Dragon Age One Shots

Daddy Alistair

"Shhh!" his finger wagged to his pursed lips, eyes blazing as he glared at the Wardens speaking far too loudly outside the room. They glanced askance at their Warden-Captain, both fresher recruits who didn't yet know the rules of the Vigil.

"Keep quiet," Alistair mouthed then pointed to a sign he painted for such emergencies.

'Shut your fat gobs!' wasn't the most polite of instructions, but in his so-exhausted he felt punch-drunk state, it was amazing he didn't paint it on his body instead of the old shield.

The Wardens rolled their eyes but slunk away, open palms waving through the air as if they were about to break into a dance. Alistair didn't care if they did as long as they did it quietly! He risked a peek towards the verboten room, his finely tuned ears hunting for a hint of a sniffle or complaint.

Which was when a cacophony of metal ripping into metal erupted from below.

Alistair rushed to the railing, hands hooked to the banister as he leaned over. The entirety of the Ferelden army marched through the door into the Keep. Or so it seemed to Alistair. His vision was a little hazy, but he'd swear there were a few Orlesians hiding amongst the vast stretch of clanking, clanging, metal cans strapped to soldiers.

"Oi!" he shouted at the top of his lungs before flinching deep. A guilty head whipped to the door before he stared down at the massive army...that looked to be about thirty people in total now. They all turned to him. "Keep it down," he whispered, pantomiming sleeping with his folded hands tucked to his head.

"Uh..." The soldiers swiveled their heads around, the helmets rumbling deeper than thunder. Alistair jabbed a finger in the air warning them all. As one, the soldiers lifted their legs slowly, the greaves and other knee bits still clanging as they took a softer step forward.

"Blighted hell," Alistair cursed, "just slide forward! Don't lift your bloody feet!"

"As you say, Ser," one of the men certain to spit his name for eternity said. With arms akimbo, knees locked, the Ferelden army slid across the Keep like kids in their socks. Even still, Alistair held his breath until the last of them vanished. Finally, blessed quiet filled the Vigil.

A soothing breath pulled into Alistair's lungs, the buzz in his head slowing. On the tips of his toes, he eased towards the dangerous room. He held his breath while cracking open the door, holding the latch in his hands the entire time lest it rattle. Still, he only risked the honker of his nose and a single eye to peer into the room.

Barely any light pierced through the shutters, the few rays landing upon the mess of toys across the carpet. He glanced to the first monster to shatter that block-made city ten minutes prior. Flaxen hair spilled across the pillow, hands clasped to a burlap griffin. So far so good.

Left where the second one fell for nap time, black hair hid away the lips parting assuring snores upon the rug. There was a perfectly good bed beside the other but no. Naps are only to be had on the floor.

Some foreign sensation, he'd almost call it calm but that hadn't been seen in a year and a half, cooled his prickled nerves. To the window, Alistair gave his last check. A yellow blanket hid the face, but the tiny hand that'd painted half the armory before anyone caught on dangled helplessly against the window-seat. Out cold, all of them.

Thank you, merciful Andraste! With as much care as before, Alistair shut the door, prepared to resume his patrol of naptime. Running a hand through his hair, he sighed to himself, "What in the void made me think I could survive triplets?"