave me h…