p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;"There is a time and there is a place for forbidden love./p
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"And the fact that he, an ex-Templar of sorts, looked at her like she was the sun and the stars, and the fact that she, an esteemed mage of the circle, gazed up at him with only the utmost care… proved that that time was here, and that this place was now. Hands interlocked in this moment of intimacy, lips part in a gentle smile. Maker cast his gaze not to the star-crossed lovers, but away; bless them with this moment of silence. Pause the blight for even the briefest of moments; give them this serenity./p
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"Battle-born hands run through dark locks, admiring her long, beautiful hair as if it were a sea of ebony, purposefully getting his fingers stuck so that he had a reason to see her laugh — oh, how she loved to watch him get flustered over the smallest of things. Normally braided, it's a refreshing sight to see his lover with hair down, bare before him, like a present from the Maker himself. Strange, the older Warden would note, how her face would be void of tattoos, only graced by the slightest of makeups on her eyelids and lips to keep herself looking feminine, yet her body, Andraste bless her with the petite form he preferred, was covered from head to toe in runic tattoos, imbuing her with the magic that the Circle of Magi coveted dearly. If it was not covered by a tattoo, it was tainted by scars obtained in battles. He frowns at these, Alistair does, as he lets his fingertips trace over them gently, reprimanding himself for these, for not taking the hit or reflecting it with his shield. For letting his precious love be injured in such a manner./p
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"Carefully placed female hand brings his gaze from her form to her face, dark citrines hitting soft browns as he rests next to the woman, lips connecting lightly with her temple, whispering declarations of his love - 'Maker's breath, you're beautiful.' 'Why did the Maker bless a bastard like me with a goddess like you?' ' I cannot imagine my life without you.' - against her flesh, his warm breath cascading against her skin. There, in that tent, the two of them lay, wrapped up in woven blankets she purchased upon Leliana's comment about cold nights, limbs intertwined and body heat shared between man and woman. In this tent, in this camp now, there is threat that looms, but the Wardens push the thoughts and the dreams, the archdemon's advances on their mental stability, away for now and only focus on each other./p
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"Her head finds solace under his chin, lips (normally stained, but due to the chapping of the cold weather against delicate skin, faded) pepper kisses over his windpipe as his face nestles atop her head, no external source of heat needed. Their romance was enough. So many variables came into play— would her love have to run off and become king, leaving her be due to her mage status, would she return to the Tower and succeed Irving as First Enchanter, leaving him to teach the Wardens? So many endings, both good and bad, but she did not fear the unknown. His voice, deep and gentle and caring, resonated in the back of her mind when she feared the unknown, calming her shaking stature. His touch, his lips, his gaze. All were so comforting to her, and her presence was enough comfort for him. She did not abandon him at Ostragar; she did not abandon him when Goldanna turned him away. There was no reason for her to leave him, ever./p
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"And the fact that he, an ex-Templar of sorts, looked at her like she was the sun and the stars, and the fact that she, an esteemed mage of the circle, gazed up at him with only the utmost care… proved that that time was here, and that this place was now. Hands interlocked in this moment of intimacy, lips part in a gentle smile. Maker cast his gaze not to the star-crossed lovers, but away; bless them with this moment of silence. Pause the blight for even the briefest of moments; give them this serenity./p
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"Battle-born hands run through dark locks, admiring her long, beautiful hair as if it were a sea of ebony, purposefully getting his fingers stuck so that he had a reason to see her laugh — oh, how she loved to watch him get flustered over the smallest of things. Normally braided, it's a refreshing sight to see his lover with hair down, bare before him, like a present from the Maker himself. Strange, the older Warden would note, how her face would be void of tattoos, only graced by the slightest of makeups on her eyelids and lips to keep herself looking feminine, yet her body, Andraste bless her with the petite form he preferred, was covered from head to toe in runic tattoos, imbuing her with the magic that the Circle of Magi coveted dearly. If it was not covered by a tattoo, it was tainted by scars obtained in battles. He frowns at these, Alistair does, as he lets his fingertips trace over them gently, reprimanding himself for these, for not taking the hit or reflecting it with his shield. For letting his precious love be injured in such a manner./p
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"Carefully placed female hand brings his gaze from her form to her face, dark citrines hitting soft browns as he rests next to the woman, lips connecting lightly with her temple, whispering declarations of his love - 'Maker's breath, you're beautiful.' 'Why did the Maker bless a bastard like me with a goddess like you?' ' I cannot imagine my life without you.' - against her flesh, his warm breath cascading against her skin. There, in that tent, the two of them lay, wrapped up in woven blankets she purchased upon Leliana's comment about cold nights, limbs intertwined and body heat shared between man and woman. In this tent, in this camp now, there is threat that looms, but the Wardens push the thoughts and the dreams, the archdemon's advances on their mental stability, away for now and only focus on each other./p
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"Her head finds solace under his chin, lips (normally stained, but due to the chapping of the cold weather against delicate skin, faded) pepper kisses over his windpipe as his face nestles atop her head, no external source of heat needed. Their romance was enough. So many variables came into play— would her love have to run off and become king, leaving her be due to her mage status, would she return to the Tower and succeed Irving as First Enchanter, leaving him to teach the Wardens? So many endings, both good and bad, but she did not fear the unknown. His voice, deep and gentle and caring, resonated in the back of her mind when she feared the unknown, calming her shaking stature. His touch, his lips, his gaze. All were so comforting to her, and her presence was enough comfort for him. She did not abandon him at Ostragar; she did not abandon him when Goldanna turned him away. There was no reason for her to leave him, ever./p