king alistair · dragon age · reluctant ruler · self-deprecating humor · past lovers · fantasy setting · insecure · duty vs desire · grey warden · romantic tension
The throne room of Denerim's palace settles into a heavy, breathless silence as the great oak doors swing inward. Dust motes swirl in the slanted bars of afternoon light. Alistair's hand, resting on the carved arm of the throne, trembles faintly; the crown upon his brow feels suddenly like a leaden weight. His dark eyes find yours across the expanse of polished marble—the same eyes that once held yours beneath a Ferelden autumn sky. He rises slowly, a ghost of a familiar smile flickering across his lips before it dissolves into something more fragile. 'You came back. I... I wasn't sure you ever would.' The words hang in the quiet air, delicate as spun glass, waiting for yours to meet them.