Dragon Age: One Shots

Oghren + Female Cousland- Preparing for battle

As honored as I would be to romance Oghren, this is just a sweet and friendly one shot... despite the art.
(Art by: @Rooster82 on DeviantArt)

Cousland sat in her tent, pouting while overthinking the possible outcomes of such an event. The last time she had attended a dance was when she was fifteen years of age. It was at the Howe estate and her father forced her to go, in hopes that she would take a liking to Howe's son. It was an enjoyable experience but partying in the midst of a blight did not feel moral.

      Oghren had sounded a choppy whistle as a warning before entering her tent. He sat next to her and examined her expression.

"So what are you going to wear?" He said.

This was hardly what she had expected him to say and confused, she asked for clarification.

"You're going to a ball and you're going to have to leave a good impression. So... what are you going to wear?" He persisted.

"I don't have any nice dresses anymore." Cousland retorted.

This was the answer he had hoped for. "Then off to Denerim we go!" The excitement was apparent in his voice. He stood up, and still pointing a finger in the air, skipped off past the fire pit.

"Is he... drunk?" She wondered. It was a logical assumption, however he happened to be entirely sober, just very excited.

She hardly had time to comprehend what he had just suggested before staggering through the flaps of the tent. The dwarf was the last person she had suspected would take an interest in her attire, and his enthusiasm reminded her of her father's. He had always loved dressing her in beautiful gowns and feminine shoes, even more so than her mother did.

She followed him reluctantly, and with the help of Zevran and Alistair, they made their way to Denerim.

It had only taken about a half-hour to reach the Marketplace, since they were camped directly outside the city. Upon reaching the tailor that Oghren had chosen, they entered and took a moment to adjust to the change in light.

It was a well lit room, covered in a beautiful variety of silks and ribbons. A young woman stood at the counter. She was tall and slim, with small fingers fit for sewing. Her face lit up and she welcomed them enthusiastically. Oghren took the liberty of explaining exactly what he was looking for, and ensuring that Cousland could not hear him.

     After a pleasant conversation, she began to sift through a series of fabrics, until she had eight samples lined up in a row. They ranged from a warm coral to a gentle and elegant pink. Oghren clapped her on the back to express his appreciation and spent time looking back and forth, comparing the warden to the soft fabrics.

      Cousland had decided to let him take care of it, since he seemed so willing, and slumped into the nearest chair. They spent so long talking that she had nearly fallen asleep. Zevran and Alistair had left to do something and her only options were to make a run for it or to try her best to survive.

      Right before she was about to doze off to sleep, a large hand rested on her shoulder and shocked her out of her state of unconsciousness. She sat up and out of instinct reached for her dagger, only to slowly put it away when she saw the exuberant dwarf looking down at her. He immediately grabbed her by the arm and dragged her over to the counter. Next, he reached for the cutest shade of pink possible and held it up to her face.

      He smiled proudly and gestured to the woman to have her fitted. The last thing the Warden wanted was to be seen in a pink gown, but she could not deny that seeing Oghren worry over her, and not simply laugh, piss- drunk, like everything was a joke, was hugely comforting. He was her closest friend, and though he was more like a father figure, he had her confidence in absolutely everything, and so she put herself in hands, trusting he wouldn't make her look like a jester. The woman took her measurements and continued to talk on and on about her figure and many other things that she did not care to pay attention to. As soon as it was over she returned to her seat and examined the length of the room in boredom. Much to her surprise, they finished quickly and were told to return the following morning.

      Subsequent to entering the camp, Alistair and Zevran returned from some rendezvous and nervously fled to their tents. Both were too tired to take notice of this, and also retired to their quarters.

      The next morning, Cousland dreaded the thought of returning to the tailor, though she did enjoy spending time with her friend. Reluctantly, she woke Oghren and again they walked to the marketplace. She pushed open the obnoxiously loud door to the tailor's shop and stepped inside. She was greeted with a wide smile and the quick scuttle of feet. Oghren waddled behind the counter to take a look at the progress and Cousland sank into a chair once again. She refocused on an impatient dwarf and stood up to take a look at the contraption she would be forced to wear.

It was a beautiful pink, very light in shade but vibrant enough to bring out the tint of her complexion. Her eyes widened and she stepped towards it, only to stop again and stare. It had a shallow V- neck and the thin straps that hung off the shoulders were laced with silver. It clung to the waist of the mannequin and flowed outward past the hip, dragging a long trail of beautiful silk behind it.

Oghren crossed his arms and barked, "Well try it on already, woman."

The tailor helped her put it on properly and she stepped into the center of the room, admiring the path she had left.

In response, Oghren smiled and said, "You look like sodding royalty, warden."

It was perfect, so they simply paid and left. None looked forward to this pointless gathering, yet they still had to get themselves ready. She had no idea where the others were, but Oghren helped her get back into the dress.

"I truly am an artist." He said with a hint of sarcasm.

"Oh get over yourself, friend." She laughed.

"I've done well thus far, and I insist on fixing this unruly thing you call hair."

In her experience, dwarves had absolutely no knowledge about hair, but she wouldn't refuse his help.

"Let's get this over with then." She said.

She sat on a clean slab on wood in front of the fire, and he sat behind her, fiddling with her curls.

"I wasn't aware dwarves were so talented with styling, elves are the ones known for their intricate braids."

"Zevran isn't the only one who can do a stupid braid. I fix my beard myself every mornin'... By the... Argh! Your hair is long." He shouted.

"Well I'm not sure scolding it will help..."

He cut her off with, "There, I've finished."

She stood and patted the top of her head to discover the extent of the damage. She felt beautiful smooth locks, divided into a large braid that flowed down her back. She spun around and smiled, very happy with his work. He blushed and for a moment she could swear she saw tears fill his eyes, but her thoughts were interrupted by an Antivan accent.

"My, my, you look absolutely ravishing, dear warden. Our poor Alistair is sure to have a stroke at the sight of you." He stated.

Next Leliana and Morrigan shared an equally astonished reaction at the sight of their leader, looking closer to an Empress than a warrior. About an hour or so later, she boarded the carriage with the dwarf still at her side. Alistair was nowhere to be found, but she hoped to see him when they arrived.