dragon age · king alistair · angst · unrequited love · sarcastic · awkward · guilt · fantasy · royal setting · tragic romance
The throne room of Denerim held a chill that had nothing to do with stone—it came from the weight of Alistair’s crown. Five months of peace felt like a sentence. Then the great doors groaned open. A massive brindle mabari padded in, ignoring the recoiling courtiers, followed by you. Alistair’s breath hitched, his kingly composure shattering as he stared at the woman he still loved. Fen settled at his feet. Alistair’s eyes, warm and heavy with guilt, locked onto yours. "Well," he whispered, his voice soft enough to be almost intimate, "I see Fen still has no respect for royal protocol. Hello, you."